Sunday, November 30, 2008

Hope in the Darkness

sermon by Torin Eikler
Isaiah 64: 1-9 Mark 13:24-37
Advent 1


There is an interesting paradox involved in preaching. Some things that are harder to talk about in everyday life are easier to speak of. Other issues are harder to do justice to without a conversation partner adding their own perspective. Finding hope in the midst of the hard times of life belongs to the latter category. Somehow, whatever words I put together seem to sound trite and naïve without the presence of real suffering hanging there to bring a balanced feel and a measured tone. Yet, it is important to say, as often as we can, that even in the darkest moments of our lives there is always a loving, compassionate presence among us that speaks the words of promise and hope.


All of us have experience with the sadness, grief, and depression that can color life in muddy shades of dark brown and gray so completely that there seems to be no light. Faced with the death of a dear loved one, we find ourselves bathed in grief – grief that threatens to suck the joy from life and continues to rise up within at unexpected moments for years to come. Struggling with the guilt of the sins we have brought into our lives and our relationships with others, we find the happiness and contentment of our daily routine shadowed by doubt and pain. Dealing with the struggles of addiction in ourselves and others we care about, we find our thoughts, our emotions, and even the mundane tasks of life focused on the darkness in our midst as we struggle to break the chains of dependence and compulsion that imprison those in thrall to something less than holy. Living through months, weeks or even just days when one thing after another brings failure or unexpected judgment to catch us off guard, we find our strength sapped, our perspective warped, and our faith in the future stretched to the breaking point. We are pulled into a spiral of melancholy, depression and despair that takes us down, down, down into a darkness where we feel abandoned and alone, facing what lies before us without support and with little hope of finding a way back into the bright warmth of the joyful life we had before.

Sometimes we even feel like we are on an unending roller coaster ride – flying down into the low points and finding our way back only to slide again … down, down, down into dark places and wondering when and where we’ll be able to get off. One of my favorite cds – which I actually get to listen to fairly often since Sebastian also likes it – has a song that reflects this feeling with a healthy bit of humor. The song’s them is “have I hit the bottom yet,” and at one point the singer couches his frustration in the image of Humpty Dumpty saying,

“Humpty Dumpty sat upon a wall took a fall,
and said ‘I am a super baaaaaaalll.’
As he plummeted from the summit he repeated the affirmation,
‘the power of positive thinking has reverberations’
and he bounced and it hurt, "oww," and the king’s men were amazed when he did it again. He said "falling is my calling, so I'll get it over with; I'm bound to go down. It’s a necessary rhythm. Have I hit the bottom yet?"

Well, childish imagery aside, if you have never found yourself sliding down into that pit even once, I profoundly hope that you never will. I fear, though, that such a path will come before all of us at some time in this life. The weight of human experience points toward that inevitability, and if we sometimes feel alone, at least we are not alone in that experience. Our mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, cousins, friends, and neighbors – all those we know and care about have been to that place as well, possibly at the same times as we ourselves. And that is just the beginning of the list. The Psalms are filled with the passionate prayers of our spiritual ancestors reaching out to God for a reprieve – for even the slightest bit of hope, the tiniest ray of light showing a path out of the suffering and despair. Prophets from our tradition and others around the world give voice to our pain in the midst of their challenges to find new and better ways to live.

Even today’s reading from Isaiah which is a prayer of penitence ringing with judgment on a people who have fallen away from God, sinning and turning away from the law in letter and spirit – even this text gives voice to our cries for comfort and relief:

“We have all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a filthy cloth. We all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away… Yet, O Lord, you are our father; we are the clay and you the potter; we are all the work of your hand. Do not be exceedingly angry, O Lord, and do not remember iniquity forever. Now consider, we are all your people…. [Will] you restrain yourself, O Lord? Will you keep silent…?”

Can you hear it there? It’s the cry of one who is lost in guilt and despairing yet cries out to the God they know as merciful – cries out for something, some hope to grab hold of as a lifeline pulling them back from the depths.

Isaiah is no stranger to the darkness, nor are the other prophets. Even the greatest prophet, Jesus of Nazareth – the Christ who brought the promise of God to all of us – plumbed the depths. He mourned the death of loved ones despite his sure knowledge of the eternal life that awaited. He suffered hunger and pain. He struggled against the demons of addiction, doubt, and despair that possessed those around him. He felt the pain and loneliness of abandonment. And in that darkest moment, he turned to the words of others who had been there before, crying out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me.” And those words were a prayer for comfort and release – a prayer of faith in the future provided by the mercy and grace of God. They are the opening lines of Psalm 22, a psalm that describes the feeling of being poured out like water into the eternally dry dust of death while expressing an unquenchable faith in the power of God to bring us back to life and the passionate love that assures our salvation.

And those words are our source of hope as well. That God, the God of Christ, is our God as well. That God loved us enough to set aside the power and insulation of divinity and take on human flesh with all that entailed. That God has experienced human life at its best and its worst, has plodded along the dark paths and skipped along the easy ones, has felt the exhilaration and the despair. That God is with us all the time. Father, mother, brother, teacher, guide, companion, whatever name gives us comfort or inspiration, God is with us –
ready to comfort us when we find ourselves in the depths,
waiting to reveal the light of hope to our darkened eyes,
hoping that we will turn and find the path back into the promise of
communion with our brothers and sisters that awaits our seeking.

Our world is filled with the voices of those whose laments cry out the question “Where are you, God? Why have you hidden yourself? Why do you let us suffer?” They are questions we have all asked – in the midst of our own suffering or when we consider the suffering of others trapped in suffering or surprised by pain and loss. When I read about hundreds killed in Mombai or thousands raped and tortured in Sudan or men, women, and children walking the streets of Morgantown as they try to find some way back to self-respect and self-sufficiency, I find myself asking same questions. When I remember conversations I have had with parents and grandparents who have lost children and grandchildren to accidents or alcohol or drug overdoses I hear them echoing back to me. When I have set with my grandfather as he struggled to deal with my grandmother’s passing – they sat there with us…. And, as my grampa reminded me, so did God.

Just as Isaiah finds comfort in the image of God as the loving Father, we can find hope in the image of God as a potter who cherishes all the creations that come off the wheel, finding use and beauty in them no matter if they are perfect, broken, or misshapen. Just as Jesus’ proclamation of the Day of the Lord, as fearsome as they sound, speaks of the dawning of a new world, we can find a new vision for the future in our certainty that God brings new life even, and perhaps especially, in the midst of the darkness.

And there they are – the words that sound so easy and trite, that feel so out of touch with reality. Yet, as we stand at the beginning of Advent on the brink of the new and renewed revelation of God to humanity, they are also powerful words of faith and promise. Emmanuel has come. The source of light and hope walked among us. The Lord of our lives, the spring of our salvation, the lover of our souls, our brother and our companion on the road – the Christ is coming again. Coming to light our darkness.
Coming to warm our hearts and comfort our pain.
Coming to bring peace and joy.
Coming to quicken our spirits.
Coming, once more, to remove the veil shadowing our eyes and invite us
into the Realm of God awash in the joy of life made new by the
shining radiance of God’s face.

Let us open our hearts and our minds – all that we are – to welcome the promise that has been and the restoration that will be.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Going Through the Motions

sermon by Carrie Eikler
Luke 17:11-19 Deuteronomy 8:7-18


It begins. The holiday season. If we’re honest, it seems like it begins closer to Halloween than Thanksgiving. The craziness, the planning, the eating…the overeating. The glossy pictures in the advertisements and the TV commercials all paint the picture of abundance, thankfulness, and happiness. At least, they all seem happy and satisfied… for the going rate of whatever they’re selling.

But the big bucks in advertising come not from portraying reality, but by selling an image. Generally if you’ve had anything to do with preparing the Thanksgiving extravaganza your reality may be more like this: flopping down in your chair at the dinner table, not with the healthy glow of holiday spirit, but the glow of anxious perspiration, which just a hint of flour at your hairline. You’re just grateful to get the bird on the table, praying that it’s cooked enough but not too much, hoping you’ve made enough rolls for the company, that the vegetarians around the table are properly satisfied and your niece who is lactose intolerant enjoys the soy-milk gravy…

Our gratitude at this time is having accomplished the first feat of laying out the feast. And just when you think you can breathe and say grace, in comes the next round of anxiety: hopes that Great-Uncle Milton doesn’t bring up that embarrassing and offensive story he always seems to conjure up; praying not for the food, but that the baby won’t throw his food at the aunt that really doesn’t like children; and hoping beyond hope that the topics of politics, religion, and cousin Brandon’s newest tattoo doesn’t churn up too much trouble. And when the pumpkin pie is being served…it’s time to start thinking of the dishes.

Now some of you have never had to deal with this, and honestly since I’ve never hosted Thanksgiving dinner, my anxiety has been relatively manageable. But if you are anything like me, my level of gratitude around the Thanksgiving feast isn’t at its peak as we gather around the table, preparing to take a Norman Rockwell-esque pose, and give thanks in prayer. Generally my favorite time, when I feel most grateful and satisfied and genuinely feeling thankful for what I have received is after the meal. It is at this time that I curl up on the couch in a warm haze and invite in the effects of tripdephene (that lovely chemical in poultry that inevitably makes one sleepy). I drift away, listening to the murmurings of conversation, the other satisfied snores, or even the shouts from the other room as family members huddle around football game.

It is easy to see that when it comes to Thanksgiving and the upcoming Christmas holidays, there is a lot of lip-service to what we see as essential—gratitude. We say we should be thankful for this, and grateful for that. But it too often seems like it’s just that…just words. It is easy to go through the motions. How many of you have heard the same Thanksgiving prayer year after year given by the patriarch or matriarch of the family? How many of you force smiles and put on the image that all is well in your lives because no one likes a downer at the holidays? How many of you simply go through the motions. Let me be the first to put my hand up.

I think giving our thanks to God is a lot like my post-feast cozy snooze on the couch. It’s not until we feel we have received something that we feel the most grateful. When our bellies are filled we are grateful for food. When the paycheck is in our hand, we are grateful for work. When our spouses and partners give us a token of their affection, we are grateful for love. When we feel inspired by worship, we are grateful for church. And when we have acquired the minimum amount of happiness that we feel we deserve, then…then, we are grateful to God.

If we don’t feel we have actually received these things, we still know we should be thankful for what we do have. But doesn’t it feel more like an obligation of response, or a duty? Ultimately, cultivating what is often known as “an attitude of gratitude” would be the ideal choice. That in everything, every moment, with every breath we are thankful. Cicero, the Roman philosopher said that “Gratitude is not only the greatest virtues, but the parent of all others.”

I think a spiritual practice of cultivating gratitude is needed by all of us, and I think it is very difficult to attain. I think it would be pleasing to God if we had this “attitude of gratitude” with each breath. But we must also be honest with ourselves…it will take a lot of spiritual work to get there, and we may fail tragically along the way. But even the act of turning around after the fact, finds blessing with God.

In our gospel story today, we are told of ten lepers who are healed by Jesus. While it doesn’t say what they did when they recognized that they were healed, we might imagine that they all go dancing, or running, or skipping on their way, somehow living in the excitement of their cleansing. Now I’m sure these ten were all grateful. I’m sure they sang praises this way and that, giving thanks into the wind, acknowledging the gift they had been blessed with. But only one turned back.

This one turned back and praised God with a loud voice. This one turned back and laid himself at Jesus’ feet. This one turned back and thanked him. This one turned back and he was a Samaritan, a foreigner, an outsider.

Maybe the first thing needed to stop us from simply going through the motions of bland thanksgiving, is to find different motions to go through. Stop. Turn back. Go to the source of our healing and our blessings.

Changing our motion requires recognizing what motion we are currently in. In Deuteronomy, Moses is talking to the Hebrew people, who like the ten lepers, were on the straight away right out of the horrible situation into a new life. Out of slavery and into promise and abundance. But as Moses reminds the Hebrew people, and the lone healed leper reminds us, moving ahead has its consequences.

Some of us are in the motion of moving upward. Our careers have taken off, or a relationship has bloomed, or our ten-year post graduation plan has been falling into place. We look to the bright future thankful that we are where we are. But we are not living in gratitude for what has blessed us along the way, propelling us into this bright future. In spite of economic downturns, things feel successful and if we keep looking up, nothing will knock us down.

But then Moses says, don’t think you did it all yourself. Jesus says, don’t think salvation will come by feeling secure. Stop, and remember who brought you out of Egypt. Turn around and remember who cleansed you. Run back and embrace who it is holding you in prayer as you go.

Maybe the motion you are in is the opposite of moving up, but more like running in circles, or worse, a downward spiral. Things aren’t getting better, they’re stagnating, or getting worse. One of the lessons I’ve kept with me from my one year of ballet as a child is when you’re spinning around in a pirouette, it is important to find a place on the wall in front of you, and while you whip your head around, bring it back to that point to keep you steady. When things feel out of our control we can easily give up all joy and perspective. We forget to return to a steady focus.

But then Moses says, stick with each other because we will get to the bountiful land. Jesus says, it is for the desperate that I bring hope. Stop, and cry out to the one with power. Turn around to that strong point that stills your dizzy head. Orient your circles to the center and let it slow the spinning.

Or maybe your motion is in a straight line. No bumps, no turns, nothing unpleasant to note as long as we keep looking ahead and not at the world around us. We can feel good as long as we shield ourselves from the cry of those in need, or the images that unsettle us. We have put a lot of work into getting where we are, and if others can’t do the same, then that’s their problem. It’s time we had the easy road. We may each think, “As long as I’m ok, everything else doesn’t matter. I’m just grateful I’m not like the rest of those people.”

This straight line is what it means to sustain the status quo.

And Moses says to us, “who do you think you are? How can you forget the cries?” Jesus says, “salvation was rejected by all those except the outsider.” Stop, and remember that you are in a caravan with others. Turn around and follow that line back to the one who loves you in spite of arrogance. Run back and embrace the one who can heal you of your blindness.


We are all in some sort of perpetual motion, but the first step to gratitude—to genuine thankfulness—requires another motion. And generally, we can find that it begins with us stopping. That’s what we miss if we rush through the prayer at the beginning of our meal, if we rush through the silence spaces of a worship service, if we rush through the boundless moments of awe and beauty in life. And probably if we stop, we can recognize that we aren’t oriented towards the one who deserves our thanks. Instead, we find that we are oriented to the things that feed our own ego, convincing us we are the ones who deserve all the thanks and the glory.

As this season of thankfulness approaches, perhaps the greatest gift you can give yourselves, is to find the motion you are in--upward climbs, downward spirals, straight lines, or something else. Once you’ve figured it out, ask God to help orient your motion back to the Source of life.
Going through the motions doesn’t have to be the extent of our gratitude. Rather, living in constant motion back to God, can sow the seeds of gratitude that can bring our salvation.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Magic Penny

sermon by Torin Eikler
Matthew 25:14-30 Zephaniah 1: 7, 12-18

I am not a big sports fan. But, I do hold onto one memory of attending Wrigley Field for a memorable game in 1998. That day, I was at the ball park with a group of volunteers who were out for a fun trip and paying little attention to the game. Oblivious to the momentous event occurring on the field, they decided to leave in the eighth inning to get the van before traffic got bad. I stayed despite their urgings and was rewarded by seeing Kerry Woods throw a record 20 strike outs. Perhaps it’s not as good as a no-hitter, but it was very impressive none-the-less. In the end, I found the others waiting in the van (where they were parked in), and we waited another twenty minutes before we could get out of the lot. Twenty minutes during which they had to endure my labored attempts to convince them of the momentous nature of the event they had missed due to their lack of staying power.

I don’t pay attention to the basketball or the football seasons. I don’t even know how WVU is doing in football, though I always know when they are playing, especially their home games. I do follow baseball a little, but I don’t know how the World Series ended since the Cubs lost in the first round. Honestly, I think I’m glad that they have continued their unbroken streak of a hundred years without a World Series title. (It should keep their fan base limited to the diehards rather than fickle folks who follow the winners.) As I said, I am not a big sports fan, and I don’t like to use sports metaphors or examples much. But, the story of Kerry Woods’ record game fits, in a strange way, with the parable we have just heard. (And, I’m sure Mike, at least, appreciates the use of baseball trivia in a sermon.)

Pitchers, you see, have a gift – a gift for throwing a small ball sixty feet with incredible accuracy and a good deal of speed. It may seem like a trivial thing, but for really great pitchers, it is not just a gift but also a passion. The more they use this gift, the better they become. And, as recent technology has discovered, they not only gain strength and skill, they also gain bone mass in their pitching arm. Some pitchers’ even develop bones in their working arms that are twice as thick as those in their catching arms. But once they stop pitching, those same bones dwindle back to their normal size and strength in a comparative wink of the eye. Kerry Woods is no exception. Shortly after his breakthrough game, he injured his arm and spent several months in recovery. In that short a period of time, the bones in his right arm shrank back to match those in his left, and as far as I know, they have yet to reach their former strength. The phrase, “use it or lose it,” it seems, is particularly apt in this situation.


And the same phrase can easily be used to summarize the message of Jesus’ parable. One servant is given 5 talents … another 2 talents … another 1. They are all entrusted to use those talents on their master’s behalf while he is traveling. The first two did their best, doubling their master’s wealth in his absence, and they were rewarded with even more. The third, hid his coin away so that he would not risk his master’s wrath should he fail, and he had his coin and his honor stripped from him. Use it or lose it. Yet, as with all parables, there is more to the story – in this case a troubling statement: “For to all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but to those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away.


These words have often been troubling to me and to many others who have heard them used to justify the accumulation of wealth in fewer and fewer hands while others find themselves at a loss to make ends meet. Just like the phrase “the poor will always be with you,” they don’t seem to fit with Jesus’ other teachings. What about his instruction to the rich young ruler to sell all that he had and give the money to the poor? What about the instruction to care for the destitute as if they were Christ himself? What about the upside down kingdom where the last and least become the first and most cherished?

In some ways, this text brings up feelings in me that mirror my frustration with the multi-trillion dollar bailout designed to support banks and other financial institutions with unimaginable resources on the backs of tax-payers – the majority of whom are working or middle class families. Where is the compassion and support for families who are being turned out of their homes just as we head into winter? Why is it so very bad to talk of redistributing wealth when so many need more to survive and a very few have enough to buy more than any one person – or even any million people – really need? Secretary Paulsen’s response to these questions, it would seem, is to ask the people to have more faith… to trust that somehow supporting the financial system will help the struggling to survive. And, I suppose he should know, but it sure seems like helping those who have, get more while those who have not, get less.


As I sit with these questions – these doubts and frustrations, I am reminded of how important perspective and context can be. I come to the scripture, as we all do, with my own subtext – my experiences, my current situation, the way in which I have been taught to see the world. And, it is helpful to realize that Jesus was talking to people who heard him with the same kind of cultural blinders on. When he talked about the Kingdom of God – which is exactly what he is doing here – he had to deal with the people’s preconceptions about what a kingdom looks and feels like. He had to find ways around how the people had learned to think about God and how interacts with the world. In a way, he had to speak their language and use their cultural framework as a point of reference. Anyone who has tried to communicate in another language or another culture will realize just how hard that is. How, for example, can we explain the concept of democracy to a people whose entire history and culture have been built around the idea of a hierarchy in which each class has absolute power over those below them – power that ultimately trickles down from ruler who is an avatar – the living presence of a god on earth? Without a common frame of reference, it’s nearly a hopeless cause. And, the power of the parables Jesus used was that it embraced the language and culture of the people and used it to strip away obstacles to understanding through its own contradictions.


So, when Jesus wanted to talk about the character of life and power in the Kingdom of God, he used the language of life and power in the Roman Empire – the language of wealth and servitude. (Sound familiar?) The master leaves for an extended business trip and leaves his slaves with some assets to manage in his absence – a test of their business acumen for certain, but also a test of their faithfulness. He returns to find that two of the men have done as he would have, risking the capital for the hope of a gain (in this case, successful risks). The third has been less faithful, choosing, out of fear, to abandon the master’s intentions and best interests by burying the money where it would do nothing by gather dust. Upon the master’s return, each of the slaves is dealt with not, I suspect, according to what he was able to produce but according how he acted.

But the Kingdom has a different currency. It’s not about wealth. It’s not about treasure set aside in storage houses. It’s about love and compassion and faithfulness in the search for justice through mercy and grace.

For some reason, the paradox created as this particular parable seeks to illuminate the nature of the Realm of God reminds me of the children’s song “Magic Penny.” I know it’s probably too late to stop you all from singing it in your heads, but if you’re like me, you started with the section that goes … “It’s just like a magic penny. Hold it close and you won’t have any. Lend it spend it, and you’ll have so many, they’ll role all over the floor.” Use it or lose it. But, is that what the song is really about?

We all know that it’s not. The song is a tool for teaching children about the nature of love. None of us, I suspect, have ever had a magic penny like the one in the song, but the idea is strangely easy to picture for adults as well as children. And, that’s what makes it such a good tool for introducing the complex ideas about how love grows and binds us all together. In the same way, the parable of the talents helps us to understand the way we are called to live out the Kingdom’s promise.

As children of God, we are all blessed, more or less, with gifts and talents. As followers of Christ, we also have hope in the promise of new life in the Realm of God. We are entrusted with that promise and called to make use of our blessings, however big or small, in such a way that we spread the promise out into the world. If we reach out in faith, the risks are great, but when we meet Christ again along our journey we will find that we meet with approval whatever the result of our effort. And, we will find that our faith grows and flowers as well so that we are able, more and more, to meet the challenges placed before us.

Unfortunately, many of us find ourselves trapped by fears and worries. This world’s blinders keep us focused on the potential of embarrassment, shame, and failure where the Spirit would open our eyes to the amazing possibilities for living the Reign of God into world around us. When we are governed by that fear, we hope and pray that we do not meet Christ on the road, for we know that we have abandon the master’s intentions and the best interests of all this creation and we fear his judgment. As we walk through life with an eye constantly cast over our shoulder in wariness, our energy, our promise, and our faith are sapped by fear. And, we wither spiritually.

This dual reality is attested to by many Christians across the centuries, and it is this truth that Jesus points to as he tells the story of three slaves and how they respond to the promise, the expectation, and the hope entrusted to them. “Use it or lose it” may well capture the moral of the story – at least for those who focus on the down side. The image of an untold number of pennies flooding out of our hands to roll all over the place, though, is more in keeping with the opportunity we are presented. The language of the Realm of God, after all, is the language of mercy, grace, love, and faith and those gifts do indeed spread and grow stronger as we engage them in our lives.

And, there is even more laid before us. Lest you feel like giving up in those moments when you feel yourself wrapped up in fear or withered and dry, remember that the promise of Christ is as ever-present and ever-renewing as the grace offered to us by God. We have only to call out from whatever dark, desert place we find ourselves and the Spirit, always waiting within and around us, responds with the refreshing, renewing water of life.

With that endless grace and love – a stimulus package capable of meeting every spiritual need – we need not fear. We are free to invest of love and our care in the world recklessly because we know that this is what Christ, our master, desires that we do with all the blessings that we have received – especially that most precious gift of abundant life. The test, as much as there is one, is not what we achieve through our efforts, it is how we approach the challenge … how we answer the call.

We are beloved children of God. We are disciples of Christ. Let us be faithful disciples, then, and spread the word of hope and grace and new life to all we meet without worry or fear. For love and hope, compassion and mercy, grace and faith are the currency of the Realm of God, and they are not small, dead, finite things. They are living with the pulse of God’s life and the promise of the Spirit, and the more we give them to the world, the more they grow in abundant and power. And, in the end, all of us will receive much more than we give. We will have grace, faith, love, and hope in such a measure that we will be rolling in the bounty. What need is there to fear? Why not share with freedom and abandon and enter into our master’s joy?

May it be so!

Sunday, November 9, 2008

The Wisdom of Preparation

Wisdom of Solomon 6:12-16
Matthew 25: 1-13

Our scriptures today have two obvious themes: wisdom and preparation. Both, of which, I have felt woefully lacking in this past week. As I nurse a sprained ankle, I am reminded that perhaps it wasn't the smartest thing to pick up Sebastian being as pregnant as I am, and attempt to walk a stretch of sidewalk along Stewart Street, all the while unaware of the gaping holes that are so prevalent in Morgantown--one of which I ultimately stepped in at an unfortunate angle.

And as I sat watching the cars go by--sitting in a crumpled mess with a bloody knee and a swollen ankle--hoping a Good Samaritan would drive by and actually stop, I had a thought: maybe I wasn't as prepared as I should have been, choosing not to take my cell phone with me, unable to call Torin, telling him to come pick up his mess of a family off the pavement.

But I have sat and consoled myself that while it might not have been the smartest thing to pick up Sebastian and walk with him down the hill, it may have been the wisest thing to do. After all, I would rather be healing from a sprained ankle than enduring the possibility of my child getting hit by a reckless car. Of course, Torin reminded me that it probably isn't the best decision to go walking with Sebastian in this town without a stroller at this point in my pregnancy…but hey, let me heal my pride a little, too.

And as I sit with this (I sure have been sitting a lot recently), I've been wondering if being wise is the same as being smart. Often they are used interchangeably, but I think that we have all known people in our lives who have certainly been smart, but not wise, and people who have had great depth of wisdom, who conventionally would not be considered smart.

I often feel challenged on my "smartness" as Torin and I engage in our weekly pre-church ritual of listening to the Puzzlemaster on NPR. Will Shortz, the editor of the NY Times puzzle page (i.e. the "puzzlemaster") joins the morning's host and a lucky call-in contestant to engage in about five minutes of fun word puzzle games.

Now these two things, puzzles and games, are not at the top of my list of how I would like to spend my time. But, generally, the puzzles they put the contestants through are fairly obtainable for me. After a particularly good morning of getting most of the answers right, I sit back with an air of satisfaction. Then Puzzlemaster Shortz gives one more puzzle, which is the qualifying puzzle to get onto next weeks show. And generally, it is here that it all comes tumbling down for me. Most of the time, I have no idea what he is talking about, and really, no interest in spending time trying to figure it out.

Torin on the other hand will spend time ruminating on the problem and then often while shaving his face on a Tuesday or Wednesday morning he'll emerge with a cry of "Eureka!" He'll tell me the answer, I'll say he is so smart, but then console myself that really, I am the wise one for not spending so much of my time thinking about a silly puzzle.

But then, I come to church and read a parable of Jesus and think "darn it! This is just some other puzzle!" There are symbols to decipher, characters to figure out, metaphors to uncover. Even Jesus said many people won't understand the parables. Or, maybe he knows it's the smart ones who won't get them, and the wise ones who will seek within them a glimmer of truth for their lives.

In our parable today, we are introduced to an ancient ritual of Palestinian weddings. Ten women are responsible for providing light for the coming bridegroom, who is mysteriously delayed. Waiting for the groom, the ten fall asleep and at midnight when the groom's arrival is announced, they wake up, five of them realizing their oil in their lamps is running out. Persuaded to go get more they return to find they have been turned out of the party. As commentator Amy-Jill Levine says, "at this point, the story shifts from the culturally plausible to the shocking. The groom refuses [to let them in] saying ' I do not know you'"

Quite puzzling. It seems clear enough when the groom says "Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour," that this is no ordinary groom, and we're not simply preparing for any party. What is the puzzlemaster Matthew doing in this parable? While this may not be the Sunday equivalent of the New York Times crossword puzzle, it certainly is not something I would want to attempt with a pen.

In the chapters immediately before and after this verse, Matthew has Jesus speaking of preparation for God's kingdom to come. Preparation is key. Staying alert is imperative. Not having enough oil in your lamp will leave you in the dark and no amount of scrambling at the end will get you in. Being tired and foolish is no excuse.

Leave it Matthew to take the optimistic road.

An easy part of this puzzle to decipher might be the human characters. The bridegroom is Christ, the bridesmaids are us --the church. Coming closer and closer to his betrayal, denial, and death, having Jesus call some of his followers out as the bridesmaids unwilling to meet him with a welcoming light was probably more of a foreshadowing of what was to come, and less about a condemnation to half of humanity.

But what about the oil? What is that all about? It sounds like a contemporary political and economic problem--not enough oil! But oil was used much differently then as it is now, and in Jewish tradition, oil is a symbol of good deeds. So the problem is not that they fell asleep--both the foolish and the wise did that--but that some of them were not prepared, did not see beyond their own timetable of the celebration, thought that a partially-full lamp of oil was all that was needed.

It's not a good feeling to feel foolish as the door of the celebration is closed on your face. And if we examine our own lives, we all probably question the fullness of our lamps, our preparation to meet Christ, and the energy that must be burned in order to shine the welcoming light into the world. I certainly wouldn't assume I was one of the five let into the party. I'd likely be trying to find an open window to vault through--probably spraining my ankle along the way--or a back entrance so I could slink inside.

But to give both the wise and the foolish the benefit of the doubt, it's hard to realize your not prepared when the lights are still burning brightly, when excitement is at its maximum, and when a party is about to start. We can't tell whose lamps are full and whose are only half full by the quality of the flame. We're hopeful for what's to come and at times our excitement takes our attention away from our own responsibility.

Without speaking too explicitly about my own political leanings, I will admit that I count myself among the majority of Americans who are excited about what a new political era might mean for our country--not only domestically, but how we might redeem ourselves on the world stage. (I'm not violating any church tax-exempt status issues by saying this). I, along with someny of you, and even as admitted by those who voted for John McCain, found myself tearing up as a fresh, young, president-elect accepted the position on a crazy Chicago night.

In the midst of the presidential race, the themes of hope, bright futures, and change were used by both sides. This is not new to the 2008 election. Ronald Regan announced in 1979 that "Someone once said that the difference between an American and any other kind of person is than an American lives in anticipation of the future because [they] know it will be a great place." An emphasis that in the midst of today's danger there will be great hope in tomorrow is an American bi-partisan political theme. You don't have to be Republican or Democrat, Green or Mountain Party, to hear this.

But the way Matthew portrays Jesus sharing this parable isn't along these hopeful lines. As Andrew Warner uncovers, "The American vision is one of clear hope, a confident promise; 'It will be better.' [we say]. Jesus [rather] leaves us with a question, [a deliberation]: 'Are we wise or foolish?' (“Living by the Word” Christian Century, November 4, 2008) And this isn't referring to if we made a wise or foolish choice in who we have elected. But are we wise or foolish to think that what needs to be done in this world can be done solely by political figures, rather than the participation of radical disciples filled with the works of mercy and justice and sacrifice.

We may be glowing with excitement about a new administration, or we may feel we have been shut out of the party, unhappy with the choice of new president. In my own excitement, I'm reminded of our Anabaptist heritage that actually discouraged voting, or rather encouraged "conscientious abstention." The late Mennonite theologian John Howard Yoder had been a contemporary proponent of this.

This is not to encourage us to disengage. Rather, Anabaptists have wondered if voting actually allows us to disengage, to keep our oil lamps lit for our own timetable leading up to election day, and then letting it go out just when we might need it most. When we keep our lamps lit only so it can guide us to the ballot box and then expect elected officials to carry the light on for us, it is not only unwise, but perhaps we become the foolish ones who Jesus knows will eventually betray him. Because the light is not for what God can do through us, but what politics will do in spite of us.

And yet, Torin, Sebastian, and I bounded out of the house early this Tuesday morning, marching up the hill chanting…softly…"come and vote! Come and vote!" like some political Wee Willy Winkie…only calling people out of bed

And yet, the Wednesday morning headline "Obama wins" on the front page was still followed in the local section with "Christian Help running short of winter clothes: Agency may have to cut giveaways." And we know that while the future may seem a bit brighter, we can’t let our lamps die.

No matter if we ecstatic about an Obama administration,, or if we wish the election went to John McCain, it does not affect our responsibilities to be prepared, keeping our lamps full of oil. We may have passed a torch, but we must continue to seek the welcoming light, the wisdom of discipleship that longs to be found, who seeks us, who hastens to be made known to us.

On Tuesday we may have risen early to go vote, but the rest of our days we
are called to rise early to seek the welcoming light of Christ's wisdom, which can lead us through the brightest days and the darkest nights.
May it be so. AMEN.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Re-member the Family of God

sermon by Torin Eikler
Micah 3:5-12 Joshua 4:1-11

Earlier this week I had an eye-opening experience around the dinner table. We have been working with Sebastian on the issue of throwing things. As it turns out, he has a very good arm, which we encouraged when he was learning about gross motor skills with stuffed animals and soft balls. That has become more of a concern, though, as he has moved on to matchbox cars, wooden trains, and silverware, he continues to revel in the beauty of a well-thrown object. Unfortunately, his aim has not kept up with his talent for launching hard objects with potentially deadly force, and we have not been able to find a way to help him understand the constant danger he now represents to others (especially the cat).

The struggle is not entirely unexpected since we began reflecting some time ago on the problem presented by moving from en-couragement to dis-couragement of various activities as he moves through developmental stages. What did come as a surprise to me on Tuesday morning was Carrie’s admonishment … directed not at Sebastian, but at me. I was up from the table getting several things that I forgot to put out and get the toast from the toaster, and (in my own defense) I was in bit of a distracted state. So, I tossed the small spoon a foot or two onto the table next to her where is landed smoothly and slid to a halt next to her plate. And as a part of me was congratulating myself on such a well-executed, time-saving exploit, another part of me heard her say, “no throwing spoons.” It took a moment for me to realize that she was talking to me, and then I responded petulantly, “It was a toss, not a throw.”

As a sat munching my oatmeal a few minutes later, I realized how often I have given Sebastian mixed – even hypocritical – messages. Many times, I know, I have snapped at him about throwing a car even as I picked that same toy up and tossed it – well threw it, I suppose – into the toy box. Often, I say, “no feet on books” as I slide the stomped-on item across the floor and out of the way with my toe in passing. I can only wonder how many times I have told him not to eat eggy batter before it is cooked while licking said batter off my fingers. Obviously minor things to me, but glaring inconsistencies, I can imagine, to a little one trying to figure out the rules of the road.

I suppose calling these things “hypocrisy” may be a little strong for given the much more glaring duplicity we see all around us. In a world where a man who shares ownership of five homes can claim that he is part of and speaks for the middle class or a man who has claimed a priority of bring soldiers home for good turns around to promise more soldiers going to Afghanistan, perfectly natural parenting inconsistencies seem to be small potatoes. But, a double standard is a double standard, and comparing our own internal contradictions to the larger, more blatant ones exhibited by others lets us falsely justify our actions. After all, just because someone somewhere robs a bank does not make it right for us to shoplift or even to swipe a couple of loose bills off the counter at a friend’s house. One way or the other, we all find ourselves needing to say “do as I say, not as I do” more often than we should.


Some how, no matter how much I think it should, that doesn’t worry me much. Maybe it should be, but I guess I’m just so used to it that I hardly even notice when people don’t practice what they preach. I suppose I might even believe that hypocrisy is part of human nature to one degree or another. But, to be honest, I do get frustrated and even angry when I see blatant, harmful duplicity. When I hear people say, “I don’t want to sound racist, and I’m not racist. But, I just don’t think a black person can (insert whatever you want here),” my blood rises and, as Carrie can attest, I often find myself ranting about the ignorance and blind stupidity of “those people.” And, I’m certain that some of my own inconstancies push other people’s hot buttons the same way.

The truth is … we are all hypocrites in bigger or smaller ways, and we really should be worried about that. The scriptures, from the First Testament all the way through Revelation, say in very strong language that we should be worried about it.


In Micah’s day, according to the words of that prophet, the leadership of Israel – from the king all the way down to “small time” priests and local prophets – was laced with hypocrisy. The civil authorities whose charge was to care for everyone in the community abused the people in order to amass their own personal wealth. The priests charged the people for their services even though they were already ensured of rich living by traditional laws in place since Levi and his sons first began the priestly line. (Just to clarify, that would be like Carrie and I charging admission to Sunday services while still collecting our salary and benefits.) On top of all this, the prophets who were supposed to act as a check on the religious hierarchy by interpreting the word of God according to divine inspiration – in the face of tradition and custom is necessary, these prophets were acting like fortune tellers, selling oracles for money. But, unlike fortune tellers, they were claiming the authority of God to praise those who paid them and condemn those who refused to do so. And, the word of God that came through Micah was very clear on the subject announcing that the entire country would be handed over to neighboring empires for absolute destruction as a result – a very unhappy judgment hidden within elegant, flowery language.


Several hundred years later, another prophet – Jesus of Nazareth – offered a similar denouncement of the religious establishment stated in much more obvious language:
“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you lock people out of the kingdom of heaven. [For you cross sea and land to make a single convert and when they are going in, you stop them.] … Woe to you [take the tithe of] mint, dill and cumin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faith. It is these you ought to have practiced…!”

And, lest we think ourselves not to be implicated since we (well most of us) are not in the religious establishment, Jesus addresses other words to all who seek the way of God:
“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, … he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, … and the king will say to those at his left hand, ‘You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and you did not visit me. … Truly, I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of [these who are members of my family,] you did not do it to me.’ And these will go away into eternal punishment….”

The message is clear, and it’s clearly directed at all of us as well as all of them. We need to practice what we preach! That’s true in all the little ways that we find ourselves compromised in day to day living. And, it is especially true when it comes to nurturing the family of God. If we seek, as we claim, to follow the way of Christ, then we need to follow the way of Christ. We need to welcome the stranger into our midst. We need to reach out to those in need the basic necessities of life – from food and drink to companionship and care to hope and love.

The family of God has always been made up of all sorts of people with all sorts of needs and all sorts of perspective on the world and on faith. After all, God chose all of humanity to be a special creation from the very beginning – God’s chosen creation … God’s family. Yet, we seem to have been looking for ways to mark ourselves as special and different from others around us throughout our entire history. We constantly divide ourselves into smaller and smaller groups until we have reached the point where we are fairly sure that our similarities out-weigh our differences. Then, we fortify our positions with habits, social conventions, and arguments reassuring us that we are in the right group. And, we don’t even realize how much we have fractured humanity – broken apart the family of God.


Yet, the story of God’s relationship with humanity has a plot line taking us in the opposite direction – from brokenness to unity. Even when God’s promise to Abram gave our spiritual ancestors their identity as a chosen people, the purpose behind the covenant was to bless “all the families of the earth” through Abraham’s descendants. When Moses brought the people out of Egypt, they were not alone. No longer just the Israelites, they became the Hebrew people as they were joined by many others who had been oppressed by the Egyptians. And, when they began to divide themselves into tribes and compete for wealth and land as they wandered in the wilderness, Joshua sought to bring them back together. He called for one person from each of tribe to carry a stone from the river Jordan to their camp at Gilgal. To remind all of them that they were one people in faith though they came from different ancestors – to re-member the family of God that they sought to divide, he had them place the stones together as a monument to the unity of the people God’s power protected.


And, Jesus, through his teaching and ministry, reminded the people of Israel that they were chosen not just to be a special, set-apart people. They were called to be a blessing to all peoples the world over. They were called to take the promise of God to the ends of the earth. And so, too, are we.
If we are to be the people of Christ, as we claim, then we are called to carry the good news of God’s way to all people, not just those who make up our own little groups. And, that means more than preaching the salvation offered in Christ. It means remembering that we are part of the family of God that is all of humanity. It means welcoming strangers into our community just as we welcomed the presence of our loved ones into worship this morning. It means reaching out to offer hope and help and companionship in the midst of hunger and thirst and loneliness and pain. It means meeting people where they are, however strange and different they may seem, and inviting them to enter the realm of God. It means re-membering the Family of God. And if we are to be the people of Christ, serving as the body of Christ in this world, then we must practice what we preach – what Christ preached, showing loving compassion and offering the promise of new life every day in the way we live as well as the words we speak. Let us be the people of Christ … for the Christ’s sake and for the sake of all.

Saturday, November 1, 2008

Christianity for the Rest of Us

book review by Carrie Eikler

How many of you have heard something like this statement: “The only churches that are growing are conservative and evangelical churches.” ? Author Diana Butler Bass admits that accepted wisdom in the past decades have concluded that mainline churches are in decline while evangelical mega-churches have drawn in the true faithful. Butler Bass, a sociologist of religion, wondered if this was true, and her book Christianity for the Rest of Us: How the Neighborhood Church is Transforming the Faith (San Francisco: Harper Collins, 2006.) paints another picture. Curious about this “accepted wisdom” a well her own experience about returning to a church family, Butler Bass explores the flourishing churches who choose to remain faithful to a tradition while becoming a vital spiritual community.

And many of these churches aren’t right-wing conservatives, but open, curious, faithful congregations who identify themselves as middle of the road, or even left of middle. Not surprisingly, Butler Bass explores congregations in the Protestant tradition (Episcopal, United Methodist, Disciples of Christ, Presbyterian, UCC, and Lutheran) and does touch on Anabaptist traditions such as Mennonites or Church of the Brethren, but there is much to taken from her findings, particularly because I feel we are the type of church she highlights. Small congregations, who are rooted in a faith tradition, seeking ways to bring a new word of Christianity to their communities.

The heart of the book highlights ten practices of these vibrant communities: hospitality, discernment, healing, contemplation, testimony, diversity, justice, worship, reflection, and beauty. Speaking of these practices and their place in church renewal, Butler Bass says “All the congregations have found new vitality through an intentional and transformative engagement with Christian tradition as embodied in faith practices. Typically they have rediscovered the riches of the Christian past and practice simple, but profound, things like discernment, hospitality, testimony, contemplation, and justice. They reach back to ancient wisdom and reach out through a life sustained by Christian devotional and moral practices. They know the biblical story and their own story. They focus more on God’s grace in the world than on the eternal state of their own souls. (7). I found myself wondering throughout this book if these ten practices are important to our congregation? If so, are they important in theory, or do we really practice them (or expect others in the church to practice them)? I found both affirmative and challenging answers to these questions. How would you answer that?

Christianity for the Rest of Us is one of those hopeful books that leave you feeling “raring to go” and bewildered at where to begin. But perhaps that is the purpose of the book. It gives us glimpses of what has been done, names the broad scope of the practices embraced in the journey, and lets the reader do the hard work. After all, all congregations are different, just as each reader is different. A discussion guide in the back of the book, along with the vivid content, would make it a great group read for a commission, church board, or simply curious Christians who have seen the “new wave” of Christianity pass by them, and have hesitated to get on board. If you have ever been one of those “Christianbuts” (finding yourself saying, “I’m a Christian, but…”) or even if you are a “Christianyea” (finding yourself saying, “I’m a Christian, yea!”), this is a read that will leave you raring, bewildered, and wondering.

The Community of God

pastoral letter by Torin Eikler

Ahh, fall weather… changing leaves … cooler weather … the world series … football … the beginnings of the holiday season. It’s one of my favorite times of year, and it seems to have something for everyone – except those who really (and I mean really) love the warmth. This year, though, seems to feel different to me. Perhaps it’s the expectation of a new child and all the hubbub that goes with preparations. Perhaps it’s the economic situation that is so much in the news. Perhaps it’s the election hype that is blaring from every TV, radio, and yard sign. Perhaps it is some bit of all these things, but I find myself so caught up in the current and focused on everything that is going on around me that I haven’t been able to enjoy autumn this year.

Where have the moments of standing in awestruck appreciation of color-splashed trees gone? The brisk autumn walks with the cold pinching my nose just the right amount? The evenings with a hot cup of tea as the sun sets earlier and earlier? It seems to have rolled right past me. In its place I have the struggle to get Sebastian dressed for the weather – warm or cool, who knows, the rush to meet deadlines, and evenings filled with one task after another until I can collapse into bed. Even things like putting the garden to bed, baking bread, or finding the right presents for my family have lost the feel of satisfaction, becoming just another things to check of the to-do list.

But, I know there is more out there. I remember it. I have even caught glimpses of it in fleeting moments – moments like the youth group gathering at the Yoder’s farm when we took a hayride in the chilly, dusky light, roasted hotdogs amidst laughter and contented chatter, and lay on our backs looking up at the stars shining in the night sky. Moments that call me back from the maelstrom of life into the spaciousness of God’s time and the quiet warmth of community.

And, community is a big part of what it’s all about, I think. God calls us – calls all people in the world – to a different way of living. It’s a way of life that welcomes the stranger as if they were a friend and embraces the enemy as a brother or sister. It’s the way that offers what we have to those who have need and leads us to sit beside those who are suffering, lonely, or just different. It’s the way that leads to a common table shared by all and hosted by the Prince of Peace. Sometime – in God’s time – we will all get there. In the mean time, we would do well to ask if the path we are walking leads to that table and how we can invite others to find the way.