Knowing Christ

John 13:21-30, Philippians 3:4-14
World Communion Sunday

I have a friend, Karen, who is a dog trainer. Actually she prefers “canine behavior counselor”, or something along those lines. She spoke with us at Parents’ Place this week, the preschool here in this church, and her topic was on dog safety. Namely, how to prevent dog bites in little children.

I think she was sort of nervous to talk with us. She kind of rambled and after a brief introduction about what she was going to talk about she stopped and said, “So, now I’m going to tell you why you should listen to what I have to say” and she told us about her experience in dog training, all very impressive, I should add. And she concluded that part like she began: “So that’s why you want to listen to what I have to say.”

Now I know what she really was getting at was, “you might be wondering about me, about my credentials, my experience and education. Well let me tell you...” But in what seemed to be a bit of a stressful situation, she just put it out there: this is why you should listen to what I have to say.

Paul is kind of doing the same thing in his letter of the Philippians. He wants to remind they understand his credentials, why they should listen to what he has to say.

And it’s pretty impressive, at least, he wants it to appear impressive. He has done everything right. Every religious observation-check. The family connection-check. The right, go-get-em attitude-double check. In fact, zealous-check you might say. His experience of righteousness in the eyes of the spiritual elite-- impeccable. Knowledge about the law—stunning.

But it is all rubbish. Rubbish. Don’t be impressed, my dear Philippians (he might say) with all this experience, this great wealth of knowledge. Rather be impressed that that I know it is all worthless.

A couple of weeks ago, Donna Mast lead us in a study of Philippians, so you may remember from her sermon that it is believed that Paul was in prison when he wrote it. It’s hard for us to really relate to Paul in this condition. Many of us probably find it hard to relate to Paul anytime.

But in the midst of whatever turmoil he was in here in prison, there is something he says in this letter that I think many of us can relate to: I want to know Christ. I want to know Christ. Many of us are here because…we want to know Christ.

A few years ago I preached a sermon here, and then again at Waynesburg University, about that tricky question many of us have been asked, or asked others, sometime in our Christian walk: the question is “Are you saved?” Well, as I think about it now, I realize that’s not the common icebreaking question among well intentioned and curious Christians. What’s more common these days is the question “Do you have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ?”

I admit, I don’t like being asked that question, because I don’t really know what people mean by it. And there have been times when I’ve feigned spiritual stupidity and asked… “what exactly do you mean by that?” and then the situation has changed as if somehow I have then caused the awkward moment by my question. And by asking for clarification I don’t mean to act spiritually superior—for we know, it’s all rubbish anyhow, however great we think we are spiritually—but I really want to know! I want to know because this language is all over contemporary Christianity and because the Bible isn’t the most consistent when it comes to giving us concrete information on it.


John Suk, in his book “Not Sure: A Pastor’s Journey from Faith to Doubt” thinks that what people mean when they say personal relationship with Jesus is that they relate to Jesus very much like they relate to other people they know. And he wonders, is that really possible? Can we apply what we have known about our human relationships—about where we have tried and succeeded and failed in human relationships—can we compare that with our connection to Christ? Should we?

Now, Biblically-speaking, what scripture says about personal relationships is a mixed bag, really. There is strong evidence that God is person-like. God is the shepherd, the one who restores our soul. In Isaiah, God promises Israel that when it passes through waters or fire “I will be with you.” And as we Brethren and Mennonites love to remember, Matthew has Jesus saying where two are three are gathered, he is there. Like, another one of the gang.
[pause]

John Suk reminds us that in addition to these, the Bible also speaks about God’s distance, his absence in our lives. In the gospel of John, Jesus says “I am with you for only a short time, and then I go to the one who sent me. You will look for me, but you will not find me; and where I am you cannot come.” He says “Do not hold on to me, for I am going to my Father.” It sounds like Jesus is saying that we cannot have a personal relationship with him, or even his Holy Spirit whom he sent in his absence…we can’t have a relationship with him that is anything like what we know of relationships.

And yet, Paul wants to know Christ.

But I don’t think he was looking to know Christ in a best-friend, chummy-chummy sort of way. He wants to share with Christ, not his deepest secrets, but share with Christ in Christ’s sufferings. He wants to know Christ by walking in his sandals. He wants to know by understanding the power by which Christ willingly suffered and died. He wants to know by becoming like him. And becoming like Christ is more than simply having a relationship with him.

It is certainly not a formula for what we would call a healthy human relationship. In fact, if those we are in relationship with compelled us to do things we are called to do by Christ’s teaching, we’d hopefully see them as pretty messed up relationships. Give all we have, even the coats off our backs? Become vulnerable to the point of death? Accept the willing death of that other person as good for us, our souls? Thank goodness I don’t have personal relationships like that.

But I’m not Paul. I can’t say I’m eager to experience Christ’s sufferings the way he did on the cross. But then, Paul said while that might be his goal (all judgment from us aside), it’s not where he is. Whatever relationship he wants with Christ, it’s still in the making. In fact, when Paul says I want to know Christ, I hear more power in the word want than I hear in the word know.
I want to know Christ. And it’s that want that drives, that presses him, that strains him forward. It’s the wanting that strengthens faith. And faith—faith is a subject the Bible is consistent on.

[pause]

Maybe this knowing that Paul is speaking of, or at least, this wanting to know, doesn’t start with suffering, but with his service. May it doesn’t start at the cross. Maybe it starts at the table. I’ve heard that in many Latin American countries, one’s family is defined by who is sitting at your dinner table.

Maybe, if you want to know Christ, you should look at who is at his table. Who’s there that he called his family, and can you welcome them into your heart? And I’m not simply referring to prostitutes and tax collectors-they get called out enough.

But at his table is the one who betrays him. The one who denies him. The ones who hide from him, who lie about him, who do violence in his name, the one who would take his own life, the one who doubts him… essentially, the ones who had a personal relationship with him…but never really knew him, and somehow drastically failed him.

And the thing about this table, is he didn’t just let them come. He fed them. He washed their feet. He blessed them into knowing him. And they do. Eventually. Certainly not right away. Not even after having amazing, mind blowing, spiritual experiences with him. Was the rest of it all rubbish, as Paul says? I don’t know? Did their personal relationships help them really know Christ at the table? Did it take them to the cross with him?

I think when we strive for a personal relationship, we of course do it out of our desire to know Christ. Many times language of closeness and relationship are the only things that keep me striving, connecting. It is what I use in my prayers in my cries to God.

But I agree with that pastor, John Suk: if we’re not careful we will unknowingly replace striving for faith with an easier experience of applying our own standards of relationship onto Christ, whose relationship with us is defined like none other we can fathom, or replicate.

Can you come to the table if you do you have a personal relationship? Of course. Just don’t be disappointed once you know about what Christ is offering here.
Can you come to the table if you don’t have a personal relationship with Jesus? I’d say that’s the best place to be…
Ultimately, it is the place to be if you want.
It is the place to start if you want to know Christ.

Ambassadors for Christ

sermon by Torin Eikler
Psalm 25:1-5, 11-22, 20-21 2 Corinthians 5:16-20

Have you ever had to entreat someone? You know … have you had to try and convince someone to do something very important that they don’t want to do … with just your words?

Perhaps it was a child in the grocery store (as I do every week) who is picking up the candy as you wait to pay for your food. “No, no, no. Hands off. … Please, Alistair, put that back. Put it back.”

Or maybe it was an elderly parent. “You know that you need to take your medicine every day. We don’t want you to go back to the hospital. Please, just take the pills. It only takes a couple of minutes, and then you’re done.”

Or your spouse. “George, would you please take out the compost. You said you would do it yesterday, and there are fruit flies all over the kitchen.”

Or … “Ceclia you're breakin' my heart. You're shakin' my confidence daily. Oh Ceclia, I'm down on my knees. I'm beggin' you please to come home.”


I think we’ve all been there. And if you think about the way it felt to have to wheedle and coax and bully that certain someone – someone you cared about so much – to do whatever it was, you get an idea of how Paul must have been feeling when he wrote this letter. He was entreating – begging, imploring, and pleading with the Corinthians to live the way they know they should be living. He’s concerned because they are doing all kinds of things that they shouldn’t be doing – sexual immorality, playing favorites, and taking advantage of each other’s weaknesses. They have turned away from the teaching of Christ when they should be serving as ambassadors for Christ, and they need to be reconciled to God so that they can show the rest of the world what it means to be followers of the way.

Now, an ambassador in Paul’s day was pretty much the same thing that it is to us – except there was no internet to keep them connected and no airplanes to take them back and forth to the capital for updates and new instructions. Back then, an ambassador was a trusted elder statesman who was sent by a head of state to represent the nation state to another nation state. They were a bridge, representing the interests of their own kingdom to the leaders of the other, and while their feet were on foreign ground, their hearts were firmly planted back home.

Paul liked that image, though he didn’t use it all that often. He saw himself as an ambassador who carried the interests of the Kingdom of God into the world that did not yet know Christ. He lived and moved among the people of this world, and his task was to encourage everyone he met to be reconciled to God and become ambassadors of Christ in their own turn. His feet walked in this world, but his heart – his primary loyalty was to the Realm of God. And as an ambassador, he was entreating the Corinthians to return to the way he had shown them so that they could take up the role as ambassadors as well.


That’s an important message for us as well – especially in these years of increasing anxiety and division. To borrow a metaphor that Ervin Stutsman used at Mennonite Convention this summer, “our nation today is like a big bus careening down the road heading first for one ditch and then another ditch. We’ve got Mennonites and Brethren on both sides of the bus. There are people in this congregation on both sides of the bus.

The exciting thing about this bus is that if you get enough people on your side, you get to choose the driver. So depending on who’s driving, you’re on the left ditch and if somebody else comes along you’re in the right ditch and people get all excited about getting more people on their side of the bus. “Come on. Join our side of the bus. We’ll get out of this ditch were in.”

And some people are even trying to figure out which side Jesus would sit on. “Where would Jesus sit?” – that’s the question. So you pull up to the bus stop and Jesus is out there. So we quick ask him, “Jesus, which side of the bus would you sit on?”

And I think Jesus is saying, “Well, where you going?”

“We’re heading for the kingdom of God!”

And I think Jesus would say, “I believe you’re on the wrong bus.”


It doesn’t mean that we don’t have discussions about tough issues. It doesn’t mean that we don’t have strong opinions, or that we don’t engage in the decision making process. But what it does mean is that when differences on issues divide us from one another (or from other congregations … or even other denominations), when they keep us from talking to each other and respectfully agreeing and disagreeing in love, when they keep us from engaging things from the scriptures and they get our attention focused only on the issues, we sin just a little. Our hearts stray just a little from the Kingdom we are representing. We get just a little lost. And we need to be called back home so that we can get ourselves and our message back on track.


Ten years and three days ago, Carrie and I were married. Three days later, we were on the way to the airport to begin our honeymoon when we heard the news of the planes crashing into the World Trade Centers, and in the midst of all the confusion and the fear and the pain of those hours, we also had to change our plans. There was no way we were going to fly out of O’Hare that day – a small inconvenience in the face of everything that had happened.

In the end, we spent the week after September 11, 2001 driving around the Wisconsin and Michigan. It was a good week. We saw lots of fascinating places and met a few interesting people, and we spent a lot of down time in the car – hours that went by quickly as we listened to updates on the situation in New York and Washington, DC and Shenksville, Pennsylvania and followed the mood of the nation carried by the voices of talk show hosts and DJs.

What we witnessed that week was an amazing process of public discussion about what had happened and how we, as a country, should respond. Never before and never since have I heard so many voices from all different backgrounds offering their thoughts and opinions so openly – and there were so many ideas about how we should respond. Some thought we should just ignore the terrorists … that we should mourn the dead and honor the pain and the suffering of their family and friends but deny the perpetrators the attention they wanted as if they were children misbehaving. Others were for an all-out assault on every location we thought Osama bin Laden might be. Still others spoke of digging into the situation to try and understand what was behind the attack and address those issues in order to prevent future incidents. And there were more.

It was amazing … and sad because, in the end, the discussion collapsed under the weight of fear and anger. By the end of the week, there were only two voices left. One that clamored for our military to invade Afghanistan, root out the terrorists, and kill them all. Another that said invasion wouldn’t work … that it wouldn’t make us any safer or take away the pain … that it would only lead to more death and more fear. Two sides of a bus with all of us on one side or the other.


In many ways, we are still on that bus. Ten years, two wars, and thousands of dead later, we are still split down the middle: should we be fighting or not. And I suspect that if I were to ask you to raise your hands, there would be people from both sides of the argument sitting here in worship this morning. (pause) I won’t ask that question … not only because it would only make us all uncomfortable but because there is a more important question to ask. Is this the right bus?

We are Christ’s ambassadors … or we should be, and maybe it’s time to reacquaint ourselves with what that means. While I’m sure that part of it is advocating for peace, I think it goes deeper and farther than that as well. The Prince of Peace was also the Friend to the Friendless, the Voice calling for Justice, the Healer of the Broken, and the Reconciler of the Nations. As ambassadors of his Way, we are called to model a new way of living together, a new way of agreeing and disagreeing with one another … in love, a new way of compassion and forgiveness not just to those we know and love but to everyone … even those who mistreat us … even those who hate us … and even those who highjack planes and use them to kill.


It’s hard … standing here in this world as representatives of a different reality. It means seeking out those places where people are in conflict and helping them find harmony or at least respect for one another. It means letting go of our own prejudices and fears to reach out to those we have our own differences with and trying to find respect and appreciation and love for them. It means stepping out of our pride and our own self-centered perspective and really listening to the pain and frustration of others, stepping into their shoes as we seek to understand them, and making their needs and interests our own. It means inviting others – through no more than our words and our example – to join in the grand vision of a world where people live together with respect and love, joy and hope, and a profound sense of peace that comes from caring deeply for one another. (pause) And as ministers of reconciliation, ambassadors of Christ’s way, we are asked to do that in our own individual interactions as well as in our communal lives – here and now as well as across time and space.


It would be easier, I sometimes think, to live wholly in this world … to settle down, make my peace with the way things are, and get on with my life … to live and let live. But we are new creations in Christ. Our hearts dwell in the Kingdom of God wherever our feet may roam. And we have been called … we are being called to spread the hope and the joy and the peace that come through the healing power of God’s reconciling grace.

An intimidating prospect to be sure … some would say impossible. But there is a bus waiting for us … a bus full of people eager to welcome us and share the work … a bus whose driver knows where we’re going and how to get there.

Let’s get on board.

The Hard Lessons

sermon by Carrie Eikler
(For student/teacher recognition Sunday)
Matthew 19:13-15, 1 Timothy4:12
Romans 12:9-21
September 4, 2011

When Torin and I were taking pre-natal classes in preparation for Sebastian’s birth, we were probably the most anxious either of us had ever been before in our lives. Of course, all the pregnant moms were anxious about the unknowns of first labors and all the dads or other support people were anxious about helping their laboring loved ones.

We all had Hollywood version births in mind: screaming, swearing, lashing out all sorts of profanities with the belief that once it was all over we’d be laughing and crying and saying “I don’t know what came over me. I just wasn’t myself.”

The nurse teaching the class nipped that in the bud. She told us “In labor you think that you’ll act in ways that are totally not who you are. The reality is, you become more of who you really are than you’d like to admit.” And I discovered…it’s true.

All the demons, the insecurities, unloving, raging parts of you that lie under the surface-- they come out. As does the best strength, perseverance, and love that could find its home in you…it’s all put to work to bring forward this new life.

And those are hard lessons to learn. To be put to the test and find what’s really there. What you would rather not have other people know about you, what behaviors and actions you feel you are above.

Now, five years later give me a hot September night when I’m exhausted and trying to put two wiggly boys down to sleep and you can bet I see the worst in myself. And the boys are seeing it to.

I don’t like those lessons, what they reveal to me…about me. But I have to learn from them.

We like to believe that we grow in wisdom as we grow in years. That somehow, it coincides automatically. And to an extent, I believe it’s true. I do feel I am wiser now than I was ten years ago. And I certainly believe I am wiser now than people who are 10 years younger me, that’s for sure… (ha, ha.)

And we think when we are wise, or when we know we are smart, we think that we are the teachers. That we know. That others can learn from us. Sure, we know there is still more to learn, and we’ll get to that when time allows. And that’s the thing. We prefer to have control over how we learn and from whom we learn. We would like to choose the way in which wisdom comes to us.

We’d like wisdom to come to us from the wise and sagely advice a friend gives us over a cup of tea…
Or the brilliant scholar in invigorating classroom discussions…
Or in the quiet of a thoughtful book that gently opens our mind…

But, when Jesus called the little children to him…when he invited tax collectors and prostitutes to be his friends…when he submitted to the cross rather than any other fate, he taught us some hard lessons. And not in the ways we think we would prefer to learn

Lessons like, look to the wisdom and sage teachings of children (even when they are annoying you)
Lessons like…struggle with what it is you are so judgmental about to see how it keeps you from loving your neighbor.
Lessons like… it is in our suffering that we can see the redeeming work of God with such raw clarity that we can’t help but be resurrected.

These lessons aren’t taught to us in ways we’d prefer.

But we certainly learn from them. And we’d probably learn those lessons most deeply if we didn’t try to control just how life’s teachers bring us the lesson.

Last week, we looked at the scripture in Romans just before today’s, about not conforming to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds. And I spoke about Jon Kabat-Zinn’s work on mindfulness meditation and its effect on reducing stress. He and his wife, Myla, wrote a book called Everyday Blessings: The Inner Work of Mindful Parenting. And in it, they compare children to Little Zen Masters that we have invited into our lives.

Jon and Myla reflect on training in the Zen Buddhist tradition as, “arduous and demanding, intense and unpredictable, wild and crazy, and very loving and funny. It’s also very simple, and not so simple.” The teachers of Zen, the Zen masters (to which they are comparing children, remember), ‘don’t explain themselves. They just embody presence. They don’t get hung up in thinking, or lost in theoretical musings about this or that. They are not always consistent. [They give] us endless challenges that cannot be resolved through thinking [such as “what is the sound of one hand clapping?”].

Granted, we are not part of the Zen tradition, but we certainly can recognize the Zen-like masters in our lives. Those teachers of hard lessons. Children, unquestioningly are like that. That’s could be why Jesus used them in the way he did.

He’s may not only being using them as an example of how we should be, but he may just be revealing to the people what kind of messiah he was by honoring and blessing the children, and what they bring, how they see.

His whole approach was like a Zen master: not explaining, just embodying. By taking on and redeeming suffering (and we think “how could he do that? It doesn’t make sense”) By loving others in their brokenness, and welcoming them at the table (and we think, how could we do that? It seems impossible)

And this is the Jesus Paul believes in, too. Which is why it is probably easy for Paul to just fling out the list virtues that he does, our scripture lesson for today. It is basically restating what Jesus was about. The hard lessons that Jesus spent three years of his ministry embodying, Paul puts in a simple, but not so simple list. And Paul isn’t any better at explaining these to us either.

Now, if you are like me, you read this with somewhat of a blasé attitude. “Yes yes let love be genuine. Mmmhmm, love you enemies, that’s right. Yes, certainly…don’t be haughty. Of course, extend hospitality to strangers.”

When a big list like this is thrown at me, it is easy to disengage. Maybe I could commit it to memory and recite it like the Ten Commandments or the Beatitudes, but what happens then? Well for me, it becomes just something to recite, nothing more. Good things to aim for but if I’m not willing to really work at them, then at least I can recite the list

Because really, while we can train ourselves to rattle off the list, we will struggle to really learn these hard lessons.

These things are their own little Zen masters. Not clear, or consistent. Some are obviously hard, like bless those who persecute you (we need to think, what does persecution look like? What does it mean to “bless” someone when I am hurt? How would I receive a blessing when I have hurt someone?)

And others seem easy but when you get right down to it, they do touch some of those little demons inside, like “rejoice with those who rejoice.” Even when you think they don’t deserve the good things they have received? Even if you start to feel jealous? Even when your own sadness seems to overcome…rejoice?

If we take them each, they are really hard lessons. Which is why in your hand, you are holding one, only one. Now I’m sure you’ve looked at it already, but look at it again. You are going to invite this one lesson into yourself.

Read it slowly…mutter the words out loud to yourself. How does it sound outside your head, when you put it “out there.” Read it over a few times.

Now close your eyes for a few moments and see the words in your mind.
Invite them into your soul…
Assume that this is not as easy or straight forward as you initially think.
Assume that this is not too hard or beyond your reach.
Assume that this will teach you something about yourself, about your God, and about your own transformation.

[pause]

You may open your eyes now if you like…
Now, believe that being mindful to this one thing will change you, just as the leaves outside are gradually changing.
Believe that the Holy Spirit strengthens you when you give serious intention to the transformation of your spirit. When you are willing to learn.

I hope you take this home. Tape it on your mirror. Put it on your fridge and make this one thing your discipleship invitation for the fall. Your Jesus-Paul-Zen master lesson.

We don’t choose the way we learn the hard lessons. But it is planted now within you. It will grow, and in time, you will be able to teach others, in wisdom and in truth.

Beyond the Text

skit and sermon by Carrie Eikler
Romans 12:1-2

Skit-
Alice is staring at smartphone. Hugo sits next to her, Alice doesn’t realize it. Hugo looks at her. Looks around. Looks back at her. Alice is getting frustrated, not noticing Hugo is sitting there. Hugo starts to get frustrated/humored.

Alice (speaking her text): “Hugo. Where are you? You said you would text when you got close. BTW love the new profile pic on Facebook.

A bleeping comes from hugo’s pocket. He reads the text

Hugo: [scoffing]“Where am I?”

Hugo: (Texting/Speaking) “I’m here already. LOL.”

Alice phone bleeps, reads the text.

Alice: (texting) “No, you can’t be. You didn’t text me...

Hugo: (bleeps, texts) “No, I’m here. Next to you.”

Alice: (unaware and still texting/speaking) “Did you put that on FB?

Hugo: (text) No. I am here.

Alice: I’m going to look up his location on my GPS. (bleep. Bleep) What? it says he’s here. That can’t be right. (Looks up at him surprised) Oh, you’re here.

Hugo: (incredulous)Yeah, I told you I was here.

Alice: But you said you would text me.

Hugo: Does it matter? I’m right here.

Alice: But you said you would text…

Hugo: it doesn’t matter…

Alice: That’s really funny…I’m going to post that on Facebook.—just a minute. (turns from him and puts up finger to hold him).

Alice: OK, so you’re here. Now, what do you want to talk about?

Hugo: Well, I want to talk about… us.

Alice: Oh. Us…

Hugo: yes, well (clears throat). You know we’ve been getting closer these past few months and.. (Alice’s phone bleeps)

Alice: oh wait, just a minute. (checks phone…laughs.) Sorry. Sydney likes my Facebook post.

Hugo: Sydney?

Alice: Yeah, Sydney. She’s one of my Facebook friends. I met her last year on spring break. You know, I hate to brag, but I have 537 Facebook friends. (thoughtfully) Syndey has 650… (recovering) Isn’t it great how Facebook and Twitter bring people together from all parts of the world so we can share with each other the intimate parts of our lives? And when I get my new android, it will be so much faster. This “stupid” phone is a year old and I can’t get as many apps as I’d like. I really feel out of touch. Now, what were you saying?

Hugo: Oh, uh, well I wanted to say I really like being with you and, well…(bleep, Alice checks her phone and laughs). I mean, I think we are getting close and (Alice phone bleeps, she checks, scoffs)…(Hugo getting frustrated) Can you just turn that off?

Alice: What?

Hugo: I really want to talk to you.

Alice: So talk!

Hugo: I mean, just you…not you and whatever conversation is going on in your phone with Syndey or…

Alice: oh, that wasn’t Syndey it was…

Hugo: whatever, I mean. I just wanted to say, I want a relationship with you.

Alice: a relationship.

Hugo: (sighs) yes, a relationship.

Alice: (excitedly) I’d get to change my relationship status on Facebook from single to “in a relationship”!

Hugo: well, yeah., but…

Alice: (gasps) I hope people would click that they liked it!

Hugo: well, I don’t think that’s the point, really.

Alice: Wait, you mean like a relationship relationship? (tentatively) Like conversations, and dreams, and…stuff.

Hugo: Yes, all of that.

Alice: no word limit to what I say?

Hugo: no. no word limit.

Alice: But what if you don’t like it?

Hugo: Then I’ll say… I don’t like it?

Alice: like…with words? From your mouth? You wouldn’t [quoting with fingers] “unfriend” me?

Hugo: No, I won’t [quoting with fingers] “unfriend” you. And yes. Like words from my mouth. In a relationship, with you, and me and real talking and (taking phone and turning it off) attention to each other.

Alice: attention?

Hugo: yes.

Alice: to one thing? Like, to you?

Hugo: yes.

Alice: (puts phone down and takes a deep breath.) I don’t know if I can do it

Hugo: You can. It just will take some practice.

Alice: Geez. A real relationship, with real words, like…with someone.

Hugo: novel idea, I know.

Alice: [pauses] Um, let me think about it (glancing at phone). Um, you just sit there. I’ll text you when I have my answer. (typing on phone)…


Now for those of you who are unfamiliar with the lingo about Facebook and friending and word limits, this skit may not have made any sense to you. But I bet, the experience that it was portraying is not…
“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind…” So says Paul in his letter to the Romans.
What a great scripture…a great scripture. This is a great scripture because we can take it, and put in any popular social ill or personal cultural pet peeve and tell the faithful people to avoid that contemporary golden calf: this is that thing that we should not conform to.
And Mennonites and Brethren, who for so long have understood themselves to be a people who are “in the world but not of the world” have idealized, if not idolized, this scripture passage as well.
Take our traditional dress: plain, simple, no zippers (of course not). Neck ties…don’t even try it. Slacks for women (scandalous!). In my home Church of the Brethren, ages before I was born, disciplinarian action was taken against a family who installed in their home (wait for it) a bay window. That’s right. Too worldly for such a humble and modest and simple people.

Now, it is easy for me to laugh at that. But perhaps I shouldn’t be so quick to judge, because these are the same people who have shaped Brethren and Mennonites to critique the things of this world that I do feel need to be questioned:
Militarism. Materialism. Racism. Individualism to the point of isolationism. All those –isms that I believe we are right in doing our best not to conform to so yes!! I will happily slap down Paul’s words to the Romans and say be not conformed to that! Take the higher road that leads to God. Transform. Don’t Conform.
And while I have a certain zeal against these social ills just as my old Brethren of Illinois were zealous about that bay window, I know… that we can easily take Paul’s words so seriously, that we take them too lightly. Applying them to anything we don’t like. Loosely tossing around condemnation.
As my skit shows, I will be quick to urge others not conform to this technology-saturated society. It irritates me when I go out with friends and they are surfing the net or checking their Facebook status and our time together is shortchanged. But I have to realize that while there might be good reason behind my critique, it is mostly about me. After all, neither Jesus Christ nor Paul said anything about handheld wireless communication.

And I’m reminded of the English writer GK Chesterton who wrote “Idolatry is committed, not merely by setting up false gods, but also by setting up false devils.” Romans gives us the perfect opportunity to exorcise both out of ourselves.
These false gods and false devils. It seems to me that Paul’s equation is a bit like the chicken and the egg conundrum. We should not be part of this world but renew our minds so we can discern. But isn’t discernment an essential part of knowing how genuinely be in this world but not of it? To discern the false gods and the false devils, and hopefully avoid them both?
You know, no one ever accused Paul of being too simplistic or elementary, have they? And if people do think he is simple…I’d seriously question their reading of Paul.
Because he is anything but simple and clear. Passionate and wordy, yes. Inconsistent, you betcha. In some letters he is eager to give the laundry list of things to avoid (debauchery, licentiousness, etc etc), but this isn’t the predominant theme in Romans.
Paul appears positive, welcoming, encouraging. It wouldn’t fit his letter if he told the Romans what exactly they should not be conformed to (that is, what they should avoid), but gives ample suggestions of what to live into, what to take on. Next week we’ll explore more in depth some of these things that we can strive for. But this week…
This week, I think we might be seeing some of Paul’s insight into our real struggle…the human condition. And it is something that I believe we each know in our hearts. It’s one thing to tell us not to do something. It’s another to address what is at the heart of our desire to sin. What it is that is so seductive that we engage in the willing, though maybe unknowing, isolation of ourselves from our God, from each other, and from our own spirits.
Perhaps Paul can speak to our tendency to mindlessly fall into routines that have consequence for our lives, especially routines in which the consequences aren’t so apparent, or so immediate.
And really, it makes sense that hese mindless activities are the ones we are least aware of? Unless you are a sociopath, you know it is wrong to steal, or cheat, or kill, or hurt. You even know that cigarette will hurt you, or that it’s not such a good thing to wake up not remembering what you did last night, or that meaningless sexual exploits can leave you feeling more lonely than fulfilled. We recognize them, because they are pretty big. Pretty in-your-face. But it’s those things that seem inconsequential that can add up. The things we do without even thinking…our mindless actions.
Paul calls us to the renewing of our mind. When we think about the word “mind” we likely think brain that does the strenuous work of thinking and giving impulses to our body. But Paul was a Jew who lived in a Greek world 2,000 years ago. Our contemporary physiology and our view of mind and body were not available to him.
For Greeks, the mind was a function which was defined as the ability to realize fully “the true nature or essence of a thing, [beyond] its surface appearance.” the main function of the mind was to discover the ‘real’ world or the ‘real’ character of the world as a whole, in contrast to other erroneous beliefs of most human beings.”
Jewish thought saw the mind as the same thing as the inner spirit of the person.
So Paul, being a Jew who lived in Greek world, with its way of thinking, is not referring to our thinking caps. He is referring to our inner eye. That part within us that discerns, that sees beyond this world. Perhaps he is referring to what we might experience as our intuition.
Our Western world doesn’t have much of that language, but our world isn’t devoid of these ideas. According to Jon Kabat-Zinn, in most, if not all of the Asian languages, the same word that is used for mind is also used for heart. If we are mindful, we are looking at the world and our experiences with our inner wisdom, and we are awake to dimensions beyond the obvious, below the surface.

Jon Kabat-Zinn knows a lot about mindfulness. He is a doctor and the founding director of the Stress Reduction Clinic and the Center for Mindfulness in Medicine, Health Care, and Society at the University of Massachusetts Medical School. Mindfulness, according to Kabat-Zinn, is simply paying attention, it’s about a way of being, not a way of doing something. When we slow down our lives, examine the people and situations with appreciation and prayer, we are living mindfully: fully in our mind, meaning fully in our heart, fully in our spirit.
And we can cultivate mindfulness, it’s not just reserved for the monks and nuns and yogis and those who spend all their time meditating. It can happen by stopping and breathing before running onto the next thing. It can start by actually writing down every single thing you do in your day and see where your energy and time and heart went. It can happen by searching for the beautiful in everything that exists, no matter how horrible, how sinful, or how devastating.
Kabat-Zinn says “mindfulness has the potential to penetrate past surface appearances and behaviors and allow us to see [our lives] more clearly as they truly are, to look both inwardly and outwardly, and to act with some degree of wisdom and compassion on the basis of what we see.”
I wonder if Paul was seeing us in our hectic lives, how he would restate Romans 12. I certainly can’t say, but it might not be too far off to say: Please, please please slow down. Look at the world. Focus. Still the mind and you will be on the way to a new life.
So yes, I used the skit to poke fun at my personal pet peeve. We are so connected and wired that in many ways we have disengaged from the world around us. But if we’re honest, it isn’t a plight of those with Smartphones and Blackberries. Who hasn’t run out the door without kissing their child.
Gobbled down our food without taking pleasure in what we eat.
Or looked at God’s creation and focused only on the grass that needs mowing, rather than the habitat that flourishes.
Or thought, God could have gotten it better than good, but perfect, if God just created more hours in the day.
It’s not conforming to this world to recognize beauty, to delight in small earthly things. Rather, it’s the dominant story of this world that the small things aren’t worth noticing and that there is nothing underneath the surface of our lives. It’s the dominant story of this world that it is more productive to do more than one thing at a time. That our minds are organs for multitasking, rather than the minds giving us ability to uncover God, to discern what is good and what is harmful.
It’s these small things that reveal the real places of God, and the real working of destruction. And we must renew our minds, so we can see with the mind of Christ.
There is room for slowing down in each of our lives. My mind needs to see a new. I know I am missing so much goodness because I don’t really know how to see it. And Paul seems to know this too, and Paul seems to patiently commiserate: “what a shame.” he almost whispers through the text. “How much you are missing.” Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.

Living Sacrifice

sermon by Torin Eikler
Isaiah 51:1-6 Romans 11:33-12:3

I have been thinking a lot about goats lately. I know that sounds strange, and it’s not some kind of obsession for me, I assure you. But, at Mennonite convention and at conference gathering, the scripture about the separation of the sheep and the goats came up. Then, at the county fair, we went to visit the animals (where, by the way the sheep and goats were not separate) and I watched Alistair reaching into the pens to pet the animals. He was scared of the sheep and the pigs a little because they were easily startled when he touched them. But the goats were different. They were “friendly.” They came up to the bars of the cage and stood still appreciatively while being scratched.

And then I was listening to the radio this week with half my attention and I heard a commentator talking about the current political or social climate in our society mention goats of a different kind. Scapegoats.

Scapegoats, he said, seem to be the order of the day. The US credit rating has been downgraded. And politicians and voters alike are blaming the other party or Congress in general and its childish behavior. The economy seems to be on the verge of another slump and economists and pundits lay that at the feet of greedy banks or negligent rating agencies or lazy regulators. Unemployment is still high and the president’s faulty immigration or fiscal policies seem to be the favorite target for that blame.

But there is one situation that has been very much on my mind as we approach the 10th anniversary of September 11th. I have been thinking about how we, as a country, have responded to the World Trade Center attacks and the global terrorism of the past decade.

For many … perhaps most people in the United States as well as a hefty number of those overseas, the forceful approach that has been taken is entirely appropriate and maybe the best possible response to Al Qaida and Osama bin Laden. And while as a pacifist I cannot approve of violent invasion, I do understand where they are coming from. Sometimes fear and pain can bring us to the point of attacking others so that we feel safe.

There are others, though, who believe that global terrorism in general, Osama bin Laden, and his followers have become a scapegoat. And I can see their point as well. The rise in terrorist attacks is, probably, linked to ongoing international policies that support and enforce Western ideals and maintain the dominance of the Europe and the United States at the expense of the people of other nations. Rather than facing that truth with the eyes of compassion and empathy which might require changing our approach, we have placed the entire weight of responsibility on Al Qaida and its leader. The continuation of the war on terror despite Osama bin Laden’s death, they say, is proof that we are ignoring some deep and problematic aspect of our culture. Of course, it could be said that Osama bin Laden made a scapegoat of the United States in the same way.


And now I’m wondering if you know what a scapegoat actually is. It’s a term that comes from the Bible, actually – from Leviticus – and it is a part of the celebration of Yom Kippur – the Day of Atonement for the chosen people. On that day, observant Jews fast from all food and drink and spend the day reciting prayers of repentance. In ancient Israel, the high priest of the Temple would lay the sins of all the people on the head of the goat and release it into the wilderness. The goat would escape, an offering that took the sins with it, and the people would be allowed to start with a clean slate.


Thankfully, we don’t need that kind of a scapegoat anymore because as the author of Hebrews says, “Jesus offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins [and] has perfected for all time those who are sanctified.” That’s a bit confusing, I know, but it basically says that the grace we have been given by Christ brings forgiveness without the need for sacrifice. And that grace and forgiveness never run out. We don’t need scapegoats anymore … but we still use them.


As someone recently noted, I don’t like to be wrong. I suppose I pride myself on knowing a lot of things, and I probably overestimate my sense of judgment. So, when it looks like I might have made a mistake or said something that’s not true, I get uptight and defensive. At times, in the past, I have made up “facts” or statistics to support my errors or even laid the blame for my failure on the head of another.

I know I’m not alone in this. Most of us, I think, have done that at one time or another. Probably, we have done it several times. It’s a way of protecting ourselves – of holding criticism at bay or holding on to the respect of others. Sometimes, it may even seem to be the only way to save our jobs or our relationships. And while it shields us to some degree, it makes those blameless others a scapegoat in the more modern sense. They take the blame for our mistakes and sometimes they are made to suffer in our place. In a way, we make them a sacrifice to save our pride or our insecurity or our fear.


To borrow the phrasing of The Wiggles – a singing group for kids that my family has fallen in love with … and not just the boys …. “There’s some really great news:” The Realm of God has drawn near. “There’s some sad news too:” we’ve lost our way and are not really living in the Kingdom. “But there’s some really wonderful news:” we can find our way back. Even without a scapegoat, we can return to the Realm of God with a clean slate because of the forgiveness and mercy Christ offers to everyone. And Paul tells us how.

“By the mercies of God, [present yourselves] as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God.”


All very nice, but what does it mean to be holy and acceptable to God? What does that look like to be un-conformed to this world? How do we live as a part of the Kingdom of God?

The easy … and hard answers – the ones we hear often in church – come from Jesus himself. You’re your enemies. Feed the hungry. Clothe the naked. Visit the imprisoned. Care for the sick. Love your neighbor as yourself. You know them all, and they have become so mundane or are so big and undefined that we sometimes have trouble applying them to our everyday lives. Paul offers some further guidance, though, that can help us find our way.

Practice compassion and forgiveness. When others are in pain, don’t ignore them. Talk with them. Comfort them. Offer them support as their struggle through their pain or their grief or their depression and despair. When others are celebrating, don’t belittle their joy. Rejoice with them instead of begrudging them happiness. And forgive those who hurt you in big or little ways – even the people who seem to be out to get you. Let go of the anger and frustration you feel toward them so that, one day, you can call them friend and live together in harmony.


Let go of “judgmentalism.” That’s a hard one. As Carrie talked about earlier this year, it seems like it’s impossible to avoid judging people. Especially in this world of rights and wrongs, we notice when people do “bad” things or make “bad” decisions, and we can’t help but think that they are “bad people” or, at least, that they have bad judgment.

One way to deal with that is to become relativistic – to say that we can’t impose our own views on others and that our view of right and wrong only applies to us. Then, we can leave it up to God to sort out the sheep and the goats when the time comes. But that kind of tolerance doesn’t really get at the heart of our habit of judementalism. We still feel superior because we are sure we are the sheep and they are the goats.

It may be more helpful to work at seeing people and the things they do in the best possible light. Think about your own lives and the choices that you make. There are always lots of past experiences and current circumstances that stand behind every decision that we make and every thing that we do. Sometimes that means that we do or say things that other people might think are questionable or just plain wrong even though they seem to make sense to us. And that is true for everyone else too. If we make a practice of assuming that there must be a reason why people do what they do, then we may be seen as naïve, but we will be less likely to be judgmental.


Please others … not yourselves. That sounds like a recipe for self-destruction or at least co-dependence, but that’s not what Paul meant. He meant that we should put up with each other’s failings. Instead of complaining or taking advantage of those weaknesses, we should encourage each other and work at building one another up so that we are all able to grow stronger. We should make ourselves feel better or stronger or somehow “bigger” by building others up rather than by making them feel worse or weaker or “smaller.” In essence, we should not make scapegoats of our neighbors or friends or even our enemies. We should sacrifice our own immediate gain so that we can all grow into stronger, better people.


Practice compassion and forgiveness. Let go of judgmentalism. Please others … not yourselves.

Sisters and brothers, we are called to live in a way that is different from the world around us. We are called to give up “[thinking] of ourselves more highly than we ought to” so that we can do “what is good and acceptable and perfect” according to the judgment of God. We are called to be living sacrifices – to live sacrifice in a way that shows compassion for the last and the least, in a way that forgives and embraces our enemies and those who bring us suffering, in a way that puts the well-being of those around us on the same level of importance as our own well-being – that loves neighbor as it loves self.

This is the Kingdom which demands no sacrifice of blood but only a heart dedicated to the will of God. It is the welcome work of believers – of the disciples of Christ who seek to follow the path he laid out in his life among us. It is the way to of grace and mercy that are freely given for the joy and salvation of all – a gift that will never end though the heavens vanish like smoke and the earth wear out like a garment.

Let us turn again into that joy and hope.

Let us follow the way laid out for us by our Master and our Friend.

Let us come into the Kingdom that has been prepared for us – the eternal kingdom of love and peace.

Open Roof Community

sermon by Carrie Eikler
Mark 2:1-12
Fourth in "Crafting Community" series

On Thursday as I was in the church office, I heard the faint tinkling of Scott Joplin’s “The Entertainer.” As strange and out of place as it was, the sound was immediately recognizable. An ice cream truck. For only the second time this summer an ice cream truck had made its way up Wiles Hill! And as I sat on the steps, drawn out by the pied piper call, I saw the back of the head’s of Torin and boys as they went in search of it. And I saw others coming out of their houses, looking around for the source of the sound, as they too, made their way into the streets, to find the cool deliciousness—even though it was only a high of 75 that day.

For Brethren and Mennonites, the call to serve others is kind of like that tinkling ice cream truck. It draws us out. It pulls at us. We know that if we just follow it we’re pretty sure we’ll find something good and sweet.

And if you asked us what is at the core of our faith as Anabaptists, you’d likely (hopefully) hear something along the line of “following Jesus Christ” as would most Christians. But if you pressed further, somewhere in those initial reflections, you would find a large amount of Brethren and Mennonites speaking about how our tradition teaches us that it is in service to others that we glorify Christ. That we are faithful disciples of Christ. We are not just believers in Christ, but we are followers of Christ. And serving our neighbors and the world has, over time, become an essential part of our tradition.

But of course, we didn’t come up with it. The prophet Micah answers the question “what is required of us?” with “do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God. The Apostle Paul said that followers of Christ were to care for the widows and orphans among us. Jesus said as you did to the least of these, you do to him.
It’s in our faith DNA, even if you have just come to the church. Caring for others through Christ’s love is more important that converting others by fear of his judgment.

I think that service is something that members of this congregation do very well. We are embodying what it means to be a missional church. We each go into our communities, and around the world, to uncover where God is dwelling and where we can be of service revealing the realm of God among us.

And we do this so well in our own lives, that I think there is a question lurking…a question I pose and don’t have a definitive answer to.

If we are doing service as individuals or families, is there a reason to serve as a congregation?
Have we gotten away from serving as a faith body, a community? If we are doing it on our own, why should the Morgantown Church of the Brethren members don work gloves or aprons or face masks or trash bags and do service…together?

It really is a question I have been asking myself, and asking of our congregation, as we face the realities of who we are: busy people, with families, living in different areas. We live in an era where so many non-profits are taking the roles that churches used to do, and thankfully others are getting involved. But is service, or in the words of a bygone era, “charity” work all about filling the needs of those who are served?

Are we missing something essential when we don’t do service work as a body? Because, if we are honest, we don’t do it that much. It is hard to get people to help out with Circle of Friends, the soup kitchen downtown. We’ve stopped trying to get a group together for Habitat for Humanity Building on Faith Week. And maybe I’m wrong, but think about the last year. Have you worked beside others in this congregation in the service of others (and not just ourselves, not just in cleaning the building or making buckwheat cakes)? Have you joined those around you, showing others who we are as a community that believes in service, rather than individuals whose community simply preaches about service?

As I was talking with Torin about the theme this week I was feeling a bit stuck with this question, and he helped me identify it perfectly. When talking about service, I feel it strongly that doing service work as a community—a congregation—strengthens the people in it. But I can’t say why. And Torin, in his infinite fatherly wisdom said, “It’s like if you told a two year old, that it’s important to do something and they ask ‘Why?’ and all you can think of to answer is ‘Because I said so.’”

Well, “because I said so” isn’t a good basis for a sermon. I can’t even express, “because I’ve felt it’s so”, which I have. So, I’ll ask you to help me here: to think back to a time when you did work with a group of people on something really important. Maybe it was a service project, or a work project, or even in the military. Maybe you were in a tough situation with others for a period of time. Like last weekend at Laurelville, we camped and it poured and even though we didn’t need to get in each other’s tents, there was a comraderie between us campers that weekend by virtue of our shared experience.

If you have served with others, how did it affect your relationship? Was it strengthened? Tried? Do you get to know each other better?

I think Mark’s scripture today is valuable for us as we think about this idea of serving. Most of the time, when people came for healing from Jesus, they did it by themselves, or one person came to intercede for them. Here, it is a group—it says “some people.” Of course, if the man was paralyzed he wouldn’t be able to come on his own, he’d need a lot more help. But there are other times with those in desperate situations couldn’t make it to Jesus, and someone came to him to ask him to come back. The Syrophonecian woman came for her daughter, the centurion came for his daughter, Mary coming on behalf of Lazarus. But those who came with the paralytic did it together, a group effort. Why didn’t they just send one person to beg mercy of Jesus?

We often refer to those who bring the paralyzed man his “friends,” but really, there is nothing to indicate that there is a special relationship, is there? It simply says “some people” and “they.” Nothing about friends. Friends or not, they know what needs to happen, they have perceived the need and test it. They act on faith. And Jesus begins to see their passion as he brushes the mud and debris out of his hair, as he sees the roof slowly cracking, then falling in chunks with the light bursting in. Then, as his eyes adjust to the brightness, he gets a glimpse one face, then two, then probably three, eager and probably unashamed at their brashness, unconcerned about property damage and home owners insurance…and the hole in the roof becomes the doorway to Jesus, an act of faith that probably couldn’t, or wouldn’t, be done by just one person.

“And when Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, ‘Son, your sins are forgiven’” which Mark uses as a preface to the healing of the paralytic’s body. Not your faith, not his faith, but by their faith. The collective. The faith that carries the broken.

Well, if they weren’t his friends, before, they certainly were now. And it is clear to me that we are faithful when it comes to serving our friends. Those in this faith community. This is also an important aspect of service, but often we don’t think of it in that way. In my times here I’ve heard stories and witnessed families and individuals in need and you have supported them: financially, emotionally, and spiritually. Service is also about a welcoming hospitality, an openness to receive others, to bring others to the hole in the roof that can heal their brokenness. We don’t often think of bringing others into this loving community as an act of service. Can we begin to see it that way? Is this part of what it means to be a community with an open roof?

In her spiritual autobiography Traveling Mercies, Anne Lamott reflects on the little congregation she came to find refuge in, as she was struggling with drug addiction and alcoholism, grief from an abortion and death of loved ones, spiraling downward into an abyss of nothingness. This congregation of about 30 people, in a shabby building, is what I think of when I think of a church with an open roof. From Traveling Mercies:

One of our newer members, a man named Ken Nelson, is dying of AIDS, disintegrating before our very eyes. He came a year ago with a Jewish woman who comes every week to be with us, although she does not believe in Jesus. Shortly after [Ken] started coming, his partner died of the disease. A few weeks later Ken told us that right after Brandon died, Jesus had slid into the hole in his heart that [was left by] Brandon’s loss, and [Jesus] had been there ever since. Ken has a totally lopsided face, ravaged and emaciated, but when he smiles, he is radiant. He looks like God’s crazy nephew Phil. He says that he would gladly pay any price for what he has now, which is Jesus, and us.

There’s a woman in the choir name Ranola who is large and beautiful and jovial and black and as devout as can be, who has been a little standoffish toward Ken. She has always looked at him with confusion, when she looks at him at all. Or she looks at him sideways, as if she wouldn’t have to quite see him if she didn’t look at him head on. She was raised in the South by Baptists who taught her that his way of life—that he—was an abomination. It is hard for her to break through this. I think she and a few other women at church are, on the most visceral level, a little afraid of catching the disease. But Kenny has come to church almost every week for the last year and won almost everyone over. He finally missed a couple of Sundays when he got too weak, and then a month ago he was back, weighing almost no pounds, his face even more lopsided, as if he’d had a stroke. Still during the prayers of the people he talked joyously of this life and his decline, of grace and redemption, of how safe and happy he feels these days.

So on this one particular Sunday, for the first hymn the so-called Morning Hymn, we sang “Jacob’s Ladder,” which goes, “Every rung goes higher, higher,” while ironically Kenny couldn’t even stand up. But he sang away sitting down, with the hymnal in his lap. And then when it came time for the second hymn, the Fellowship Hymn, we were to sing “His Eye is on the Sparrow.” The pianist was playing and the whole congregation had risen—only Ken remained seated, holding the hymnal in his lap—and we began to sing, “Why should I feel discouraged? Why do the shadows fall?” And Ranola watched Ken rather skeptically for a moment, and then her face began to melt and contort like his, and she went to his side and bent down to lift him up—lifted up this white rag doll, this scarecrow. She held him next to her, draped over and against her like a child while they sang….

Then both Ken and Ranola began to cry. Tears were pouring down their faces, and their noses were running like rivers, but as she held him up, she suddenly lay her black weeping face against his feverish white one, put her face right up against his and let all those spooky fluids [of his] mingle with hers.

Communities—congregations—that serve are to be churches with open roofs. A place where, in our deepest fear, we mingle our lives by serving one another. And as the story in Mark presents to us—even the story of Ken and Ranola testifies--- it doesn’t stop with serving one another, or even welcoming those who come in their pain. It’s looking around us, perceiving needs, and helping bring others to that open roof, the place of their healing.

We may be like the blind leading the blind, the broken healing the broken, but that’s what Christ seems to have intended. Coming, to be broken, in complete service to humanity.

And I think that when we join with others, we’ll find that each of us, somehow, is lowered into Spirit’s arms, that our friends are holding us up to Christ’s grace…that in serving others, we are delivered more deeply into the home of God.

Handwashing Service
As a symbol of our call to serve, Brethren have performed footwashing on Love Feast, the symbolic recreation of the Last Supper. Today you are invited, again, to answer Christ’s call to serve. We won’t wash feet, but if you feel so moved, you are invited to come forward and wash one another’s hands. In doing so you are recommitting yourself to discipleship of Christ, to serve and be serve.

I will wash the hands of the first person to come forward, and then they will wash the hands of the next person, and so on and so forth. There are towels draped on the stools on either side of the worship space. As the water runs over your hands, may it serve as a reminder of your calling and symbol of God’s grace.

May your hands reach out with the power of the Holy Spirit to those in need.
May your fingers trace the pain and joy of God’s creation
May you join with others, as a community of faith, as we bring to the world’s
Christ’s message of healing and hope.

You are invited to come forward

Breaking Bread Together

Sermon by Torin Eikler followed by
Communion Service (For All Who Minister Communion Service 4, adapted)
Isaiah 55:1-5 I Corinthians 11:17-22,27-29, 33


Some years ago, a study was done that looked at what was important to several North American denominations by examining their worships over time. In each case the authors were able to pull out one or two things that were. For Roman Catholics the central feature was communion. For Lutherans it was the sermon. For Mennonites and Brethren it was singing and sharing joys and concerns for prayer. These were the rituals that were always present and without which, it seemed, a gathering of believers would not be considered worship.

I think that the study was flawed because of a narrow definition of worship.

Brethren and Mennonites love to sing … and are good at it. And, after four years of planning both “traditional” and “unusual” worships here, I can say with certainty that Carrie and I only leave sharing prayer requests out with fear and trembling. But worship is more than all those things that we associate with Sunday morning. Worship is anything that takes us into the presence of God – anything that bring us into the Realm of God more fully. And there is something else that does that – something that has been part of the Christian community since its beginnings - something that we learned from the example of Jesus and that this church does very well. We eat. We love a good pot luck or picnicking together, and for some of us (raise hand sheepishly) those times around the table may well be more important than the sermon or the prayer or even the singing we do in church.

Surprising? … maybe, … but I don’t think so. Embarrassing? … perhaps, but it shouldn’t be. Sitting at the table with the people we love and care about has been a central practice in the lives of people for thousands of years. How many of us have happy memories of Sunday dinners or birthday meals or gathering with grandparents, cousins, aunts, and uncles around the table to celebrate Thanksgiving? For many people, that particular holiday is more significant than all the others put together and it crosses the boundaries that make Christmas, Hannukah, or Ramedan greetings so contentious.

Sitting down to eat together is a huge part of our national mythology, holding us together in the face of so many forces pulling us apart. And, it’s not just about eating. The table is a place where we feed the relationships that connect us. It’s a place where we open up to one another, tell the stories that make us who we are, and talk about what’s important in our lives.

In the last few decades we have lost some of that value. Three fourths families still report sitting down to eat together most of the time, but 70% of them have the TV on or regularly use phones to talk, text, or update Facebook pages. But that image of the family around the table is a big part of our cultural mythology. It’s in magazine and television ads. It’s in many of our books. And you’ll find peaple sitting down to dinner in many of our most popular movies (at least the ones that aren’t thrillers or adventure stories). One of my favorite examples is “Big Night” because it shows just how much power the table has for bringing people together across all sorts of boundaries.

The movie takes place in the 1950s – the same era as “Leave it to Beaver” and “The Donna Reid Show.” Two Italian brothers, Primo and Secundo, have set up a restaurant where they serve authentic and … unfortunately … unpopular Italian food. In a last bid to make the venture a success, they throw a banquet party which Jazz and Big Band star Louis Prima is invited. Their hope is that by impressing Prima they will get on the map, but it wouldn’t be very impressive to have an empty restaurant when the singer arrives.

So, the brothers invite all sorts of people: the owner of the successful Italian restaurant down the street, the neighborhood florist, the “booze guy,” their grocer, the barber, and even a car salesman that Secundo met walking around on the big day. As the evening approaches, the brothers work feverously to get the meal ready, pulling out all the stops. And it is a meal to remember: six courses (at least), including roast fish, pasta, risotto, a roasted suckling pig, and timpano (a secret family recipe filled with “everything that is good”).

The guests gather over drinks and appetizers, greeting the others they know while the music of Louis Prima plays in the background, but the singer doesn’t arrive. Eventually, they sit down and begin the feast without him, and in the midst of the eating and drinking, they get to know each other. Stories are traded over the food. People dance between courses. And by the end of the evening, Italians, Irish, and Americans; successful and struggling, older and younger – the guest leave, obviously reluctant to say goodbye to the sense of community they have built.


If there’s anything that sounds like the banquet table of the King, that’s it – a place where strangers become friends and friends become brothers and sisters as they share in the richness and the power of the grace and the mercy … and the love of Christ.


And yet, it doesn’t always work out that way. There are times when meals become times of sorrow and brokenness. When people bring their frustrations, their anger, or their hatred to the table and use them to dig trenches between themselves and others. Worse yet, they take advantage of the openness and vulnerability that is so often shown and strike out to wound – deeply and painfully wound – those who would offer them love.

That is what Paul was warning the Corinthians about in his letter. They were ignoring the needs of their sisters and brothers in their selfish indulgence. Eating whenever they felt like it. Drinking too much. Letting others go hungry to sate their own desires for more.
That kind of perversion of the communal table makes a joke of the Lord’s banquet and turns its blessings of unity into sins of cruelty and division. Those who eat and drink in that way turn away from the grace they have been offered. They eat and drink judgment against themselves.


That’s not us. When we sit down together we use the time to reconnect with one another. For some of us, it the only time we talk to our brothers and sisters which is a little bit sad. Still, when I look around at a potluck – in those rare moments when Sebastian and Alistair are occupied – I see people talking and laughing together with a real sense of community and joy. I see a holy space where people share their lives and themselves with each other, finding food for their spirits that is just as important as the food that sustains their bodies.


That is making of the table a place where grace and healing give birth to a deep and rich community of the Spirit and that is worship. That is living into being a part of the Realm of God. It’s just a hint of the richness that is to come … and we enjoy it every time we sit down together with this community of faith that has become of family.

That is what the church is called to be and to do. That is the community of the body of Christ living as sisters and brothers.

We do that … and in those moments, we are gifted with a foretaste of the Kingdom of God.
Hallelujah … AMEN!

Communion:
We will be singing each of the three verses of “Let us break bread together” at different times during communion this morning. And so I invite you to open your hymnals to #453 as we prepare to celebrate this meal made holy by the rich blessings of God’s love.


The ordinance of communion symbolizes our unity as the body of Christ. It unites each of us in a common bond with each other and with other believers around the world. Just as many grains of wheat and many grapes come together to form one loaf and one cup, so too the people of God, coming from many places and backgrounds, are made into one community in Christ.


Bread: a common, mundane part of everyday life. Yet, it was in the breaking of bread that the risen Christ often revealed himself. On the last night he spent with his followers, Jesus gave them a powerful symbol of his presence. He made special that which was commonplace and ordinary by taking bread, and, as he had done so often before, he blessed, broke, and gave it to them. Then he said, “Take and eat, for this is my body which is given for you.”

(Sing first verse of “let us break bread together” as the bread is distributed.)

Let us pray …
As we take this bread into our bodies, O God, may we take the bread of Christ’s healing and empowering presence into our own lives and extend it to those we meet each day. AMEN.

As we prepare to share in this symbol of unity, let us speak together the words printed in our bulletins - “The bread which we break is the communion of the body of Christ.”


Fruit of the vine: a standard beverage in ancient Israel. Jesus’ first miracle, turning water into wine at Cana, showed the abundance of God’s blessing. That last night, he once again turned something mundane into something holy as he took the cup, gave thanks, and announced to the disciples, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Drink from it, all of you.”

(Sing second verse of “let us break bread together” as the cups are distributed.)

Let us pray …
As we remember the new covenant you established through Christ, O God, may we be renewed in mind, body, and spirit in order to live out of the promise and power you give to all your disciples. AMEN.

As we prepare to share in this symbol of unity, let us speak together the words printed in our bulletins - “The cup which we bless is the communion of the blood of Christ.”

Drink the cup.

Will you pray with me ….
We give thanks, O God, for gathering us together around this holy meal. May the power and presence of Christ be revealed in the community we share just as it is in our thoughts, words, and deeds as we strive to serve both you and our neighbors. In the coming days, bring the example of Christ to life within us and fill us with your Holy Spirit, now and evermore. AMEN.


As we leave this space made holy by our sharing, let praise God for the gift of community born around the table, singing together the final verse of our communion hymn.

(Sing verse three of “Let us break bread together”)

Go in peace.