February 10, 2008
Matthew 4:1-11, Romans 5:12-19
Sermon by Torin Eikler
Lent 1
It’s hard to believe that Lent is here already. It has only been a month or so since we finished celebrating the birth of the baby Jesus with all the joyful trappings that go along with the season. Now, we are headed into the time of repentance that heralds the death of the man that baby became. A difficult transition to be sure… Of course, we are also preparing to celebrate the resurrection, but for the next six weeks give or take, we will be walking with Jesus and the disciples down paths that grow darker and darker with only the promise of that new hope to lighten our hearts and guide our faithful steps.
Traditionally, a part of this journey has been the Lenten fast that echoes Jesus’ forty days of fasting in the wilderness. During this time, some people choose to give up food entirely though the number who honor the tradition so literally is small. Most of us don’t have the strength, dedication, or constitution to take up that challenge. Instead we choose among the many habits and vices that fill our lives and give one of them up. Some favorites are eating chocolate, soda, or snack foods, reading frivolous novels, or watching movies or television - dramas or (dare I say it) sports events.
Some use this season, as Carrie noted in the most recent newsletter, to support and renew a new year’s resolution - to give up drinking or smoking or to lose weight or to reach some other particularly difficult goal. I would be curious to see which of us has committed to giving up something for Lent and what those things are. But, perhaps such commitments should remain private or be shared only with those we trust to be gentle with us.
Recently, we have been revisiting The Vicar of Dibley - one of our favorite British television series - with Dave and Cindy. In one of the episodes, the small village of Dibley is preparing for Lent, and the town council decides to set an example. They each agree to give up something and pledge to hold each other accountable by paying in one pound to a community fund each time they break their vow. And, rather than choosing their own “fast,” the council decides together what each person will give up which is an interesting twist. (What do you suppose we would be called upon to give up if those who knew us best decided for us…?)
So, one particularly snobbish and arrogant member of the council gives up mean-spirited criticism. Another gives up dithering, promising to get to the point rather than mumbling a whole lot of meaningless words along the way. Another gives up his pedantic quibbling over details. Similarly, the others give up chocolate, swearing, cooking with disgusting combinations, and lascivious thoughts.
As you can imagine, this leads to all sorts of humorous situations as the group struggles to hold to their various promises while at the same time trying to catch the others when they slip up. In the end, as they gathered on Easter afternoon having been mostly successful, they all celebrate the end of Lent by returning to their various habits with gusto.
While this episode pokes fun at religious practices and the strength of the habits that tend to rule our lives, it also reveals something about the way we approach the Lenten Fast. For the most part, we treat this tradition as a temporary exercise in purity. We find some piece of our lives that we feel is at least unbecoming of a Christian and may even be sinful. Then, we commit to abstain from that behavior for six and a half weeks as a symbol of repentance. Yet, we typically return to life as usual once Easter has passed.
We laugh at the villagers of Dibley in their struggles and the way they embrace the release from their vows. But if we brush away the dust of the exaggeration in their characters, we find ourselves. Perhaps that’s why we laugh. And perhaps we need to laugh in order to avoid a sense of inadequacy. Perhaps it helps us avoid asking whether or not we should give these things up permanently.
But, this is not a sermon on holy living. We all know that our lives are filled with habits – be they sinful, unhealthy, or merely annoying and unhelpful. Those that are deeply sinful and bring brokenness and pain into the world should be resisted. And, of course, it is always good to step away from the patterns that shape our lives in order to find a better perspective to judge the power they have over us. But thankfully, our imperfections are covered, as Paul assures us, by the grace of the second Adam. And, so we strive for holy living. Yet when we inevitable fall short, we are forgiven through the grace of Christ if we can just bring ourselves to ask.
No, what I find interesting is that we have come to view Lent as simply a season of giving things up. To be sure, we understand that this is a time of repentance and that is at the heart of our symbolic self-denial. And, even though we know we will probably return to our habits, we hope that we will have greater awareness and more self-control. But Lent and the Lenten fast are not about repentance and denial in and of themselves. They are about preparation.
The first spring after Carrie and I moved to Richmond for seminary, we had a long discussion about the nature of Lent. It started when I joked about giving up NOT eating tons of chocolate. While it was a joke, Carrie understood that I was expressing a deeper frustration with the Lenten Fast – one that I did not really understand myself. (What would we do without people who care enough to listen so deeply?) So, we began to talk about Lent and what the purpose of giving something up really is.
As we talked, we realized that when Jesus went into the wilderness after his baptism, he was not sitting in the sack-cloth and ashes of repentance. He was fasting in prayer and preparation for the ministry he was about to begin. He was getting ready to resist the temptations of great power and to deal with all the frustrations of trying to reach out to people who would not understand.
Since this is our example for the Lenten Fast, we thought we should do more than just giving something up. That is only part of the process of preparation. So, we decided to add something to our lives as well as giving something up – replacing a destructive habit with a spiritual discipline or a healthier practice. That year, I gave up coffee and added a prayer for a clean heart and a renewed spirit. Each time I smelled the aroma across the room and felt the desire to hold that warm cup and taste the rich flavor, I was reminded to offer up that prayer from the 51st Psalm. This year, I have given up reading fantasy and science fiction. Instead, I plan to curl up with a good book of theology or a collection of poetry or to spend extra time in meditation and prayer.
I am under no illusions that I will not return to fantasy novels in the end just as I returned to drinking coffee. I really do enjoy them, and I am often surprised at the theological, social, and political commentary I find imbedded within them. I only hope that in the mean time I will have prepared myself to continue with the ministry I have been given in a way that is more in touch with God’s will. And, once Easter comes and my Lenten fast in ended, I hope that I will have found - and will continue to find - as much passion and delight in my work as I will undoubtedly find when I return to the world of imagination wrapped up in the pages of a good fantasy.
And even as I have been thinking about these things again this year, I have been struck by another of Paul’s images – the body of Christ. The church is the body of Christ. That’s us – all of us together are the body of Christ. And, just Paul as says that no part of the body can be healthy and function without the rest of the body. So, too, none of us can stand alone in the ministry of our discipleship. We must work together if we are to serve our God and our world.
If that is true, as I believe it is, then our work as a body – our ministry to the world – is something we must prepare for together. We have done some of this work already. We have looked at our dreams together, and we have discovered some of the things we have been called to do as a part of the larger body of Christ: offering an open and welcoming space for all to come to God, sharing the message of God’s peace more openly, and outreach to the children and students in our community … among other things.
Knowing these things are our ministry as a congregation, what are we doing to prepare for that work? What if we were to think of this congregation and its ministry as we think of ourselves and our ministry? Are there things that we as a community of faith could give up for Lent? Are there unfortunate habits that we have? Are there patterns of behavior that bring division and pain rather than nurturing wholeness and love? How do we choose to follow our own will instead of the will of our God?
Taking it the next step, what could this community add to its life that would help bring us closer to the will of God? How can we prepare to continue the ministry that we have been given?
Should we commit to gathering for a Lenten prayer service on Fridays? Should we read scriptures that inform our peace stance? Should we stand together in a regular vigil?
Do we need to assess our space to see what is welcoming and what is not? What about developing a welcoming group committed to speaking with visitors when they come or sitting near them to help them feel comfortable with the unwritten traditions we have during worship?
How can we get ready to reach out to university students or learn about the issues that face children in broken or breaking families?
I don’t know what you have decided to give up for Lent or even if you have given anything up at all. I don’t know what our congregation would choose to give up if we sat down and talked about it. But, I encourage you – during this time when we join Christ in the wilderness, move beyond a simply symbolic fast and find some way that you can begin to prepare yourself for the return. Consider how you will honor the passion and suffering of Christ. Reflect on how you will prepare your heart to receive anew the gift of grace and salvation that we will celebrate when Easter comes. And think about how you will get ready – how we as a community will get ready – to embrace the will of God more fully and follow the leading of the Spirit as we continue to do the work of Christ as servants to all.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Down the Mountain
3 February 2008
Matthew 17:1-9 Matthew 5:1-12
Sermon by Carrie Eikler
Transfiguration Sunday
Some years ago during the Muslim holiday of Idd, a woman named Mrs. Mutahi who lived in the poorer part of Nairobi, the capital of Kenya, had some friends over for a lunch party. When her guests left, she got busy clearing dishes and throwing the trash in the common trash can outside. Later that night, she found a group of boys hanging around the bin, picking clean the chicken bones she had thrown away earlier. She invited the boys into the small house and gave them the leftovers from the lunch. Having no homes to return to, the boys spent the night on Mrs. Mutahi’s floor. For the next few evenings, the boys kept returning in increasing numbers until the house proved to be too small for them. Even after Mrs Mutahi’s daughter offered to take the boys bread for lunch at a public park in the city, in order to relieve the cramped home, the boys kept turning up at the house in the evenings. Over time the group of children grew, and it now included girls. Finally Mrs Mutahi proposed to her “family” of street urchins that they should all move to the foot of the Ngong hills outside of Nairobi, where she and her husband owned a small plot of land. There they constructed a much bigger house than their tiny city home. Mr and Mrs Mutahi became the parents of twenty homeless boys and girls.
When I read this story, I must admit that one of my first thoughts was: “That’s crazy.” I would have likely cut off the goodwill after the first dinner with all those little boys. I would like to think that my compassion would invite them in, but I don’t know if my mercy would invite them back, let alone allow them to sleep on my floor…let alone welcome them back with more children…let alone build a bigger house at the base of some hills to care for twenty children. It’s not that I don’t admire her compassion and mercy, it’s just…well, let’s face it…isn’t it just a short term solution to a larger problem? It is really not a reasonable response when you consider the magnitude of the problem of poverty and homelessness. Yes, a rather good-hearted, but unreasonable, reaction. A bigger house at the foot of the hills doesn’t seem like a realistic solution.
Come to think of it, what is it about hills and mountains that produce such absurdity? Today we hear two stories from the gospel of Matthew. They both feature Jesus taking some arrangement of his disciples up on a mountain…almost as if he is removing them from the clatter below, where the complexities and distractions of the “real world” so they might hear more clearly…see more rightly…the wise words of Jesus. The first scripture we read tells of the disciples Peter, James, and John witnessing the transfiguration of Jesus. This is the day we call Transfiguration Sunday and marks the upcoming Lenten season which begins on Wednesday. To the disciples, Jesus appeared to be transfigured—he is physically transformed. He took on a divine appearance which rocked the disciples to the ground. You can imagine even in their fright how excited they were. Finally! The voice of God confirmed our suspicions and answered our questions. This is the son of God! The messiah! And as they are practically tripping over each other to be the first one down the mountain to tell everyone, Jesus takes the wind out of their sails—“by the way, guys, don’t tell anybody about this…not yet.” Are you kidding? As far as public relations goes, this could be just the boost these guys need to convince the people, to stick it to the authorities, to get the knees knocking of all the puppet politicians from Jerusalem to Rome. It doesn’t seem like withholding this vital piece of information is the best thing for the new Jesus movement. In no way, is this a rational request.
But then the disciples may have expected such absurdity because even when he wasn’t being transformed by a dazzling light, he said some pretty absurd things. In fact, the entire Sermon on the Mount has been viewed as idealistic romanticism to many, and the Beatitudes is simply the hour d’eourvs to a sumptuous meal of illogical ethics. On this mountain Jesus pronounces that those who are blessed are not those who think they are blessed, but those who feel they are cursed: cursed with poverty, cursed with a bleeding heart, cursed with feeling like the responsibility to give an alternative to violence rests on their shoulders, cursed with loss, cursed for being pigeon-holed, cursed with a willingness to offer a second chance. Our contemporary, capitalistic Christian ethic scowls at this—we think, no we are blessed with riches! We are blessed with opportunity! We are blessed with life, liberty, and the pursuit of all the happiness we can buy! We are blessed when we can make decisions of who is worthy and who is not! We are blessed when we have the power to protect ourselves from those who are cursed! We are blessed when we can have what we want, and protect ourselves from what we don’t want! What an absurd notion to think that happiness, or blessedness, could be found in these things Jesus is talking about. And in all honesty, we can imagine that it all sounds and looks good up on the mountain, where we are amazed and transfixed on incredible sights and inspiring words. But then, we all must come down from the mountain. We return to life where the absurdity isn’t inspiring, the absurdity seems…well…absurd, illogical, unrealistic.
I think each of us has had a “mountain top experience” whether or not it was on a real, physical mountain or not. We’ve each had to face the world that remains waiting for us with all its pain, and injustice, spiritual sickness, and physical decay. Jesus seems so far up there, back up the mountain, beyond the clouds. I remember very clearly a mountain top experience, perhaps one of my first. And coincidently, it actually did happen on a mountain. I was 19 years old, a sophomore in college. I was on a January term study seminar in Viet Nam, and my first time in the “two-thirds” world. I had no idea what to expect. The sights, the smells, the sounds at times inspired me, at times revolted me, at times humbled me. We were visiting a Buddhist Temple tucked inside a cave at the top of a mountain, where a large statue of a Lady Buddha stood somberly yet compassionately, resembling in many respects the Virgin Mary. I found myself full of peace as I sat in the presence of such a holy place. And then it was time to return down the mountain. We had been in the country for about a week and a half and I had started getting used to the bands of small children who would gather around us asking for money or trinkets. To be honest, it was getting slightly irritating. The word no rolled off our lips like water from an overflowing cup. No no no nono.
Finally we returned to the bottom of the mountain and headed to our bus, our warm spiritually-alive and mindful state seeping away by the pressure of the small demanding children. One small girl was steadfast in her urging towards my friend, Jackie, asking for “just a little bit of money.” Perhaps to her breaking point, my friend—my very liberal-minded, good-hearted, justice-seeking, good Brethren girl—said with as much kindness as she could muster “I’m sorry. I need to use my money to buy my dinner tonight.” Perfectly reasonable assertion, I thought. The little girl, whose only stood so tall as our stomachs, responded in broken English: “Well, could you give me a little your money and then not each so much tonight?” We were dumbfounded at such a simple request. We talked a lot about that event in the days to come. We tried to analyze its implications, we tried to rationalize our reactions. We tried to make ourselves feel better by remembering what our tour guides had told us—not to give them money because many times they just take it to thugs, and the children see none of it. Even if we gave her money, she would be begging tomorrow. What went left unsaid, but what we knew we all were feeling, was that a small Buddhist girl could show us the potency of Christ’s message. She had a power over our hearts and our consciences that no amount of money could secure. She proved to me that the amazing feeling on the mountain, if it doesn’t transform us in all its brilliance at the time, becomes an unrealistic fantasy when we come down. And that is where it is all put to the test.
In light of the world’s problems, of poverty and war, in light of our personal problems, of depression, strained relationships, financial insecurity, life down from the mountain makes Jesus’ actions and words seem quite absurd and irrational. Are we expected to take in twenty homeless orphans? Give money for thousands of begging children? Seek out persecution and sadness? Maybe so, maybe not. But I don’t think we can find the answer to these questions if we keep looking through the lens of what is rational, what is reasonable, what is realistic, what is logical. What gives us the best return on our investment. But Christ doesn’t necessarily call us to a life of logical living. Christ calls us to a life of transformational living.
Do we seek transformational living, or do we attempt to get by with what makes sense, with what has been test and tried and proved to work? Do we dare to dance with what may seem absurd to the world in order to test the possibility of creative change? Can we hear Christ say, don’t tell people about me, but act towards people so they see you know me?
Or do we think that our spiritual lives are to be put on the shelf until we can have that perfect mountain top experience that bears no resemblance to reality on the ground, or can we say that a spirit transformed can lead to a world transformed?
Maybe our eyes need to be burned by the blinding light of the transfiguration, or our ears to tingle with words of the beatitudes. But if we are looking for the words of the beatitudes to make sense, while striving to maintain reasoned discretion that will notify us when things get a little “too weird,” it won’t likely happen. Our perceptions of the world and ourselves are too ingrained, too much woven into the fabric of moving through this world. What Jesus says and does is so often chalked up to being some unattainable ethic that doesn’t—that can’t—make sense with our human foibles and follies, in the modern world where what we see isn’t necessarily what we get. Where acts of compassion lead to good people being taken advantage of. Where our ardent strivings for a meaningful and full spiritual life gets blinded by personal pain, and unforgiving demands, or…toddlers who don’t want to sleep through the night, leaving parents to exhausted to smile in the morning.
In her book Mysticism and Resistance, the late German theologian Dorthee Solle writes that in order to perceive the world as transformed beings, we must acquire new senses. Looking through the lens that we have always looked through to view world is inadequate. Rather, “It is an exercise in seeing how God sees, the perception of what is little and unimportant;” says Soelle “it is listening to the cry of God’s children who are in slavery in Egypt. God calls upon the soul to give away its own ears and eyes and to let itself be given those of God. Only they who hear with other ears can speak with the mouth of God. God sees what elsewhere is rendered invisible and is of no relevance. Who other than God sees the poor and hears their cry? to use ‘God’s senses’ does not mean simply turning inward but becoming free for a different way of living life: See what God sees! Hear what God hears! Laugh where God laughs! Cry where God cries!” (Soelle, Dorothee. The Silent Cry, Minneapolis: Fotress Press, 2001.)
Brilliant, beautiful thought! I just wish she told us where we could go to purchase these new senses… Maybe it’s about allowing our rational, logical minds to play with the possibility that somewhere in Jesus’ absurd teachings, there is a place where we each can begin a different way of living life, of seeing what is possible.
While Peter wants to make personal tents for Moses and Elijah and Jesus on the mountain, Jesus says lets go down and make a bigger house, with more rooms, where we and twenty children can make a new family. When the crowds wonder what Jesus could possibly mean by saying that in their desperation they are blessed, Jesus says let’s go down—there’s a little girl who can teach you better than I can, listen to her to understand me. When we are stymied at thinking what possible good a bunch of meek, hurt, persecuted, peace-seeking, mourning, and poor can do in this world, Jesus says “well, how do you think I did it?” If we are at least open to the possibility of trading in our old way of seeing things for new senses, we might recognize that what to the world seems absurd, may be the only thing that can save us.
As we approach Lent we turn inward to examine our spiritual state with God and with one another. Often people think about ways to “give something up” as an act of repentance. But perhaps, as we come down the mountain to walk the road with Jesus to the cross, walk with the women to the empty tomb, perhaps instead of giving something up in repentance, we might explore the ways we can more fully live into the absurdity of Christ’s message, relinquishing bit by bit the chains of our perceptions that enslave us not so we can touch the world in a logical manner, but be part of the world in a transformational manner. See what God sees. Hear what God hears. Laugh where God laughs. Cry where God cries. Make new senses for yourself, come down the mountain, and be blessed.
Matthew 17:1-9 Matthew 5:1-12
Sermon by Carrie Eikler
Transfiguration Sunday
Some years ago during the Muslim holiday of Idd, a woman named Mrs. Mutahi who lived in the poorer part of Nairobi, the capital of Kenya, had some friends over for a lunch party. When her guests left, she got busy clearing dishes and throwing the trash in the common trash can outside. Later that night, she found a group of boys hanging around the bin, picking clean the chicken bones she had thrown away earlier. She invited the boys into the small house and gave them the leftovers from the lunch. Having no homes to return to, the boys spent the night on Mrs. Mutahi’s floor. For the next few evenings, the boys kept returning in increasing numbers until the house proved to be too small for them. Even after Mrs Mutahi’s daughter offered to take the boys bread for lunch at a public park in the city, in order to relieve the cramped home, the boys kept turning up at the house in the evenings. Over time the group of children grew, and it now included girls. Finally Mrs Mutahi proposed to her “family” of street urchins that they should all move to the foot of the Ngong hills outside of Nairobi, where she and her husband owned a small plot of land. There they constructed a much bigger house than their tiny city home. Mr and Mrs Mutahi became the parents of twenty homeless boys and girls.
When I read this story, I must admit that one of my first thoughts was: “That’s crazy.” I would have likely cut off the goodwill after the first dinner with all those little boys. I would like to think that my compassion would invite them in, but I don’t know if my mercy would invite them back, let alone allow them to sleep on my floor…let alone welcome them back with more children…let alone build a bigger house at the base of some hills to care for twenty children. It’s not that I don’t admire her compassion and mercy, it’s just…well, let’s face it…isn’t it just a short term solution to a larger problem? It is really not a reasonable response when you consider the magnitude of the problem of poverty and homelessness. Yes, a rather good-hearted, but unreasonable, reaction. A bigger house at the foot of the hills doesn’t seem like a realistic solution.
Come to think of it, what is it about hills and mountains that produce such absurdity? Today we hear two stories from the gospel of Matthew. They both feature Jesus taking some arrangement of his disciples up on a mountain…almost as if he is removing them from the clatter below, where the complexities and distractions of the “real world” so they might hear more clearly…see more rightly…the wise words of Jesus. The first scripture we read tells of the disciples Peter, James, and John witnessing the transfiguration of Jesus. This is the day we call Transfiguration Sunday and marks the upcoming Lenten season which begins on Wednesday. To the disciples, Jesus appeared to be transfigured—he is physically transformed. He took on a divine appearance which rocked the disciples to the ground. You can imagine even in their fright how excited they were. Finally! The voice of God confirmed our suspicions and answered our questions. This is the son of God! The messiah! And as they are practically tripping over each other to be the first one down the mountain to tell everyone, Jesus takes the wind out of their sails—“by the way, guys, don’t tell anybody about this…not yet.” Are you kidding? As far as public relations goes, this could be just the boost these guys need to convince the people, to stick it to the authorities, to get the knees knocking of all the puppet politicians from Jerusalem to Rome. It doesn’t seem like withholding this vital piece of information is the best thing for the new Jesus movement. In no way, is this a rational request.
But then the disciples may have expected such absurdity because even when he wasn’t being transformed by a dazzling light, he said some pretty absurd things. In fact, the entire Sermon on the Mount has been viewed as idealistic romanticism to many, and the Beatitudes is simply the hour d’eourvs to a sumptuous meal of illogical ethics. On this mountain Jesus pronounces that those who are blessed are not those who think they are blessed, but those who feel they are cursed: cursed with poverty, cursed with a bleeding heart, cursed with feeling like the responsibility to give an alternative to violence rests on their shoulders, cursed with loss, cursed for being pigeon-holed, cursed with a willingness to offer a second chance. Our contemporary, capitalistic Christian ethic scowls at this—we think, no we are blessed with riches! We are blessed with opportunity! We are blessed with life, liberty, and the pursuit of all the happiness we can buy! We are blessed when we can make decisions of who is worthy and who is not! We are blessed when we have the power to protect ourselves from those who are cursed! We are blessed when we can have what we want, and protect ourselves from what we don’t want! What an absurd notion to think that happiness, or blessedness, could be found in these things Jesus is talking about. And in all honesty, we can imagine that it all sounds and looks good up on the mountain, where we are amazed and transfixed on incredible sights and inspiring words. But then, we all must come down from the mountain. We return to life where the absurdity isn’t inspiring, the absurdity seems…well…absurd, illogical, unrealistic.
I think each of us has had a “mountain top experience” whether or not it was on a real, physical mountain or not. We’ve each had to face the world that remains waiting for us with all its pain, and injustice, spiritual sickness, and physical decay. Jesus seems so far up there, back up the mountain, beyond the clouds. I remember very clearly a mountain top experience, perhaps one of my first. And coincidently, it actually did happen on a mountain. I was 19 years old, a sophomore in college. I was on a January term study seminar in Viet Nam, and my first time in the “two-thirds” world. I had no idea what to expect. The sights, the smells, the sounds at times inspired me, at times revolted me, at times humbled me. We were visiting a Buddhist Temple tucked inside a cave at the top of a mountain, where a large statue of a Lady Buddha stood somberly yet compassionately, resembling in many respects the Virgin Mary. I found myself full of peace as I sat in the presence of such a holy place. And then it was time to return down the mountain. We had been in the country for about a week and a half and I had started getting used to the bands of small children who would gather around us asking for money or trinkets. To be honest, it was getting slightly irritating. The word no rolled off our lips like water from an overflowing cup. No no no nono.
Finally we returned to the bottom of the mountain and headed to our bus, our warm spiritually-alive and mindful state seeping away by the pressure of the small demanding children. One small girl was steadfast in her urging towards my friend, Jackie, asking for “just a little bit of money.” Perhaps to her breaking point, my friend—my very liberal-minded, good-hearted, justice-seeking, good Brethren girl—said with as much kindness as she could muster “I’m sorry. I need to use my money to buy my dinner tonight.” Perfectly reasonable assertion, I thought. The little girl, whose only stood so tall as our stomachs, responded in broken English: “Well, could you give me a little your money and then not each so much tonight?” We were dumbfounded at such a simple request. We talked a lot about that event in the days to come. We tried to analyze its implications, we tried to rationalize our reactions. We tried to make ourselves feel better by remembering what our tour guides had told us—not to give them money because many times they just take it to thugs, and the children see none of it. Even if we gave her money, she would be begging tomorrow. What went left unsaid, but what we knew we all were feeling, was that a small Buddhist girl could show us the potency of Christ’s message. She had a power over our hearts and our consciences that no amount of money could secure. She proved to me that the amazing feeling on the mountain, if it doesn’t transform us in all its brilliance at the time, becomes an unrealistic fantasy when we come down. And that is where it is all put to the test.
In light of the world’s problems, of poverty and war, in light of our personal problems, of depression, strained relationships, financial insecurity, life down from the mountain makes Jesus’ actions and words seem quite absurd and irrational. Are we expected to take in twenty homeless orphans? Give money for thousands of begging children? Seek out persecution and sadness? Maybe so, maybe not. But I don’t think we can find the answer to these questions if we keep looking through the lens of what is rational, what is reasonable, what is realistic, what is logical. What gives us the best return on our investment. But Christ doesn’t necessarily call us to a life of logical living. Christ calls us to a life of transformational living.
Do we seek transformational living, or do we attempt to get by with what makes sense, with what has been test and tried and proved to work? Do we dare to dance with what may seem absurd to the world in order to test the possibility of creative change? Can we hear Christ say, don’t tell people about me, but act towards people so they see you know me?
Or do we think that our spiritual lives are to be put on the shelf until we can have that perfect mountain top experience that bears no resemblance to reality on the ground, or can we say that a spirit transformed can lead to a world transformed?
Maybe our eyes need to be burned by the blinding light of the transfiguration, or our ears to tingle with words of the beatitudes. But if we are looking for the words of the beatitudes to make sense, while striving to maintain reasoned discretion that will notify us when things get a little “too weird,” it won’t likely happen. Our perceptions of the world and ourselves are too ingrained, too much woven into the fabric of moving through this world. What Jesus says and does is so often chalked up to being some unattainable ethic that doesn’t—that can’t—make sense with our human foibles and follies, in the modern world where what we see isn’t necessarily what we get. Where acts of compassion lead to good people being taken advantage of. Where our ardent strivings for a meaningful and full spiritual life gets blinded by personal pain, and unforgiving demands, or…toddlers who don’t want to sleep through the night, leaving parents to exhausted to smile in the morning.
In her book Mysticism and Resistance, the late German theologian Dorthee Solle writes that in order to perceive the world as transformed beings, we must acquire new senses. Looking through the lens that we have always looked through to view world is inadequate. Rather, “It is an exercise in seeing how God sees, the perception of what is little and unimportant;” says Soelle “it is listening to the cry of God’s children who are in slavery in Egypt. God calls upon the soul to give away its own ears and eyes and to let itself be given those of God. Only they who hear with other ears can speak with the mouth of God. God sees what elsewhere is rendered invisible and is of no relevance. Who other than God sees the poor and hears their cry? to use ‘God’s senses’ does not mean simply turning inward but becoming free for a different way of living life: See what God sees! Hear what God hears! Laugh where God laughs! Cry where God cries!” (Soelle, Dorothee. The Silent Cry, Minneapolis: Fotress Press, 2001.)
Brilliant, beautiful thought! I just wish she told us where we could go to purchase these new senses… Maybe it’s about allowing our rational, logical minds to play with the possibility that somewhere in Jesus’ absurd teachings, there is a place where we each can begin a different way of living life, of seeing what is possible.
While Peter wants to make personal tents for Moses and Elijah and Jesus on the mountain, Jesus says lets go down and make a bigger house, with more rooms, where we and twenty children can make a new family. When the crowds wonder what Jesus could possibly mean by saying that in their desperation they are blessed, Jesus says let’s go down—there’s a little girl who can teach you better than I can, listen to her to understand me. When we are stymied at thinking what possible good a bunch of meek, hurt, persecuted, peace-seeking, mourning, and poor can do in this world, Jesus says “well, how do you think I did it?” If we are at least open to the possibility of trading in our old way of seeing things for new senses, we might recognize that what to the world seems absurd, may be the only thing that can save us.
As we approach Lent we turn inward to examine our spiritual state with God and with one another. Often people think about ways to “give something up” as an act of repentance. But perhaps, as we come down the mountain to walk the road with Jesus to the cross, walk with the women to the empty tomb, perhaps instead of giving something up in repentance, we might explore the ways we can more fully live into the absurdity of Christ’s message, relinquishing bit by bit the chains of our perceptions that enslave us not so we can touch the world in a logical manner, but be part of the world in a transformational manner. See what God sees. Hear what God hears. Laugh where God laughs. Cry where God cries. Make new senses for yourself, come down the mountain, and be blessed.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Pastor's Bookshelf
Your Money or Your Life:
Transforming Your Relationship with Money
and Achieving Financial Independance
by Joe Dominguez and Vicki Robin
Wiles Hill Witness (January-March edition)
Normally, I would not present a review on a book that have not yet finished. Nor would I usually recommend a book about financial independence in a church newsletter. However, as Carrie and I have begun to read this “how to” guide, we have been surprised to realize that it is not only a helpful tool for getting a hold on our finances, it also offers an inspiring new perspective on the nature of money and the power it holds over our lives. As we are heading into the season of Lent and beginning to turn our thoughts to the ways in which our lives are divided from the ways of God, it seems appropriate to offer this book as a tool in our struggle to free ourselves from service to Mammon.
Your Money or Your Life is not a new book. It has been in print for nearly twenty years, and the authors have been sharing the wisdom it holds for much longer among friends and in seminars. On one level, it offers an on-going nine-step process that will help anyone develop an intentional path to financial independence. Yet, unlike the many strategies that pander to our cultural habits of immediate gratification, this process aims at developing sustainable plans that work toward long-term goals and are particular to each individual or family’s particular circumstances.
Beginning with an honest assessment of new-worth and expenses and following a clearly outlined path through an exploration of values and goals around money to an ultimate plan for financial management, the authors offer an understandable and easy to follow step-by-step process leading to financial independence in the traditional sense.
More significant, though, is the philosophy and insight that are at the core of this unique book. At its roots, the process outlined here is based in a paradigm shift that allows us to think about money in an entirely different manner than we have been taught by our society. Rather than addressing itself to our fears about making ends meet or our hopes of finding ways to develop huge reservoirs of wealth, the authors challenge the root assumptions by which we tend to operate (more is better, money is power or freedom or security, and money can buy happiness).
Most of us will readily acknowledge that none of these statements is actually true. Yet, for some reason, we often find that we are living according to one or more of these false axioms. The true gift of Your Money or Your Life is that as we work through its nine steps, we are gently led to find and embrace a new perspective on money that allows us to define the place it will have in our lives. Showing us the habits of unrestrained capitalism by which we live and our addiction to consumption, this book offers us the freedom to understand and use money as a tool in the service of the greater goals of our lives. At its core, this book addresses the challenge of serving only one Lord and, with its refreshing perspective and concrete nine steps, provides an accessible and inviting path for achieving this greatest of all commandments.
Torin
Note: if this review has sparked your interest or resonated with long-held beliefs that you struggle to bring fully into your life, we invite you join the Simple Living Study Circle that will be gathering soon. Talk to Pastor Carrie for more details.
Transforming Your Relationship with Money
and Achieving Financial Independance
by Joe Dominguez and Vicki Robin
Wiles Hill Witness (January-March edition)
Normally, I would not present a review on a book that have not yet finished. Nor would I usually recommend a book about financial independence in a church newsletter. However, as Carrie and I have begun to read this “how to” guide, we have been surprised to realize that it is not only a helpful tool for getting a hold on our finances, it also offers an inspiring new perspective on the nature of money and the power it holds over our lives. As we are heading into the season of Lent and beginning to turn our thoughts to the ways in which our lives are divided from the ways of God, it seems appropriate to offer this book as a tool in our struggle to free ourselves from service to Mammon.
Your Money or Your Life is not a new book. It has been in print for nearly twenty years, and the authors have been sharing the wisdom it holds for much longer among friends and in seminars. On one level, it offers an on-going nine-step process that will help anyone develop an intentional path to financial independence. Yet, unlike the many strategies that pander to our cultural habits of immediate gratification, this process aims at developing sustainable plans that work toward long-term goals and are particular to each individual or family’s particular circumstances.
Beginning with an honest assessment of new-worth and expenses and following a clearly outlined path through an exploration of values and goals around money to an ultimate plan for financial management, the authors offer an understandable and easy to follow step-by-step process leading to financial independence in the traditional sense.
More significant, though, is the philosophy and insight that are at the core of this unique book. At its roots, the process outlined here is based in a paradigm shift that allows us to think about money in an entirely different manner than we have been taught by our society. Rather than addressing itself to our fears about making ends meet or our hopes of finding ways to develop huge reservoirs of wealth, the authors challenge the root assumptions by which we tend to operate (more is better, money is power or freedom or security, and money can buy happiness).
Most of us will readily acknowledge that none of these statements is actually true. Yet, for some reason, we often find that we are living according to one or more of these false axioms. The true gift of Your Money or Your Life is that as we work through its nine steps, we are gently led to find and embrace a new perspective on money that allows us to define the place it will have in our lives. Showing us the habits of unrestrained capitalism by which we live and our addiction to consumption, this book offers us the freedom to understand and use money as a tool in the service of the greater goals of our lives. At its core, this book addresses the challenge of serving only one Lord and, with its refreshing perspective and concrete nine steps, provides an accessible and inviting path for achieving this greatest of all commandments.
Torin
Note: if this review has sparked your interest or resonated with long-held beliefs that you struggle to bring fully into your life, we invite you join the Simple Living Study Circle that will be gathering soon. Talk to Pastor Carrie for more details.
New Years Resolutions – Lenten Repentance
Pastoral Letter from Carrie
Wiles Hill Witness
January-March edition
I always find it strange when the season of Lent follows so closely on the heels of Christmastime. Lent begins quite early this year with Ash Wednesday on February 6 (yes, even before Valentine’s Day!). The last time the seasons came so closely together Torin and I were in a Disciples of Christ church during our ministry formation. I found the quick transition jolting: down with the winter evergreen on one Sunday and up with the purple of Lenten altar clothes the next. Like forcing a tulip in a hothouse, it felt like the season that is “suppose” to be in spring was being pushed on us a little too early—in the “bleak midwinter” comes the reflective responsibilities of accompanying Christ to the cross.
But maybe there is a benefit to the early arrival. Around the beginning of February I find my New Year’s resolutions that I so “resolutely” made begin to wane a little. I find it an opportune time, then, to think about what I’m going to “give up” for Lent. If my eating habits that I was going to improve fall by the wayside, I can use Lent as a tonic, and give up chocolate. If I was going to be “slower to anger” and “quicker to love,” but find myself falling into irritability, I can use Lent to give up a responsibility that gives me anxiety. Yes, Lent can be the redeemer of all New Years resolutions gone bad.
But if I’m honest with myself, I know that a “new beginning” isn’t what I need to help me change what needs to be tended. Lent isn’t simply a pick me up, like an artificial stimulus to a groaning economy. Lent is a time of reflection and repentance, of “looking” and “turning.” It’s a time to throw open the doors and windows of our hearts and sweep clean the corners and cobwebs of our soul. Resolutions look at what we want to be and creates plans to get us there. Repentance means acknowledging what we are, and asks God to transform us in spite of ourselves. Resolutions bring guilt. Repentance brings hope.
As we enter into the season of Lent, may we stand as we are, and invite God to transform us—without guilt and shame of how we fail, but with faith and confidence in the power to be renewed.
Carrie
Wiles Hill Witness
January-March edition
I always find it strange when the season of Lent follows so closely on the heels of Christmastime. Lent begins quite early this year with Ash Wednesday on February 6 (yes, even before Valentine’s Day!). The last time the seasons came so closely together Torin and I were in a Disciples of Christ church during our ministry formation. I found the quick transition jolting: down with the winter evergreen on one Sunday and up with the purple of Lenten altar clothes the next. Like forcing a tulip in a hothouse, it felt like the season that is “suppose” to be in spring was being pushed on us a little too early—in the “bleak midwinter” comes the reflective responsibilities of accompanying Christ to the cross.
But maybe there is a benefit to the early arrival. Around the beginning of February I find my New Year’s resolutions that I so “resolutely” made begin to wane a little. I find it an opportune time, then, to think about what I’m going to “give up” for Lent. If my eating habits that I was going to improve fall by the wayside, I can use Lent as a tonic, and give up chocolate. If I was going to be “slower to anger” and “quicker to love,” but find myself falling into irritability, I can use Lent to give up a responsibility that gives me anxiety. Yes, Lent can be the redeemer of all New Years resolutions gone bad.
But if I’m honest with myself, I know that a “new beginning” isn’t what I need to help me change what needs to be tended. Lent isn’t simply a pick me up, like an artificial stimulus to a groaning economy. Lent is a time of reflection and repentance, of “looking” and “turning.” It’s a time to throw open the doors and windows of our hearts and sweep clean the corners and cobwebs of our soul. Resolutions look at what we want to be and creates plans to get us there. Repentance means acknowledging what we are, and asks God to transform us in spite of ourselves. Resolutions bring guilt. Repentance brings hope.
As we enter into the season of Lent, may we stand as we are, and invite God to transform us—without guilt and shame of how we fail, but with faith and confidence in the power to be renewed.
Carrie
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Priesthood of all Believers
January 27, 2008
Matthew 4:12-23
Sermon by Torin Eikler
Epiphany 3
This past weekend, I traveled to Orangeburg, South Carolina. I did not go to participate in the primary elections that were held on Saturday, though it was interesting to see all of the signs and the smartly dressed young campaigners who seemed to be at every gas station along the way. No, I went to see the friends I made eleven years ago while we were rebuilding a church that was part of the surge of racially motivated burning in the mid-ninties. This was the ten-year anniversary of their “grand re-opening,” and many of the hundreds of volunteers returned to celebrate the milestone.
The festivities lasted all weekend and the people of that congregation really know how to throw a party! Workshops on sacred dance and choral singing in the African-American style were followed by a rich banquet, and the whole thing was filled with fellowship time and punctuated with door-prizes and trips to the site of the old building – now marked with a simple monument. It was a wonderful chance to reconnect with people I had not seen in years and to remember what I had learned about Christian love from my African Methodist Episcopal brothers and sisters.
Appropriately, the weekend wrapped up with worship on Sunday morning where, for the first time, I was surprised by the request that I sit on the chancel along with all the other pastors. (As an aside, the worship started at 9:30 and lasted until 11:45 – only slightly longer than the usual service.) After worship, there was a carry-in meal for those of us who would be getting back on the road shortly, and as I sat and talked with Mary Whaley, the conversation turned toward the interesting turns each of our lives had taken over the past decade.
One of the benefits of preaching every other week is the extra time we have to dwell on the scriptures and for events in our lives to converge to inform our thoughts if we are open to hear. That this conversation was one of those moments became clear to me as Mary began to speak of her life and mine as shaped by the leading of God. Her words echoed a conversation from the night before at the banquet. Stanley, a member of the church who had done all the concrete work during the rebuilding shared that he was considering doing some mission work – not the long-term kind but a week here or there helping others in need. When I asked, he told me that it wasn’t so much in response to what the church there had experienced (though that was probably part of it). No, he said that he was just feeling a call to reach out and help.
Leading, guidance, divine nudging… whatever we choose to name it, calling is a favorite subject for our faith community as it is for all believer’s churches. Our commitment to Christ begins with baptism that flows from the call we feel to become disciples, and our lives as disciples are often governed by a sense of calling. Yet, almost everyone I have talked to has trouble explaining how they receive that divine guidance. Rarely does it come as clearly as it did for four fishermen on the shores of Galilee. More often, people speak of confused feelings that just don’t seem to go away or, if they are describing the event after the fact, they talk about how seemingly unrelated events came together to point toward a new direction in their lives.
Most of us take it for granted that how we all receive and interpret the call is all a part of the mysterious workings of our God. But, acting on the call of God upon our lives is one of the more important parts of living as a disciple. So, I think it is worth each of our time to dwell upon our own experience. Hopefully we will come to understand more and become more open to and aware of the call as it comes.
In Seminary, we spent many an hour thinking, talking, and writing about calling. It seemed to be the main topic of our first years of ministry classes – this search to clarify the ministry to which we were called. Were we called to the pastorate? Were we called to work in soup kitchens or shelters? Were we called to teach? To lead as administrators? To write? To minister as chaplains? … Later, the question became “why.” Why are you called to minister to congregations or youth or those caught up in difficult circumstances?
In the midst of all these wondering conversations we were offered several different methods or perspectives to help with our search. One path started with us and traveled to the world. Along this way, we were to look inwards and find those things that brought us to life. What is it that excites you? What is the source of your deepest joy? These were the questions that we were asked to ponder. The hope being that equipped with that knowledge we would naturally find a place of ministry where our spirit would be fed by the work we did.
Another path began with the world and came back to us. In this case, we were asked to consider the broken places of the world – the places where we had witnessed or perceived pain pervading life – and then to look within ourselves for an answering response. Where does suffering awaken your compassion? What injustice makes you feel righteous anger? Where does your passion meet the world’s pain? In the answers to these questions was the key to understanding our call.
Taking another perspective that honored the communal nature of the Anabaptist faith community, we were asked to listen to those around us. What had we heard from our brothers and sisters? Was there something that came up more often than might be chalked up to chance? Perhaps all those separate voices saying that you should think about teaching or asking when you were going to become a pastor were actually the voice of God speaking through the community.
Still another method was for those who deal more effectively with the concrete. Write down the abilities you were born with and the skills that your life has given you. Then, find a place where that particular mix will fit a need, for God uses each of us with our unique mix of talent and experience to carry out the work of the Kingdom.
There were and are still more ways to think about calling. And, of course, there are books and more books that will help you through any one of these approaches. For my part, I did not find any one of the paths we were offered to be entirely helpful. They were either too vague or I ended up with too many options to really help me figure it out. I especially struggled with the idea that calling was to be found where our passion meets the worlds pain. That was a hard thought for me because as I looked back on my experiences since college, I recognized two time when I had been in that position.
My first year of volunteer service had been a wonderful time - particularly my time with Butler Chapel (the church I mentioned earlier). I continually found myself eager to do the work of building, and I came to love the people I served with. Yet, by the time my year with disaster response was over the director of the program had changed, and the new person in charge did not feel that continuing my position was a good idea. So I moved on.
Likewise, my last assignment as a volunteer felt like it could have been a place to stay. I was working in the soup kitchen run by the Washington City Church of the Brethren, and I found the work exciting and rewarding. There was a clear need for my service, and I was told by many that I did a very good job both cooking and interacting with the clients. But it was in the midst of this work that I found myself drawn to enter seminary which eventually led me here.
While neither of these jobs was without its problems and frustrations, they were two years of my life when I never remember feeling like I just didn’t want to go to work. (Think about your lives and the jobs you have held and see if there were times like that for you. I know that that has rarely been the case for me, and so those were powerful experiences for me.)
As I worked my way methodically through all those books at seminary, I found myself thinking that these two times in my life seemed to fit all the criteria. I had been led to those places by the voices of brothers and sisters and by the leading of my heart. My skills and talents seemed to fit the need that was in front of me, and I found the work exciting and fulfilling. These were places where my passion met the world’s pain, and yet I was called away from both of those positions. Why that is, I don’t know, but as Mary assured me, we must trust that God does. What I have come to realize is that somehow all the time I spent in meditation did manage to open me up to feel the leading of the Spirit guiding me forward into a new ministry as a pastor.
I don’t know if there is any one way to figure out what our calling is. I suspect that each person comes to it in their own way just as each person is unique and comes to God in their own way. Yet there does seem to be one thing, at least, that is key. If we are to hear the call of God on our lives, we must be open and listen. Peter and Andrew, James and John … they were all open to hear the call though they were in very midst of the work they were doing. And while very few of us experience Christ coming to us as they did or have visions like that of Paul to shock us out of the routines of our lives, we all – every one of us who has chosen to follow Christ – need to keep a space in our hearts, minds, and spirits open and waiting to receive the call of God. We need to do that because God’s call is not always a once and for all time thing. It is much more likely, I think, that we will find ourselves led in many different paths throughout the course of our lives if we are truly open and listening.
As difficult as it is and as challenging as it feels to live with that little bit of uncertainty, it is important to keep our inner ear turned toward God. If we don’t, we find ourselves deafened by the noise of our daily effort to get through everything that is piled on our plates. We are distracted by all the details, and we fail to step back a look at the bigger picture.
A friend of mine, Layla, once told me that God is always calling to us, offering new opportunities to serve and grow, and it’s okay to turn down what’s offered if we don’t feel ready. God will keep inviting us one way or the other. “The thing is,” she said, “the people who don’t accept the call miss out on all the fun.” Now, I don’t necessarily think that following the call is always fun for as Isaiah said we sometimes find ourselves despised by those we seek to serve. But there is truth in Layla’s words and there is joy in becoming a light for the nations. And, unless we stand open to receive the invitation, we miss even the chance to jump in and enjoy the party.
As we prepare to enter into the season of Lenten repentance, I challenge each of you, in your own way – be it by making lists, through meditative prayer, in conversation with others, or another way known to you – I challenge you, to turn the eyes and ears of your spirit toward God. Look for the finger of God around you in the midst of life. Listen for the whisper of the Spirit whether it comes to you in prayer or through the voice of another. Open that small space to welcome the call of Christ when it comes so that you don’t miss the invitation to join in the fun.
Matthew 4:12-23
Sermon by Torin Eikler
Epiphany 3
This past weekend, I traveled to Orangeburg, South Carolina. I did not go to participate in the primary elections that were held on Saturday, though it was interesting to see all of the signs and the smartly dressed young campaigners who seemed to be at every gas station along the way. No, I went to see the friends I made eleven years ago while we were rebuilding a church that was part of the surge of racially motivated burning in the mid-ninties. This was the ten-year anniversary of their “grand re-opening,” and many of the hundreds of volunteers returned to celebrate the milestone.
The festivities lasted all weekend and the people of that congregation really know how to throw a party! Workshops on sacred dance and choral singing in the African-American style were followed by a rich banquet, and the whole thing was filled with fellowship time and punctuated with door-prizes and trips to the site of the old building – now marked with a simple monument. It was a wonderful chance to reconnect with people I had not seen in years and to remember what I had learned about Christian love from my African Methodist Episcopal brothers and sisters.
Appropriately, the weekend wrapped up with worship on Sunday morning where, for the first time, I was surprised by the request that I sit on the chancel along with all the other pastors. (As an aside, the worship started at 9:30 and lasted until 11:45 – only slightly longer than the usual service.) After worship, there was a carry-in meal for those of us who would be getting back on the road shortly, and as I sat and talked with Mary Whaley, the conversation turned toward the interesting turns each of our lives had taken over the past decade.
One of the benefits of preaching every other week is the extra time we have to dwell on the scriptures and for events in our lives to converge to inform our thoughts if we are open to hear. That this conversation was one of those moments became clear to me as Mary began to speak of her life and mine as shaped by the leading of God. Her words echoed a conversation from the night before at the banquet. Stanley, a member of the church who had done all the concrete work during the rebuilding shared that he was considering doing some mission work – not the long-term kind but a week here or there helping others in need. When I asked, he told me that it wasn’t so much in response to what the church there had experienced (though that was probably part of it). No, he said that he was just feeling a call to reach out and help.
Leading, guidance, divine nudging… whatever we choose to name it, calling is a favorite subject for our faith community as it is for all believer’s churches. Our commitment to Christ begins with baptism that flows from the call we feel to become disciples, and our lives as disciples are often governed by a sense of calling. Yet, almost everyone I have talked to has trouble explaining how they receive that divine guidance. Rarely does it come as clearly as it did for four fishermen on the shores of Galilee. More often, people speak of confused feelings that just don’t seem to go away or, if they are describing the event after the fact, they talk about how seemingly unrelated events came together to point toward a new direction in their lives.
Most of us take it for granted that how we all receive and interpret the call is all a part of the mysterious workings of our God. But, acting on the call of God upon our lives is one of the more important parts of living as a disciple. So, I think it is worth each of our time to dwell upon our own experience. Hopefully we will come to understand more and become more open to and aware of the call as it comes.
In Seminary, we spent many an hour thinking, talking, and writing about calling. It seemed to be the main topic of our first years of ministry classes – this search to clarify the ministry to which we were called. Were we called to the pastorate? Were we called to work in soup kitchens or shelters? Were we called to teach? To lead as administrators? To write? To minister as chaplains? … Later, the question became “why.” Why are you called to minister to congregations or youth or those caught up in difficult circumstances?
In the midst of all these wondering conversations we were offered several different methods or perspectives to help with our search. One path started with us and traveled to the world. Along this way, we were to look inwards and find those things that brought us to life. What is it that excites you? What is the source of your deepest joy? These were the questions that we were asked to ponder. The hope being that equipped with that knowledge we would naturally find a place of ministry where our spirit would be fed by the work we did.
Another path began with the world and came back to us. In this case, we were asked to consider the broken places of the world – the places where we had witnessed or perceived pain pervading life – and then to look within ourselves for an answering response. Where does suffering awaken your compassion? What injustice makes you feel righteous anger? Where does your passion meet the world’s pain? In the answers to these questions was the key to understanding our call.
Taking another perspective that honored the communal nature of the Anabaptist faith community, we were asked to listen to those around us. What had we heard from our brothers and sisters? Was there something that came up more often than might be chalked up to chance? Perhaps all those separate voices saying that you should think about teaching or asking when you were going to become a pastor were actually the voice of God speaking through the community.
Still another method was for those who deal more effectively with the concrete. Write down the abilities you were born with and the skills that your life has given you. Then, find a place where that particular mix will fit a need, for God uses each of us with our unique mix of talent and experience to carry out the work of the Kingdom.
There were and are still more ways to think about calling. And, of course, there are books and more books that will help you through any one of these approaches. For my part, I did not find any one of the paths we were offered to be entirely helpful. They were either too vague or I ended up with too many options to really help me figure it out. I especially struggled with the idea that calling was to be found where our passion meets the worlds pain. That was a hard thought for me because as I looked back on my experiences since college, I recognized two time when I had been in that position.
My first year of volunteer service had been a wonderful time - particularly my time with Butler Chapel (the church I mentioned earlier). I continually found myself eager to do the work of building, and I came to love the people I served with. Yet, by the time my year with disaster response was over the director of the program had changed, and the new person in charge did not feel that continuing my position was a good idea. So I moved on.
Likewise, my last assignment as a volunteer felt like it could have been a place to stay. I was working in the soup kitchen run by the Washington City Church of the Brethren, and I found the work exciting and rewarding. There was a clear need for my service, and I was told by many that I did a very good job both cooking and interacting with the clients. But it was in the midst of this work that I found myself drawn to enter seminary which eventually led me here.
While neither of these jobs was without its problems and frustrations, they were two years of my life when I never remember feeling like I just didn’t want to go to work. (Think about your lives and the jobs you have held and see if there were times like that for you. I know that that has rarely been the case for me, and so those were powerful experiences for me.)
As I worked my way methodically through all those books at seminary, I found myself thinking that these two times in my life seemed to fit all the criteria. I had been led to those places by the voices of brothers and sisters and by the leading of my heart. My skills and talents seemed to fit the need that was in front of me, and I found the work exciting and fulfilling. These were places where my passion met the world’s pain, and yet I was called away from both of those positions. Why that is, I don’t know, but as Mary assured me, we must trust that God does. What I have come to realize is that somehow all the time I spent in meditation did manage to open me up to feel the leading of the Spirit guiding me forward into a new ministry as a pastor.
I don’t know if there is any one way to figure out what our calling is. I suspect that each person comes to it in their own way just as each person is unique and comes to God in their own way. Yet there does seem to be one thing, at least, that is key. If we are to hear the call of God on our lives, we must be open and listen. Peter and Andrew, James and John … they were all open to hear the call though they were in very midst of the work they were doing. And while very few of us experience Christ coming to us as they did or have visions like that of Paul to shock us out of the routines of our lives, we all – every one of us who has chosen to follow Christ – need to keep a space in our hearts, minds, and spirits open and waiting to receive the call of God. We need to do that because God’s call is not always a once and for all time thing. It is much more likely, I think, that we will find ourselves led in many different paths throughout the course of our lives if we are truly open and listening.
As difficult as it is and as challenging as it feels to live with that little bit of uncertainty, it is important to keep our inner ear turned toward God. If we don’t, we find ourselves deafened by the noise of our daily effort to get through everything that is piled on our plates. We are distracted by all the details, and we fail to step back a look at the bigger picture.
A friend of mine, Layla, once told me that God is always calling to us, offering new opportunities to serve and grow, and it’s okay to turn down what’s offered if we don’t feel ready. God will keep inviting us one way or the other. “The thing is,” she said, “the people who don’t accept the call miss out on all the fun.” Now, I don’t necessarily think that following the call is always fun for as Isaiah said we sometimes find ourselves despised by those we seek to serve. But there is truth in Layla’s words and there is joy in becoming a light for the nations. And, unless we stand open to receive the invitation, we miss even the chance to jump in and enjoy the party.
As we prepare to enter into the season of Lenten repentance, I challenge each of you, in your own way – be it by making lists, through meditative prayer, in conversation with others, or another way known to you – I challenge you, to turn the eyes and ears of your spirit toward God. Look for the finger of God around you in the midst of life. Listen for the whisper of the Spirit whether it comes to you in prayer or through the voice of another. Open that small space to welcome the call of Christ when it comes so that you don’t miss the invitation to join in the fun.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
The Vote for Apathy
20 January 2008
1 Samuel 3:1-20; James 1:19-27
Sermon by Carrie Eikler
Epiphany 2
When I was pregnant with Sebastian, Torin did the boldest, most loving thing any husband could do for his pregnant wife. He told me that anytime I had a craving—you know, the whole pickles and ice cream thing—anytime I had a craving, he would get me whatever I wanted. No matter if he had to trek all the way across town to get it, he would do it. Under one condition…I had to specifically ask for it. Now this might not seem like a big deal to you, but what Torin was trying to protect himself was my incessant tendency to be vague and say (whining) “I’m hungry…I want something sweet…or salty…or chewy…or crunchy.” He was not going to put up with ambiguity. He would help me figure out what I wanted, but he wasn’t going to do the guess work for me. And after all of that, you should know he only had to go out twice on a food run during the pregnancy. But, they did happen quite late at night, and I think I even had him get out of bed once to go to the supermarket to get me some “Hot pockets”…thankfully the store was right behind our house.
I wonder if it was with a similar loving duty that Samuel had for Eli that kept Samuel bounding out of bed at the various moments that he hears a voice calling his name. After all, the young priest in training Samuel did have obligation to attend to his elder and quite sight deprived teacher. Three times Samuel hears his name and assuming it is Eli, runs into his room, all-ready to accommodate whatever sweet or salty or chewy or crunchy need he may have…to only be turned away. It wasn’t Eli who had summoned him, but the voice of the Lord, something that Samuel wasn’t used to experiencing…something not many people were used to experience. Not in these times—these times were quite void of any hint of the Lord’s working, of people’s interest in communing with the Lord. Our story is set right away by describing the climate of Israel: “the word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.”
So Samuel probably just settled back on his mat in the temple, stretched, sighed, and closed his eyes one more time when he was summoned once more—but this time he was ready. Eli told Samuel that if it happened again, it was likely the voice of the Lord and he should respond, “Speak, for your servant is listening.” And the call of the Lord on Samuel’s life had begun. No longer was he simply hearing his name called, or hearing the words spoken by the priests above him, or even hearing the voices of those outside the temple who called out for money, or bread, or healing, or blessing. Now, Samuel began to listen, and God unfolds for him a vision that “will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle.”
We are hearing a lot these days, aren’t we? Now, fully in the midst of presidential primaries there are many voices who are calling out to us, imploring us to see them as the best candidate to represent a particular party, the best candidate to lead our country. I have to say that I have been more interested in this election more than any other since I turned 18. And why not? We have a woman, a Mormon, a black man, a Prisoner of War, a peacenik, the former mayor of New York City, a man with a $400 haircut, a Southern Baptist pastor, and an actor. It certainly looks different than any election I have been a part of, which rightfully acknowledged is not all that many. And in some regards it might sound a little different than what I have heard in the last 10 years. But I wonder, in all that we are hearing, and there is a lot to simply “hear,” how does our “listening” make a difference to how we interpret and make these important decisions.
And the candidates know who are listening. Since the Regan Administration politics has sought to corner the Christian vote by appealing to Christian morals and ethics. Personal opinions on the separation of church and state aside, it is at least correct to say that we have seen the power that politics and religion have on influencing one another, and it’s not one that I feel I quite have a handle on. I strongly believe that the tenets of my faith direct me to see the world in a certain way and see the possibilities for addressing the world’s problems in a certain light which then translates into favoring certain political decisions. I think this is something everybody be they Christian or Muslim, Buddhist or Jewish, even atheists and secular humanists share: our ethics all come from somewhere close to us and we seek to live those out in the many realms of life, including the realm of our political citizenship.
Candidates know this. It’s not a partisan appeal, but part of a bi-partisan rhetoric. Historically Republicans have spoken more about faith and politics than Democrats, but in this race both sides are using religious talk and are hoping Christians are hearing what they say. Here are just some of the highlights made by presidential frontrunners (in alphabetical order, just to quell any accusation of priority)
Hilary Clinton – states that her Methodist faith has created in her a primacy of the golden rule which is something that encourages us to act. She has also quoted the book of James that states, faith without works is dead, and speaks often to the social messages of the gospels, and Jesus’ overwhelming concern for the poor and the marginalized
John Edwards – Southern Baptist/United Methodist who has been a bit more reticent about his faith, although publicly admits that a private faith is very important to him. He said “People are naturally skeptical of any politician who talks at length and openly about their faith, because they assume, just like with a lot of things, that they do it for political gain,"
Rudi Guiliani -Born and raised a Roman Catholic, he was educated in rigorous parochial schools, Giuliani says he even seriously considered becoming a priest "at least twice." But the thrice-married former prosecutor now declines to talk about his religious beliefs, calling them a private affair. However, on the campaign trail, he drops frequent references to the Almighty, even crediting God with preparing him to cope with 9/11
Mike Huckabee – a Southern Baptist Conservative with a Social Gospel inclination, he speaks of the inherent worth of each individual, which has led him to speak more about care of the poor than some Republicans. But he still carries his evangelical zeal on his sleeve: “When I first started running for office, a lady asked me, 'Are you one of those narrow-minded Baptist ministers who think only Baptists will go to heaven?'" He replies, "Actually I'm more narrow than that. I don't think all the Baptists are going to make it."
John McCain-raised an Episcopalian, he has for years attended a Baptist church in Pheonix. McCain is not baptized and claims that he is “not born again,” and describes himself as just a Christian. Nevertheless, he speaks of a deep faith in God that he credits with getting him through his toughest moments as a prisoner of war: During his imprisonment in Hanoi, "there were times when I didn't pray for one more day or one more hour, but I prayed for one more minute," he says. "So I have very little doubt that it was reliance on someone stronger than me that not only got me through, but got me through honorably."
Barrack Obama – a member of the United Church of Christ, Obama is the democratic candidate who speaks most about faith. He talks about becoming a Christian "…kneeling beneath that cross on the South Side of Chicago, I felt God's spirit beckoning me. I submitted myself to His will, and dedicated myself to discovering His truth." He often speaks of being his brother’s keeper and what we do to the least of these. Incidentally, Obama recently had a smear campaign against him because of Islamic history in his family’s past.
Mitt Romney – Quietly, proudly Mormon, Romney has had to take the heat on his faith, particularly in light of many anti-Mormon incidents. In the same vein of Kennedy’s Roman Catholicism, Romney insists that a candidate shouldn’t be elected because of his faith, or not elected because of his faith.
Instead of being in a time, like Samuel, where the word of the Lord is rare and visions not widespread, it seems like now everywhere you look people are invoking the word of God, creating visions of bright and beautiful futures, of a country where the most faithful person will reign supreme. I try to listen to who I feel is actually professing what James speaks of: if their faith will promote a world in which the needy are cared for, where the marginalized are brought into the center, where care for each individual is paramount. But the difficult thing is, is that many candidates speak of these things. It’s not as if there is a clear front runner in the category of “doers of the word,” because all we have now are their promises, and we sit back and simply hear all these things and hope it all turns out for the best, we tentatively sit back and pray that whoever wins the race at least won’t mess things up too much.
I hear all these things, they way people promise change, which seems to be the catch word of this election. But honestly we have heard all these grandiose visions before. Which is the problem. Candidates have enticed me into their visions and I support them with my votes and I wonder: where is this better country, better world that is spoken of? Aren’t we supposed to see the clear visions of the Lord all around us? I don’t see the land of milk and honey around me, or even a glimpse of it coming in near future. I assume I will be hearing the same thing over and over in a different package, and I become apathetic to the process. In my apathy I don’t think it will make a difference who I vote for, because they will likely disappoint me anyway. I would love to think that I am alone in these feelings. But I bet I’m not alone.
I have often heard, and I’m sure you have too, that the opposite of love is not hate, but apathy. Hate is a strong emotion, just like love is a strong emotion and one can more easily move from hate to love because of the similarity of passion that is felt. Apathy is nothing. Apathy means no longer caring. Could apathy be the antithesis to the gospel of Love?
As we enter into this time of deciding who we each feel is the best candidate, the book of James tells us that apathy is not an option, especially if we are to be faithful Christians. In fact, James is pretty skeptical about the “outside” world in general, skeptical about those who claim one thing and when the votes are in, pursue nothing of the kind. James has a critique particularly important for people of faith in Western democratic nations such as the United States: Being a doer of the word is not simply voting for who you think can be the best doer of the word. If that is all we believe our faith requires of us, or our democratic responsibilities demand from us, then it is no wonder we become apathetic. I think when we vote our values, which is inevitable and something we should do, and expect that to be that, we wash our hands of any responsibilities of being more engaged doers of the word.
Apathy comes when we have our high hopes that things will change, that the word might be made manifest, that the poor in money and the orphaned in opportunity might be tended, and often…inevitably…our hopes are dashed. When our faithful response to a broken word is the simple action of voting on who we think should take care of the problem, is not only apathy to the political process, it is apathy in ourselves, and in our faith. It’s merely a response to what we hear, it is like looking into a mirror and seeing so clearly our own hopes in our elected officials and with one punch in the ballot box, we remove ourselves from the equation for another four years. We forget who we are to be as faithful doers of the word, and put our faith in solely in politicians. I believe that voting is important, but I don’t think it relinquishes us from the job that is yet to be done. And in finding even the smallest places that one can engage the hurting world is more than a hundred votes for the “right” candidate.
But, sigh, politics will remain politics and still an institution we must engage. But we can do it not by just hearing what the politicians are saying, but listening carefully to how their decisions and goals affect our world. We can step up and say--I am listening, and here I am to not be a leader of the world, but a servant to the world, to be a doer of the word, not simply a hearer, who watches the world spin out of control with tired resignation. Here’s the relationship I can rebuild, here is the new learning I can engage, here is the cause that needs more support, here is person who needs my encouragement, the movement that needs my energy.
Even in the midst of doing the word, we will be temped with apathy because the forces seem so much larger than us. “But those who look into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and persevere, being not hearers who forget but doers who act—they will be blessed in their doing.” James encourages us to persist in doing the word because in every act we will bless the world, and every act that we decide not to do because what difference will it make anyway? it denies the world that small blessing that can cause transformation, more than any program, or policy, or political agenda can bring about. In his newest book The Great Awakening, Jim Wallis speaks about the need for what he calls a revival: “Revival is necessary, because just having a new and better political agenda will not be enough. Getting to the right issues isn’t enough. Having the right message isn’t enough. Finding the right program isn’t enough. The real question is what will motivate and mobilize the kind of constituencies that will move politics to change. I believe that will require the energy, power, and hope that faith can bring. People acting out of their best ideas and values is a good thing, but people acting out of their deepest wells of faith can be even more powerful.”
It may seem like we are jumping out of bed, awakened by voices calling us only to return back to bed confused, wondering, questioning our own sanity. But if we keep listening, keep responding, and keep preparing ourselves to serve God and those who need us, our energies will not be wasted. We will be part of a plan that will tingle the ears of the world, and the world will notice. “Be doers of the word and not merely hearers who deceive themselves…But those who look into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and persevere, being not hearers who forget but doers who act—they will be blessed in their doing.”
May it be so.
1 Samuel 3:1-20; James 1:19-27
Sermon by Carrie Eikler
Epiphany 2
When I was pregnant with Sebastian, Torin did the boldest, most loving thing any husband could do for his pregnant wife. He told me that anytime I had a craving—you know, the whole pickles and ice cream thing—anytime I had a craving, he would get me whatever I wanted. No matter if he had to trek all the way across town to get it, he would do it. Under one condition…I had to specifically ask for it. Now this might not seem like a big deal to you, but what Torin was trying to protect himself was my incessant tendency to be vague and say (whining) “I’m hungry…I want something sweet…or salty…or chewy…or crunchy.” He was not going to put up with ambiguity. He would help me figure out what I wanted, but he wasn’t going to do the guess work for me. And after all of that, you should know he only had to go out twice on a food run during the pregnancy. But, they did happen quite late at night, and I think I even had him get out of bed once to go to the supermarket to get me some “Hot pockets”…thankfully the store was right behind our house.
I wonder if it was with a similar loving duty that Samuel had for Eli that kept Samuel bounding out of bed at the various moments that he hears a voice calling his name. After all, the young priest in training Samuel did have obligation to attend to his elder and quite sight deprived teacher. Three times Samuel hears his name and assuming it is Eli, runs into his room, all-ready to accommodate whatever sweet or salty or chewy or crunchy need he may have…to only be turned away. It wasn’t Eli who had summoned him, but the voice of the Lord, something that Samuel wasn’t used to experiencing…something not many people were used to experience. Not in these times—these times were quite void of any hint of the Lord’s working, of people’s interest in communing with the Lord. Our story is set right away by describing the climate of Israel: “the word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.”
So Samuel probably just settled back on his mat in the temple, stretched, sighed, and closed his eyes one more time when he was summoned once more—but this time he was ready. Eli told Samuel that if it happened again, it was likely the voice of the Lord and he should respond, “Speak, for your servant is listening.” And the call of the Lord on Samuel’s life had begun. No longer was he simply hearing his name called, or hearing the words spoken by the priests above him, or even hearing the voices of those outside the temple who called out for money, or bread, or healing, or blessing. Now, Samuel began to listen, and God unfolds for him a vision that “will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle.”
We are hearing a lot these days, aren’t we? Now, fully in the midst of presidential primaries there are many voices who are calling out to us, imploring us to see them as the best candidate to represent a particular party, the best candidate to lead our country. I have to say that I have been more interested in this election more than any other since I turned 18. And why not? We have a woman, a Mormon, a black man, a Prisoner of War, a peacenik, the former mayor of New York City, a man with a $400 haircut, a Southern Baptist pastor, and an actor. It certainly looks different than any election I have been a part of, which rightfully acknowledged is not all that many. And in some regards it might sound a little different than what I have heard in the last 10 years. But I wonder, in all that we are hearing, and there is a lot to simply “hear,” how does our “listening” make a difference to how we interpret and make these important decisions.
And the candidates know who are listening. Since the Regan Administration politics has sought to corner the Christian vote by appealing to Christian morals and ethics. Personal opinions on the separation of church and state aside, it is at least correct to say that we have seen the power that politics and religion have on influencing one another, and it’s not one that I feel I quite have a handle on. I strongly believe that the tenets of my faith direct me to see the world in a certain way and see the possibilities for addressing the world’s problems in a certain light which then translates into favoring certain political decisions. I think this is something everybody be they Christian or Muslim, Buddhist or Jewish, even atheists and secular humanists share: our ethics all come from somewhere close to us and we seek to live those out in the many realms of life, including the realm of our political citizenship.
Candidates know this. It’s not a partisan appeal, but part of a bi-partisan rhetoric. Historically Republicans have spoken more about faith and politics than Democrats, but in this race both sides are using religious talk and are hoping Christians are hearing what they say. Here are just some of the highlights made by presidential frontrunners (in alphabetical order, just to quell any accusation of priority)
Hilary Clinton – states that her Methodist faith has created in her a primacy of the golden rule which is something that encourages us to act. She has also quoted the book of James that states, faith without works is dead, and speaks often to the social messages of the gospels, and Jesus’ overwhelming concern for the poor and the marginalized
John Edwards – Southern Baptist/United Methodist who has been a bit more reticent about his faith, although publicly admits that a private faith is very important to him. He said “People are naturally skeptical of any politician who talks at length and openly about their faith, because they assume, just like with a lot of things, that they do it for political gain,"
Rudi Guiliani -Born and raised a Roman Catholic, he was educated in rigorous parochial schools, Giuliani says he even seriously considered becoming a priest "at least twice." But the thrice-married former prosecutor now declines to talk about his religious beliefs, calling them a private affair. However, on the campaign trail, he drops frequent references to the Almighty, even crediting God with preparing him to cope with 9/11
Mike Huckabee – a Southern Baptist Conservative with a Social Gospel inclination, he speaks of the inherent worth of each individual, which has led him to speak more about care of the poor than some Republicans. But he still carries his evangelical zeal on his sleeve: “When I first started running for office, a lady asked me, 'Are you one of those narrow-minded Baptist ministers who think only Baptists will go to heaven?'" He replies, "Actually I'm more narrow than that. I don't think all the Baptists are going to make it."
John McCain-raised an Episcopalian, he has for years attended a Baptist church in Pheonix. McCain is not baptized and claims that he is “not born again,” and describes himself as just a Christian. Nevertheless, he speaks of a deep faith in God that he credits with getting him through his toughest moments as a prisoner of war: During his imprisonment in Hanoi, "there were times when I didn't pray for one more day or one more hour, but I prayed for one more minute," he says. "So I have very little doubt that it was reliance on someone stronger than me that not only got me through, but got me through honorably."
Barrack Obama – a member of the United Church of Christ, Obama is the democratic candidate who speaks most about faith. He talks about becoming a Christian "…kneeling beneath that cross on the South Side of Chicago, I felt God's spirit beckoning me. I submitted myself to His will, and dedicated myself to discovering His truth." He often speaks of being his brother’s keeper and what we do to the least of these. Incidentally, Obama recently had a smear campaign against him because of Islamic history in his family’s past.
Mitt Romney – Quietly, proudly Mormon, Romney has had to take the heat on his faith, particularly in light of many anti-Mormon incidents. In the same vein of Kennedy’s Roman Catholicism, Romney insists that a candidate shouldn’t be elected because of his faith, or not elected because of his faith.
Instead of being in a time, like Samuel, where the word of the Lord is rare and visions not widespread, it seems like now everywhere you look people are invoking the word of God, creating visions of bright and beautiful futures, of a country where the most faithful person will reign supreme. I try to listen to who I feel is actually professing what James speaks of: if their faith will promote a world in which the needy are cared for, where the marginalized are brought into the center, where care for each individual is paramount. But the difficult thing is, is that many candidates speak of these things. It’s not as if there is a clear front runner in the category of “doers of the word,” because all we have now are their promises, and we sit back and simply hear all these things and hope it all turns out for the best, we tentatively sit back and pray that whoever wins the race at least won’t mess things up too much.
I hear all these things, they way people promise change, which seems to be the catch word of this election. But honestly we have heard all these grandiose visions before. Which is the problem. Candidates have enticed me into their visions and I support them with my votes and I wonder: where is this better country, better world that is spoken of? Aren’t we supposed to see the clear visions of the Lord all around us? I don’t see the land of milk and honey around me, or even a glimpse of it coming in near future. I assume I will be hearing the same thing over and over in a different package, and I become apathetic to the process. In my apathy I don’t think it will make a difference who I vote for, because they will likely disappoint me anyway. I would love to think that I am alone in these feelings. But I bet I’m not alone.
I have often heard, and I’m sure you have too, that the opposite of love is not hate, but apathy. Hate is a strong emotion, just like love is a strong emotion and one can more easily move from hate to love because of the similarity of passion that is felt. Apathy is nothing. Apathy means no longer caring. Could apathy be the antithesis to the gospel of Love?
As we enter into this time of deciding who we each feel is the best candidate, the book of James tells us that apathy is not an option, especially if we are to be faithful Christians. In fact, James is pretty skeptical about the “outside” world in general, skeptical about those who claim one thing and when the votes are in, pursue nothing of the kind. James has a critique particularly important for people of faith in Western democratic nations such as the United States: Being a doer of the word is not simply voting for who you think can be the best doer of the word. If that is all we believe our faith requires of us, or our democratic responsibilities demand from us, then it is no wonder we become apathetic. I think when we vote our values, which is inevitable and something we should do, and expect that to be that, we wash our hands of any responsibilities of being more engaged doers of the word.
Apathy comes when we have our high hopes that things will change, that the word might be made manifest, that the poor in money and the orphaned in opportunity might be tended, and often…inevitably…our hopes are dashed. When our faithful response to a broken word is the simple action of voting on who we think should take care of the problem, is not only apathy to the political process, it is apathy in ourselves, and in our faith. It’s merely a response to what we hear, it is like looking into a mirror and seeing so clearly our own hopes in our elected officials and with one punch in the ballot box, we remove ourselves from the equation for another four years. We forget who we are to be as faithful doers of the word, and put our faith in solely in politicians. I believe that voting is important, but I don’t think it relinquishes us from the job that is yet to be done. And in finding even the smallest places that one can engage the hurting world is more than a hundred votes for the “right” candidate.
But, sigh, politics will remain politics and still an institution we must engage. But we can do it not by just hearing what the politicians are saying, but listening carefully to how their decisions and goals affect our world. We can step up and say--I am listening, and here I am to not be a leader of the world, but a servant to the world, to be a doer of the word, not simply a hearer, who watches the world spin out of control with tired resignation. Here’s the relationship I can rebuild, here is the new learning I can engage, here is the cause that needs more support, here is person who needs my encouragement, the movement that needs my energy.
Even in the midst of doing the word, we will be temped with apathy because the forces seem so much larger than us. “But those who look into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and persevere, being not hearers who forget but doers who act—they will be blessed in their doing.” James encourages us to persist in doing the word because in every act we will bless the world, and every act that we decide not to do because what difference will it make anyway? it denies the world that small blessing that can cause transformation, more than any program, or policy, or political agenda can bring about. In his newest book The Great Awakening, Jim Wallis speaks about the need for what he calls a revival: “Revival is necessary, because just having a new and better political agenda will not be enough. Getting to the right issues isn’t enough. Having the right message isn’t enough. Finding the right program isn’t enough. The real question is what will motivate and mobilize the kind of constituencies that will move politics to change. I believe that will require the energy, power, and hope that faith can bring. People acting out of their best ideas and values is a good thing, but people acting out of their deepest wells of faith can be even more powerful.”
It may seem like we are jumping out of bed, awakened by voices calling us only to return back to bed confused, wondering, questioning our own sanity. But if we keep listening, keep responding, and keep preparing ourselves to serve God and those who need us, our energies will not be wasted. We will be part of a plan that will tingle the ears of the world, and the world will notice. “Be doers of the word and not merely hearers who deceive themselves…But those who look into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and persevere, being not hearers who forget but doers who act—they will be blessed in their doing.”
May it be so.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
The Power of God
January 13, 2008
Psalm 29, Acts 10:34-43
Sermon by Torin Eikler
Epiphany 1
Every day that I come to the church during the work week, I unlock the office and turn on the lights and the computer. I check the phone for messages and deal with anything that can’t wait. I light a candle and the oil lamp that Carrie brought me from the Taizé monastery in France, settle into the arm chair, and read a devotion from one of our books and several Bible verses. Then, I get up again and I leave.
I leave the office and all the work there behind. Carrying the verses with me – sometimes just in my head and sometimes with a bible in my hand – I walk out the back door of the church (the one just behind the sanctuary there) and I spend some time in meditation. There is a little space there between the building and the neighbors’ yard that is carpeted in pine needles and bordered by tall hedge trees and ivy. In the summer it is warm and green and noisy with life and growth. In the fall, the color of the light changes as leaves turn colors and fall, and the sounds of life change as birds leave their nests behind and children return to school. In the winter, it is cold and stark, but the ivy never loses its color though it is sometimes covered by snow. I haven’t seen spring there yet, but I look forward to watching the buds open and discovering the sounds of nature waking from its sleep.
We all have our rituals – as different as we are different from one another. In the morning we may have breakfast with the paper, listen to our favorite radio show on the drive to work, or stop at the Starbucks where they know our name and fill our order without asking. In the evenings we may watch our favorite drama, relax with a book, or open mail and prepare for the next days’ work. And holidays, of course, are so full of ritual that we sometimes can’t find space or freedom to breath. This daily trip to the “back yard” is my ritual for finding peace and connecting with God in preparation for my day.
And, I am by no means the first person to find God in this way. People from the beginning of time have found nature inspiring. Native American traditions sent boys and men into nature on spirit quests to find the aspect of nature that most evoke the divine for them. Hermits, monks, and mystics from all religions have often chosen to live rough lives in the wilderness in order to commune with God. Our own tradition is filled with images of the power of God revealed in nature – from the creation stories of Genesis to Job’s encounter with the whirlwind and its recital of God’s might and from the rainbow’s promise to the plagues on Egypt. Even the disciples stood in wonder of the power of God as it stilled the storm. And Jesus, himself, often retreated to the wilderness to find renewal and inspiration in the midst of his ministry.
The Psalmists, too, are part of that tradition. Their writing is filled with images of fire and lightning, peaceful pastures and replenishing rains, wild beasts and timid deer and young lambs – all serving the will of the Lord. Most of us, at some time or another, have felt delight and awe as we gaze at immense mountains or intricate spider webs, and if we haven’t, it is only because we have not stopped to look at or listen to the world around us.
And yet… and yet, there is something that I find disconcerting about this hymn:
The voice of the Lord is over the mighty waters…
The voice of the Lord breaks the cedars…
The voice of the Lord flashes forth flames of fire …
The voice of the Lord shakes the wilderness …
The voice of the Lord causes the oaks to whirl and strips the forest bare …
And in his temple all say, “Glory!”
This time, the Psalmist chose neither soothing, comforting metaphors nor inspiring images. Floods and whirlwinds and fires and earthquakes… These are the parts of nature that bring fear and destruction into the lives of those who happen to be in the way. I am much more comfortable with the God who comes in the small, quiet breeze than the God whose passing plunges the world I know into chaos….
In my first year of BVS, I worked for the Church of the Brethren disaster response directing a rebuilding effort on the island of St. John. Three quarters of the homes there were severely damaged by a hurricane. I saw people who were still living in tents or the equivalent with nothing but leaking blue FEMA tarps serving as roofs. They couldn’t afford to rebuild and there was virtually no help available for them. While I was there, another hurricane hit the island – the second in two years but only the third in a century. My volunteers and I were living in a concrete home with a “hurricane-proof” roof. We boarded up the windows, stocked the pantry and brought in gasoline for the generator. Even with all these preparations, water can in through the doors and windows where the winds it the house with the most force, and we ended up sweeping it all the way across the tile floor and out the door on the other side of the house. We only felt the edge of the storm, but its power knocked down hundreds of trees and changed the shape of the beaches. Exploring the island the day after the storm, I was overwhelmed with a sense of awe at the power of nature and the One who created it all.
In her book, Their Eyes Were Watching God, Zora Neale Hurston describes another, much more terrifying experience of a hurricane. It happened in the late 1800s near Lake Okeechobee in the middle of Florida where Janie and her husband lived in a shack among the sugar cane field right in path of the storm.
“Sometime that night the winds came back… By morning Gabriel was playing the deep tones in the center of the drum. So when Janie looked out of her door she saw the drifting mists gathered in the west [to] arm themselves with thunders and march forth against the world. Louder and higher and lower and wider the sound and motion spread, mounting, sinking, darking.
It woke up old Okechobee and the monster began to roll in his bed. Began to roll around and complain like a peevish world on a grumble. The folks in the quarters and the people in the big houses further around the shore heard the big lake and wondered….
They huddled closer and stared at the door. They just didn’t use another part of their bodies, and they didn’t look at anything but the door. Through the screaming wind they heard things crashing and things hurtling and dashing with unbelievable velocity, [and] the lake got madder and madder with only its dikes between them and him.
The wind came with [again] with a triple fury, and put out the lights for the last time. They sat in company with the others in other shanties, their eyes staining against the crude walls and their souls asking if He meant to measure their puny might against His. They seemed to be staring at the dark, but their eyes were watching God.”
And so it is…. As much as we prefer to think of God in terms that provide comfort and reassurance, there is no doubt that the power of God is clearly and terribly displayed in midst of the storms and upheavals that we call natural disasters. I do not understand why such disasters must touch the lives of so many people. No theologians that I have read have presented me with an adequate reasoning. And the explanation of pastors like Pat Robinson who claimed that New Orleans’ suffering was punishment for sinful living do not fit with what I know of the forgiving mercy of Christ. What strikes me, though, is the response of people who have lived through disaster, losing homes and loved ones. They most often offer thanks and praise to God for saving them rather than railing against God for their suffering. In their eyes, it seems, the power of God is more deeply and truly evident in the way she protects so much and so many from destruction. And, I think it is faith in that power that leads the Psalmist to raise a voice in praise to the God who sits enthroned over the flood and the wind and the fire and all the earth.
The power of God is wonderful and terrible. It called the universe into being out of the void. It raised a flood to wash it clean and brought life to the earth again. It raises mountains and gives birth to volcanoes. And yet it created and cares for delicate _________ and moths that float on diaphanous wings. It is the power of life and more. And beholding the wonders it cradles inspires us to offer praise and name its glory.
In faith, we worship the God who holds such power and that power becomes strength for us. We need not fear, for what power is greater than God’s? In Christ we have the gift of peace because we have been assured that the love of God is there to sustain us. Indeed, the love and power of God is a free gift to all, for as Peter’s words tell us, God shows no partiality.
The grace of peace and the freedom that comes from knowing that we are never without God is open to all. All we must do is embrace it. And when we do – when we find that peace and step into the freedom that comes with it, we are filled with strength and confidence. Our lives become more and more the lives that God intends for us to live, and we become the presence of Christ in the world, reaching out to others to offer them the love and grace that we have received.
May it be so.
Psalm 29, Acts 10:34-43
Sermon by Torin Eikler
Epiphany 1
Every day that I come to the church during the work week, I unlock the office and turn on the lights and the computer. I check the phone for messages and deal with anything that can’t wait. I light a candle and the oil lamp that Carrie brought me from the Taizé monastery in France, settle into the arm chair, and read a devotion from one of our books and several Bible verses. Then, I get up again and I leave.
I leave the office and all the work there behind. Carrying the verses with me – sometimes just in my head and sometimes with a bible in my hand – I walk out the back door of the church (the one just behind the sanctuary there) and I spend some time in meditation. There is a little space there between the building and the neighbors’ yard that is carpeted in pine needles and bordered by tall hedge trees and ivy. In the summer it is warm and green and noisy with life and growth. In the fall, the color of the light changes as leaves turn colors and fall, and the sounds of life change as birds leave their nests behind and children return to school. In the winter, it is cold and stark, but the ivy never loses its color though it is sometimes covered by snow. I haven’t seen spring there yet, but I look forward to watching the buds open and discovering the sounds of nature waking from its sleep.
We all have our rituals – as different as we are different from one another. In the morning we may have breakfast with the paper, listen to our favorite radio show on the drive to work, or stop at the Starbucks where they know our name and fill our order without asking. In the evenings we may watch our favorite drama, relax with a book, or open mail and prepare for the next days’ work. And holidays, of course, are so full of ritual that we sometimes can’t find space or freedom to breath. This daily trip to the “back yard” is my ritual for finding peace and connecting with God in preparation for my day.
And, I am by no means the first person to find God in this way. People from the beginning of time have found nature inspiring. Native American traditions sent boys and men into nature on spirit quests to find the aspect of nature that most evoke the divine for them. Hermits, monks, and mystics from all religions have often chosen to live rough lives in the wilderness in order to commune with God. Our own tradition is filled with images of the power of God revealed in nature – from the creation stories of Genesis to Job’s encounter with the whirlwind and its recital of God’s might and from the rainbow’s promise to the plagues on Egypt. Even the disciples stood in wonder of the power of God as it stilled the storm. And Jesus, himself, often retreated to the wilderness to find renewal and inspiration in the midst of his ministry.
The Psalmists, too, are part of that tradition. Their writing is filled with images of fire and lightning, peaceful pastures and replenishing rains, wild beasts and timid deer and young lambs – all serving the will of the Lord. Most of us, at some time or another, have felt delight and awe as we gaze at immense mountains or intricate spider webs, and if we haven’t, it is only because we have not stopped to look at or listen to the world around us.
And yet… and yet, there is something that I find disconcerting about this hymn:
The voice of the Lord is over the mighty waters…
The voice of the Lord breaks the cedars…
The voice of the Lord flashes forth flames of fire …
The voice of the Lord shakes the wilderness …
The voice of the Lord causes the oaks to whirl and strips the forest bare …
And in his temple all say, “Glory!”
This time, the Psalmist chose neither soothing, comforting metaphors nor inspiring images. Floods and whirlwinds and fires and earthquakes… These are the parts of nature that bring fear and destruction into the lives of those who happen to be in the way. I am much more comfortable with the God who comes in the small, quiet breeze than the God whose passing plunges the world I know into chaos….
In my first year of BVS, I worked for the Church of the Brethren disaster response directing a rebuilding effort on the island of St. John. Three quarters of the homes there were severely damaged by a hurricane. I saw people who were still living in tents or the equivalent with nothing but leaking blue FEMA tarps serving as roofs. They couldn’t afford to rebuild and there was virtually no help available for them. While I was there, another hurricane hit the island – the second in two years but only the third in a century. My volunteers and I were living in a concrete home with a “hurricane-proof” roof. We boarded up the windows, stocked the pantry and brought in gasoline for the generator. Even with all these preparations, water can in through the doors and windows where the winds it the house with the most force, and we ended up sweeping it all the way across the tile floor and out the door on the other side of the house. We only felt the edge of the storm, but its power knocked down hundreds of trees and changed the shape of the beaches. Exploring the island the day after the storm, I was overwhelmed with a sense of awe at the power of nature and the One who created it all.
In her book, Their Eyes Were Watching God, Zora Neale Hurston describes another, much more terrifying experience of a hurricane. It happened in the late 1800s near Lake Okeechobee in the middle of Florida where Janie and her husband lived in a shack among the sugar cane field right in path of the storm.
“Sometime that night the winds came back… By morning Gabriel was playing the deep tones in the center of the drum. So when Janie looked out of her door she saw the drifting mists gathered in the west [to] arm themselves with thunders and march forth against the world. Louder and higher and lower and wider the sound and motion spread, mounting, sinking, darking.
It woke up old Okechobee and the monster began to roll in his bed. Began to roll around and complain like a peevish world on a grumble. The folks in the quarters and the people in the big houses further around the shore heard the big lake and wondered….
They huddled closer and stared at the door. They just didn’t use another part of their bodies, and they didn’t look at anything but the door. Through the screaming wind they heard things crashing and things hurtling and dashing with unbelievable velocity, [and] the lake got madder and madder with only its dikes between them and him.
The wind came with [again] with a triple fury, and put out the lights for the last time. They sat in company with the others in other shanties, their eyes staining against the crude walls and their souls asking if He meant to measure their puny might against His. They seemed to be staring at the dark, but their eyes were watching God.”
And so it is…. As much as we prefer to think of God in terms that provide comfort and reassurance, there is no doubt that the power of God is clearly and terribly displayed in midst of the storms and upheavals that we call natural disasters. I do not understand why such disasters must touch the lives of so many people. No theologians that I have read have presented me with an adequate reasoning. And the explanation of pastors like Pat Robinson who claimed that New Orleans’ suffering was punishment for sinful living do not fit with what I know of the forgiving mercy of Christ. What strikes me, though, is the response of people who have lived through disaster, losing homes and loved ones. They most often offer thanks and praise to God for saving them rather than railing against God for their suffering. In their eyes, it seems, the power of God is more deeply and truly evident in the way she protects so much and so many from destruction. And, I think it is faith in that power that leads the Psalmist to raise a voice in praise to the God who sits enthroned over the flood and the wind and the fire and all the earth.
The power of God is wonderful and terrible. It called the universe into being out of the void. It raised a flood to wash it clean and brought life to the earth again. It raises mountains and gives birth to volcanoes. And yet it created and cares for delicate _________ and moths that float on diaphanous wings. It is the power of life and more. And beholding the wonders it cradles inspires us to offer praise and name its glory.
In faith, we worship the God who holds such power and that power becomes strength for us. We need not fear, for what power is greater than God’s? In Christ we have the gift of peace because we have been assured that the love of God is there to sustain us. Indeed, the love and power of God is a free gift to all, for as Peter’s words tell us, God shows no partiality.
The grace of peace and the freedom that comes from knowing that we are never without God is open to all. All we must do is embrace it. And when we do – when we find that peace and step into the freedom that comes with it, we are filled with strength and confidence. Our lives become more and more the lives that God intends for us to live, and we become the presence of Christ in the world, reaching out to others to offer them the love and grace that we have received.
May it be so.
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