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?

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.

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.