sermon by Torin Eikler followed by ritual of repentence and forgiveness
1 Peter 3:18-22 Mark 1:9-15
“Why do we do Lent?” … That was a question my friend was asked on the day before the season started – Mardi Gras, Shrove Tuesday, or just last Tuesday. She told us about the conversation that evening, and I realized that, as strange as it may seem, I have never even wondered why we have Lent. I have asked myself all kinds of questions about how we observe the season and why we do the things we do, but why have Lent at all … not a thought that has crossed my mind.
The main point made my friend’s conversation was very simple … and true – Lent is not Biblical. There is no mention of the early church observing Lent, and though it may seem obvious, it bears saying that neither the Jews nor any of their forbearers ever spend 40 days in preparation for Easter. There was plenty of prayer and fasting and repentance – sometimes even for 40 days at a time, but it was always directed in a different direction. No open tomb to celebrate in the end. No eggs to hide or find. No season of celebration for the grace that brings new life. Typically, they were in search of a return to righteousness and the blessings that go along with being the chosen people of God.
That’s no small thing. God provides abundance for all of us – for all the chosen people. But especially here in the United States – here in the middle class where most of us live, we have much more than we even realize. Education – free and required. Television and newspapers and the internet – connecting us to the world and letting us know so much of what is going on (too much perhaps). Fresh water at the turn of a knob. Exotic foods like tomatoes, oranges, mushrooms, and carrots even in the dead of winter. Clothing and technological gadgets bursting from the doors of hundreds of stores faster than we can keep up with.
We live in a world of wealth. Even when times are tough – like now – we are still surrounded by a glut of … stuff, and what’s amazing is that we can scarcely begin to conceive of our privilege.
Did you know, for example, that bring in just $35,000 per year puts you in the top 50% of earners in this country … the top 5% if you go global. And that leaves out the whole question of wealth and access to resources. The United States tops most of the lists for resource consumption; we are way ahead of everyone else in energy use per person. On top of that, the average American eats over 3,800 calories per day while a large portion of the world’s population is only gets around 900 – ¼ of that amount. (It’s actually a luxury to have to watch our weigh however much of a burden it seems to be.)
There are a lot of other statistics that I could throw out, but I won’t … partly because this isn’t a class on global inequality or economics, and partly because I don’t think it’s all that helpful to fill our heads with numbers that don’t connect to our lives. We all have roofs over your heads, enough food to eat, and safe water to drink. Most of us have a bedroom of your own (at least when children haven’t invaded it), and our difficult decisions have to do with whether to buy organic or how to lower our phone and cable bills or how much we can afford to give.
We are all incredibly blessed to have so much, and when we stop to think about it, we know that. Much of the time, though, we don’t stop to think. We see so much more around us, and we get caught up in the struggle to get some of it for ourselves. We spend our time working and saving and running from place to place, getting things, getting things done, and getting our kids and ourselves from one appointment to another. And we fall into bed at night, exhausted and thinking of everything that we didn’t get done. And high up on that list, though if you’re like me you hardly ever even notice it ... high up on that list, in tiny letters is, “Spend time with God.”
And that that is exactly the reason why we need to do Lent. We need a season of repentance – a season when we pay attention on “spending time with God.” We need to repent of our overzealous focus on us … on doing so much … on getting more. We need to clear out the abundance of “stuff” that gets in the way and take time … make time and space … for God.
One of my earliest memories of faith – I’m not talking about church or religion here, but faith – one of my earliest memories is of my mother fasting for Lent. This wasn’t giving up coffee or chocolate or some other habit. This was a real Lenten fast. The water and juice kind. The 40 day kind. And the reason it sticks with me is that one day as we were on the way to do the shopping, she pulled over the car, opened the door, and vomited which freaked my twelve-year-old self and my younger brothers out. Then she calmly closed the door, took a drink of water, and pulled back out onto the road.
She talked with us about it, of course. She had one son in hysterical tears and two others on the verge. So, she had to say something, but I don’t remember what it was. Ultimately, I think it was the way she went back to normal life that calmed us down. But, I also remember that she didn’t stop her fasting. I didn’t understand that. It was inconceivable to me that someone would do what she was doing on purpose. Years later, though, I can appreciate the conviction that was behind her fasting, and her example has taught me the value of clearing space in my life, from time to time, to reassess who and where I am and who and where I want to be.
And so, every year, Carrie and I talk about giving up something for Lent in addition to our traditional vices of chocolate and coffee …something like judgmentalism or mean-spirited comments or holding grudges and replacing it with a spiritual practice like forgiveness or prayer in the hope that our fast will revitalize our spiritual lives and reshape our daily living so that we come closer to the ideals that we believe in. But there are two ways to go approach that process. You can start from the abstract spiritual side and try to shape your life that way. Or, you can start by changing your lifestyle and let that shape your spiritual journey.
This year, we are inviting you to take the second path. For the next six weeks, we will be focusing on one specific and concrete area of our lives - food, media, waste, spending, and possessions - and working to wash away our habits of excess and make room for God to reshape us in preparation for receiving the blessing of new life in the resurrection of Christ.
As we begin the journey, I invite you to spend a few moments in silent meditation on what concrete things may be taking up the God-space in your lives and then join me in hymn #46 in the Sing the Journey song books as we begin our ritual of confession and forgiveness.
Hymn “O breath on me, O breath of God” STJ #46
Ritual of Confession
Will you pray with me…?
Eternal and most merciful God, we are children of dust and unworthy of favors and goodness you shower upon us. We have not loved as you have loved us, nor have we lived as we ought, and our years are soon gone. God, have mercy upon us. Lift us above every past regret and present failure; reveal to us our true selves; and give us grace to accept your mercy and courage to live by your promise. Lamb of God, you take away the sin of the world; grant us your peace. We have no other hope save in you. AMEN.
Scripture - Joel 2:1-2, 12-17
Leader: Ashes are a symbol of repentance and purification. As a fire burns, it can separate what is valuable from what is valueless, just as an assayer’s fire can separate a base metal from one that is precious. In this same way, these ashes are pure. They are a symbol of the new space that is now present within us for a new life. Let us claim the new life Jesus offers us by praying to our God:
All: God of love and mercy,
we come to you in prayer, seeking to change our hearts and minds.
We confess the baggage of business, idols, and indulgence
that we so often drag along with us,
struggling under its weight as we attempt to follow Christ.
Cleanse us from our attachment to these old things.
Burn away their power in us and purify our hearts.
In place of old ways fill us with the new fire of your Holy Spirit.
Open up new opportunities for us to follow Jesus in loving you and our neighbors.
In Jesus’ name we ask these things. AMEN.
Leader: Friends, receive the good news of our faith, for in the name of Jesus, I announce that our sins are forgiven. The old has died. Behold, the new has come!
Leader: Those who wish, now come forward and receive the mark of these ashes as a sign of your forgiveness and new life.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Down Here
sermon by Carrie Eikler
2 Kings 2:1-12, Mark 9:2-9
When I was in college, I did a study-abroad semester in South India. After the semester was over, I tested my newly acquired independence, and probably tested a bit of my parents nerves, and chose to travel with another student for about two weeks in the northern part of the country. First take a train to Calcutta, and then up farther into the foothills of the Himalayas.
We had planned to hike from town to town (or “trek” as the real outdoorsy people called it) in the small state of Sikkim, a largely Tibetan Buddhist area, with steep green hillsides, misty valleys, and the breath-catching views of the distant Himalayan mountains. Now, I probably put too much faith in my youthful enthusiasm to think that all I need to do this trek was some hiking boots and my pack. Which is true. But I was not prepared for all that trekking involved, and the preparation I lacked: to face the exhaustion, the blisters, the rivers to ford, the...leeches.
After three days of trekking, it looked like a seemingly endless uphill climb was coming to an end, and we were going to spend a day or two in a little village at the top of the mountain to recuperate before heading onto the largely downhill return trip. I think I spent most of that time at the top soaking my feet and eating instant noodles…with a reverent nod to the Tibetan prayer flags that beckoned at the nearby temple. Those fifty yards to get to that place of prayer felt just… too much.
In that time of recovery, I was comforted that I was heading back “downhill.” Gravity would be my friend. Downhill is always easier. Right? Wrong.
All those muscles that were stressed on the upward climb screamed at me…every. muscle. fiber. My steps were more like shuffles and climbing over rocks on the way down takes so much more effort, and tedious footwork than climbing the other way. Who would have thought that going down would have been harder than going up?
Well, the child who climbs up a tree with such ease and enthusiasm, and then realizes how high he is…he knows.
The roofer who scales a tall ladder to do repairs three stories up…she knows.
The toddler who easily crawls up to the top of the stairs, and turns around, wondering what its body needs to do to get back down…oh yeah. That’s hard.
But it’s not just those physical heights, but the emotional ones that are hard to come down from.
For some, the post-holiday blues creep in shortly after New Year’s, when the boxes of lights and tinsel have been put away, and life as usual in the dark cold winter plods on.
Or when a college graduate, high on graduation festivities and the possibilities of a new life and adventures… recognizes that finding a job in this economy is a far cry from the exciting new life they had hoped for.
Or when the wedding is over and the hard work of sustaining a marriage begins.
Or when the eagerness of retirement freedom is replaced with a bewildering, “what do I do now?”
Those mountain top experiences are times when we are highly charged, when energy is flowing, when we are seeing new vistas, new futures, we maybe even encounter God in new amazing ways. But it doesn’t mean they are always happy moments
After someone dies, for example when the picture collages have all been made, or the slideshow of the person’s life has been displayed. When the funeral is over and all the out-of-town relatives have gone home. When all the business of “details” have all been deal with, the details that has somehow distracted the grieving from the entirety of their grief …and people think the worst of it for you is over…. We see that the worst of it is only beginning. Because now is the struggle of making a new life, down here, where life goes on…miles away from the mountaintop of busyness.
Whether the mountaintop is one of joy or sadness, a heightened point of emotion, we know that life down from the mountain is hard. And that fact is echoed in today’s scriptures, two mountaintop stories. Two stories about coming off the mountain.
In the first, Elisha walks with his teacher, the prophet Elijah, to the mountaintop which is their final walk together. It’s an emotional scene, Elisha reassuring his teacher saying “I won’t leave you,” only to have Elijah whisked away on chariots of fire.
As one commentator notes “Elisha has received the double share of Elijah’s spirit [which is what he asked for]. But all he can do is [tear] his clothes in grief; he has gone up with Elijah to the place of his ascension, but he must return […] alone.”
In our scripture from Mark, Jesus leads Peter, James and John up to a high mountain where he is transformed, or transfigured into blazing white light, while prophets and fathers of Israel’s past surround him…including Elijah. Peter is ready to just set up camp and stay here, make booths or tents for these dazzling creatures, but almost as quickly as it comes, it fades away. And the disciples and Jesus head back down the mountain. Oh, and again (remember from two weeks ago)…Jesus says “don’t tell anyone.” Really?!
The mountains get our attention. I remember traveling on summer vacations a couple times out West to visit family in Colorado. The plains of Kansas and eastern Colorado just seemed to go on forever, but at one point my brother and I would begin straining our eyes to get a glimpse of those first crests of the Rockies on the horizons. A promise that the monotony of the plains would give way to peaks of beauty and excitement.
The Same is true in the Bible. Just think of all the mountain top experiences: Noah’s ark finds its first dry ground on a mountain. Moses receives the commandments on Mt. Sinai. Jacob wrestled with an angel (a.k.a “God”) on a mountain. Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount…well, I mean, it’s in the name. The start of the drama of Jesus’ arrest begins with his prayer at the Mt. of Olives and ends on the hill of Golgotha, the hill of skulls, crucified high on a cross.
God moves with power on mountains. Real and metaphorical meoutnations. In the emotionally-high points of our lives, it is easy to see that something amazing is happening. We respond to the moments of adrenaline-pumping encounters, leaving us clear about our selves, connected with God and nature and others and the world around us. We stand on the mountain top looking out above all the obscurity and smog and noise of the world. And then it happens…
We realize we can’t stay there. Yes, we have seen Elijah whisked away and it was amazing. We saw Jesus transfigured and we’re changed forever. Just let us make dwellings here and live with this. But even Elisha had to continue on with his life, but without his teacher. Jesus went back down the mountain and the disciples had to figure how how to continue their work, now that they’ve seen what they’ve seen. And so must we…Because this is where real life happens, down the mountain.
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not a killjoy who believes we are destined for a life of mundane monotony. That real life is the life of the grindstone, the rat race, the cog in the wheel boredom, just waiting for the next high—physical, emotional, or spiritual. In fact, I feel quite the opposite and it’s these mountaintop stories that help me see that. Because the people go on to do the work they are called to do.
Because while the Jesus in the gospel is the Jesus of the mountain more often than not, he’s the Jesus of down here. He’s the sacred in everyday life. Rather than retreating from the needs of the world, he embraced them. He cured those who were unclean and diseased rather than avoiding them. He forgave those who had sinned rather than condemning them.
It can seem all rather messy—not the lovely experience of the mountain. But as one writer reflected, “When we meet others in solidarity at the places of disjuncture and fracture in their lives and our own, we find God waiting for us.”
God. Here. Always has been. Walking with us. Down here.
Alice Walker is a novelist whose most popular book is The Color Purple. But she also wrote short stories and in one of these stories called The Welcome Table, Walker writes about an old woman who was banned from church because she disrupts others from their ardent prayers—their “time with God”—and she has her own transfiguring experience with Jesus. Not on any mountaintop or in an ecstatic vision, but in a slow, long walk.
“All he said when he got up close to her was ‘Follow me,’ and she bounded down to his side with all the bob and speed of one so old…They walked along in deep silence for a long time. Finally she started telling him about how many years she had cooked for them, cleaned for them, nursed them…She told him indignantly about how they had grabbed her when she was singing in her head and not looking, and how they had tossed her out of his church…A old heifer like me, she said, straightening up next to Jesus, breathing hard. But he smiled down at her and she felt better instantly and time just seemed to fly by. When they passed her house, forlorn and sagging, weatherbeaten and patched, by the side of the road, she did not even notice it, she was so happy to be out walking along the highway with Jesus.
“She broke the silence once more to tell Jesus how glad she was the he had come…and how she never expected to see him down here in person. Jesus gave her one of his beautiful smiles and they walked on. She did not know where they were going; someplace wonderful, she suspected. The ground was like clouds under their feet and she felt she could walk forever without becoming the least bit tired. She even began to sing out loud some of the old spirituals she loved, but she didn’t want to annoy Jesus, who looked so thoughtful, so she quieted down. They walked on, looking straight over the treetops into the sky, and the smiles that played over her dry wind-cracked face were first clean ripples across a stagnant pond. On they walked without stopping.”
And on we walk, without stopping. I don’t know who among you are on a mountain top right now. Who is on your way down. Who is in the deepest valley. Or who is just going along as usual, neither high nor low. Just there. Being. That hard place.
This week, take a day and write down what you do. Not just the significant things. But write down the insignificant things, the rhythms of our lives down here. These are things that present themselves to us everyday, acts of love and devotion to ourselves and others that are ripe with divine potential.
Everyday we have the chance to meet God. It might not be with chariots of fire or in blinding brightness. But if we believe in a God of the Incarnation, we believe that God is within all places that we step into with faith. When we care for a child. When we laugh with a friend or chop an onion or, as the 17th century monk St. Lawrence discovered, witness God moving through the pots and pans of our kitchen. When we stand up and shout out for the mountains…the real mountains. When we do our work with intention and attention. When we stop to notice life around us. When we go to bed in the darkness and look back on the day—just a regular day—nothing worth noting really. But everything—everything worth celebrating.
When we do this, we break the silence once more to tell Jesus how glad we are that he had come, and how we never expected to him down here in person. And on we will walk, without stopping.
2 Kings 2:1-12, Mark 9:2-9
When I was in college, I did a study-abroad semester in South India. After the semester was over, I tested my newly acquired independence, and probably tested a bit of my parents nerves, and chose to travel with another student for about two weeks in the northern part of the country. First take a train to Calcutta, and then up farther into the foothills of the Himalayas.
We had planned to hike from town to town (or “trek” as the real outdoorsy people called it) in the small state of Sikkim, a largely Tibetan Buddhist area, with steep green hillsides, misty valleys, and the breath-catching views of the distant Himalayan mountains. Now, I probably put too much faith in my youthful enthusiasm to think that all I need to do this trek was some hiking boots and my pack. Which is true. But I was not prepared for all that trekking involved, and the preparation I lacked: to face the exhaustion, the blisters, the rivers to ford, the...leeches.
After three days of trekking, it looked like a seemingly endless uphill climb was coming to an end, and we were going to spend a day or two in a little village at the top of the mountain to recuperate before heading onto the largely downhill return trip. I think I spent most of that time at the top soaking my feet and eating instant noodles…with a reverent nod to the Tibetan prayer flags that beckoned at the nearby temple. Those fifty yards to get to that place of prayer felt just… too much.
In that time of recovery, I was comforted that I was heading back “downhill.” Gravity would be my friend. Downhill is always easier. Right? Wrong.
All those muscles that were stressed on the upward climb screamed at me…every. muscle. fiber. My steps were more like shuffles and climbing over rocks on the way down takes so much more effort, and tedious footwork than climbing the other way. Who would have thought that going down would have been harder than going up?
Well, the child who climbs up a tree with such ease and enthusiasm, and then realizes how high he is…he knows.
The roofer who scales a tall ladder to do repairs three stories up…she knows.
The toddler who easily crawls up to the top of the stairs, and turns around, wondering what its body needs to do to get back down…oh yeah. That’s hard.
But it’s not just those physical heights, but the emotional ones that are hard to come down from.
For some, the post-holiday blues creep in shortly after New Year’s, when the boxes of lights and tinsel have been put away, and life as usual in the dark cold winter plods on.
Or when a college graduate, high on graduation festivities and the possibilities of a new life and adventures… recognizes that finding a job in this economy is a far cry from the exciting new life they had hoped for.
Or when the wedding is over and the hard work of sustaining a marriage begins.
Or when the eagerness of retirement freedom is replaced with a bewildering, “what do I do now?”
Those mountain top experiences are times when we are highly charged, when energy is flowing, when we are seeing new vistas, new futures, we maybe even encounter God in new amazing ways. But it doesn’t mean they are always happy moments
After someone dies, for example when the picture collages have all been made, or the slideshow of the person’s life has been displayed. When the funeral is over and all the out-of-town relatives have gone home. When all the business of “details” have all been deal with, the details that has somehow distracted the grieving from the entirety of their grief …and people think the worst of it for you is over…. We see that the worst of it is only beginning. Because now is the struggle of making a new life, down here, where life goes on…miles away from the mountaintop of busyness.
Whether the mountaintop is one of joy or sadness, a heightened point of emotion, we know that life down from the mountain is hard. And that fact is echoed in today’s scriptures, two mountaintop stories. Two stories about coming off the mountain.
In the first, Elisha walks with his teacher, the prophet Elijah, to the mountaintop which is their final walk together. It’s an emotional scene, Elisha reassuring his teacher saying “I won’t leave you,” only to have Elijah whisked away on chariots of fire.
As one commentator notes “Elisha has received the double share of Elijah’s spirit [which is what he asked for]. But all he can do is [tear] his clothes in grief; he has gone up with Elijah to the place of his ascension, but he must return […] alone.”
In our scripture from Mark, Jesus leads Peter, James and John up to a high mountain where he is transformed, or transfigured into blazing white light, while prophets and fathers of Israel’s past surround him…including Elijah. Peter is ready to just set up camp and stay here, make booths or tents for these dazzling creatures, but almost as quickly as it comes, it fades away. And the disciples and Jesus head back down the mountain. Oh, and again (remember from two weeks ago)…Jesus says “don’t tell anyone.” Really?!
The mountains get our attention. I remember traveling on summer vacations a couple times out West to visit family in Colorado. The plains of Kansas and eastern Colorado just seemed to go on forever, but at one point my brother and I would begin straining our eyes to get a glimpse of those first crests of the Rockies on the horizons. A promise that the monotony of the plains would give way to peaks of beauty and excitement.
The Same is true in the Bible. Just think of all the mountain top experiences: Noah’s ark finds its first dry ground on a mountain. Moses receives the commandments on Mt. Sinai. Jacob wrestled with an angel (a.k.a “God”) on a mountain. Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount…well, I mean, it’s in the name. The start of the drama of Jesus’ arrest begins with his prayer at the Mt. of Olives and ends on the hill of Golgotha, the hill of skulls, crucified high on a cross.
God moves with power on mountains. Real and metaphorical meoutnations. In the emotionally-high points of our lives, it is easy to see that something amazing is happening. We respond to the moments of adrenaline-pumping encounters, leaving us clear about our selves, connected with God and nature and others and the world around us. We stand on the mountain top looking out above all the obscurity and smog and noise of the world. And then it happens…
We realize we can’t stay there. Yes, we have seen Elijah whisked away and it was amazing. We saw Jesus transfigured and we’re changed forever. Just let us make dwellings here and live with this. But even Elisha had to continue on with his life, but without his teacher. Jesus went back down the mountain and the disciples had to figure how how to continue their work, now that they’ve seen what they’ve seen. And so must we…Because this is where real life happens, down the mountain.
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not a killjoy who believes we are destined for a life of mundane monotony. That real life is the life of the grindstone, the rat race, the cog in the wheel boredom, just waiting for the next high—physical, emotional, or spiritual. In fact, I feel quite the opposite and it’s these mountaintop stories that help me see that. Because the people go on to do the work they are called to do.
Because while the Jesus in the gospel is the Jesus of the mountain more often than not, he’s the Jesus of down here. He’s the sacred in everyday life. Rather than retreating from the needs of the world, he embraced them. He cured those who were unclean and diseased rather than avoiding them. He forgave those who had sinned rather than condemning them.
It can seem all rather messy—not the lovely experience of the mountain. But as one writer reflected, “When we meet others in solidarity at the places of disjuncture and fracture in their lives and our own, we find God waiting for us.”
God. Here. Always has been. Walking with us. Down here.
Alice Walker is a novelist whose most popular book is The Color Purple. But she also wrote short stories and in one of these stories called The Welcome Table, Walker writes about an old woman who was banned from church because she disrupts others from their ardent prayers—their “time with God”—and she has her own transfiguring experience with Jesus. Not on any mountaintop or in an ecstatic vision, but in a slow, long walk.
“All he said when he got up close to her was ‘Follow me,’ and she bounded down to his side with all the bob and speed of one so old…They walked along in deep silence for a long time. Finally she started telling him about how many years she had cooked for them, cleaned for them, nursed them…She told him indignantly about how they had grabbed her when she was singing in her head and not looking, and how they had tossed her out of his church…A old heifer like me, she said, straightening up next to Jesus, breathing hard. But he smiled down at her and she felt better instantly and time just seemed to fly by. When they passed her house, forlorn and sagging, weatherbeaten and patched, by the side of the road, she did not even notice it, she was so happy to be out walking along the highway with Jesus.
“She broke the silence once more to tell Jesus how glad she was the he had come…and how she never expected to see him down here in person. Jesus gave her one of his beautiful smiles and they walked on. She did not know where they were going; someplace wonderful, she suspected. The ground was like clouds under their feet and she felt she could walk forever without becoming the least bit tired. She even began to sing out loud some of the old spirituals she loved, but she didn’t want to annoy Jesus, who looked so thoughtful, so she quieted down. They walked on, looking straight over the treetops into the sky, and the smiles that played over her dry wind-cracked face were first clean ripples across a stagnant pond. On they walked without stopping.”
And on we walk, without stopping. I don’t know who among you are on a mountain top right now. Who is on your way down. Who is in the deepest valley. Or who is just going along as usual, neither high nor low. Just there. Being. That hard place.
This week, take a day and write down what you do. Not just the significant things. But write down the insignificant things, the rhythms of our lives down here. These are things that present themselves to us everyday, acts of love and devotion to ourselves and others that are ripe with divine potential.
Everyday we have the chance to meet God. It might not be with chariots of fire or in blinding brightness. But if we believe in a God of the Incarnation, we believe that God is within all places that we step into with faith. When we care for a child. When we laugh with a friend or chop an onion or, as the 17th century monk St. Lawrence discovered, witness God moving through the pots and pans of our kitchen. When we stand up and shout out for the mountains…the real mountains. When we do our work with intention and attention. When we stop to notice life around us. When we go to bed in the darkness and look back on the day—just a regular day—nothing worth noting really. But everything—everything worth celebrating.
When we do this, we break the silence once more to tell Jesus how glad we are that he had come, and how we never expected to him down here in person. And on we will walk, without stopping.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Cracks
sermon by Carrie Eikler
Mark 1:29-39
I’ve been a bit of a klutz recently. Actually, I’m generally klutzy, but usually I’m a klutz of no consequence: tripping over a rug, dropping my car keys in the dark abyss between the seats, having food fall off my fork into my lap. A bit embarrassing, but nothing too big. I mean, I’ve never misplaced my child…so that’s saying something.
But recently I’ve been a klutz with things that have had sentimental value. Last week I carelessly leaned a beloved fragile tea tray on the counter to dry in a way that wasn’t stable, I guess because... when I closed the cabinet beneath it, it caused some minute disruption (to my perception) but was apparently a magnitude 7 on the Richter scale for kitchen ware and it came tumbling down. Crash and crack.
And then again, in the kitchen this week, I was pulling down a plate for lunch and, distracted by Alistair’s excitement over the macaroni and cheese we were going to have, I accidently hit a small purple bowl we got in Japan and watched it in slow motion(I'm sure you know what I mean by this slow motion sequence), fall off the shelf,
bounce off the counter (at this point it is still in one piece),
towards the floor, bounce (it’s still in one piece),
bounce again and…crash and crack.
I have a box here of many of the other sentimental things we (probably I) have broken.
the teapot we got on our honeymoon in Dublin.
the cup a potter friend gave us our first year of marriage in Washington DC.
Two of the four other small bowls we bought in Japan, even before this most recent accident...all broken
A mug from my first ever contribution to a public radio station.
a bowl from France that had Sebastian’s name on it.
We keep these broken things and they just end up collecting dust in the corner, or getting in the way on top of the stove. I don’t know why we keep them. We’ve tried gluing them and it doesn’t really work. They’ve still got the cracks in them and really shouldn’t be used for anything practical. Maybe I’m keeping them because even though I don’t think they work the way they should, they remind me of something. The honeymoon, the trip, the person...
“There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” says singer/songwriter Leonard Cohen.
God may be a Potter, but Jesus... he sure knew how to show us the cracks that life can cause. The cracks caused by the bad decisions you’ve made. The cracks caused by the abuse others have put you through. The cracks caused by a life of struggle without reward, a life of loving without love returned. The cracks caused by disrespect either dished out or taken. The cracks caused by disease, or addiction, or failure. Or just sheer bad luck.
No matter how polished people look on the outside, I bet if you look closely, you’ll see…we’ve all got cracks somewhere.
We seem to have talked a lot about demons recently. Last month Charity invited us to have tea with our demons and Torin continued the examination of each of our demons that look less like horned little devils and more like real life struggles.
The book of Mark really likes talking about demons apparently because here we are again, a story about demons and sick people. People with a whole lot of broken places in their lives.
Jesus had just finished healing Simon’s mother-in-law--a tidy little story about healing, actually. He goes, takes her hand, lifts her up, and she’s healed. And then she gets right to work. No slow and painful convalescing. No kissing the feet of the man who healed her. Just goes on, business as usual. We don’t even know that if she saw Jesus in her house, if she would know it was he who healed her. Nice. Tidy. Smooth. To the point.
And then comes the sunset, when the new day starts in the Jewish tradition. And what a different day of healing it is. The floodgates open. No longer a tidy little scene of a tidy little miracle. This is like opening day of a free clinic at the beginning of flu season. Not to mention it wasn’t just people who were sick, but also people who were possessed. People who had… demons.
And here’s the perplexing part (I mean, we’re used to demons by now, so that’s not so perplexing). Jesus wouldn’t let the demons speak, it says. Why won’t he let them speak? Will they shout profanities? Will it begin a cosmic warfare between the spirits of the dark and the power of the Son of God almighty? Will they infect other people?
No.
He doesn’t let them speak, it says…because they know him.
Perplexing. Four times in Mark Jesus commands those he healed not to tell anyone. And we really don’t know why. He (or even the author of Mark) never says “Don’t tell anyone because I don’t want to get in trouble.” or “Don’t tell anyone because they must come to me on their own faith in order to be healed” or “Don’t tell anyone because I could really use a coffee break.”
We don’t know. And we don’t know how it is that demons knew him, when it took those following him years to even start grasping who it is they were following.
Some people who are really into the nature of evil spirits may say that Satan was involved and it was Satan who of course knew the power of God through Jesus’ work. Maybe. But there seems to be more than that to me.
But before going further...while we’ve been talking about demons this past month, I’ve been thinking not only about what our contemporary demons are, but also, who would have been considered sick, in need of healing, “possessed by demons” in Jesus’ time, that today, we would be ashamed to say was demonic.
In the book of Deuteronomy (Deu. 28:22-28),for example, it was predicted that mental illness was a punishment for the worship of idols. People who were punished for such sins might be punished with the demons...of madness. The medical and psychological fields have shed vast amounts of light on the area of mental illness. According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness, mental illness is simply medical conditions that disrupt a person's thinking, feeling, mood, ability to relate to others and daily functioning.
Many of the mental illnesses we know about today-- schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, and more—were likely believed to be caused by demons in the culture of Jesus. We know that it is shameful that people would ever treat individuals with these conditions as demonic.
...Of course we have the benefit of 2,000 years of human experience to give us perhaps a more humane perspective, but, if we’re honest…
mental illness is not something most of reach out to embrace.
People with mental illness are not ones we quickly feel comfortable around.
We don’t really try to form relationships with people with intellectual disabilities and physical disabilities.
In that way, people with mental illness and other physical and developmental disabilities, disrupt our thinking, our feeling, our mood and ability to relate to them, and maybe ourselves. They tell us things we don’t see. They speak of the world in ways we might not understand.
And because of that, I’m sure…they see God in places we would never expect.
When a man named Jean Vanier began living with two men who had mental handicaps after his life as a British naval officer, and after he became trained as a philosopher, he probably didn’t know that he was beginning a counter cultural international movement. But he was...
He started a community called L’Arche (or French for “the ark”)…I know you’ve heard me speak about L’Arche before. There are over 120 L’Arche communities today, where core members with a variety of disabilities, live with the assistants who support and love them. They live together, work together, and worship together. They teach and learn from one another.
One person said of Jean Vanier that “he finds gifts where others see tragedy.” These tragedies we see--the demons that those around Jesus saw--are gifts in Jean Vanier’s eyes, and in the eyes of those at L’Arche. And it these gifts-- these people we might easily label worthless in a practical sense, and who make us uncomfortable—one gift of these people is that they see what we don’t see. They see a reality that we have masked with our own quest for power, and purpose, and functionality.
Vanier was speaking to a university group once and said in his soft, thoughtful voice: “I don't know whether around here you have some normal people, but I find them a very strange group. I remember…one of the characteristics of normal people is that they have problems. They have family problems, they have financial problems, they have professional problems, problems with politics, problems with church, problems all over the place. And I remember one very normal guy came to see me and he was telling me about all his problems. And there was a knock on the door, and entered Jean Claude. Jean Claude has Down Syndrome and I didn't even say, "Come in”…[when he] came in, and he shook my hand and laughed and he shook the hand of Mr. Normal and laughed and he walked out laughing. And Mr. Normal turned to me and he said, "Isn't it sad, [people] like that."
"He couldn't see that Jean Claude [had happiness]. It's a blindness, and it's an inner blindness which is the most difficult to heal. “
Those who see what we don’t, who know things beyond this material realm tht we don’tknow... We easily label them demonic. Or worthless. Or unaware of boundaries. Or simply sad. Or maybe, broken.
But then, that’s something we all share. All of us, broken in some way.
And why is it... that those who seem the most broken in most of the Jesus stories are the ones who see him? Who get it? Who let that Light in through the cracks…and send back out the openness to receive?
I have mentioned in the past Henri Nouwen, a priest and professor who left his academic life at Harvard to become a chaplain at a L’Arche community called Daybreak, in Canada. Nouwen wrote about his experience at Daybreak and about his relationship with one man in particular in his book Adam: God’s Beloved.
"I want to tell you Adam's story,” writes Nouwen. “After a month of working with Adam, something started to happen to me that had never happened before. This severely handicapped young man, whom outsiders sometimes describe with very hurtful words, started to become my dearest companion. As I carried him into his bath and made waves to let the water run fast around him and told him all sorts of stories, I knew that two friends were communicating far beyond the realm of thought.
"Before this, I had come to believe that what makes us human is our mind. But Adam keeps showing me that what makes us human is our heart, the center of our being where God has hidden trust, hope, and love. Whoever sees in Adam merely a burden to society misses the sacred mystery that Adam is fully capable of receiving and giving love. He is fully human—not half human, not nearly human, but fully, completely human because he is all heart. The longer I stay with Adam, the more clearly I see him as a gentle teacher, teaching me what no book or professor ever could.”
Why Jesus asked them not to share their knowledge of him, we don’t know. We struggle to wraps our minds around this healer, this Jesus, this son of God. And maybe that’s a reason why he didn’t want the demons to speak...
Because our minds will never understand. It’s our hearts, illuminated by the cracks in our lives, that will teach us.
“There’s a crack in everything. That’ s how the light gets in.” Amen, and amen.
Mark 1:29-39
I’ve been a bit of a klutz recently. Actually, I’m generally klutzy, but usually I’m a klutz of no consequence: tripping over a rug, dropping my car keys in the dark abyss between the seats, having food fall off my fork into my lap. A bit embarrassing, but nothing too big. I mean, I’ve never misplaced my child…so that’s saying something.
But recently I’ve been a klutz with things that have had sentimental value. Last week I carelessly leaned a beloved fragile tea tray on the counter to dry in a way that wasn’t stable, I guess because... when I closed the cabinet beneath it, it caused some minute disruption (to my perception) but was apparently a magnitude 7 on the Richter scale for kitchen ware and it came tumbling down. Crash and crack.
And then again, in the kitchen this week, I was pulling down a plate for lunch and, distracted by Alistair’s excitement over the macaroni and cheese we were going to have, I accidently hit a small purple bowl we got in Japan and watched it in slow motion(I'm sure you know what I mean by this slow motion sequence), fall off the shelf,
bounce off the counter (at this point it is still in one piece),
towards the floor, bounce (it’s still in one piece),
bounce again and…crash and crack.
I have a box here of many of the other sentimental things we (probably I) have broken.
the teapot we got on our honeymoon in Dublin.
the cup a potter friend gave us our first year of marriage in Washington DC.
Two of the four other small bowls we bought in Japan, even before this most recent accident...all broken
A mug from my first ever contribution to a public radio station.
a bowl from France that had Sebastian’s name on it.
We keep these broken things and they just end up collecting dust in the corner, or getting in the way on top of the stove. I don’t know why we keep them. We’ve tried gluing them and it doesn’t really work. They’ve still got the cracks in them and really shouldn’t be used for anything practical. Maybe I’m keeping them because even though I don’t think they work the way they should, they remind me of something. The honeymoon, the trip, the person...
“There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” says singer/songwriter Leonard Cohen.
God may be a Potter, but Jesus... he sure knew how to show us the cracks that life can cause. The cracks caused by the bad decisions you’ve made. The cracks caused by the abuse others have put you through. The cracks caused by a life of struggle without reward, a life of loving without love returned. The cracks caused by disrespect either dished out or taken. The cracks caused by disease, or addiction, or failure. Or just sheer bad luck.
No matter how polished people look on the outside, I bet if you look closely, you’ll see…we’ve all got cracks somewhere.
We seem to have talked a lot about demons recently. Last month Charity invited us to have tea with our demons and Torin continued the examination of each of our demons that look less like horned little devils and more like real life struggles.
The book of Mark really likes talking about demons apparently because here we are again, a story about demons and sick people. People with a whole lot of broken places in their lives.
Jesus had just finished healing Simon’s mother-in-law--a tidy little story about healing, actually. He goes, takes her hand, lifts her up, and she’s healed. And then she gets right to work. No slow and painful convalescing. No kissing the feet of the man who healed her. Just goes on, business as usual. We don’t even know that if she saw Jesus in her house, if she would know it was he who healed her. Nice. Tidy. Smooth. To the point.
And then comes the sunset, when the new day starts in the Jewish tradition. And what a different day of healing it is. The floodgates open. No longer a tidy little scene of a tidy little miracle. This is like opening day of a free clinic at the beginning of flu season. Not to mention it wasn’t just people who were sick, but also people who were possessed. People who had… demons.
And here’s the perplexing part (I mean, we’re used to demons by now, so that’s not so perplexing). Jesus wouldn’t let the demons speak, it says. Why won’t he let them speak? Will they shout profanities? Will it begin a cosmic warfare between the spirits of the dark and the power of the Son of God almighty? Will they infect other people?
No.
He doesn’t let them speak, it says…because they know him.
Perplexing. Four times in Mark Jesus commands those he healed not to tell anyone. And we really don’t know why. He (or even the author of Mark) never says “Don’t tell anyone because I don’t want to get in trouble.” or “Don’t tell anyone because they must come to me on their own faith in order to be healed” or “Don’t tell anyone because I could really use a coffee break.”
We don’t know. And we don’t know how it is that demons knew him, when it took those following him years to even start grasping who it is they were following.
Some people who are really into the nature of evil spirits may say that Satan was involved and it was Satan who of course knew the power of God through Jesus’ work. Maybe. But there seems to be more than that to me.
But before going further...while we’ve been talking about demons this past month, I’ve been thinking not only about what our contemporary demons are, but also, who would have been considered sick, in need of healing, “possessed by demons” in Jesus’ time, that today, we would be ashamed to say was demonic.
In the book of Deuteronomy (Deu. 28:22-28),for example, it was predicted that mental illness was a punishment for the worship of idols. People who were punished for such sins might be punished with the demons...of madness. The medical and psychological fields have shed vast amounts of light on the area of mental illness. According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness, mental illness is simply medical conditions that disrupt a person's thinking, feeling, mood, ability to relate to others and daily functioning.
Many of the mental illnesses we know about today-- schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, and more—were likely believed to be caused by demons in the culture of Jesus. We know that it is shameful that people would ever treat individuals with these conditions as demonic.
...Of course we have the benefit of 2,000 years of human experience to give us perhaps a more humane perspective, but, if we’re honest…
mental illness is not something most of reach out to embrace.
People with mental illness are not ones we quickly feel comfortable around.
We don’t really try to form relationships with people with intellectual disabilities and physical disabilities.
In that way, people with mental illness and other physical and developmental disabilities, disrupt our thinking, our feeling, our mood and ability to relate to them, and maybe ourselves. They tell us things we don’t see. They speak of the world in ways we might not understand.
And because of that, I’m sure…they see God in places we would never expect.
When a man named Jean Vanier began living with two men who had mental handicaps after his life as a British naval officer, and after he became trained as a philosopher, he probably didn’t know that he was beginning a counter cultural international movement. But he was...
He started a community called L’Arche (or French for “the ark”)…I know you’ve heard me speak about L’Arche before. There are over 120 L’Arche communities today, where core members with a variety of disabilities, live with the assistants who support and love them. They live together, work together, and worship together. They teach and learn from one another.
One person said of Jean Vanier that “he finds gifts where others see tragedy.” These tragedies we see--the demons that those around Jesus saw--are gifts in Jean Vanier’s eyes, and in the eyes of those at L’Arche. And it these gifts-- these people we might easily label worthless in a practical sense, and who make us uncomfortable—one gift of these people is that they see what we don’t see. They see a reality that we have masked with our own quest for power, and purpose, and functionality.
Vanier was speaking to a university group once and said in his soft, thoughtful voice: “I don't know whether around here you have some normal people, but I find them a very strange group. I remember…one of the characteristics of normal people is that they have problems. They have family problems, they have financial problems, they have professional problems, problems with politics, problems with church, problems all over the place. And I remember one very normal guy came to see me and he was telling me about all his problems. And there was a knock on the door, and entered Jean Claude. Jean Claude has Down Syndrome and I didn't even say, "Come in”…[when he] came in, and he shook my hand and laughed and he shook the hand of Mr. Normal and laughed and he walked out laughing. And Mr. Normal turned to me and he said, "Isn't it sad, [people] like that."
"He couldn't see that Jean Claude [had happiness]. It's a blindness, and it's an inner blindness which is the most difficult to heal. “
Those who see what we don’t, who know things beyond this material realm tht we don’tknow... We easily label them demonic. Or worthless. Or unaware of boundaries. Or simply sad. Or maybe, broken.
But then, that’s something we all share. All of us, broken in some way.
And why is it... that those who seem the most broken in most of the Jesus stories are the ones who see him? Who get it? Who let that Light in through the cracks…and send back out the openness to receive?
I have mentioned in the past Henri Nouwen, a priest and professor who left his academic life at Harvard to become a chaplain at a L’Arche community called Daybreak, in Canada. Nouwen wrote about his experience at Daybreak and about his relationship with one man in particular in his book Adam: God’s Beloved.
"I want to tell you Adam's story,” writes Nouwen. “After a month of working with Adam, something started to happen to me that had never happened before. This severely handicapped young man, whom outsiders sometimes describe with very hurtful words, started to become my dearest companion. As I carried him into his bath and made waves to let the water run fast around him and told him all sorts of stories, I knew that two friends were communicating far beyond the realm of thought.
"Before this, I had come to believe that what makes us human is our mind. But Adam keeps showing me that what makes us human is our heart, the center of our being where God has hidden trust, hope, and love. Whoever sees in Adam merely a burden to society misses the sacred mystery that Adam is fully capable of receiving and giving love. He is fully human—not half human, not nearly human, but fully, completely human because he is all heart. The longer I stay with Adam, the more clearly I see him as a gentle teacher, teaching me what no book or professor ever could.”
Why Jesus asked them not to share their knowledge of him, we don’t know. We struggle to wraps our minds around this healer, this Jesus, this son of God. And maybe that’s a reason why he didn’t want the demons to speak...
Because our minds will never understand. It’s our hearts, illuminated by the cracks in our lives, that will teach us.
“There’s a crack in everything. That’ s how the light gets in.” Amen, and amen.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
My Brothers' (and Sisters') Keeper
sermon by Torin Eikler
1 Corinthians 8:1-13 Mark 1:21-28
At first glance, this passage from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians is all about food and eating. It seems that there was some confusion among the believers there as to whether or not it was okay to eat the remnants from sacrificial ceremonies in the many temples that dominated the center of the city. Some felt that the meat was tainted and that eating it would defile a person. Others scoffed at that idea and happily scarfed down the left-overs from the Olympian feast.
Paul’s response was to seize the chance to do a little theological education. There’s really only one God, he says. Not everyone believes in or even knows about that God, but the “idols” they worship are nothing more than their own fantasies. So, there’s really no need to worry about spiritually contaminated food, he says, because every part of creation was made by God and was declared to be good.
But you can never take Paul at face value…. Or, rather, you can never leave Paul without looking deeper. The food issue is not his greatest worry, and after giving his thoughts on that particular issue – which are a relief to those of us who like to eat the rest of the communion bread after Love Feast – he goes on to a deeper concern: how the believers of Corinth have gone about having their disagreement.
As I implied earlier, those who had the “right” view on the food issue seem to have been more than a little insensitive to the newer members of their congregation. They were people who had just come out of a life of worshiping other gods, and they were understandably concerned that it would be wrong to continue the religious practices of their earlier lives. Paul is clear to say that “the ‘weak ones’ were not to be considered inadequate or inferior. They were merely at an earlier stage along the spiritual growth continuum that runs from more limited moral consciousness to a fuller awareness.” And the more “mature” believers who are ignoring the effects of their behavior are also ignoring their responsibility to care for, nurture, and build their brothers and sisters up in love.
Believers, he says, are not only responsible for themselves and their own actions. They are responsible for each other and the way their actions set examples for others. In other words … they are their brothers’ and sisters’ keepers, and they don’t seem to be doing a very good job caring for them. Instead of giving encouragement and nurture, they are offering judgment and contempt, and that, according to Paul, is the equivalent of sinning not only against weaker brothers and sisters, but also against the Christ who cherishes each one of them.
“All fine and good,” we think. “The Corinthians clearly needed to do a better job of caring for each other.” And it’s tempting to leave it at that – a study in historical scripture analysis. But Paul – at least the Paul we see in his letters - was nothing if not an insightful pastor, and I am sure that the deeper issues that he was addressing with the Corinthians are just as likely to crop up in congregations today. They may even be part of our lives together. They probably are, and we can feel bad about that. But Paul doesn’t seem to want to crush the Corinthian church with guilt. He wants them to change. He wants them to care for one another – to build each other up … with love.
I want to share with you a powerful story of how we can do that. It comes courtesy of John Sumwalt….
There was once a deeply troubled church that could not keep any pastor for more than a year or two. Eight pastors had come and gone in eleven years, all of them at the request of the congregation after controversy with one of the long-time leaders. The church blamed the Bishop for sending them inept pastors. The pastors blamed the congregation, saying that ministry was impossible with a people so intent on self-destruction. Many members left, and, in time, no pastor could be found who was willing to serve what everyone was calling "that difficult charge."
Finally, in exasperation, the Bishop called a special meeting which included several key leaders from the troubled congregation and forty lay and clergy members of her Annual Conference, chosen randomly. Leaders of the congregation described the difficulties they had experienced over the past several years. Then the District Superintendent was given an opportunity to tell the story from his point of view. When everyone had had a say, the Bishop addressed the whole gathering in her best preacher's voice, saying, "Brothers and sisters, what are we going to do? Whom shall we send to this tormented congregation to share with them the healing power of Jesus the Christ?"
Then the Bishop invited everyone to pray silently with her. The silence lasted for a long time and continued even after the Bishop concluded the prayer with a resolute "amen." At last one of the older pastors spoke out from the back of the room. "I'll go," she said.
There was a collective gasp, and then a sustained buzzing of voices that grew until it filled the room. Everyone knew that she had been on leave of absence for several years and that she had left her last church in the wake of a scandalous divorce. She had become an alcoholic, been twice convicted of drunk driving, had spent six months in prison and a month in a chemical dependency treatment center. The Bishop and the superintendents had hoped to place her with some small, quiet, caring congregation where she could serve her remaining years without stress.
"Are you sure, Deborah?" the Bishop asked. "This is a very difficult assignment."
"This is a congregation in pain," Deborah said. "I know something about pain. I think I should be the one to go." Heads could be seen nodding all around the room.
"There is one condition to my going, however," Deborah said to the Bishop. "You must give me a free hand to do whatever is necessary to bring about healing. I must know that I have your full support to do what is needed." The Bishop looked back at Deborah, and, without blinking an eye, said, "You have my full support to do whatever is needed."
Deborah and the District Superintendent met with the leaders of the troubled congregation after the meeting. They agreed to accept her as their pastor, although they expressed some surprise that a woman her age would want to take on such a difficult task. Near the end of the meeting, Deborah asked for the same unconditional support she had requested of the Bishop. They agreed to give her free reign to do whatever was needed to help heal the congregation, and, at Deborah's insistence, they solemnly promised to pray for her every day. Then she told them what she planned to do to begin the healing process. She said, "It is my intention to visit with every member of this congregation before I perform any other pastoral duties, including preaching. I will not lead worship or attend any meetings until that task is finished. The chairperson said, "I'll make the arrangements."
Deborah began her visitation the following day. She went from house to house, apartment to apartment, hospital bed to nursing home bed, introducing herself as the new pastor and asking each one, as she went, to respond to two questions: How did you come to love Jesus, and why have you chosen to serve him in this congregation? She visited morning, afternoon and evening for four-and-a-half weeks and was warmly received by every member of the congregation but one. Then she went home, called the lay leader, and told him she would be prepared to preach the following Sunday.
The sanctuary was packed that day. Almost every able member was present. They waited eagerly for the sermon to hear what Deborah would have to say. Her text was Mark 1:16-20, the calling of the disciples. She said, "I want to share two things with you today: How I came to love Jesus, and why I believe God has called me to serve him with you in this congregation." It was a stirring sermon. Many in the congregation were moved to tears. Then, just as Deborah was about to ask them to join with her in prayer, a man stood up in the back of the sanctuary and shouted out at her. It was Harry Wiersem, the man who had refused to see her when she called at his home. He was the long-time leader who had bedeviled so many pastors before her. Some had told Deborah that he had never recovered from the death of his wife many years before.
"Who do you think you are, sister?" he yelled. "We know all about you. You couldn't keep your husband and you are a drunk. You're the last thing we need in this church. We've got enough problems as it is!"
He stood glaring at her, his face red and his knuckles bulging white as his hands gripped the pew in front of him. Deborah looked back at him with sad eyes. She didn't speak for several seconds. It seemed like an eternity to the congregation. It was absolutely silent in the sanctuary. No one moved or seemed to breathe.
"I am a sinner, Harry," Deborah said in a soft, firm voice, still looking into his angry, red face. "A forgiven sinner. And I've come to serve with sinners: forgiven sinners." Then she stepped down from the pulpit and walked up the long center aisle to where Harry was still hanging on to the back of his pew. She put her arm around his shoulder, looked him in the eye and said, "I am sorry about Mildred. She must have been very dear to you." Harry let go of the pew, fell into her arms and began to sob like a baby. When he was finished, Deborah bid everyone to gather round. They joined hands and she led them in prayer. When she said "Amen," Deborah was aware of something around her that felt like a collective sigh of relief. The demons were gone. The congregation would be whole again.
Demons, idols, addictions … they aren’t really that different from each other when it comes down to it. They push a wedge between us and our brothers and sisters. They divide us from God. And they bedevil us all in some way or another. Sometimes they are personal – deeply personal things that we struggle with … too often by ourselves. Other times they take center stage in the midst of our communities and hurt those we love. At their worst, they suck others into storms of our own making, drawing us all farther from the wholeness that is our salvation.
When I read that story, I wrote back to the author and asked if it was a true story. He responded, “All my stories are true, and some of them really happened.” I took that to mean that it’s not so much the details that matter as it is the message. And it’s not the details of each person’s struggle that really matters – though they do make a difference. How we respond is what’s important because we are our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers … just as they are ours.
Do we ignore the pain and brokenness of our brothers and sisters, turning them away so that we don’t embarrass them?
Do we avoid the brokenness within ourselves, hoping that it will just go away somehow?
Or do we reach out our arms to share ourselves with one another, opening the floodgates of the healing love of God?
1 Corinthians 8:1-13 Mark 1:21-28
At first glance, this passage from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians is all about food and eating. It seems that there was some confusion among the believers there as to whether or not it was okay to eat the remnants from sacrificial ceremonies in the many temples that dominated the center of the city. Some felt that the meat was tainted and that eating it would defile a person. Others scoffed at that idea and happily scarfed down the left-overs from the Olympian feast.
Paul’s response was to seize the chance to do a little theological education. There’s really only one God, he says. Not everyone believes in or even knows about that God, but the “idols” they worship are nothing more than their own fantasies. So, there’s really no need to worry about spiritually contaminated food, he says, because every part of creation was made by God and was declared to be good.
But you can never take Paul at face value…. Or, rather, you can never leave Paul without looking deeper. The food issue is not his greatest worry, and after giving his thoughts on that particular issue – which are a relief to those of us who like to eat the rest of the communion bread after Love Feast – he goes on to a deeper concern: how the believers of Corinth have gone about having their disagreement.
As I implied earlier, those who had the “right” view on the food issue seem to have been more than a little insensitive to the newer members of their congregation. They were people who had just come out of a life of worshiping other gods, and they were understandably concerned that it would be wrong to continue the religious practices of their earlier lives. Paul is clear to say that “the ‘weak ones’ were not to be considered inadequate or inferior. They were merely at an earlier stage along the spiritual growth continuum that runs from more limited moral consciousness to a fuller awareness.” And the more “mature” believers who are ignoring the effects of their behavior are also ignoring their responsibility to care for, nurture, and build their brothers and sisters up in love.
Believers, he says, are not only responsible for themselves and their own actions. They are responsible for each other and the way their actions set examples for others. In other words … they are their brothers’ and sisters’ keepers, and they don’t seem to be doing a very good job caring for them. Instead of giving encouragement and nurture, they are offering judgment and contempt, and that, according to Paul, is the equivalent of sinning not only against weaker brothers and sisters, but also against the Christ who cherishes each one of them.
“All fine and good,” we think. “The Corinthians clearly needed to do a better job of caring for each other.” And it’s tempting to leave it at that – a study in historical scripture analysis. But Paul – at least the Paul we see in his letters - was nothing if not an insightful pastor, and I am sure that the deeper issues that he was addressing with the Corinthians are just as likely to crop up in congregations today. They may even be part of our lives together. They probably are, and we can feel bad about that. But Paul doesn’t seem to want to crush the Corinthian church with guilt. He wants them to change. He wants them to care for one another – to build each other up … with love.
I want to share with you a powerful story of how we can do that. It comes courtesy of John Sumwalt….
There was once a deeply troubled church that could not keep any pastor for more than a year or two. Eight pastors had come and gone in eleven years, all of them at the request of the congregation after controversy with one of the long-time leaders. The church blamed the Bishop for sending them inept pastors. The pastors blamed the congregation, saying that ministry was impossible with a people so intent on self-destruction. Many members left, and, in time, no pastor could be found who was willing to serve what everyone was calling "that difficult charge."
Finally, in exasperation, the Bishop called a special meeting which included several key leaders from the troubled congregation and forty lay and clergy members of her Annual Conference, chosen randomly. Leaders of the congregation described the difficulties they had experienced over the past several years. Then the District Superintendent was given an opportunity to tell the story from his point of view. When everyone had had a say, the Bishop addressed the whole gathering in her best preacher's voice, saying, "Brothers and sisters, what are we going to do? Whom shall we send to this tormented congregation to share with them the healing power of Jesus the Christ?"
Then the Bishop invited everyone to pray silently with her. The silence lasted for a long time and continued even after the Bishop concluded the prayer with a resolute "amen." At last one of the older pastors spoke out from the back of the room. "I'll go," she said.
There was a collective gasp, and then a sustained buzzing of voices that grew until it filled the room. Everyone knew that she had been on leave of absence for several years and that she had left her last church in the wake of a scandalous divorce. She had become an alcoholic, been twice convicted of drunk driving, had spent six months in prison and a month in a chemical dependency treatment center. The Bishop and the superintendents had hoped to place her with some small, quiet, caring congregation where she could serve her remaining years without stress.
"Are you sure, Deborah?" the Bishop asked. "This is a very difficult assignment."
"This is a congregation in pain," Deborah said. "I know something about pain. I think I should be the one to go." Heads could be seen nodding all around the room.
"There is one condition to my going, however," Deborah said to the Bishop. "You must give me a free hand to do whatever is necessary to bring about healing. I must know that I have your full support to do what is needed." The Bishop looked back at Deborah, and, without blinking an eye, said, "You have my full support to do whatever is needed."
Deborah and the District Superintendent met with the leaders of the troubled congregation after the meeting. They agreed to accept her as their pastor, although they expressed some surprise that a woman her age would want to take on such a difficult task. Near the end of the meeting, Deborah asked for the same unconditional support she had requested of the Bishop. They agreed to give her free reign to do whatever was needed to help heal the congregation, and, at Deborah's insistence, they solemnly promised to pray for her every day. Then she told them what she planned to do to begin the healing process. She said, "It is my intention to visit with every member of this congregation before I perform any other pastoral duties, including preaching. I will not lead worship or attend any meetings until that task is finished. The chairperson said, "I'll make the arrangements."
Deborah began her visitation the following day. She went from house to house, apartment to apartment, hospital bed to nursing home bed, introducing herself as the new pastor and asking each one, as she went, to respond to two questions: How did you come to love Jesus, and why have you chosen to serve him in this congregation? She visited morning, afternoon and evening for four-and-a-half weeks and was warmly received by every member of the congregation but one. Then she went home, called the lay leader, and told him she would be prepared to preach the following Sunday.
The sanctuary was packed that day. Almost every able member was present. They waited eagerly for the sermon to hear what Deborah would have to say. Her text was Mark 1:16-20, the calling of the disciples. She said, "I want to share two things with you today: How I came to love Jesus, and why I believe God has called me to serve him with you in this congregation." It was a stirring sermon. Many in the congregation were moved to tears. Then, just as Deborah was about to ask them to join with her in prayer, a man stood up in the back of the sanctuary and shouted out at her. It was Harry Wiersem, the man who had refused to see her when she called at his home. He was the long-time leader who had bedeviled so many pastors before her. Some had told Deborah that he had never recovered from the death of his wife many years before.
"Who do you think you are, sister?" he yelled. "We know all about you. You couldn't keep your husband and you are a drunk. You're the last thing we need in this church. We've got enough problems as it is!"
He stood glaring at her, his face red and his knuckles bulging white as his hands gripped the pew in front of him. Deborah looked back at him with sad eyes. She didn't speak for several seconds. It seemed like an eternity to the congregation. It was absolutely silent in the sanctuary. No one moved or seemed to breathe.
"I am a sinner, Harry," Deborah said in a soft, firm voice, still looking into his angry, red face. "A forgiven sinner. And I've come to serve with sinners: forgiven sinners." Then she stepped down from the pulpit and walked up the long center aisle to where Harry was still hanging on to the back of his pew. She put her arm around his shoulder, looked him in the eye and said, "I am sorry about Mildred. She must have been very dear to you." Harry let go of the pew, fell into her arms and began to sob like a baby. When he was finished, Deborah bid everyone to gather round. They joined hands and she led them in prayer. When she said "Amen," Deborah was aware of something around her that felt like a collective sigh of relief. The demons were gone. The congregation would be whole again.
Demons, idols, addictions … they aren’t really that different from each other when it comes down to it. They push a wedge between us and our brothers and sisters. They divide us from God. And they bedevil us all in some way or another. Sometimes they are personal – deeply personal things that we struggle with … too often by ourselves. Other times they take center stage in the midst of our communities and hurt those we love. At their worst, they suck others into storms of our own making, drawing us all farther from the wholeness that is our salvation.
When I read that story, I wrote back to the author and asked if it was a true story. He responded, “All my stories are true, and some of them really happened.” I took that to mean that it’s not so much the details that matter as it is the message. And it’s not the details of each person’s struggle that really matters – though they do make a difference. How we respond is what’s important because we are our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers … just as they are ours.
Do we ignore the pain and brokenness of our brothers and sisters, turning them away so that we don’t embarrass them?
Do we avoid the brokenness within ourselves, hoping that it will just go away somehow?
Or do we reach out our arms to share ourselves with one another, opening the floodgates of the healing love of God?
Sunday, January 22, 2012
I say Jonah, you say…
sermon by Carrie Eikler
Jonah 1-4
January 22, 2012
I love doing word association exercises. You know, where one person says a word and you say the first thing that comes to your mind? Like for example, if I say… “snow” the first thing you think is ____ (cold? white?).
How about, “good?”
soft?
Adam?
Jonah?
It’s pretty assured that if you mention Jonah to even the youngest of church or synagogue-goers they will say “whale,” or “big fish” as it is actually referred to in scripture. Same probably goes for…
Daniel? Lions!
Noah? Flood!
But Jonah and that big fish. Ask any child what happened to Jonah and I imagine the conversation would like something like this
So, tell me about Jonah
“well, he got swallowed by a fish”.
Yes, that’s right! Why did he get swallowed by a fish?
uh…cause he was in the ocean?
yes, that’s right, he was in the ocean. Why was he in the ocean?
uh…beeecause…
OK, OK, well what happened after he was in the belly of the fish?
ooo!!me!!
yes?
the fish puked him up!
Right, and then what?
uhh…
So children, what then is the moral of the Jonah story?
uhh…you better…learn to swim.
I’ll admit, before I went to seminary and spent three rather hilarious weeks looking at Jonah, I was that child. Whales, and fish puke. That’s what the Jonah story was to me. Maybe it’s like that to you, and be assured, you are in good company.
Whales and lions and floods have great sticking power. We remember the stories have those things in them. But we do tend to forget what they really were about, or how they are anything but spectacular stories.
Jonah is known as one of the “minor” prophets. There are the “major” prophets, the big wigs, the ones we know about and are pretty likely to stumble upon if we choose to open our bible somewhere in the middle-Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel…those guys.
And then there are the “minor prophets”, the prophets whose stories are much shorter. The ones you can spend five minutes leafing through the middle part of the bible searching for and if only 2 pages stick together you probably missed them, so you have to turn to the table of contents.
Jonah is considered “minor.” There are only four chapters. But what four chapters they are. Hopefully this morning you got the essence of the entire Jonah story, because we pretty much covered it: with the children we looked at the events leading up to the belly of the whale part…
God tells Jonah to go to Nineveh and give them the divine word that something’s really gonna go down if they don’t change their ways. To which, you can almost hear Jonah snorting, “I don’t think so” and thinking he can outwit God, he gets on a boat headed… anywhere else.
Now first, let me say, Jonah is different than most prophetic books. This was written as an ancient form of satire. We don’t usually think of biblical writings like this, do we? But this was written to entertain the readers, while also delivering a message. It’s not biblical history, it’s like a comic book. So whatever struggles you may have about what God is doing in this story (and I know I certainly have some issues), we aren’t meant to ask the question “did this actually happen?” but more ask the question, after we stop laughing, “Does this sort of thing, in our own lives, perhaps less dramatically, actually happen? Do we turn away from God?
So he’s on the boat and God, the great trickster in this satire, throws a storm, the sailors freak out, crying to their own God, they throw everything overboard and realize the only thing left to throw out is the human cargo, and as humans are apt to do, they look for the scapegoat. And there’s Jonah, sleeping through the whole thing and they interrogate him like hardened immigration officials: who are you? where are you from? your papers? your God?
And Jonah says, throw me over and the sea will calm down.
Wow. Maybe he’s not such a bad guy after all. And then it happens.
The part we all know and love. The big fish. And isn’t it interesting to note that it was God who provided the fish for Jonah. The fish was safety for Jonah. As a child I didn’t remember that. I just thought Jonah was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But Jonah knows it’s for his safety because he sings a beautiful song of thanksgiving:
I called to the Lord out of my distress,
and he answered me;
out of the belly of Sheol I cried,
and you heard my voice.
You cast me into the deep,
into the heart of the seas,
and the flood surrounded me;
all your waves and your billows passed over me.
Then I said, “I am driven away from your sight;
how shall I look again
upon your holy temple?...
As my life was ebbing away
I remembered the Lord;
and my prayer came to you,
into your holy temple…
Deliverance belongs to the Lord!”
[pause]
…and then the fish pukes him up.
And then we pick up with the two chapters Linda read, a rather comic unfolding of Jonah going to Nineveh to proclaim God’s wrath, the Ninevites surprisingly listening and repenting, Jonah pouting like a four year old told he has to eat his brussel sprouts, saying I don’t like you God because you are too nice, too merciful, you made me look like a fool and a false prophet, and you care more about those sinners than you do about me who did what you asked [after I ran away and got stuck in the belly of a fish].
And then he’s covered by bush, and he’s happy. Then God causes the bush to die, and he’s petulant again. And we’re left with an abrupt ending and God gets the last word, “should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city…where there are [thousands of ignorant people] and also many animals?” End. of. story.
Whew. What a story. A bit of a big fish story if you ask me. And don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you “the moral” of the story. In fact, I think when we do that, we imply that there is one thing you should take away from the biblical stories and then they don’t become living anymore. They loose their power to speak new messages, make us laugh and cry because we see ourselves anew in it now, much differently than when we were children.
We just remember… it’s about a whale.
And even after today when I say Jonah, you still might say “whale”, but instead of that, let me continue with a question that seems to rise out of this story, this time, for me.
Who would you like to see fail?
Who would you, like Jonah, like to see God “smite” down?
Now, I know as good Christians, and especially as peace loving Anabaptists, we feel there is no one that we should like to see fail or to get punished. I think many of us here can say that there is no one, or group, we believe should be smoked out and killed, no matter what they have done.
But you know, if I’m honest, there are certain people who I wished were forcibly humbled, perhaps, humiliated-- just a bit. Or at least, as they say I wish they’d “get their come-uppance. To get put in their place. There are people who I roll my eyes at and believe they are so below me because of what they think.
No, we’re not declaring judgment on these people, but we do secretly wish them ill in some way. And if you have a hard time finding your Ninevites, think of who it is—either an individual or a group of people—who brings a sneer to your mouth, or a sigh to your breath, or causes you to roll your eyes, or who you find some smart aleck remark to demean them, (when you’re all by yourself).
Who are your Ninevites?
Are they Muslims? Evangelical Christians? Democrats? Tea Partiers? pro-life activists? gay rights activists? Latinos? The Chinese? The French?
Is it Congress? Wall Street? Your neighbor who disgusts you in some way? Your friend what can’t seem to get her priorities straight? Your in-laws who…well, no matter, whatever they do is going to annoy you?
Is it your spouse? Your child ? Is it yourself?
Get that person in your mind
Now call forth the feeling you get when you come across them on the street, or hear about them in the news, or see them in the grocery store…
Now, here’s is God’s question posed to Jonah… “Is it right for you to be angry?”
[pause]
Is it right for you to have such negative feelings towards these people?
[pause]
No, we know it’s not “right” of us. We know we shouldn’t feel this way. But, let me tell you God, it is justified.
And that’s the sticky point isn’t it? The people of Nineveh were Assyrians and Assyrians had attacked and destroyed the Northern Kingdom of Israel around 700BCE. These are Israel’s enemies and you better believe he was justified in wanting God’s vengeance on these people.
You bet we are justified in drawing those who have backward ideas as closed-minded bigots, or those who threaten the moral fabric of our nation as sinful heathens
I feel justified because I think I know how things are supposed to be. How people are supposed to be. Is it right of me to? Probably not. But it sure makes me feel better about myself.
But then, I find, that I really… don’t… feel better about myself. I just feel… bitter. I start to become a sulky, petulant Jonah, whining under my withered bush, sunburned, and somewhat…alone.
…
Oftentimes, the biggest barrier to showing the world God’s grace and mercy, is ourselves. Jonah is a story about repentance and redemption. Certainly about the Ninevites, but the way it ends, in it’s awkward abrupt question from God.
It turns the story towards the potential for Jonah’s repentance…and our redemption.
Jonah is left sulking and bitter. We don’t know how he will respond to God’s mercy and the truth…
…that God’s love has no boundaries, no matter how much we wish it did. It is not only for the righteous, it is not only for ourselves.
This story leaves us asking…what will happen to Jonah?
What will happen to Jonah, if he accepts that God will not keep LOVE from others, no matter how hard he…or we, try to.
What will happen to Jonah if he lets God’s boundless love turn his heart?
So take note this week. When a person, a group…your Ninevites, present themselves to you, note your reaction. And ask, no matter how justified I feel in my anger, or disgust, or righteousness, am I sitting alone…under my dead bush?
And if it seems you are, then take a step out from under it, proclaim a prophecy to yourself—not one of judgment—but a prophecy of God’s love. Proclaim a prophecy to yourself…and ask for mercy.
Because God’s eager to for you to receive it.
Jonah 1-4
January 22, 2012
I love doing word association exercises. You know, where one person says a word and you say the first thing that comes to your mind? Like for example, if I say… “snow” the first thing you think is ____ (cold? white?).
How about, “good?”
soft?
Adam?
Jonah?
It’s pretty assured that if you mention Jonah to even the youngest of church or synagogue-goers they will say “whale,” or “big fish” as it is actually referred to in scripture. Same probably goes for…
Daniel? Lions!
Noah? Flood!
But Jonah and that big fish. Ask any child what happened to Jonah and I imagine the conversation would like something like this
So, tell me about Jonah
“well, he got swallowed by a fish”.
Yes, that’s right! Why did he get swallowed by a fish?
uh…cause he was in the ocean?
yes, that’s right, he was in the ocean. Why was he in the ocean?
uh…beeecause…
OK, OK, well what happened after he was in the belly of the fish?
ooo!!me!!
yes?
the fish puked him up!
Right, and then what?
uhh…
So children, what then is the moral of the Jonah story?
uhh…you better…learn to swim.
I’ll admit, before I went to seminary and spent three rather hilarious weeks looking at Jonah, I was that child. Whales, and fish puke. That’s what the Jonah story was to me. Maybe it’s like that to you, and be assured, you are in good company.
Whales and lions and floods have great sticking power. We remember the stories have those things in them. But we do tend to forget what they really were about, or how they are anything but spectacular stories.
Jonah is known as one of the “minor” prophets. There are the “major” prophets, the big wigs, the ones we know about and are pretty likely to stumble upon if we choose to open our bible somewhere in the middle-Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel…those guys.
And then there are the “minor prophets”, the prophets whose stories are much shorter. The ones you can spend five minutes leafing through the middle part of the bible searching for and if only 2 pages stick together you probably missed them, so you have to turn to the table of contents.
Jonah is considered “minor.” There are only four chapters. But what four chapters they are. Hopefully this morning you got the essence of the entire Jonah story, because we pretty much covered it: with the children we looked at the events leading up to the belly of the whale part…
God tells Jonah to go to Nineveh and give them the divine word that something’s really gonna go down if they don’t change their ways. To which, you can almost hear Jonah snorting, “I don’t think so” and thinking he can outwit God, he gets on a boat headed… anywhere else.
Now first, let me say, Jonah is different than most prophetic books. This was written as an ancient form of satire. We don’t usually think of biblical writings like this, do we? But this was written to entertain the readers, while also delivering a message. It’s not biblical history, it’s like a comic book. So whatever struggles you may have about what God is doing in this story (and I know I certainly have some issues), we aren’t meant to ask the question “did this actually happen?” but more ask the question, after we stop laughing, “Does this sort of thing, in our own lives, perhaps less dramatically, actually happen? Do we turn away from God?
So he’s on the boat and God, the great trickster in this satire, throws a storm, the sailors freak out, crying to their own God, they throw everything overboard and realize the only thing left to throw out is the human cargo, and as humans are apt to do, they look for the scapegoat. And there’s Jonah, sleeping through the whole thing and they interrogate him like hardened immigration officials: who are you? where are you from? your papers? your God?
And Jonah says, throw me over and the sea will calm down.
Wow. Maybe he’s not such a bad guy after all. And then it happens.
The part we all know and love. The big fish. And isn’t it interesting to note that it was God who provided the fish for Jonah. The fish was safety for Jonah. As a child I didn’t remember that. I just thought Jonah was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But Jonah knows it’s for his safety because he sings a beautiful song of thanksgiving:
I called to the Lord out of my distress,
and he answered me;
out of the belly of Sheol I cried,
and you heard my voice.
You cast me into the deep,
into the heart of the seas,
and the flood surrounded me;
all your waves and your billows passed over me.
Then I said, “I am driven away from your sight;
how shall I look again
upon your holy temple?...
As my life was ebbing away
I remembered the Lord;
and my prayer came to you,
into your holy temple…
Deliverance belongs to the Lord!”
[pause]
…and then the fish pukes him up.
And then we pick up with the two chapters Linda read, a rather comic unfolding of Jonah going to Nineveh to proclaim God’s wrath, the Ninevites surprisingly listening and repenting, Jonah pouting like a four year old told he has to eat his brussel sprouts, saying I don’t like you God because you are too nice, too merciful, you made me look like a fool and a false prophet, and you care more about those sinners than you do about me who did what you asked [after I ran away and got stuck in the belly of a fish].
And then he’s covered by bush, and he’s happy. Then God causes the bush to die, and he’s petulant again. And we’re left with an abrupt ending and God gets the last word, “should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city…where there are [thousands of ignorant people] and also many animals?” End. of. story.
Whew. What a story. A bit of a big fish story if you ask me. And don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you “the moral” of the story. In fact, I think when we do that, we imply that there is one thing you should take away from the biblical stories and then they don’t become living anymore. They loose their power to speak new messages, make us laugh and cry because we see ourselves anew in it now, much differently than when we were children.
We just remember… it’s about a whale.
And even after today when I say Jonah, you still might say “whale”, but instead of that, let me continue with a question that seems to rise out of this story, this time, for me.
Who would you like to see fail?
Who would you, like Jonah, like to see God “smite” down?
Now, I know as good Christians, and especially as peace loving Anabaptists, we feel there is no one that we should like to see fail or to get punished. I think many of us here can say that there is no one, or group, we believe should be smoked out and killed, no matter what they have done.
But you know, if I’m honest, there are certain people who I wished were forcibly humbled, perhaps, humiliated-- just a bit. Or at least, as they say I wish they’d “get their come-uppance. To get put in their place. There are people who I roll my eyes at and believe they are so below me because of what they think.
No, we’re not declaring judgment on these people, but we do secretly wish them ill in some way. And if you have a hard time finding your Ninevites, think of who it is—either an individual or a group of people—who brings a sneer to your mouth, or a sigh to your breath, or causes you to roll your eyes, or who you find some smart aleck remark to demean them, (when you’re all by yourself).
Who are your Ninevites?
Are they Muslims? Evangelical Christians? Democrats? Tea Partiers? pro-life activists? gay rights activists? Latinos? The Chinese? The French?
Is it Congress? Wall Street? Your neighbor who disgusts you in some way? Your friend what can’t seem to get her priorities straight? Your in-laws who…well, no matter, whatever they do is going to annoy you?
Is it your spouse? Your child ? Is it yourself?
Get that person in your mind
Now call forth the feeling you get when you come across them on the street, or hear about them in the news, or see them in the grocery store…
Now, here’s is God’s question posed to Jonah… “Is it right for you to be angry?”
[pause]
Is it right for you to have such negative feelings towards these people?
[pause]
No, we know it’s not “right” of us. We know we shouldn’t feel this way. But, let me tell you God, it is justified.
And that’s the sticky point isn’t it? The people of Nineveh were Assyrians and Assyrians had attacked and destroyed the Northern Kingdom of Israel around 700BCE. These are Israel’s enemies and you better believe he was justified in wanting God’s vengeance on these people.
You bet we are justified in drawing those who have backward ideas as closed-minded bigots, or those who threaten the moral fabric of our nation as sinful heathens
I feel justified because I think I know how things are supposed to be. How people are supposed to be. Is it right of me to? Probably not. But it sure makes me feel better about myself.
But then, I find, that I really… don’t… feel better about myself. I just feel… bitter. I start to become a sulky, petulant Jonah, whining under my withered bush, sunburned, and somewhat…alone.
…
Oftentimes, the biggest barrier to showing the world God’s grace and mercy, is ourselves. Jonah is a story about repentance and redemption. Certainly about the Ninevites, but the way it ends, in it’s awkward abrupt question from God.
It turns the story towards the potential for Jonah’s repentance…and our redemption.
Jonah is left sulking and bitter. We don’t know how he will respond to God’s mercy and the truth…
…that God’s love has no boundaries, no matter how much we wish it did. It is not only for the righteous, it is not only for ourselves.
This story leaves us asking…what will happen to Jonah?
What will happen to Jonah, if he accepts that God will not keep LOVE from others, no matter how hard he…or we, try to.
What will happen to Jonah if he lets God’s boundless love turn his heart?
So take note this week. When a person, a group…your Ninevites, present themselves to you, note your reaction. And ask, no matter how justified I feel in my anger, or disgust, or righteousness, am I sitting alone…under my dead bush?
And if it seems you are, then take a step out from under it, proclaim a prophecy to yourself—not one of judgment—but a prophecy of God’s love. Proclaim a prophecy to yourself…and ask for mercy.
Because God’s eager to for you to receive it.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
God With Us
sermon by Torin Eikler
I Samuel 3:1-11, 19-21 Psalm 139:1-18 John 1:45-51
Let me start by saying “thank you” to you all for the freedom that you have provided us to take extended vacations. Not all pastors can do that, and we know that we are fortunate to be part of a congregation that not only allows us do so but that also has strong leadership so that we don’t need to worry while we are gone. Our times away do a lot to refresh and inspire us, and we’d love to talk with you more about the amazing things that we got to see and do while we were gone.
One wonderful thing about traveling, particularly traveling abroad, is that we get a break from our daily lives and everything that goes along with them. It is amazing, though, how quickly we fall back into our schedules when we get back home, and part of that, for me, is listening to the radio. It’s my connection with the world beyond my neighborhood and the people I see each day, and as I have been listening this week, I was surprised to find how completely I had been disconnected from the goings on here … and how little things had changed.
The big news, it seems, is still politics. The Republican primary race tops the list as people speculate about whether Mitt Romney will take out the rest of the competition by winning South Carolina. The struggle between the president and the congress is a close second. And the twists and turns of global struggles for power fill in most of the rest. There is, of course, still a little room for mentioning the ten records set during the Orange Bowl and a few other tidbits and human interest stories, but the bulk of the radio chatter is the really the same conversations I left behind three weeks ago.
But there is one interesting twist that I discovered listening to an interview with Ralph Nader the other day. The questions he was fielding had very little to do with policies or issues. Instead, the host was asking about the value of compromise in politics and, more pointedly, about whether anyone could succeed in that arena without “selling out.” Nader claimed that he would not compromise his own beliefs and that was why he had never been very successful in gaining office … the implication being that career politicians survive precisely because they do.
No real surprise there, but over the next couple of days I heard other interviews in the same vein with Tea Party advocates, Evangelical conservatives, progressive politicians, and Occupy Wall Street participants. Though some of them supported the idea of compromise, all of them seemed to stress the same theme – everyone else is “selling out” and that’s why we are in the mess we are in. One evangelical even lamented the lack of respect for God’s Word on the part of national leaders and the moral mess that we’re in because of it.
It sounded a lot like the situation Israel was in at the end of the age when judges led the people. “The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.” Eli was the high priest, and he and his sons had strayed from the righteous path. They had begun to take the best parts of the offerings for themselves instead of burning them on the alter, and they were enriching themselves by taking money from the temples coffers. They had also given up on their role of calling the rich and powerful to task for abusing the poor and helpless. In short, they had “sold out,” and Israel was suffering because of it.
And then Samuel came on the scene.
Usually when we read this passage, we think about the way God calls each one of us. We reflect on how even the most unassuming person can do great things if she or he follows where God leads as both Samuel and the shepherd, David, who he anointed to be the first king of Israel illustrate. But the calling of Samuel is not just about one individual’s invitation to serve a higher purpose.
It hadn’t been all that long since the chosen people had entered the Promised Land and established their own country. Since then the Israelites had resisted several invasions thanks to inspired leadership and divine assistance. It had been an era when the people knew who they were and whose they were, and they had witnessed the fulfillment of God’s promise to protect and guide them often.
But that sense of God’s presence had faded, and the people were despairing. The religious leaders had become corrupt. The spiritual life of the people had grown anemic. More and more people were suffering because fewer and fewer people were following the law. And the country was on the verge of being conquered by the Philistines. Where was the pillar of fire? Where was the cloud full of angels to defeat the enemy? Where was the Voice demanding justice and mercy? Where was the God who had promised never to leave the people?
And God responds, “Here I am.” I have never left you though you haven’t heard me. I know your suffering. I know your fears and your despair. I hear your cries for justice and relief. Here I am, speaking with the mouth of this man. Listen to me and be comforted.
The abuses of the leaders among you shall come to an end. The injustice you endure will cease. Mercy will comfort your suffering, and my blessings will ease your worries and fears. The wolf at your doorstep shall be chased away with its tail between its legs. This… all this that you see around you will come to an end, for I am with you still and “I am about to do something in Israel that will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle.”
That’s what Samuel was to the people of Israel. He was the reassurance they needed. He was the voice of God comforting them. He was the reminder that God is always present with us. Present in the suffering. Present in the rejoicing. Present in the bright beginnings and in the shadowed endings. Present and shining a light of hope for what the future can still hold.
And he was more than that too.
The Israelites were not entirely innocent of all that Israel had become. They were a part of it just as we are a part of the injustice and suffering that we see in our own time. They stood by and watched it all happen … maybe even took part in it. Perhaps not everyone, but most of them must have stayed quiet or things couldn’t have gotten as bad as they did. So, the assurance of God’s presence that Samuel brought was an affirmation that despite everything God still loved them.
I can imagine the author of the Psalm we heard today living in the time of Samuel. Hearing the words of the prophet and seeing the covenant promise fulfilled once again. Writing the verses of that hymn of praise in awe and gratitude for an unwavering love.
Usually when I hear those words about God hemming us in I feel trapped. I don’t like to think about God knowing everything about me and how I live. But, there are times when it is comforting to know that I am known … and loved. And I think that is exactly what Israel needed to hear.
It must have felt wonderful to know that God was still there. To know that the One who knew everything about you … had always known everything about you … had been watching you from before you were born … to know that that God still loved you. To know that in spite of all the mistakes you had made, in spite of your sins and the way that people around you were selling out … God still saw the good in you and cared enough to speak to you, offering guidance and hope, wisdom and mercy. That was exactly the message that Israel needed to hear.
It’s a message that we need to hear too.
We Anabaptists tend focus a lot on what we need to do better, how we need to live better in order to answer our call as disciples. Especially at the beginning of each new year, we reflect on what has been, on who we have been, and we make resolutions about what we want to do differently. And that’s good. We should be striving to live more in keeping with God’s hopes for us. But … but we miss that mark so often that it seems a little bit like an exercise in futility.
God knows all of that. God is there each time we make mistakes and each time we get it right. God sees us casting our nets or sitting under our fig trees or turning away from others in need or yelling at the people we love. God watches us … not like a political pundit or an adversary waiting to pounce on every weakness or inconsistency in order to tear us down, but as a loving parent watches her children, hoping to see them succeed, waiting to guide and protect them, ready to pick them up when they stumble, prepared to become whatever they need to grow and learn and become something wonderful.
You are known.
Your strengths and the goodness within you are known.
Your struggles and weaknesses are known.
God understands you and what you need … perhaps better than you do yourselves. And no matter what you do or how many oceans you cross , God is waiting … calling … ready to be sacrifice and rabbi, savior and friend … ready to meet you where you are and be what you need because you are something wonderful –
a beloved child of God.
I Samuel 3:1-11, 19-21 Psalm 139:1-18 John 1:45-51
Let me start by saying “thank you” to you all for the freedom that you have provided us to take extended vacations. Not all pastors can do that, and we know that we are fortunate to be part of a congregation that not only allows us do so but that also has strong leadership so that we don’t need to worry while we are gone. Our times away do a lot to refresh and inspire us, and we’d love to talk with you more about the amazing things that we got to see and do while we were gone.
One wonderful thing about traveling, particularly traveling abroad, is that we get a break from our daily lives and everything that goes along with them. It is amazing, though, how quickly we fall back into our schedules when we get back home, and part of that, for me, is listening to the radio. It’s my connection with the world beyond my neighborhood and the people I see each day, and as I have been listening this week, I was surprised to find how completely I had been disconnected from the goings on here … and how little things had changed.
The big news, it seems, is still politics. The Republican primary race tops the list as people speculate about whether Mitt Romney will take out the rest of the competition by winning South Carolina. The struggle between the president and the congress is a close second. And the twists and turns of global struggles for power fill in most of the rest. There is, of course, still a little room for mentioning the ten records set during the Orange Bowl and a few other tidbits and human interest stories, but the bulk of the radio chatter is the really the same conversations I left behind three weeks ago.
But there is one interesting twist that I discovered listening to an interview with Ralph Nader the other day. The questions he was fielding had very little to do with policies or issues. Instead, the host was asking about the value of compromise in politics and, more pointedly, about whether anyone could succeed in that arena without “selling out.” Nader claimed that he would not compromise his own beliefs and that was why he had never been very successful in gaining office … the implication being that career politicians survive precisely because they do.
No real surprise there, but over the next couple of days I heard other interviews in the same vein with Tea Party advocates, Evangelical conservatives, progressive politicians, and Occupy Wall Street participants. Though some of them supported the idea of compromise, all of them seemed to stress the same theme – everyone else is “selling out” and that’s why we are in the mess we are in. One evangelical even lamented the lack of respect for God’s Word on the part of national leaders and the moral mess that we’re in because of it.
It sounded a lot like the situation Israel was in at the end of the age when judges led the people. “The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.” Eli was the high priest, and he and his sons had strayed from the righteous path. They had begun to take the best parts of the offerings for themselves instead of burning them on the alter, and they were enriching themselves by taking money from the temples coffers. They had also given up on their role of calling the rich and powerful to task for abusing the poor and helpless. In short, they had “sold out,” and Israel was suffering because of it.
And then Samuel came on the scene.
Usually when we read this passage, we think about the way God calls each one of us. We reflect on how even the most unassuming person can do great things if she or he follows where God leads as both Samuel and the shepherd, David, who he anointed to be the first king of Israel illustrate. But the calling of Samuel is not just about one individual’s invitation to serve a higher purpose.
It hadn’t been all that long since the chosen people had entered the Promised Land and established their own country. Since then the Israelites had resisted several invasions thanks to inspired leadership and divine assistance. It had been an era when the people knew who they were and whose they were, and they had witnessed the fulfillment of God’s promise to protect and guide them often.
But that sense of God’s presence had faded, and the people were despairing. The religious leaders had become corrupt. The spiritual life of the people had grown anemic. More and more people were suffering because fewer and fewer people were following the law. And the country was on the verge of being conquered by the Philistines. Where was the pillar of fire? Where was the cloud full of angels to defeat the enemy? Where was the Voice demanding justice and mercy? Where was the God who had promised never to leave the people?
And God responds, “Here I am.” I have never left you though you haven’t heard me. I know your suffering. I know your fears and your despair. I hear your cries for justice and relief. Here I am, speaking with the mouth of this man. Listen to me and be comforted.
The abuses of the leaders among you shall come to an end. The injustice you endure will cease. Mercy will comfort your suffering, and my blessings will ease your worries and fears. The wolf at your doorstep shall be chased away with its tail between its legs. This… all this that you see around you will come to an end, for I am with you still and “I am about to do something in Israel that will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle.”
That’s what Samuel was to the people of Israel. He was the reassurance they needed. He was the voice of God comforting them. He was the reminder that God is always present with us. Present in the suffering. Present in the rejoicing. Present in the bright beginnings and in the shadowed endings. Present and shining a light of hope for what the future can still hold.
And he was more than that too.
The Israelites were not entirely innocent of all that Israel had become. They were a part of it just as we are a part of the injustice and suffering that we see in our own time. They stood by and watched it all happen … maybe even took part in it. Perhaps not everyone, but most of them must have stayed quiet or things couldn’t have gotten as bad as they did. So, the assurance of God’s presence that Samuel brought was an affirmation that despite everything God still loved them.
I can imagine the author of the Psalm we heard today living in the time of Samuel. Hearing the words of the prophet and seeing the covenant promise fulfilled once again. Writing the verses of that hymn of praise in awe and gratitude for an unwavering love.
Usually when I hear those words about God hemming us in I feel trapped. I don’t like to think about God knowing everything about me and how I live. But, there are times when it is comforting to know that I am known … and loved. And I think that is exactly what Israel needed to hear.
It must have felt wonderful to know that God was still there. To know that the One who knew everything about you … had always known everything about you … had been watching you from before you were born … to know that that God still loved you. To know that in spite of all the mistakes you had made, in spite of your sins and the way that people around you were selling out … God still saw the good in you and cared enough to speak to you, offering guidance and hope, wisdom and mercy. That was exactly the message that Israel needed to hear.
It’s a message that we need to hear too.
We Anabaptists tend focus a lot on what we need to do better, how we need to live better in order to answer our call as disciples. Especially at the beginning of each new year, we reflect on what has been, on who we have been, and we make resolutions about what we want to do differently. And that’s good. We should be striving to live more in keeping with God’s hopes for us. But … but we miss that mark so often that it seems a little bit like an exercise in futility.
God knows all of that. God is there each time we make mistakes and each time we get it right. God sees us casting our nets or sitting under our fig trees or turning away from others in need or yelling at the people we love. God watches us … not like a political pundit or an adversary waiting to pounce on every weakness or inconsistency in order to tear us down, but as a loving parent watches her children, hoping to see them succeed, waiting to guide and protect them, ready to pick them up when they stumble, prepared to become whatever they need to grow and learn and become something wonderful.
You are known.
Your strengths and the goodness within you are known.
Your struggles and weaknesses are known.
God understands you and what you need … perhaps better than you do yourselves. And no matter what you do or how many oceans you cross , God is waiting … calling … ready to be sacrifice and rabbi, savior and friend … ready to meet you where you are and be what you need because you are something wonderful –
a beloved child of God.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Meditations on Surprise
Meditations by Torin Eikler
“Surprising Hope”
Isaiah 11:1-9
Ever since these words were spoken they have brought hope to those who heard them. And why not? Isaiah describes the perfect king. One who will come into power and make everything the way it should be. All injustice will be ended. The wicked – powerful and weak alike – will be punished. The righteous – both meek and bold – will be rewarded. And every person will have exactly what they need … no indecent wealth … no grinding poverty. No one will fall through the cracks.
It was good news to the people of Israel. From the golden age of David and Solomon, the country had fallen onto hard times. Conflict and infighting among the leaders had split the country into a northern and southern kingdom that had been to war more than once, calling into question the identity of the chosen people. The wealthy elite were not much concerned with injustices or the suffering of the rest of people, seeking instead to increase their own wealth and power in any way they could. On top of all that, the Assyrian Empire was at their doorstep.
And in the midst of all the turmoil, the fear, and the distress, Isaiah prophesied a surprisingly bright future. Despite all the evidence to the contrary – and there was very little chance that either kingdom could stand against the Assyrians … despite the sense of doom, God’s promise still held true. There would be a new king in Jerusalem – a king of David’s line, and not only would that king bring justice and wisdom to the throne, he would bring peace to the whole world. Surprising words that brought hope to a troubled people threatened with destruction.
Are things really so different for us today? There are still a very few people whose wealth and power are increasing while most of us are working very hard just to keep our heads above water. There are still many, many people who are suffering injustice and struggling to find a place to live or food to east.
And into our turmoil, our fear, and our distress, Jesus comes, bringing hope of a bright future. Despite what our eyes, our pocketbooks, and our newspapers tell us, God’s promise comes to us again. When true justice is done. When someone reaches out to help another in need or to encourage someone lost in despair. When people work together to build a better life for all of us instead of tearing things down to raise themselves up. In those moments, we can see the coming of the day when wickedness and injustice will cease to be, when the wolves of suffering and vipers of fear will no longer threaten us, when everyone will have what she or he needs and no one will hurt or destroy anywhere on the earth that God has made holy.
Each year, at Christmas, we look for perfect king that was born in Bethlehem, lived with us for a time, and died for our sakes. But Jesus comes to us – to the world – every day, speaking over and over Isaiah’s promise … a surprising future is coming. A future that comes tomorrow. A future that comes the next day … and the next … and the next. A future that comes, little by little, whenever the Christ enters our hearts and leads us, step by step, into hope.
“Surprising Peace”
Isaiah 52:7-9
Peace…. Peace …. What is peace?
Is it the lack of war … or of violence? Is it the quiet that falls deep in the woods or in the living room with the children are finally asleep? Is it the sense of freedom and calm that comes from accepting the world as it is?
It seems to me that peace is all of those things … and more.
The Hebrew word for peace is “shalom.” It was the word used to greet people and to bid them farewell. It still is in some places because it expresses a wish for the well-being of someone…. Shalom is much more … much deeper than a simple lack of violence. It is wholeness. It points to a world where all of society is in harmony … where every person is healthy, safe, and fulfilled.
As Bible scholar Cornelius Plantinga describes it, it is:
The webbing together of God, humans, and all creation in justice, fulfillment, and delight…. [It] means universal flourishing, wholeness and delight – a rich state of affairs in which natural needs are satisfied and natural gifts fruitfully employed, a state of affairs that inspires joyful wonder as its Creator and Savior opens doors and welcomes the creatures in whom he delights. Shalom, in other words, is the way things ought to be.
It’s a wonderful and inspiring vision. It’s a peace that’s almost beyond understanding and seems entirely beyond our reach. And yet God chose to make it ours … not by reaching out an all-powerful hand and changing the world, but by coming among us in the weakest and most helpless form we can imagine. A baby … with tiny, beautiful feet to carry the good news of peace to all who will listen.
“Surprising Joy”
Luke 1:26-35 Matthew 1:18-24
There is a simple joy in watching children play. As they discover their own bodies and the world around them … as they delight in the new and explore the smallest details, they take us with them. They take us back to our own childhood, and as we see things through their eyes, hear things through their ears, and learn through their experiences, we rediscover wonder and awe.
That sense of wonder and joy is multiplied many times over when we watch a child being born. If you haven’t had the experience yourself, just ask someone who has and watch as their face changes. The cares and worries of their lives melt away and are replaced by smiles that reach all the way down to their toes and transform their entire being. Each birth is different, of course, and sometimes memories are colored by worries or sorrows that came later, but the moment of watching new life born into the world has a power that cannot be denied.
I imagine that the experience was multiplied even beyond our experiences for Mary and Joseph. For nine months … nine long months … from the moment when the angel came to them and announced the coming of Jesus, they would have been filled with tension and anxiety. It’s not an easy time … even for people who have a lot of support, and to be young and pregnant before marrying would have added the pressure of society’s disapproval to the mix.
Then they were forced to travel far from the comforts of home just when it was time for the baby to come. And to top it all off, they couldn’t even find a comfortable room to stay in. A stable… a stable and a pile of hay surrounded by the noise and the smells of animals was the only space left.
I imagine that when the birth started, they were more than a little scared. No clean cloths. No hot water. No midwife to offer support and wisdom. No way to know what was normal or that everything was okay. No family to hold their hands or give them support as they struggled through it all for the first time.
And then Jesus arrived. On the tide of one final push, he found his way into Joseph’s arms, and Joseph watched him … heard his first cries … looked into his eyes as they opened for the first time. And I imagine that he was lost in the moment … at least until Mary’s anxious voice brought him back, asking if everything was alright, begging without words to see the baby. And Joseph carried Jesus to her and set him in her arms, and they both reveled in the wonder of the moment. Their first child … their son … later their Messiah … right now their son – a tiny new life with wrinkled fingers and toes. And as they cleaned him up and wrapped him cloths to keep him warm … JOY.
God offers us … invites us … to enter into that joy. Look inside yourself. Set aside your own fears and worries. Set aside your own feelings of frustration and your need to make everything just right for tomorrow morning. Look into your mind, into your heart and watch the baby Jesus being born. Cradle him in your arms and wonder, again, at the miracle of Immanuel – of God come to be with us. Wonder and joy.
“Surprising Love”
Luke 2:8-20
And God so loved the world that he sent an only son….
They expected a King who would come and change the world. Wrapped in majesty and power, he would overthrow the Roman Empire and free the chosen people. He would rule with wisdom and understanding and justice and mercy would govern the lives of a people who lived in peace. But that’s not what happened.
The shepherds sitting on the hill that night got to see it. They were no different from any of the others. They expected a Mighty Messiah to come … if any came at all. It would be someone who would make their lives better, but they would probably never get to see him since they were on the edge of what society found acceptable. They certainly wouldn’t get to see him up close.
And then the world changed.
As they sat around their little fire, watching their sheep and talking as the stars followed their familiar patterns across the sky, that sky seemed to split open. Something … an angel maybe … stood before them and told them of the birth of the Messiah. Told them. Not some powerful or holy person. Not a prophet or a priest or a leader of the people. But simple, poor, everyday shepherds.
It was so amazing that they left their sheep behind to go and see if it was true. And they found the baby just as the angel said they would. And they left the manger to share the news. The Messiah had come.
Not a king resplendent in find clothing with an army and heralds to announce his coming. Only a baby lying in a stable with dirty clothes to wrap him, with livestock as a court, and with shepherd to announce his coming.
Only a baby came. Only God born in a stable … only love become flesh …
and the world would never, could never be the same.
Hallelujah! “Glory to God in the highest heaven!”
“Surprising Hope”
Isaiah 11:1-9
Ever since these words were spoken they have brought hope to those who heard them. And why not? Isaiah describes the perfect king. One who will come into power and make everything the way it should be. All injustice will be ended. The wicked – powerful and weak alike – will be punished. The righteous – both meek and bold – will be rewarded. And every person will have exactly what they need … no indecent wealth … no grinding poverty. No one will fall through the cracks.
It was good news to the people of Israel. From the golden age of David and Solomon, the country had fallen onto hard times. Conflict and infighting among the leaders had split the country into a northern and southern kingdom that had been to war more than once, calling into question the identity of the chosen people. The wealthy elite were not much concerned with injustices or the suffering of the rest of people, seeking instead to increase their own wealth and power in any way they could. On top of all that, the Assyrian Empire was at their doorstep.
And in the midst of all the turmoil, the fear, and the distress, Isaiah prophesied a surprisingly bright future. Despite all the evidence to the contrary – and there was very little chance that either kingdom could stand against the Assyrians … despite the sense of doom, God’s promise still held true. There would be a new king in Jerusalem – a king of David’s line, and not only would that king bring justice and wisdom to the throne, he would bring peace to the whole world. Surprising words that brought hope to a troubled people threatened with destruction.
Are things really so different for us today? There are still a very few people whose wealth and power are increasing while most of us are working very hard just to keep our heads above water. There are still many, many people who are suffering injustice and struggling to find a place to live or food to east.
And into our turmoil, our fear, and our distress, Jesus comes, bringing hope of a bright future. Despite what our eyes, our pocketbooks, and our newspapers tell us, God’s promise comes to us again. When true justice is done. When someone reaches out to help another in need or to encourage someone lost in despair. When people work together to build a better life for all of us instead of tearing things down to raise themselves up. In those moments, we can see the coming of the day when wickedness and injustice will cease to be, when the wolves of suffering and vipers of fear will no longer threaten us, when everyone will have what she or he needs and no one will hurt or destroy anywhere on the earth that God has made holy.
Each year, at Christmas, we look for perfect king that was born in Bethlehem, lived with us for a time, and died for our sakes. But Jesus comes to us – to the world – every day, speaking over and over Isaiah’s promise … a surprising future is coming. A future that comes tomorrow. A future that comes the next day … and the next … and the next. A future that comes, little by little, whenever the Christ enters our hearts and leads us, step by step, into hope.
“Surprising Peace”
Isaiah 52:7-9
Peace…. Peace …. What is peace?
Is it the lack of war … or of violence? Is it the quiet that falls deep in the woods or in the living room with the children are finally asleep? Is it the sense of freedom and calm that comes from accepting the world as it is?
It seems to me that peace is all of those things … and more.
The Hebrew word for peace is “shalom.” It was the word used to greet people and to bid them farewell. It still is in some places because it expresses a wish for the well-being of someone…. Shalom is much more … much deeper than a simple lack of violence. It is wholeness. It points to a world where all of society is in harmony … where every person is healthy, safe, and fulfilled.
As Bible scholar Cornelius Plantinga describes it, it is:
The webbing together of God, humans, and all creation in justice, fulfillment, and delight…. [It] means universal flourishing, wholeness and delight – a rich state of affairs in which natural needs are satisfied and natural gifts fruitfully employed, a state of affairs that inspires joyful wonder as its Creator and Savior opens doors and welcomes the creatures in whom he delights. Shalom, in other words, is the way things ought to be.
It’s a wonderful and inspiring vision. It’s a peace that’s almost beyond understanding and seems entirely beyond our reach. And yet God chose to make it ours … not by reaching out an all-powerful hand and changing the world, but by coming among us in the weakest and most helpless form we can imagine. A baby … with tiny, beautiful feet to carry the good news of peace to all who will listen.
“Surprising Joy”
Luke 1:26-35 Matthew 1:18-24
There is a simple joy in watching children play. As they discover their own bodies and the world around them … as they delight in the new and explore the smallest details, they take us with them. They take us back to our own childhood, and as we see things through their eyes, hear things through their ears, and learn through their experiences, we rediscover wonder and awe.
That sense of wonder and joy is multiplied many times over when we watch a child being born. If you haven’t had the experience yourself, just ask someone who has and watch as their face changes. The cares and worries of their lives melt away and are replaced by smiles that reach all the way down to their toes and transform their entire being. Each birth is different, of course, and sometimes memories are colored by worries or sorrows that came later, but the moment of watching new life born into the world has a power that cannot be denied.
I imagine that the experience was multiplied even beyond our experiences for Mary and Joseph. For nine months … nine long months … from the moment when the angel came to them and announced the coming of Jesus, they would have been filled with tension and anxiety. It’s not an easy time … even for people who have a lot of support, and to be young and pregnant before marrying would have added the pressure of society’s disapproval to the mix.
Then they were forced to travel far from the comforts of home just when it was time for the baby to come. And to top it all off, they couldn’t even find a comfortable room to stay in. A stable… a stable and a pile of hay surrounded by the noise and the smells of animals was the only space left.
I imagine that when the birth started, they were more than a little scared. No clean cloths. No hot water. No midwife to offer support and wisdom. No way to know what was normal or that everything was okay. No family to hold their hands or give them support as they struggled through it all for the first time.
And then Jesus arrived. On the tide of one final push, he found his way into Joseph’s arms, and Joseph watched him … heard his first cries … looked into his eyes as they opened for the first time. And I imagine that he was lost in the moment … at least until Mary’s anxious voice brought him back, asking if everything was alright, begging without words to see the baby. And Joseph carried Jesus to her and set him in her arms, and they both reveled in the wonder of the moment. Their first child … their son … later their Messiah … right now their son – a tiny new life with wrinkled fingers and toes. And as they cleaned him up and wrapped him cloths to keep him warm … JOY.
God offers us … invites us … to enter into that joy. Look inside yourself. Set aside your own fears and worries. Set aside your own feelings of frustration and your need to make everything just right for tomorrow morning. Look into your mind, into your heart and watch the baby Jesus being born. Cradle him in your arms and wonder, again, at the miracle of Immanuel – of God come to be with us. Wonder and joy.
“Surprising Love”
Luke 2:8-20
And God so loved the world that he sent an only son….
They expected a King who would come and change the world. Wrapped in majesty and power, he would overthrow the Roman Empire and free the chosen people. He would rule with wisdom and understanding and justice and mercy would govern the lives of a people who lived in peace. But that’s not what happened.
The shepherds sitting on the hill that night got to see it. They were no different from any of the others. They expected a Mighty Messiah to come … if any came at all. It would be someone who would make their lives better, but they would probably never get to see him since they were on the edge of what society found acceptable. They certainly wouldn’t get to see him up close.
And then the world changed.
As they sat around their little fire, watching their sheep and talking as the stars followed their familiar patterns across the sky, that sky seemed to split open. Something … an angel maybe … stood before them and told them of the birth of the Messiah. Told them. Not some powerful or holy person. Not a prophet or a priest or a leader of the people. But simple, poor, everyday shepherds.
It was so amazing that they left their sheep behind to go and see if it was true. And they found the baby just as the angel said they would. And they left the manger to share the news. The Messiah had come.
Not a king resplendent in find clothing with an army and heralds to announce his coming. Only a baby lying in a stable with dirty clothes to wrap him, with livestock as a court, and with shepherd to announce his coming.
Only a baby came. Only God born in a stable … only love become flesh …
and the world would never, could never be the same.
Hallelujah! “Glory to God in the highest heaven!”
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