Michael's Musings

Free to Serve!

2009-08-31T13:13:00.003-04:00

August 30th, 2009

The third part of our mission statement reads: “to share God's love for us through compassionate service to others.” Last week we touched on sharing in the midst of God's love. This week, let us focus our minds and hearts on service, on what it means to serve one another as children loved by a gracious God.

Galatians 5: 13-14; Pew Bible pg. 1815

Prayer: God make yourself known to us through these words. As we continue to listen for your voice, quiet the busyness of our minds, calm the restlessness of our hearts, and soothe the troubles of our souls. Bless my words and our attention with the fruit of understanding. Amen.

One of my football coaches in college loved to condition us. At the end of every practice, we were guaranteed to have some kind of conditioning exercise. This coach would line us up in a particular configuration and tell us to do certain things. Whatever he told us to do, we did. If he said “jump,” we jumped. If he said “hit it,” we fell to our chests. It was like a sick game of “Simon Says”: the conditioning edition.

If we didn't follow his directions exactly, then he would yell “run!” And we would run.

Now this coach was witty and he loved to ensure that we would end up running. Like clockwork, he would shout “jump!” And we would jump as high as we could, only to land and hear him say, “I didn't tell you to come back down!” And then every one of us would have to do what we hated to do: run.... I remember seeing the confused and discouraged looks on each one of the freshman's faces—those poor guys were still trying to figure out how they could levitate.

But we were not free to float, we had to come back down—and the consequence of gravity, according to my devious coach, was a lot of running. And we hated running.

Running felt like a punishment to us. It brought us fatigue, soreness, and thirst—and we were instructed, commanded, to do it. Sure, we knew in the long run we would be better for it; better athletes with more endurance to finish a game. But if you've ever done chores, if you've ever felt that heavy, dread in the pit of your stomach come chore time; then you know how so many of us felt about running. If we could have avoided it, we would have.

I think serving others can feel like a chore sometimes—and, sometimes, maybe even like a kind of punishment. If you've ever served on a church committee you likely know the feeling—meetings, duties, reports... we'd rather be doing something else—something fun, something with friends or family, something for ourselves, something we want to do.

Serving others can feel like a heavy obligation where the duty keeps us focused on what we are doing, on the tediousness of the task, on the effort we are giving, on all the things we are giving up. And the people we are helping, the good we are doing, or the meaning of our work—that all sinks under the weight of our obligation.

And so, serving one another can feel like a pile of stones blocking our path. We treat that pile of stones as a dreaded obstacle, something to be moved so we can get on with the rest of our lives.

The problem may be that serving others doesn't always feel like something we do freely. After all, when we talk about people in prison, we often say that they are “serving time.” Service, then, may bring us a sense of imprisonment to our obligations as a Christian. Service becomes more like a chore our parents told us we had to do “just because.” If we could avoid it, we would.

If only we could proceed unimpeded—to march forward with our lives without the chore of serving others. What a freedom that would be!

Our scripture passage this morning is part of Paul's campaign to proclaim the joys of freedom—but not just any freedom. Paul stands in a rich biblical heritage of freedom that, in the New Testament, centers on the event of Jesus Christ. Paul advanced a gospel of freedom proclaiming that “Christ has set us free” (Galatians 5:1).

Yet, as Paul indicates in verse 13 of our passage this morning, freedom here is not for “the sinful nature;” or, in other translations, freedom is not to be used for “self-indulgence.” In other words, freedom is not doing whatever we please.

As a teenager, I loved to remind my parents that, “as an American, I am free—and that means I don't have to listen to you. I can do whatever I want!” My principled protests often resulted in the exercise of my parents’ freedom to prevent me from driving their car.

But if Paul were to answer my adolescent anger, he would remind me that doing whatever we please is not true freedom. Doing whatever we please is still a captivity to our own desires, desires that are no bigger than our own selves. The Greek word Paul uses, which is translated “sinful nature” in the NIV and “self-indulgence” in other versions, is the Greek word sarx, literally meaning “flesh.” For Paul, “the flesh” is both something about us (like our material bodies and internal desires), and yet also some cosmic force outside us, threatening us.

Paul reminds us in Romans that we are always serving something or someone—its always a matter of what or who. And so our flesh, our sarx is the complement of internal desire and external force commanding us to do simply as we please, without regard for the lives of others.

For Paul, then, freedom is the power to resist both internal desires and the external forces which ask us to do only what we please—to serve ourselves alone. Freedom is the power to overcome a bondage to ourselves that places our own short-sighted desires at the pinnacle of the universe.

One day at football practice, as I watched the track athletes run their umpteenth lap around our field, I remember thinking, “Wow, their sport is our punishment. If I could love running like they do, football practice would be great!” But it is hard to turn something that feels like a punishment into something enjoyable, something desired.

And this is Paul's point—we can't simply change what we love. We need some help. This is precisely the power of Christ—the power to help us overcome our self-indulgence. The power to say “yes” to service, to say “yes” to others, to say “yes” to a life that is beyond just me—a life that is bigger, wider, and truer. With Christ, what we desire, what we love, is remade to include the lives of others, the lives of our neighbors. And choosing a life where our desire is remade with Christ; this is true freedom! It is the freedom, as Paul states, to “serve one another in love”!

The key here is that our heart, through faith in Christ, has changed to include the lives of those we serve, to care for people beyond ourselves, to live in love for the good of all. We are no longer focused on the service, on the duty, on the obligation. We are focused on the people, on the good, on the great meaning of our service in Christ.

And so, as a church, I invite you to consider our calling to “compassionate service.” We are not called to chore-like service. Chore-like service is not grounded in the freedom of Christ, it is grounded in indifference. When service feels like a chore it is because we are focused on the duty, the obligation, the prison of service and we quickly become indifferent to others. Sure, we may know, in our minds, that we are helping others, but our hearts are focused on the chore, on the task, on the obligation. Elie Wiesel writes that “the opposite of love is not hate, it is indifference... The opposite of faith is not heresy, it is indifference. The opposite of life is not death, it is indifference.” With Christ, indifference for others is replaced with a love that drives service toward immense joy.

With Christ, we are freed from a life where service is a chore, to a life where service is a labor of love; a love that leaves our chores in the dust of simple self-indulgence. And in this way who we are grows and enlarges—we find our true selves in a life of compassionate service to one another.
And so we can return, together, to that football field where a conditioning coach barks his orders to “jump!” In mid-air, we find ourselves suspended. The chains of gravity have been severed in this moment of decision. As we hang, we hear the voice of Christ whispering a love into our hearts...

..A love that awakens an energy to run.

When we find ourselves on the ground again, we do not lumber forward under the bondage of punishment. We do not wait for a command to run—rather we strike out on a mission, energized with a love that propels us forward boldly; running with haste in the freedom of Christ. And as we turn to look over our shoulders, to see how we could have defied gravity, we see the only power that could have held us in the air, the only power that could have enlivened this love for others. There, behind us, is Christ elevated upon a cross.

From the cross Christ held us, though only for a moment, still long enough to change our hearts.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

We Don't Get What We Deserve

2009-08-26T16:20:00.004-04:00

Michael Swartzentruber
8-23-30

It is a joy to be with you this morning—to worship with you and to preach. I am thankful to have the opportunities this church has afforded me as a student, and for the opportunity to serve you this past summer during the sabbatical. I also look forward to the opportunity that lies ahead, serving as the minister of youth and young adult beginning this fall.

As we have heard these last couple of weeks, we are a healthy community. We are filled to the brim with promise and possibility. God is with us; enduring with us as we continue to live out our faith. Our lay leadership is with us, bringing energy and vision to the transition and transformation of this church. The region and the denomination are with us, providing us with resources and guidance.

On top of all of that, we also have the very subject of our sabbatical to lean on: our mission statement. And so we will be finishing our exploration of the sabbatical this month by focusing on sharing and service. Not to be confused with Sharon Service. Sharing and service.

Our mission statement reads:

We are called to:
welcome people into a loving and caring church family;
equip people with a Christ-centered faith that works in real life;
share God's love for us through compassionate service to others.
We are called to be Community... Christian.... Church.

Our sermon text this morning comes from the Gospel of Matthew. It is a compelling parable for us to consider as we engage what it means to share in God's love. Let us read together:

Matthew 20:1-16

Prayer: God be with us now as we listen together for your voice. Give to us ears to hear and eyes to see. Bless the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts that they may be pleasing unto You, our Rock and Redeemer. Amen.

Turn to your neighbor this morning and say, “We don't get what we deserve.”

We don't get what we deserve... Have you ever experienced something so good, you've had to say to yourself: “What did I ever do to deserve this?” Maybe you were savoring a rich, delicious piece of cake. Or maybe you were looking out over a sparkling vista of water shimmering in the setting sun.

We don't get what we deserve... Have you ever experienced something so terrible, so awful that you've had to say to yourself: “What did I ever do to deserve this?” Maybe you were changing a flat tire in the driving rain on the side of the highway. Or maybe your heart was wrenched by the sudden news of a loved one passing away.

We don't get what we deserve...

I've been told that parenthood is one of those “What did I ever do to deserve this?” kind of experiences. I've been told that seeing your child for the first time, holding her in your arms, or watching him close his eyes as a fragile, trusting infant, is one of the most blessed, beautiful experiences possible—and you have to ask yourself: “What did I ever do to deserve this?” And I've been told, also, that at 3am in the morning, when that same ball of joy is screaming at the top of her lungs and in your sleep-deprived daze you find yourself changing a diaper filled with more infant by-product than is humanly possible; that you also ask yourself: “What did I ever do to deserve this?”

The parable Jesus tells in our Scripture passage this morning brings us to this very question: What do we deserve? Yet it's a strange parable. It challenges our expectations. It's strange and it challenges our expectations because, in the end, work is not given its due—the workers get what they don't deserve.

The laborers who were hired first and worked the whole day were given the same payment as those hired last, only working a short time. If pay is a reward for work, we might reason, then these workers do not deserve the same amount, since they did not work for the same amount of time. Yet that is what they all received, the same amount, a denarius, regardless of the work they did. So it seems the last workers did not get what they deserved—they were given more than what they deserved.

Wouldn't you grumble? If you were hired first and discovered that you had been paid the same amount as those “other guys” who only worked a short time, wouldn't you be upset? I probably would be. Every time I read this story I identify with those first workers who grumble... I'd grumble too.

I'd grumble because I see myself as a hard worker. And I know what hard workers deserve—I know what I deserve. What I deserve is based on another set of stories. These are popular stories of hard work, discipline, and “responsibility.” They are the stories of sacrifice and thinking ahead. They are the stories of rising above our circumstances, no matter how difficult life is. In these stories, if you work hard, make the right decisions, and maintain discipline, then in the end you get what deserve—your just reward.

We've all heard our fair share of these stories. These are stories woven into the fabric of American life. They include rags to riches stories—stories of poor people rising above their lot in life, pursuing their dreams, and finally making it big. They are stories that often capture our imaginations. If you've seen the movie In Pursuit of Happyness you know just how inspiring and gripping these stories can be. A man in the midst of homelessness struggles to care for his son and find a job. He rises above all the adversity that comes his way to receive what he rightly deserves—enormous wealth. His hard work and perseverance pays off in the end.

There are countless other stories: Andrew Carnegie, John Rockefeller, Oprah Winfrey, Jim Carrey, and on and on and on. The focus of these popular stories is the individual, the hard-working, tenacious individual who rises above the odds with unbreakable will power. An article on Forbes.com writes that the majority of the “world's 946 billionaires made their fortunes from scratch, relying on grit and determination, and not good genes.” The article uses terms like “self-made” and “bootstrapping.”1 Anyone can “make themselves,” so the story goes, if they simply use discipline, work hard, and make responsible decisions. You will get what you deserve—you just have to commit and do the work.

I remember an interview several months after the 2008 Summer Olympic Games with 8-time Olympic Gold Medal winner, Michael Phelps. He was promoting his book No Limits.2 When asked if he thought that his Olympic success was repeatable, he proclaimed that “if you put your mind to it, anything is possible.” Even when asked if there was some natural talent he had that would make it truly impossible for just anyone to do what he did, he claimed that anything is possible—you simply have to put your effort and mind into the task.

Good news, you too can be an Olympic swimmer; all you have to do is try hard enough. After all, you will get what you deserve, right? Hard work equals success.

I could list all the freakish natural qualities that make Michael Phelps particularly suited for his task as a swimmer. But focusing on the individual is precisely what stories of Rags to Riches, or Hard Work and Discipline, or Positive Thinking, all seem to do. They focus on the individual and notions that we are “self-made.” Just work hard enough or think positively enough—then you'll get your just desserts.

This brand of individualism and a “you get what you deserve” mentality is one we are all prone to adopt. We are susceptible to it because it saturates popular American culture. We get what we deserve. Successful people deserve their success because they have done the work to be successful.

The flipside of this story is that people who are not successful are then considered with the same mentality. They wouldn't be poor, or a nobody, or unhappy if they had just made better decisions, or done the work, or acted responsibly. They must be lazy. After all, we get what we deserve.

But this is a way of thinking that quickly breaks down—there are things in life we do not totally deserve; there are things in life that come our way that we do not have so much control over that we can simply work hard enough or think positively enough—the “you get what you deserve mentality” operates on a hyper-individualism; it is a kind of individualism where the only person with any power is the individual person. But this is not how the world works. There are things in this life over which we do not have total control. We've all been there, we know.
We don't deserve to be let go because of “the economy”; we don't deserve to lose the people we love; we don't deserve to be abused, or neglected, or discouraged. Sometimes hard work, discipline, and positive thinking simply do not yield the success or the life we expect. We know, we've been there. Sometimes we get what we don't deserve.

And that's what our story from the Matthew opens up for us. Jesus is telling us all a story that shows us we are recipients of something we don't entirely deserve: God's abundant love, God's Grace. Those that have worked long and hard, who have labored doing God's work, and those that have just happened on the scene; all receive God's abundant love, God's Grace.

In the end, the very question, “what did I do to deserve this?” may be the wrong response. We don't make ourselves. We are not self-made. God's generosity makes us. God's abundance makes us. God's love in Christ makes us.

It is easy for us to overlook that the landowner in the parable actually emplowed each of the workers who were all idle at first. The laborers did not make themselves. The landowner helped make each of the laborers who they were—vineyard workers—then rewarded them equally, despite the different situations they were in. So too God helps make us, we are not entirely self-made.

The good news this morning is that no matter where you find yourself in life, you are living with God's Love, Jesus Christ, the one who endured crucifixion on a cross—the one who is present in the depths of what we do not deserve. The good news this morning is also that we are living with Christ in the heights of what we do not deserve, for Christ was resurrected from the grave. God is everywhere we don't deserve because Christ has been and continues to be everywhere we don't deserve to be.

Yes we don't get what we deserve. We get so much more. Thanks be to God. Amen.

1See the June 26, 2007 article by Tatiana Serafin entitled “Rags to Riches Billionaires” at
http://www.forbes.com/2007/06/22/billionaires-gates-winfrey-biz-cz_ts_0626rags2riches.html

2See his interview with Stephen Colbert on The Colbert Report at
http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/213742/december-11-2008/michael-phelps

Equipped for God

2009-07-15T10:31:00.004-04:00

7-12-09

We turn now to a famous passage in the New Testament which gives us a peculiar image for Christian living: battle armor.

Ephesians 6:10-20

Pray with me: May the meditations of my heart, the words of my mouth, and the message from this text be made pleasing unto you, O God, and may we be moved to listen, act, and make real Your truth. Amen.

My father came home with a piece of balsa wood and a sharp, curved “Exacto” knife. I was in fifth grade and needed to carve a wooden canoe for a school project. I had desperately tried to begin this project with a piece of fire wood and kitchen knife. But I learned quickly that with a dull instrument and a hard, unforgiving piece of wood that I would likely graduate from high school before my project was completed. So my father stepped in and brought me home some soft, easy wood for shaping; and a sharp, precise knife for whittling. Just the tools I needed.

So, one day after basketball practice, still dressed in my cut-off t-shirt and shorts—well, if you remember the late 80's and early 90's, what I was wearing was probably more like a basketball speedo; I'm glad that trend changed. But there I am, in my athletic apparel, taking up my new piece of wood and this new tool. The work was much easier. The strips of wood were flying off my blade and the balsa wood was quickly forming the curvature of a canoe. Then, I hit a tough spot. A thick, difficult spot in the wood that was not so easy to shape. I had hit many knots in the wood I was using previously, so I knew just what to do. Grit my teeth, hold the knife firmly, and press hard. The knife quickly gave way to the force of my entire body and my hand flew across the balsa wood and swiped my thigh.

Looking at this gaping canyon on my thigh which opened before my eyes, I yelled the only think I could think of, “I CUT IT!”

My dad was sitting across the room reading the newspaper, not even glancing up, and responded: “Good Michael, I knew it would be easier to cut.”

“No, Dad, I really cut it!”

Looking up he realized that I was not effectively cutting the wood but had instead sliced my leg open.

After a trip to the emergency room, a number of stitches, and a great deal of relief that I had not damaged any muscle or tendons, I returned to my project, finishing it with a new-found respect for the tools I used. My knife was something of great value for the project I was completing, but it was also dangerous because it could be misused; even if unintentionally.

Our scripture passage today deals with the tools we have for Christian living. We read that at our disposal is:
Belt of Truth
Breastplate of righteousness
Shoes of readiness that come from the gospel of peace
Shield of faith
Helmet of salvation
Sword of the spirit which is the word of God

Each of these could be the subject of an independent sermon, and trying to address each of them in one service will take us far beyond our time limitations today. But we can draw our attention to a few important things from this list:

We do not go into this world, as Christians, without equipment—we have tools and resources which give us the ability to do the work of God. Our Christ-centered faith can “work in real life,” as our mission statement indicates, because our faith provides us tools—it equips us. The thrust of the armor metaphor is that we have equipment to use in the work God has called us to do.

The problem is that concepts like “love, righteousness, salvation, grace, peace” can seem like tools that are too abstract for us to use. So, even though we are equipped with God's love, grace, and peace, we may not see clearly what that means. I want to suggest that the bible is an additional piece of equipment, important for our lives as Christians, because it gives us stories, metaphors, and images which can bring these concept to life for us.

Yet, like the knife which I managed to use both to whittle and to cut myself, the equipment provided by our faith can be used for both good and ill.

The bible as one such piece of equipment can be used to hurt and harm. It has been used to justify slavery and the oppression of women. It has been used to guilt people into doctrinal submission. A well-intentioned man once counseled me over dinner saying that if I were to be a stay-at-home dad and let my wife work full-time, then I would be living in a life-style of sin. He quoted scripture and referred to biblical passages to “prove” his point.

The problem is that the bible, like many things, can be used to advance all kinds of agendas. Unfortunately, that might make us shrink from the task of exploring and investigating and equipping ourselves appropriately with the bible.

The challenge for us is to use well the equipment we are given; to not cut ourselves with our tools, but rather to build up God's kingdom. And I want to suggest that the bible is a piece of our equipment “bag” which opens up truth, reality, and God's vision for us. It helps us put flesh on God's love. Our lives can take shape around the stories of the bible and show-forth God's love. The bible can help us texture our lives.

I'm reminded specifically of the way Mary Jo Copeland textured her life with the bible. She took a biblical image—foot washing—and brought it new life with God's love.

She tells this story: I met a man on the street I'll never forget. He had a knit hat that came over his eyes. He had dirty raggedy clothes. He had big black boots. And he carried a big potato sack. And in that potato sacked everything he owned clicked and clanked. He was so angry. You would go near him and he would say “get away from me, get away from me.” I knew he had bad feet. So I convinced him to sit down one afternoon and soak his feet. He didn't even want me to go near him, he was so angry. People that live outside get very angry and very upset because they have been hurt. So I knelt down and started to yank off his black boots, and then his wet socks. I've never seen such sores in my life. I looked up at him and said how did your feet get so bad? He said Mary Jo, I live outside and I try to soak them in the river every single day, but they don't get any better. And then his story unfolded. He said every time I close my eyes at night I picture my dad and older brother beating my head against the side of a car and saying to my face, “I'm gonna beat you boy.” He said, “when I was 15 years they tried to drown me, they tried to suffocate me, and I slept in my own urine for days because they hand-cuffed me to beat me up and I couldn't crawl to the bathroom. I never had a bike, I never had a ball. I never smelled a home-made cookie. And I never, ever had anyone say 'I love you...' Why me? Why me? When I was 15 I left home, I bought a gun, I had rocks in both my pockets, and a knife—I've been living in the woods, under bridges, in a forest, and been arrested in every state in the union for being a vagarant, for being a bum.” Well, I looked at him and I said, “I don't know you but I know God loves you and I want to help you.” He said you “you can't help me, I'm an animal.” So I waited outside my office door for four months, and then, one night, I gave him a broom and told him to sweep. That night I told him to sweep because he couldn't sweep around the volunteers, he was so angry. Then I taught him how to turn a key in the door, how to get dressed. I took him into a trauma specialist. Brought him into the dentist to get his teeth fixed. Taught him how to drive, got him some little dogs and a house to live in. and gave him the dignity the all-mighty God intended him to have. He came in one day and said, “Mary, thank you for saving my life.” And I said, praise, God Brian. God works through people. God doesn't just work through me now. Blessed are you who are merciful. Blessed are you who are the peacemakers. We are all channels of God's peace, kingdom, and love.1

Love is not an abstract concept for Mary. The bible has helped her texture God's love as she lives for God's Kingdom. The challenge for me, for you, for us as a community of faith, is to use the equipment we've been given to give flesh to God's love. We are not each called to build our lives around foot washing... but maybe each of us can find something in the bible that textures our life, that orders, orients, and directs the work we do. So, maybe you are not a foot washer. What story are you living?

1See her speech at the National Youth Conference recorded on the video entitled It is so Hard to be Poor: The Story of Sharing and Caring Hands and Mary's Place.

A Transgressing Welcome

2009-06-20T22:48:00.003-04:00

Last week we looked to the Hebrew Scriptures and the story of Abraham and Sarah in Genesis, who were looking to give welcome to strangers and receiving unexpected news from God. And we explored “welcome” (our theme for June) through the lens of Sarah's laughter. Today we turn to a rather famous parable of Jesus given in the midst of a conversation, of sorts, with a religious lawyer. Hear now a Word of the Lord.

Scripture: Luke 10:25-37

Pray with me: “God of Mercy, bless this reading; bless our ears that hear it, help our minds to understand it, our hearts to receive it, and our souls to be transformed by it. Grant to me Your Truth in the words of my mouth, this morning. In the name of Jesus Christ we pray, amen.”

When Rebecca and I settled into our new apartment as a married couple, one of the things we purchased for our place was a doormat. Truth be told, it was one of the less difficult decisions we made as a couple about what to buy for our apartment... as some of you may know, agreeing on home furnishings with your spouse or significant other can be a tall order. Fortunately, after trying to agree on a couch, the doormat issue seemed like a walk in the park.

But, on the other hand, it still wasn't entirely easy. We wanted something that would mark out the entrance to our new home as inviting and sincere place... and, of course, functionally useful.

Here are some doormats we did not choose:

“Come in.”
“Come back with a warrant.”
“Hi, I'm Mat.”
“Wow, Nice Underwear.”
“Remember to Wipe.”
One of my favorites, but a little wordy—this is a diary entry from a dog: “The Dog, Day 751: My captors continue to torment me with bizarre rubber squeak toys. They eat lavish meals in my presence while I am forced to subsist on dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of eventual escape... that, and the satisfaction I get from occasionally ruining some piece of furniture. I fear I may be going insane.”

What we chose was a doormat with the simple word “welcome.” Nothing too elaborate or witty, but we hoped this would reflect our attitude toward visitors at the threshold of our home, at the boundary between the world outside and our apartment.

And I want to suggest to you all, today, that such a place is where our Scripture story takes place... our exploration of “welcome,” through this story, takes us to the boundaries.

Often, we see this parable as a challenge for us to be like the Good Samaritan. We ask ourselves, “Am I willing to be a true neighbor? Would I help someone when a difficult situation comes along? Would I risk myself to be a good Samaritan?”

While I think these questions are probably part of the package of this rich story, I wonder if Jesus isn't doing something else here too.

Our Scripture reading takes place as Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem. And on his way he is confronted by a religious lawyer who, it seems, did not like what Jesus was teaching. He attempts to expose Jesus as a fool, but Jesus turns the lawyers question back on him. “What should one do to inherit eternal life? Well, what do you think?” So the lawyer quotes from the Hebrew Scriptures: “Love God with heart, soul, and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself.” Jesus agrees. Having come up short in exposing Jesus thus far, he has another plan. He knows of the many scholarly debates over the definition of “my neighbor.” And so the lawyer forces Jesus to define his terms: “Be precise, O teacher, who, exactly, is my neighbor?”

Rather than offer a dry definition, Jesus turns to a parable. Now the setting for this story is a notoriously dangerous road between Jericho and Jerusalem. This road was well-known in Jesus's day for two reasons: first, it was a very treacherous path descending from a high elevation. Second, bandits and robbers were always hiding along the many curves and mugged countless travelers.

Not only was the setting familiar to those who heard this story, but the way this story flows followed a well-known convention of the time. If a story has a series of three events, then we should expect that the first two are incorrect ways of acting and the third breaks the pattern set by the first two. Almost like those jokes you hear, “so a rabbi, a priest, and pastor walk into a bar... ” we know the first two will do something one way, and the third will come along and do something stupid and funny.

Just like those roles in a joke, there are typical roles in these parables. It was common to use a Priest, a Levite, and an Israelite as the characters, with the Israelite breaking the incorrect pattern of the Priest and Levite.

So Jesus tells a familiar kind of story about a well-known road, an un-named traveler, and a predictable mugging that leaves the traveler helpless and wounded on the side of the road. As expected, a Priest walks along and passes him by, moving to the opposite side of the road. Then, as we might anticipate, a Levite shows up only to do the same thing. A pattern emerges of seeing this body, broken and hurting on the road, and walking along without showing mercy or kindness. Then comes our Israelite... wait, a Samaritan!?!?

Talk about unexpected... the unclean, foul, detested Samaritan is the hero? This filthy figure is who will shows us what is true? Jesus asks, “which of these three men do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” You can almost see just how unthinkable this would have been by the way the lawyer responds to Jesus' question. The lawyer can't even say the word “Samaritan.” Instead, he simply says, grudgingly, “The one who had mercy on him...” And, ironically, this is exactly the point Jesus was trying to make.

Yes, this is a story about kindness and mercy, about true neighborliness, but it is about these things in a way we might not expect—the hearers of this story sure wouldn't have seen this coming. Who can show us what is true? Who can be a person acting rightly before God? You mean a Samaritan? It cuts down some pretty well fortified boundaries of the time—the boundaries between Jew and Samaritan.

From the Jewish perspective, Jews were God's insiders and clean and Samaritans were outsiders and unclean. The Samaritans were descendants of mixed marriages. As our Scripture reading from Hosea this morning indicates, the prophets and biblical writers had a particular distaste for Samaria. Samaritans had, in the eyes of many Jews, transgressed the laws of God and fallen from religious purity. And so there was bitter religious and social hatred between Jews and Samaritans, a kind of racism... there was no such thing in the Jewish imagination as a “good Samaritan.” That was an oxymoron. There was a firm barrier betwee Jew and Samaritan, between good and evil, that was not to be transgressed—you did not cross that line. And yet, it was in this context that Jesus uses the Samaritan to teach the truth of neighborliness.

I can only imagine what kind of person fits that description for us today? Who do we despise, find to be unclean or evil? Who couldn't possibly show us what is true about life?

Jesus is pushing the boundaries of welcome because welcoming happens precisely at the boundary, at the boundary between inside and outside, between “us” and “them.” Welcome is the practice of making the outsider the insider, of opening of the inside to the outside. Welcome transgresses the boundaries we so often operate with.

This is where we find doormats, right? They sit at the boundary between the inside of our homes and the outside world, and they can convey a message about how we see that boundary functioning... as a rigid barrier, or as a permeable entry-way. A doormat reading “welcome” invites what is outside inside. It opens up a point of transgression, where the outside can go beyond the barrier and move into the inside. But, that is a dangerous, vulnerable place... what if we don't like what is on the outside... what if we think its evil, or vile? After all, that was the status of the Samaritan in the eyes of many Jews at that time...

So what would our doormats say? Would they say “please wipe,” meaning “you must be clean before you can enter”? Would they say go away, our place is fine just the way it is, without you? Would they say “welcome”?

“Of course!” we say... we would give welcome. We would open ourselves up... really? Would we?
We can test our “welcome” mats this morning with a simple exercise. Who are the characters in this story, can we name them all? Who are the ones that catch our attention and stay in our minds? Is there a character or a set of characters we skim right over and fail to remember, think about, or search out for a word of truth? Well, there is the Priest, the Levite, and the Good Samaritan, of course. Our cast of three. Then there is the un-named traveler, yes. Oh, the religious lawyer asking Jesus the questions... hmm... the inn-keeper? No, who do we forget about... who failed to touch our hearts... oh yeah, the robbers. Those age-old rotten scum bags.

If we claim that we are welcoming in the spirit of this parable, then maybe we should return to the story, and give some descriptors to the unknown man, wounded on the side of the road. What if, instead of an innocent traveler, he was actually one of the characters so often forgotten in this story... what if he was actually a robber, one of the many bandits along that road? Fresh from mugging another traveler himself, what if he was heading down the mountain with a sack of loot before being jumped by another gang on that road? What if his status as “innocent” in our eyes changed...?

The Priest would likely walk-by and see this “un-churched” man, see his unrepentant and wicked heart, and claim he has made his own bed in hell. After all, we reap what we sow, right? And he would walk on by. The Levite, would then approach. He had a sister who was mugged on this road just the other day, serves this filthy robber right, he got what he deserved. Such foul people. He would walk on by.

Now comes the Good Samaritan... but wait... its not the Samaritan. No, that's who we would expect today... no, it's someone else... who is it? He looks bloody and beaten down, wearing only the shreds of tattered clothes... his hands and feet look mauled, and his head... there is a crown of thorns. He limps over to the robber who lies lifeless on the side of the road. And he tenderly bandages his wounds. Then with great effort, he picks him up, and carries him down the road.... where is he taking him, to the inn? Yes, the one called Resurrection.

“Who was the neighbor to this man?” With the eyes of faith we would answer, “Jesus Christ.” Good. Now you know true welcome. Go and do likewise.

Amen.

June Newsletter Article

2009-06-20T22:46:00.001-04:00

Can you believe it? It's June already! The summer months have arrived and our church is moving into a time of Sabbatical. I am excited to see what God can do with our church during the next three months as we explore our mission statement in a variety of ways. I hope you will be willing and energized participants for this endeavor. We will need the cooperation and involvement of everyone to make this Sabbatical a successful event in the life of our community. So we begin with the first part of our mission statement, focusing on “welcoming.”

“Welcoming people into a loving and caring church family”

Welcoming is a great way to do church. But I'm not sure there are many churches that would describe themselves as cold and unwelcoming. Most churches I've known claim to be welcoming. So to call ourselves a “welcoming” church is note distinctive or unique. It's quite normal. What is distinctive or unique, however, is how we interpret, understand, and “do” welcoming. This month we'll uncover the many ways we understand and do welcoming here at CCC.

Our mission statement claims that we strive to “welcome people.” The word “welcome” is derived from an Old English word combining willa, meaning choice or desire, and cuma, meaning guest. One way to understand welcoming, literally, is as a demonstrated desire to include a guest. It is to show how we choose to include someone else. Thus, when we “welcome people,” we treat them like chosen or desired guests.

But guests of where and of what? We have chosen to welcome people into what we strive to be: a loving and caring church family. We are a community of faith, one that is marked by relationships (“family”) of a particular kind (love and care). So, to put it all together, when we are guided by a mission statement that is “welcoming people into a loving and caring church family,” we are hoping to purposefully integrate guests into our community of faith by offering and sustaining relationships of love and care.

Great! That sounds good, doesn't it? Several things come to mind, however, when thinking about what that means for us day in and day out. When does welcoming begin? When does welcoming end? What does welcoming look like? Do we measure up to our standard of welcoming? What if we do not?

Most churches will greet visitors and unfamiliar faces during a worship service. In some churches there are designated church members who do this, in other churches there is a general expectation that everyone greets visitors with no person acting as the official “greeter.” However, greeting is different than welcoming. Unfortunately we often collapse the difference. Just because we greet well does not mean we welcome well.

Greeting is a relatively easy thing to do. It's as simple as a “hello” and a smile. It can be drawn out to include cordial questioning like “where are you from?” But to use our mission statement as a guide to welcoming means something much greater than greeting. Welcoming is about bringing people into relationships (family) and demonstrating love and care. While this includes greeting (an action that can show care), it is more than greeting. To welcome is to open up a relationship, and relationships require the careful and loving work of time. Greeting occurs as a fleeting moment, but welcoming is a longer-term commitment. Greeting says “Hello,” welcoming says “we have a place for you, come and see.”

How, then, can we show people they have a place in our church community? What do we do to bring people in to the activity of serving others in love and care? How were you greeted, welcomed and brought into this church community? Have you experienced welcoming done well in other places? We would like to know your thoughts. This month we have a blog set up for the church where you can contribute your thoughts on “welcoming.” Please visit http://cccmission.wordpress.com and tell us what you think about this topic.

In the end, I'm afraid, we don't do welcoming perfectly. We fail to show people they are truly cared for and loved and we often get distracted from integrating others into the networks of relationships that exist in our church. We do try. And try we must. The good news is that ultimately we are sustained and lifted above our failure by that most gracious and welcoming God, the one who extends a relationship to us—we the visitors—through Jesus Christ. There we see the true love we strive to embody in our mission statement. Thanks be to God!

Mosaic Children of God

2009-04-27T10:53:00.002-04:00

1 John 3:1-10

In the movie Slum Dog millionaire, a peasant boy from Mumbai, named Jamal, is near the land fill where he spends his life. He is using an outhouse that stands 10 or more feet above a swamp-like pool of human feces. Near the land fill is an air strip. While in the outhouse, Jamal's movie hero lands on the air strip. He can see through the cracks in the rickety wood, but, to his dismay, his friends have locked him in the outhouse. His desire to see his hero brings him over to the hole in the middle of the outhouse, where he stares in the mess below. Is it worth it? Should he jump down and wade through the feet of human sludge? He does, and coated from head to toe in human waste, he makes his way to the movie star.

Talking about “sin” can be like looking down from an outhouse. It's gross, and it just doesn't seem like its worth it to cover ourselves in that mess. Two years ago Kory preached a sermon series on “Christianity's Dirty Words,” which included a sermon on “sin.” I think Kory had a good sense for how some of us might feel about this topic. Sin is something many of us don't want to think through or deal with anymore. It's dirty. It's over-used. It belongs with the messiness of life. It's like a pile of you know what waiting for us through the hole of an outhouse. Who wants to jump into that? What wants to confront that messiness and see what it means?

The problem is that “sin,” like all theological language, can be abused, misused, and misunderstood. We may be all too familiar with the way “sin” has been used to make people feel guilty, worthless, and unfit to be a part of God's community. And so, too often, I'm afraid we'd rather just give up on the language altogether rather than try to engage it, reinterpret it, and see what it can show us. I want to suggest this morning that the Christian symbol of “sin” helps us see ourselves more clearly, the world in which we live more truly, and the God we serve more fully. Sin, while messy, is not trash to be forgotten, but a symbol to be explored. So I invite you to explore what this Christian symbol might mean this morning.

I remember receiving a call from my good friend Brian. He and I were attending different colleges but we kept in touch regularly. One day he called to tell me about a man who had come to his campus. He was a self-proclaimed evangelist who had parked himself near a main walkway to proclaim the sinfulness of the student body. He decried all the evils and sins of college life: focusing mainly on fraternities and sororities (of course). While the list of sins was predictable, his claims were quite astounding. He argued that if you sin at all, then you don't know Jesus and you are not saved. Only those who do not sin, those who are perfect before God, know Jesus and are saved. And so he exhorted the students to repent, to turn from their wickedness and come to Jesus.

I remember asking Brian, “was he using the bible at all?” “Of course,” Brian answered, “I think it was 1st John.”

Our New Testament Scripture this morning is a tough passage. While it is rich with meaning, it presents a picture of Christian life that easily lends itself to the kind of self-righteousness we often hear from street corner evangelists. Only those who are sinless know God and abide with God. Anyone who sins is, as verse 8 indicates, of the devil. Like the street-corner evangelist, the rhetoric in our passage this morning is inflated. It represents an “us vs. them” mentality. For our author, the community of faith is an isolated group, pure and holy, an escape from the sinfulness of the world. Sin is an “out there” kind of thing, not an “in here” kind of thing. Life is not very ambiguous in 1st John. You are either purified, free of sin and with us or you're not.

What's happening in our text is that a community has seen a split. A group of people haven broken off and this letter is designed to make sense of what is going on for those who remain. In doing so, those who have left are considered unfaithful and unloving, they did not “love their brothers or sisters” (v.10). So they are considered “of the devil” (v.8), not “of God” (v.9).

I find this picture of church and of sin troubling. Not only does it make anyone outside the walls of a particular church look like worthless devil worshipers; but it can also lead those of us who are part of a church to have a false sense of security, a false sense of righteousness. We can think that if we come to church and say the right stuff or do a few nice things, that we are somehow perfect and unblemished, free from sinning against ourselves, others, or God. It has led some, like that college campus evangelist, to turn out toward others and point fingers of blame and shame.

I want to suggest that the church is not a community of saints, if by saints we understand the perfect, the holy, the righteous, and the pure. We are not sinless by virtue of being in these walls. That way of thinking is inflated and doesn't take seriously the contours and complexities of life. Life is too intricate to be divided up into the pure and impure, the sinful and the sinless. We don't move cleanly from “Sinful” to “Sinless.” We are stuck, as human beings, in the midst of a world rife with Sin. Nothing is quite as clean and neat as it looks. Scam artists profit because we often want things to be easy, simple, and painless... but life usually doesn't work that way. Paul Tillich called the reality of life ambiguous. I tend to agree. Ambiguity is term that indicates there are at least two kinds of things going on at the same time.

So I don't think Sin is something that we leave behind once we come into communion with God. St. Paul struggled with the power and reality of sin. He wrestled with the law of sin in Romans chapter 7, fighting against himself and what he knew to be from God. Martin Luther, writing 14 centuries later, explained this struggle by arguing that Christians are at one and the same time made right before God (“justified”) and yet still sinners. Sin accompanies us on our Christian journey. We don't become perfect and pure by joining a church and claiming to know Jesus. While we might struggle to live our lives better, more faithfully, and with a different view of the world, we are still accompanied by Sin.

While Sin accompanies us on our Christian journey, Sin still seems like such a “dirty word.” I'm sure we would be willing to admit that we make mistakes, have imperfections, and could work on being nicer, but the “Sin” word brings the baggage of worthlessness and total depravity. We might want to admit that we could do life better, but we don't want to admit that we are total scum-bags. Something about that seems damaging and untrue.

Sin distorts the way we should see ourselves before God. But the truth about Sin is that it has two sides. Sin can take the form of pride and arrogance, it can take the form of thinking ourselves better than we are. We are, after all, only creatures and God is creator. When we think and act as if we are God, then we are living with a force of distortion known as Sin. But there is another side to Sin. The side usually ignored or forgotten. We are creatures of God. As such, we are valued and we are valuable. While we typically think of Sin as overvaluing ourselves before God, Sin is also undervaluing ourselves before God. Sins happen because we see ourselves and our world incorrectly. To think ourselves as worthless and completely depraved is a distortion as well! That too is Sin taking its toll on us! 1st John, despite its inflated rhetoric, reminds us that we are all Children of God. As God's Children, as creatures of the Creator, we are shown love and given inexhaustible value.

There are many examples of this underside of Sin. We are tempted to believe that unless we look, or dress, or act a certain way, then we won't be accepted. We are tempted to think that only if we have a certain amount of money or a particular job, or any job at all, that we are worth people's attention and respect. We look at a regrettable moment in our past, a decision we wish we could change or something we wish we could have done, and we let that define us. We let that dominate our lives and keep us from seeing how God loves us, values us, and has a future for us. That too is Sin. Its the Sin of undervaluing ourselves. It is the Sin of seeing ourselves as only worthless sinners. There are two things at work in the ambiguity of life. Our Sin, infecting how we understand ourselves and causing us to misvalue ourselves before God. And God's Grace, constantly reminding us that we are loved and valued, that we are made valuable in God's sight. Sin is a kind of forgetting, forgetting that God looks down upon us, just as God did in Genesis, and calls us “Good, very Good.”

I tend to think the church is not so much a community of saints as a hospital for sinners: we gather amidst the brokenness and sinfulness of our lives—amidst the mistakes, imperfections, difficult choices, regrets, and distorted views of ourselves—in order to hope together, heal together, serve together, and worship together. In this way we are nursed by God, week in and week out, toward spiritual health. Sometimes we need to be reminded that we are creature and not creator. Other times we need to be reminded that we are in fact God's beloved creature! In all this, we haven't escaped the reality of Sin, its toll is constantly being collected on our lives—we act out distorted self-images and are tempted to think that is the end of the story; but it isn't: we can bring our Sin before God.

Bringing our lives before God, distorted as they are by Sin, is like bringing pieces of stone to an artist. Damaged, broken, shattered stones can be joined with others to make a masterful mosaic. In much the same way, God takes the pieces of our lives, joins them with others in church community, and crafts something truly beautiful. When our Sin-tattered lives are given to God to be placed in relation to others, something beautiful and good can emerge. God can make a mosaic out of us yet. The mosaic does not cease to be a collection of broken stones; no, the brokenness remains, Sin remains. And so we remain, with ambiguous lives, living as people justified and good before God and yet still sinners. We live simultaneously as broken stones and a beautiful Mosaic.

Christian Themes and Symbols in the Shawshank Redemption

2009-02-28T13:54:00.003-05:00

This month, we are going to take a look at the movie The Shawshank Redemption. Again, we are doing this from a certain interpretive perspective: how can we isolate questions and elements from the movie to create a Christian conversation? The movie is full of possible Christian themes and symbols, but we want to move beyond an "interpretive gymnastics" to find questions that confront us about life and death. And, in the end, seek to respond with the resources of our Christian faith--theology, tradition, scripture, experience. So, while below we have some ways to think through the movie Christianly, I would encourage you to think about questions that might map onto our Christian faith.

From the Journal of Religion and Film, article "Scripture on the Silver Screen"

Yet another Jesus-figure is Andy Dufresne in Shawshank Redemption. Andy is an
innocent man who is baptized into the bleak world of Shawshank prison with a
cold shower and a dose of lice powder. With the patience of Job and spurred by
hope for a better future, Andy takes twenty years to chisel his way through the
prison wall and escapes Shawshank through the sewer system. After the sewer
spews him into the river outside the prison compound, Andy strips off his shirt,
stretches out his arms, and gazes upwards, to the accompaniment of a magnificent
rainstorm and a majestic soundtrack. After his departure, Andy’s prison friends,
like Jesus’ disciples, reminisce about him and draw comfort from his memory.
Andy’s best buddy and most faithful disciple, Red, follows in his footsteps
after he is finally paroled. Although Andy is not physically present, he saves
Red from despair and poverty by providing him with money, a destination, and a
purpose. The final scene, in which Red strides across the sandy shores of the
Pacific to meet Andy who is hard at work sanding down an old fishing boat, is an
eschatological vision. The images of water, boats, white clothing, and the
simple life recall the visual representations, in art and film, of Jesus and his
disciples at the Sea of Galilee.

From the Journal for the Renewal of Religion and Theology

In the American prison film, The Shawshank Redemption , corrupt Warden
Norton (Bob Gunton) was an obnoxious Bible-thumping Christian who distributed
Bibles to new prisoners and claimed: “I believe in two things: discipline and
the Bible. Here you'll receive both. Put your trust in the Lord. Your ass
belongs to me.” The Warden referred to the Bible throughout the film to justify
his sadistic brutality of the prisoners and to add an air of pious authority to
underpin his ruthlessness. In effect, the Warden had turned the holy word of God
into a symbol of oppression and hypocrisy, whilst highlighting his corrupt
Christian fundamentalism hidden behind the guise of church-going righteousness.
However, at films end, the Warden's pretentious piousness, moral hypocrisy, and
secret financial corruptions were revealed by the long-suffering, innocent
inmate, Andy Dufresne (Tim Robbins), who successfully escaped prison by digging
a hole through his cell wall using a rock hammer cunningly hidden inside his own
hollowed-out Bible. Andy had thus turned his copy of sacred Scripture into a
postmodern symbol of liberation, if somewhat unconventionally packaged and
deployed.

Indeed, even deeper theological meaning can be extracted from this Bible
scene because the “top page of the carved-out space for the rock hammer is
clearly visible to the observant film viewer: it is the title page of the book
of Exodus, the biblical story of escape from bondage” (Jewett 1999: 181).
Previously, Andy almost lost his Bible-cum-escape tool when Warden Norton
accidentally walked off with it before turning around and giving it back saying:
“I'd hate to deprive you of this. Salvation lies within.” That statement was
biblically, theologically and literally true, which Andy deliciously
acknowledged within his own escape note: “Dear Warden, you were right. Salvation
lay within.” Similarly, the American prison film, Escape from Alcatraz ,
employed a Bible to hide Frank Morris' (Clint Eastwood's) material means of
escape, thus proffering another de facto symbol of hope and freedom packaged
inside Holy Writ.

February Newsletter Article

2009-02-23T10:24:00.001-05:00

This winter quarter I am enrolled in a structured reflection and discussion class on my student internship. This class, called “practicum,” has taken up a conversation about the meaning of some pretty basic elements of Christian faith: God, Jesus Christ, Prayer, etc. My practicum instructor began this quarter with the following question: “As ministers, we often use some pretty loaded language like 'God' and 'Holy Spirit.' If we don't know what we mean by these words and ideas, should we expect the people with whom we interact to understand us?” I found that to be a profound question. These religious terms are so often thrown around in church, almost casually. But what do we mean by “God?” What does it mean to call Jesus the “Christ?” What do I mean by any of it.

That got me thinking (always dangerous!). What is church? What are we doing when we come to church? Oh, and that age old question: why church? While I don't intend to give a comprehensive analysis of what I think church “is” and “does,” I do believe that a church is, among other things, a community of interpretation. A church is where interpretation happens.

Church as “a community of interpretation” might strike us as pretty obvious. The church has a central text, the Bible, and most church services are built around interpreting this text. In the same way a preacher interprets a biblical passage, we might find ourselves coming to church to interpret the language of faith. We ask questions like the ones I posed above: what does “God,” “Christ,” or “Faith” mean? We can't help but use our lives and our experiences to interpret and understand what these things mean, and we learn from ourselves and from each other in community.

But I want to go further than that. The church is a community of interpretation in a more radical sense. Yes, the church gathers together people of various backgrounds, vocations, and interests and unites them with a recognizable language, the language of faith. But we don't simply interpret this language; no, the language of faith interprets our own lives. There is an interpretive “back and forth” involved.

What we do at church—again, among other things—is seek to understand ourselves, the world around us, and the purpose and meaning of life through the language of faith. We interpret in order to understand. With an understanding of our faith-language we come to orient ourselves and make decisions about who to be and what to do. In other words, the faith-language interprets us. Yet, this is not a wooden, rigid process. It is a fluid, dynamic one. We come to understand the faith-language—and are interpreted by it—through using it and interpreting it. We interpret in the process of being interpreted.

This is an ongoing process that happens with each other in community. In this way, what we understand God, Christ, and Faith to mean is not static, but instead unfolds for us as we interpret and are interpreted by these central elements of the Christian faith. Thus, a church, I want to suggest, is a community of ongoing interpretation about the language of faith. What it means for God to be in relationship with us, to have given us the Christ, to redeem us and offer us salvation is understood in and through the language of faith that unfolds for us together.

A church, then, asks the very same kinds of questions as my practicum instructor: What does it mean to say “God,“ the Christ,” or “Holy Spirit?” These terms are drawn out in the sermon, used in communion, and offered to the children at children's time. And they also involve are very lives. We come to see more of what and how those words mean by sharing our lives with one another. Even as we sing and pray we can come to recognize new dimensions of God's Grace or Forgiveness as they give themselves to us in each new day and every moment. So what do I mean by “God” and “Holy Spirit?” I have some basic ideas, but the rich contours of those ideas are developed each week in the elements of the worship service and in the interactions with the people of the congregation. You are a part of what “God” means to me, and together we interpret this term and use it to interpret our lives. What I mean by “God” is linked up with “a community of interpretation,” where we all interpret in order to understand. Church, as St. Augustine might agree, is a place where faith seeks understanding.

An Epiphanic Imagination

2009-02-22T01:32:00.002-05:00

Last week, Kory mentioned that the Gospel of Mark is like an action-adventure story. Jesus jumps out of the gate like a thoroughbred and doesn’t show any signs of slowing. The frenetic, fast pace of Mark’s gospel is important to keep in mind. Jesus has been moving immediately from task to task; from healing to teaching to preaching. Then we get this famous moment, this famous transfiguration of Jesus the Christ.

Mark 9: 2 – 9

I’m not sure if you noticed, but there has been a common feature over the last few weeks in the sermons. Can you guess what that might be? Now, if you're like the children when I ask them questions during the children's moment, then you're first response might be, “I don’t know what the answer is, but I bet it has something to do with Jesus.”

Fair. Kory’s sermons have had “something to do with Jesus.” But he’s also been continually referencing movies. We’ve explored Jesus in terms of the movie Anchorman, “I’m kind of a big deal, people know me…” and as Elliot Ness from The Untouchables. We've thought through faith in terms of the movie Signs. And I’m sure the movie references will continue; in fact, if I was a betting man I might even put money on it. Okay, I’ll admit, I am a betting man and I’ve already got 10 bucks on the line; Kory don’t let me down.

But in case the plethora of movie references didn’t clue you in, let me clarify: Kory likes movies. He loves to watch them and talk about them. He gets excited about them. And, he used to be a movie critic, too. So when Kory discovered that I had never seen the movie Dead Poets Society, he took it upon himself to mend this cosmic injustice. And, to be honest, I’m glad he did. Not only is it a great movie, but it has a fascinating scene which will allow me to keep up the pattern Kory has already established.

So travel with me to a classroom, taught by an instructor, Mr. Keating, played by Robin Williams. He is the new teacher at the nation’s most reputable prep-school where he will teach a class of young men about poetry and language; and arguably, he will teach them about life itself. At a school where calculation and precision, discipline, tradition, and control are the highest virtues, Mr. Keating opens up a world of emotion, creativity, and self-discovery. He’s rather unorthodox in his teaching style, and at one point in the movie, he jumps up on his desk and asks his students why he would do this.

The students mostly stare at him and one voice from the back of the room answers, “To feel taller.”

“No,” he says: “I stand upon my desk to remind myself that we must constantly look at things in a different way… Just when you think you know something,” he explains, “you must look at it in a different way.”

And so he has every one of his students come forward, step up on his desk, and view the classroom anew, from a different angle, to discover a new vision, to see the world with a fresh perspective. And, I think, to see something that otherwise they might have missed.
In a way, that is what has happened in our text this morning. The world has been opened up for three disciples—Peter, James, and John. These three men follow Jesus up a high mountain and watch as the clothes of Jesus turn radiant, the world is bathed in the light of Christ, and there with him appears Moses and Elijah. They have ascended to a high place, a desk above desks, to see Jesus from a different perspective. And there, at the climax of this terrifying event, a cloud moves in and a thundering voice announces, “This is my Son, the Beloved, listen to him!”

What these men witnessed in our gospel account was a transfiguration, or, more simply, a change in Jesus. Now while I think it is pretty easy to see from our story that Jesus changed for these men, it seems something else happened. They didn’t just see any kind of change, but a special change. They experienced, what we might call, an “epiphany.” But what is an epiphany? How is a transfiguration also an epiphany? While transfiguration means a change in the figure of someone or something, an epiphany is a manifestation. Epiphany comes from two Greek words, epi and phanein. The prefix epi means something like “on or to” and the verb phanein means “to show.” So, an epiphany is a “showing to,” or, as I like to say, a “showing forth.” Jesus not only changed, but in that change, showed something forth.

Peter, James and John did not witness a mundane or ordinary change in Jesus, they witnessed the divine Christ character of Jesus in this change. Jesus showed forth the Christ to them. God’s voice, echoing Jesus’ baptism, pronounced the deepest dimension of Jesus’ identity. Here was the Son of God, standing before these trembling and terrified three disciples… then, in a moment, it was over.

One writer describes the event like this, “Now, on a mountaintop, time evaporates like mist before the dawning of a great glory. If the pace of the journey [in Mark’s gospel] has left us panting, now the height is too great for us to catch our breath.”[1]

I think that is true: We are panting, we are left trying to catch our breath. In a way, it’s not just Peter, James and John who witness a transfiguration, who experience an epiphany, we too are there with them. And like the disciples we have come to this moment, here in this sanctuary from our own frenetic, fast paced lives. We’ve been scurrying between jobs, families, schools, and obligations. And we have come to a sanctuary as yet another stop along the busy roadway of life’s journeys; but here, in this place, we can hear a story and experience the Christ shown forth to us. Out of the flow of life’s demands we have ascended with Peter, James and John to a high place, we have stepped upon that desk above desks to see the deepest dimension of reality shown forth in Jesus as the Christ. If we listen carefully we can hear God’s voice announce to us that this is God’s Son, the one whom God loves.

And yet, we might ask, what makes this so different? Hasn’t Jesus, in all that Jesus is, been present with the disciples from the beginning. Why a mountaintop transfiguration for the disciples? And, what is more, don’t we already know that Jesus is the Christ, too, the Son of the living God? What need do we have for “epiphany”?

I want to suggest this morning that what was transformed in the moment of transfiguration and epiphany is not just Jesus as the Christ, but the disciples themselves. Their perception of Jesus was shattered in the brilliant light that overtook them and they were swallowed up in the cloud of God’s voice. The disciples witnessed the vibrancy of Jesus’ Christhood emanating before them… and they were terrified… speechless. Value, meaning, and reality-itself broke into their world in a way they had not yet seen nor could not quite grasp, and, as we discover through the rest of Mark’s gospel, struggled to understand.

What happens in this story, for us, might be our own transformation; our own ability to rise above the throws of life and see God’s Love pouring into the world through Jesus as the Christ. It takes a special capacity to carry the abundance of that reality with us, and within us… it takes a way of seeing things that unlocks life’s deepest dimensions. But I think we do have a capacity for this, and so I invite you to consider with me the imagination. We have inside us, I believe, an often neglected imagination that can be defined by epiphany; and, I think, this is precisely what story of the transfiguration can unlock for us, our epiphanic imagination. This is an imagination that shows forth the world in its deepest dimensions, it sees Jesus as the Christ and the Grace of God saturating the world around us. It is a way of seeing that is easy to forget. And so, like Mr. Keating in the Dead Poet’s Society, we might want to remind ourselves to see in a different way, to activate our epiphanic imagination.

Mr. Keating demonstrates this most profoundly for us in a pivotal scene. As the students open up their school-required textbook on poetry to read the introduction, Mr. Keating has the students rip out a whole essay from their books on poetry... the analysis of poetry in that essay is cold and calculating; it attempts to “mathematize” the poem, chart its axes and discover its formula to predict its value... basically, reading poetry is, for that essayist, a distanced cerebral exercise. It's all about detached reflection and not about intimate, engaged, participation with the poem—it makes the poem impotent. It loses a kind of depth. Mr. Keating wants this mundane and shallow perspective eliminated so that something else can show itself.

At the youth lock-in over this past weekend we had the opportunity to play a game called “Survivor Island.” The game was set up in such a way that everyone had a particular identity with a background, personality traits, and some secretes. Six of the thirteen participants would survive, the rest would perish, and the youth had to decide how to divide up. The exercise was a way of thinking through how we understand human beings and what we value when confronted by the reality of death. As they reflected on the game, the youth debated whether people would have been only interested in their own survival or whether it was possible to have sacrificed for others. A debate sprang up over how we understand human beings, or, what we might call “human nature.”

It is a question we might ask ourselves as well, one that might pertain to the epiphanic imagination. How do we understand “human nature”? I think there are a lot of stories out there that try to define for us “what the human is.” We hear stories, really popular ones, about human beings as political animals or economic creatures. We are supposed to be people who buy things and consume, or who grapple after power. We are supposed to be biologically self-interested after survival and be socially concerned for our own wants and desires, calculating and mathematizing life to make the most rational choices and the most efficient decisions. What’s in it for me, we’re supposed to ask, and how can I get the most out of it. I think it is amazing how we often become the very stories we tell ourselves.

That is precisely why I believe the story of the transfiguration and the gospel itself is so important. It is a different story, one that can cultivate for us an epiphanic imagination. There was something more to Jesus than healing, and teaching, and preaching. There was something that needed a mountain top to unveil, and later a cross to make complete. That reality lit up the mountain in the moment of transfiguration, and it can light up our world today. What was shown forth comes to define how we see the world, what the world itself means. I want to suggest that an epiphanic imagination sees as God does. In that moment on the mountain top the disciples witness how God saw Jesus Christ, as the beloved one. The disciples’ own way of looking at Jesus did not match up with how God saw Jesus. And so their view was exploded by the overpowering Grace of God’s view on things. “Jesus is not what you think he is,” that voice seemed to say,” he is so much more, he is the Christ, he is my Son, the one whom I love.”

The epiphanic imagination is the capacity to glimpse-forward from the now and witness the depths of reality itself—to see how God sees the world: with boundless Love. When we activate our epiphanic imagination we understand life with a value and meaning that often hides behind our other ways of seeing the world—economically, socially, politically, biologically, psychologically. To be honest, I don’t live in the world of my epiphanic imagination very often.

Those other stories about human existence often define how I understand myself and others. But, I believe, while helpful at times, those stories can miss a dimension of life, one that is opened up by an epiphanic imagination, by seeing the world the way God sees it. Those other stories, when they are absolutized and taken to be the final story on human existence miss something true, real, and important.

Our epiphanic imaginations make present Jesus the Christ as the Son of God, and, in that way, our epiphanic imaginations also show forth God’s Love, a Love that is in and for this world… From that desk above desks, with our epiphanic imagination, life looks more like God’s poetry than human calculation… and the heart of that poetry beats with a story God asks us to tell ourselves and each other: “You are my beloved.”

Amen.

[1] WIllson, Patrick J. “Time out of Time.” Christian Century, January 24 (1996). See online at: http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1058/is_n3_v111/ai_14794428

The Matrix of Faith 2

2009-02-10T18:02:00.002-05:00

This is the second post in the Matrix of Faith blog series. For the first post, click here.

In my first post I touched on the ways in which movies are more than simple products for entertainment (even if that is how we often approach them). They open up a "possible world" for us to think about and ponder. How does the world presented in the Matrix map on to our own? Should it?

Kory and I bantered back and forth about what is "real" in the Matrix, and any talk about the real and the "really real" can leave one's head spinning. But I think it might be important for us to think through, especially as we often have our own understanding of "the real" and its relation to what counts as "true."

So, several questions:

If you have seen The Matrix, what exactly is "the matrix"? Is the matrix what people think is real (at least at first)?
What is the "really real" in The Matrix? In other words, is it more valuable to be in the matrix or unplugged? Would you rather be "plugged in" or "unplugged"?
Do you think this way of thinking about the world works (analogously) to how we live and move in the world? Do we need to be unplugged? Are we missing the "really real"? If so, what is it? If not, why not?
Can you see anyway this would work in a Christian context?

Alright, your turn to respond... go!

The Matrix of Faith

2009-02-03T17:57:00.003-05:00

There are a number of ways to watch a movie. Most of the time I like to sit and “absorb” the entertainment. While such an attitude towards movie-going might be our default mode, that is not the only way to watch a movie. Movies do not simply or only provide “entertainment value.” They are pieces of artwork, products of a culture. Movies embody values, ideals, philosophies, and even theological perspectives. Like every stroke from an artist's brush, every moment and visual image of a movie is “intended” or purposeful. The director chooses what to include and discards other material. There might be more than “meets the eye” in any particular film.

In addition, movies can evoke emotion, reflection, and a variety of interpretive responses from its audience. Audiences bring life-experiences and various perspectives to a movie that can be opened up and vitalized by the dramatic visualizations of a movie. Movies can stir our voices to our own deepest concerns and convictions.

In the middle of the 20th century, theologian Paul Tillich provided a framework for doing a “theology of culture.” Tillich thought that everything produced by a culture had a “religious substance.” As a result, the theologian could excavate this underlying religiousness and shed a light on it. In other words, the theologian could analyze a work of art--movie, book, play, etc--and discover a religious dimension. This religiousness could then be assessed on the basis of its adequacy for the human situation. In other words, the theologian could determine the “theological value” of the underlying religious substance of a work of art.

The movie “The Matrix” lends itself to a variety of interpretive frameworks. One can look for obvious allusions and subtle narrative similarities with the Christian faith tradition. This can be a stimulating exercise in religious trivia. But one might also consider the “deeper” theological voice of the entire movie to determine its “religious substance.” This is a theology of film, a way of considering the “theological value” of a work of art. It asks the question: “what is of ultimate concern?”

So I want to suggest that “The Matrix” tells a story that is not just a story. It is a narrative competing for our understanding. What is real? Is reality good? What is the highest good? What is wrong with humanity? What is the answer?

The Matrix just might give us some suggestions for these questions which are, in a Tillichian sense, always-already-present religious questions (present in any work of art).

So what should we look for? Reality. What is “real” in the Matrix? Why is the “real” different from the "not-real"? What is wrong with everyday human being-in-the-world? What do we need? Is this good?

Now, from the side of faith, do these suggestions from the Matrix align or detour from the trajectory of faith in the Christian tradition? Hmmm.... heavy thinking.... enjoy!

2009 Student Ministry Conference

2009-01-26T15:47:00.005-05:00

Great news! The 5th Annual 2009 Student Ministry Conference is coming to Swift Hall on May 1st and 2nd:

From the Ends of the Earth:

Christianity in the 21st Century

Christianity is no longer a religion dominated by the West. It is estimated that by 2050, two-thirds of the world's then three billion Christians will be of non-European descent. The implications of such statistics require focused attention as we move into the 21st century. With this conference we hope to address issues that arise from these transformations in Christianity.

How will the co-incidence of the post-colony with the failures of nationalism influence new forms of Christian leadership? How, in turn, will developing practices of Christian organization demand and resist new approaches to cooperation and unity? Finally, how do these things influence and even produce new self-understanding for the Church in America? While building on important efforts of social scientists and missiologists, the 5th Annual Ministry Conference of the University of Chicago Divinity School will approach these topics with specifically ministerial and ecclesiological lenses. This conference seeks (1) to help deepen understanding among ministers, students and lay-persons as well as professional academics of certain realities and potential futures of being Christian around the world and (2) to equip the same with resources for engaging the issues of the conference further.

The conferece features: Dr. Kwok Pui Lan, William F. Cole Professor of Christian Theology and Spirituality at Episcopal Divinity School; Dr. Dwight N. Hopkins, Professor of Theology at the University of Chicago Divinity School; Dr. Soong-Chan Rah, Assistant Professor of Church Growth and Evangelism at Northpark Theological Seminary; and Dr. Betta Mengistu, founding member of Beza International Ministries in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.

For more information, check out the website or blogsite! You can also link to it from the list of links on my blogsite.

From the Silence

2009-01-21T10:20:00.003-05:00

1 Samuel 3:1-10

May we be blessed with understanding in the reading of the Holy Scripture.

I must admit to you all a rather foolish thought that I had yesterday. In fact this thought might reveal to you how little time I've actually lived in the Chicago area. I thought spring was on its way. I walked outside yesterday and about took my coat off I felt so warm. I haven't felt my fingers in at least a week and yesterday, yesterday they started to wiggle again. I've never been so happy to see temperatures in the mid twenties and I started thinking spring might come soon... I've since reconsidered, my optimism got the better of me, and my curiosity took me to the forecast... oh well... those of you who have lived here longer than I know well enough that warm spring weather is still a good four or five months away.

But, oh, how I wish it were warmer. It's only mid-January and I'm already tired of the snow and cold. I'm tired of shoveling and de-icing, bundling up and thawing myself out. I'm tired of putting my head down and walking as fast as I can from my car to work or home so I can step inside and be warm again. And I was doing that very thing just this last week. I was walking head down along the streets of Hyde Park in Chicago, traipsing to class on a sub-zero adventure early in the morning, just trying to reach the warmth of a building, any building. But, for whatever reason, I stopped. I stopped and I looked around at the ice and snow, at the stable trees and barren sidewalk. I turned this way and that and I noticed the world was still and silent. The parked cars were motionless, the streets empty, the whole landscape powdery and frosted. It was strange, beautiful in a way. The world was frozen in place, resting in the cold. Still. Silent.

And I wondered to myself—maybe you have too—what is it that makes us stop and see the world differently? Why, all of a sudden, do we pause and take notice? I had walked those streets in the snow and cold for weeks. What made me stop? I'm not sure I can completely explain it or figure it all out, but I think the stillness and silence had something to do with it. I may have just then realized how quiet this usually busy part of Chicago was... there were no cars speeding along, no people milling about, no sounds clamoring for my attention... just snow and silence, in the middle of the city. Strange. Beautiful, even. Yet haunting. The world frozen in place, resting in the cold. Still. Silent.

We are led into our story this morning by a stillness and silence. Our story about Samuel begins with the stillness and silence of God. For we read that the “word of the Lord” was rare in “those days” (3:1). Though there was much activity in the land, there was a stillness and silence about it, for God's voice was rare. In fact, “those days” were described in the book of Judges this way: “In those days there was no king in Israel; all the people did what was right in their own eyes” (21:25). In addition to the selfishness of the people, the priest Eli had two sons who were wreaking havoc. We are told earlier in 1st Samuel that “the sons of Eli were scoundrels; they had no regard for the Lord or for the duties of the priests to the people” (2:12). There was a lack of attention for God's ways and so God's voice, in a sense, had withdrawn.

And so we come to Samuel, only 12 years old according to Jewish tradition, sleeping in the temple on a silent, still night. There, in the flickering shadows of dim candle light, a voice calls out: “Samuel, Samuel.” The young boy responds, “Here I am!” Out of the silence, God speaks.

Yet young Samuel does not recognize the voice of God. He says “Here I am,” but not to God, to Eli. He thinks Eli is calling him. So he goes to Eli and Eli tells him to return to the stillness and the silence of the night as he did not call Samuel. Again God's voice returns. Again Samuel responds. Again he goes to Eli. After a third round Eli suspects something and instructs Samuel to listen for the Lord, for it is God who speaks to him. When the Lord breaks the silence again, Samuel responds in a now famous way: “Speak, for your servant is listening!” (v. 10).

This is a beautiful and rich story. But we can easily gloss over it thinking it is only about stopping to hear God. I think we can discover so much more than a simplistic interpretation which urges us to “just stop” and hear God's voice telling us what to do. Yes, attention matters, and this is always an important lesson. We are, too often, not attentive enough to the world around us, to the people next to us, and to our own lives. But I invite you this morning to see how our story speaks of deeper dimensions: silence and response.

I don't think we should “just stop” so we can hear the always talking God. No, there is genuine silence. A sense in which we first don't hear God. But even then we hear something. Even if it is silence. We can hear silence. Silence can grab our attention.

I used to play basketball in high school. We trained ourselves to shoot free throws against every kind of imaginable distraction. Most fans try to yell and distract a free-throw shooter with loud noises or harsh words. I remember I used to try and distract an opponent at the free throw line by saying ridiculous stuff like, “Uh, you dropped your pocket,” or, “your socks are untied, man.” Sometimes I just tried really obnoxious and loud breathing patterns. None of them ever really worked. For most players, all the voices clamoring for their attention blend together into a kind of background buzz. Generally, I found it pretty easy to focus.

Later, in college, when I would go to watch basketball games, I remember strategizing as a spectator with people in the crowd. We were trying to figure out the best way to distract the opposing team's free throw shooter. We decided that we would yell until the moment the player would release the ball. Then, we would all go silent. We got everyone we could, most of the small gymnasium in on it. We screamed, stomped our feet, clapped our hands, all together in a rowdy ruckus. Then, just as the shooter was extending to release the ball... we stopped. Silence. The silence was more powerful than any screaming voice would have been. I could feel the silence. I could hear it. And so did that free-throw shooter.

I want to suggest to you this morning that silence can grip us. It can grip us because it is a vulnerable, fragile reality. It can be shattered by any noise, broken by a single sound. Silence can grip us, I think, because it is a lot like us. To recognize silence is, in a way, to recognize ourselves. We are like silence, we are vulnerable and fragile, we are human. And it is in our humanity, our vulnerability, our fragility, it is in our silence, that God speaks to us. God's voice calls from the silence to we who are creatures of silence.

The world was silent for Samuel. The world was fragile and vulnerable and God's voice was missing. The Israelites cared only about themselves, and Eli's sons ignored and abused the priestly ways of God. The silence surrounded Samuel, and it surrounds us too.
Our world is a vulnerable and fragile place. Too often people care for themselves and no one else. God's ways of justice and peace are shunned for political power and greed, for corporate advancement and personal comfort. With tomorrow's celebration of Martin Luther King, Jr. day, we are reminded of how our nation and its people were swept up in racism and hate, intolerance and cruelty. We are reminded how the bible and faith-traditions were used to underwrite hurtful human prejudice. We are reminded that witnessing to God's Love can fall on deaf ears and an assassin's bullet.

We are but vulnerable and fragile creatures, prone to distortion and self-deception, always prone to death. We fool ourselves in our thinking and doing, too often doing what we want and forgetting the ways of God... and what is more, we find ourselves hurting and aging, fighting heartache and illness. And it's as though God recedes... As if God becomes, in a way, absent. At time's I've felt a haunting void in my own life, and in the swirl of the world around me. Maybe you have too. Our world can have a chaotic silence. A silence we can notice. A silence that can grab our attention.

So I invite you this morning to consider how hearing God means, at the same time, acknowledging the silence from which God speaks. And, when we acknowledge the vulnerability and fragility of what surrounds us, we can also sense and confess that we ourselves are vulnerable and fragile people—creatures of the silence.

Like Samuel, silence is where we can hear God speaks to us. Even though we are creatures of the silence, the Loving and Forgiving God who speaks from that silence is a God to whom we can respond. We may struggle to respond rightly and we may fail to give that voice a name. We might run to people who did not call us. But we can respond. And we can, in the end, learn who called us. Eli finally offered Samuel a language to respond to God, he gave him a way to respond rightly to the one who called him. We too, I believe, can learn a language to respond rightly to the one who calls us from the silence by our very name. That language is one of faith, and its first words are “Speak, for your servant is listening!” May those words be ours. Amen.

January Newsletter Article

2009-01-14T15:11:00.002-05:00

Apparently, winter strikes with a frigid forcefulness that serves to remind us “yes, I'll be here for a while.” For me, the cold, snowy and icy weather is initially accompanied by the joy of the holidays and the festivities of the season. I can manage frigid temperatures and blizzard-like conditions relatively well when I consider the coming warmth of loved ones gathered to share meaningful time together. Then New Years comes and goes... the cold lingers and winter doesn't care to leave. The plunging temperatures, slippery transport, and barren terrain feel a lot less “special” and lot more depressing. Going 20 or more days without sun actually makes me glad that I am often inside reading and studying for hours upon hours.

But maybe “the cold” can do more than drive us into escapism through books, or movies, or work, or whatever else we take up to avoid the outdoors. I think “the cold” can remind us about our sources of warmth and, more specifically, about what it means to be “warm.” A detour through physics—if a student of religion may be so bold!—might be in order here. Air molecules are constantly moving around us. In moving around, air molecules produce energy or heat. What happens when the temperature drops is that air molecules are slowing down, and the slower they move the less energy they produce. When air molecules speed up and get “excited,” they bounce around and release more energy enabling us to feel warmer.

Living in a community of faith is a lot like temperature. In fact, we often use temperature as a metaphor to describe communities: “oh, that church is just so warm and friendly” or “I felt so cold and distant with those people.” In my first experience with Community Christian Church I immediately noticed the friendliness, care, and welcoming character of the members and the worship service. I've heard that observation echoed by visitors. I think it's safe to say that Community Christian Church strives to be a warm and friendly place. But if that is the case, if we approach being a “warm” church seriously, then we might wonder what it takes to be “warm.”

Just as warm air results from excited, moving molecules, so too a warm congregation is one in which its members are excited and moving. Enthusiasm and passion expressed in service and dedication to the ministries of the church are what it takes to “heat the building.” If you look at the characteristics of a “cold church,” you'll see one in which the members have lost their passion for worship, service, and community, and ultimately a place where those very members are only minimally involved (at best).

There is plenty to be excited about this year at Community Christian Church. There are plenty of activities, events, programs, and ministries for which you can be a part. The church needs you if is it to truly embody the warmth that brings life. After all, even the body of Christ needs healthy “body temperature.” Yet, what ultimately grounds the warmth of any church, big or small, on fire or lukewarm, is the God who we find revealed in Jesus Christ. There, in the passion of Christ, in the energy that was sacrifice and service, commitment and action, we find a source of warmth that can fuel any person and any community. When we tap into that source, we'll find our “warmth” can bring life.

When the parts of the church that are its people get excited and start moving, then something tangible is produced. The people of the church create a warmth that visitors and the community at large can sense. It not only sustains our life, for we all need a healthy “body” temperature, but it radiates into the world around us. “Something is happening there,” someone might say, “I can feel the warmth.” In this time of winter coldness we might find that warmth is only a church-door away. I hope its ours.

Preparing for the Bridegroom

2008-11-11T11:12:00.002-05:00

November 9, 2008

Matthew 25: 1 – 13

This parable from Jesus might strike us differently today than it did a year ago. After going through a summer of spiking oil prices, we know what it's like to be concerned about how much oil we have. In fact, the word “oil” might sound as important for us today as it did for those virgins in the parable. For us, oil has become a symbol of national security. Much of our day-to-day life, not to mention our armed forces, depend on oil. We need oil to ship goods and transport food. We need oil to travel and we need it to heat our homes and businesses. We need oil to fuel and grease the engine of our economy. (Though even with falling oil prices the engine of our economy is still sputtering—its due for the mechanic in one way or another.)

But I think whether we are concerned with the price of fuel or the price of natural gas, oil matters for us. It matters because we need it, and it matters because we will one day run out of it. Oil matters because our lives currently operate with it, and because we have to think seriously about life without it. Oil is central to our story in the 21st century.

And oil was central for the ten virgins. Oil mattered because five of them had some oil to burn when the bridegroom approached, and five of them did not. Oil mattered because it showed which five were wise and which five were foolish. And from this story where oil mattered so much, Jesus says we can know what the Kingdom of Heaven is like. Oil is central to the story of the Kingdom of Heaven.

But the oil in this parable is not petroleum. The oil in this parable is not a natural resource. The oil in this parable has its own story. We have entered the world of the parable, and in a parable, words and objects overflow with meaning. As they overflow with meaning they ask us to look and see in new ways.

So then I invite you to look with me and discover what this parable might show us about the Kingdom of Heaven.

Ten virgins go to meet the bridegroom. Who is this bridegroom? From the parable and the larger context of Matthew's gospel we might already suspect Jesus as the bridegroom. Some of the virgins address him “Sir, Sir” or, more accurately, “Lord, Lord,” a title used for Jesus. The Bridegroom then speaks saying “I tell you the truth,” a way of speaking Jesus uses when he teaches.

But this isn't simply Jesus as he lives and moves before his death. No, the bridegroom represents a different Jesus, the eschatological advent of Jesus.

I recently challenged Kory to a test of “-ologies.” Between our offices is a marker board where I wrote seven different words ending in “-ology” to see if he could figure out what they meant. They are mostly obscure academic terms. And to be honest, I have to look every one of them up the first time I see them. But Kory is a pretty smart guy (or at least he thinks so) and he quickly figured most of them out. One of those obscure “-ology” words was eschatology. The eschaton, a Greek word, simply refers to the end times, last days, or final age.

The Bridegroom is the eschatological advent of Jesus—the Christ who comes at the end of the age. This sets up how we understand the virgins: They represent the church waiting for and eager to welcome the returning Christ. They are the collection of followers who eagerly await the advent of Jesus at the end of the age. On the surface, these ten virgins would all have worn the same wedding clothing. They all brought lamps with oil, and they all got drowsy and fell asleep waiting for the bridegroom, Jesus. What distinguishes the wise from the foolish is the preparation of having extra oil. This is the crucial difference; it is not falling asleep, for even the wise ones did that. Everyone gets tired, everyone falls asleep as time drags on and the hours move by.

What matters is having oil, at all times, to keep the light shining until the bridegroom comes. The light can only be sustained by “having oil.” And the foolish virgins ran out of oil. So what did they do? They panic! Of course they panic, they are anxiously awaiting the coming of the bridegroom and they were not adequately prepared. So, they did what many students would do who don't bring their homework to class: “hey, can I borrow your homework for a second?”

But “having oil” is not something that can be borrowed. Sure, physical oil can be borrowed, which is why the wise virgins seem kind of selfish at first. Every time I read this I can't help but think these wise virgins are also “jerk virgins.” But the oil that is necessary to light the lamp of anticipation for Jesus' coming is not physical oil, and it can't possibly be borrowed. No, “having oil” means doing the work of God, faithful discipleship in mercy and love—we can't borrow this.
In another section of Matthew, Jesus tells of the people who get separated like sheep and goats by the king. Jesus says,

“Then the King will say to those at his right hand, 'Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me” (Matthew 25: 34-36).

That is what it means to “have oil,” that is faithful obedience, that is preparation for the end of the age. Oil lights up the mission of the church that awaits the coming of Jesus, the bridegroom who brings with him the fullness of the Kingdom of Heaven. But the foolish virgins didn't have any more oil, they were not prepared.

Now, an easy and common mistake is to search out and pinpoint the foolish virgins of today. The first place we might want to look is outside the church—that's where the foolish are, right? They are the non-believers, the non-Christians, the non-insiders... no, this message isn't for them—it is for us. The foolish virgins represent members of the church itself—this is not a message for those outside our walls, but a parable aimed for those inside the walls. This parable is for you and for me and the church which lives in this community. This parable is for those who eagerly await the coming of Christ and the fulfillment of the Kingdom of Heaven.

But to be honest, I often feel more foolish than wise. I feel like I don't have much oil, and that the little I do have is quickly burning out. I feel as though my light is getting dimmer and dimmer, no matter how much I wait in anticipation. My anxiety mounts like the foolish and my light weakens like their lamps.

There are days when I am not sure if I have any fuel left...when my lamps seem to have run dry... I have nothing left to give, nothing more to say. I have little time for myself, let alone for the work of caring for God's children who are hungry, hurting, and homeless.

But like the wise, we can have with us another source of oil. The wise know that they will always need more oil, because the hour is unknown, and the day of the bridegroom's arrival is a mystery. They must prepare for the unexpected, for the possibility of the midnight hour. And they know where to find an ever-lasting source of oil to carry with them: God's Grace.
You see, what sustains our lamps is oil, but we can never produce or have enough. We will inevitably run dry. So we need to dip into that bottomless source of fuel that is God's Grace.

When we are tired and worn, torn down and discouraged, disappointed and despairing, our oil reserves all but shrivel up. When we lose our jobs, when we fail our tests, when we argue with our spouse, when an injury or illness overtakes us, when we fail to serve, when our love lapses and our fears flare, when everything falls in around us... it is then we know full well that our own oil cannot sustain our lamps. But we need not go running into the city to look for oil at a hopeless hour. We have another flask available to us, the Grace of God, the promise of Hope, the Love found in Christ. We have more oil with us, oil that doesn't run dry; we have God's Grace!

I invite you this morning to consider your life, like this story, to be about oil. But not the oil of this world, even as it demands our attention. Though we need to prayerfully consider our stewardship of God's creation and the resources we share, it is not this world's oil that truly sustains us. No, the oil of this world will one day dry up and leave us scrambling for other sources of energy and fuel. And this is precisely what happens to us as well, seemingly every week, as we rely on our own oil to sustain the light of the church. Though it might burn well for a time, it eventually burns out.

I want to suggest this morning that our lives need to be about oil, the oil that feeds the hungry, clothes the naked, cares for the hurting, visits the lonely, takes compassion on the criminal, and shows love to all. But for that to be the mark of our lives, we must carry with us extra fuel, the fuel that will keep our lamps burning bring as we await the completion of the Kingdom of Heaven. And though we may be depleted and running low we have a source of ever-lasting replenishment.

As a Disciple, I trust in the replenishing and renewing power of the table. As Disciples, we can return each week to worship and meet God, but we also have the opportunity to come each week to the table, our source of nourishment. Before the table we remember our Savior and we rediscover the Grace of God, our unending source of oil. Through these elements we can be renewed, we can be refilled. For we approach the table in Faith... to partake of Love... the Love made real to us in Christ... which gives us Hope—our lamps are refueled, our lights can burn brightly again.

The table fills us with Christ so we can wait in preparation for the Kingdom of Heaven. We come to be filled, to leave refilled, and then to burn brightly as servants of God's Mercy—caring and giving, loving and sharing... thanks to the ever-lasting oil of God's Grace. Long after our petroleum reserves have been sucked dry, living with “oil” will always matter for us. For we await our bridegroom.

Amen.

Full of Self-Emptying

2008-10-06T07:54:00.005-04:00

October 5, 2008
Philippians 2:1-13

I love to sing. And I will sing anything. In fact, one day while I was working at a camp in southern Indiana I decided that life should be an opera, and that I would sing my way through the rest of the work day. Most campers looked shock when I gave them canoing instructions in song, some did find it amusing, but whatever else the kids might have thought, I felt it livened things up... and I got enough chuckles to keep me going. I realized quickly, however, that it takes a lot to sing your way through everything—like, for instance, excusing yourself for the restroom. Opera and toilets are a tough combo.

I am also guilty of interjecting song lyrics, either in song, “That's just the way it is,” or as awkward prose, “It's the end of the world as we know it, I feel fine.” Maybe some of you find yourselves singing in the car or in the shower, or both. Sometimes I find myself singing great hymns like “Amazing Grace,” and other times I belt out lyrics from an N*Sync song that I still remember from middle school.

No matter how good I am, no matter how musically savvy I may or may not be, the truth is, despite it all, and sometimes against better judgment, I sing. I love to sing. There is something about song that speaks to me, and I think song can express what words alone can not.
Sometimes the words or music are not what stir inside me, but the context from which the song arises. For instance, the hymn “It Is Well With My Soul” is a poetically powerful piece that awakens me to God's goodness despite trouble, difficulty, and the downright evil experienced in life. But the way this hymn came to be, the context which gave rise to the words and insights of this song transform my experience of singing it altogether.

The words were penned by a Chicago Presbyterian lawyer named Horatio Spafford. Having already experienced his son's death, his family was virtually ruined financially by the Chicago fire of 1871. Then, two years later, he sent his four daughters and wife to Europe for health reasons, hoping to join them after completing some urgent business. Before leaving to meet his family, he received a message from his wife reading “saved alone.” He soon learned that the ship carrying his family had been struck by an English vessel and his four daughters had drowned.

In December of 1873, while traveling across the Atlantic to meet his wife so they might grieve together, the ship's captain pointed out to Horatio Spafford where his children had drowned. In that very place, shattered by great loss, Horatio Spafford wrote the lyrics of this great hymn, in which we sing, “When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll, whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul.”1

As far back as I can remember, songs and hymns were always a part of Sunday worship. And as I've worshiped in different congregations and in different religious traditions, I've discovered that songs and hymns often give a tradition its distinctive flavor.

This morning, in our reading from Philippians, we may have unwittingly glimpsed into the early Christian church through an ancient hymn. In verses 6-11 of Philippians 2 there is a poetic, rhythmic quality to Paul's words that caused one scholar, many years ago to hypothesize that these verses pre-existed Paul's letter as a kind of hymn or creed.2 Since then scholarship has mostly affirmed his thesis; and we can see this ourselves by noticing that the translators of our NIV pew bible set apart and structured those verses like poetry. We may have before us a hymn or creed of one of the earliest Christian communities.

This hymn is so fascinating because, on the one hand, it is a door for us to enter into the worship and liturgy of the pre-New Testament church; to see what it is they might have sung or recited, to hear their witness and their story. But, on the other hand, the hymn is also so fascinating because it's contents have been a source for historical debate regarding Jesus as Christ. Trinitarian discussions about whether Christ was one substance, a similar substance, or a different substance from God—all of which is very confusing even to the sharpest minds—generated immense controversy. Our passage in Philippians offered some of the fodder for that debate. The controversies and debates led to the great councils which issued some very important creedal statements in Christian history—like the Nicene Creed, for example.3

But let us ask ourselves, what might we find buried in this hymn? Why does Paul recite these words?

I want to suggest several things for us to think about this morning. First, the hymn points us toward a way of seeing God through Christ. Second, and because of seeing God through Christ, Paul uses the hymn to reinforce how he thinks Christians ought to live. Finally, I want to suggest that understanding God through Christ in this hymn offers us a distinctive way of living and being which both heals our souls and changes our goals.

So let us return to the hymn. What might we uncover there? We discover, very quickly I think, a Christ who does not exploit power and status, but who seeks humility. Christ embodies humility, all the way to the cross. In a world concerned with power, status, and standing, this is a challenging message. And, unfortunately, our human concerns with power, status, and standing often creep into our theology, in both welcomed and undetected forms.

I've learned from the Lutherans two categories through which we might classify theology.4 We might talk about theology in terms of Theologia Crucis and Theologia Gloriae, or a Theology of the Cross and a Theology of Glory. I've heard many sermons and heard many conversations espousing a Theology of Glory: a theology which trumpets the power and might of God seen especially in the triumphal resurrection. Often, we hear of a God of ultimate control and unimaginable majesty, of unsurpassed strength and complete dominance. This is a God deserving our praise, a God glorified and lifted up. A God very much above and beyond this world, though cosmically in control of it.

But such a theology, I believe, should not stand on its own, lest we forget what it is that hangs in our sanctuaries and reaches above our church rooftops; not a thrown, but a cross. A theologia gloriae that forgets the cross is, I think, a dangerous theology. And theologies of glory that stand alone can easily be formed to fit agendas of imperialistic strength and economic exploitation. In serving a God seen as ultimately and unboundedly powerful, God is allowed to be identified with those who are the most powerful in this world—power identifies with power. This becomes the breeding ground for the strong and privileged to leverage a theological weight in their pursuit of glory—human glory is identified with God's Glory.

Our ancient hymn this morning transforms what we know God's “Glory” to be, and reorients us as a result. Most importantly, our hymn reminds us of the God we know through Jesus Christ—one who died on a cross. For Christ did not consider the status of God something to be sought after or “exploited” (verse 6). Christ did not claim for himself the Glory of God, but instead did something much different—in verse 7 Christ emptied himself. Christ became a slave. This language is so important. Christ emptied himself to become a slave, not picking up a crown of glory but taking upon himself a cross of humiliation. This self-emptied slave humbled himself to death upon a cross.

I think we have lost just how radical this notion really is. We might move through the motions of coming to church, observing the two beams of the cross on our sanctuary, singing about crucifixion, and taking part in communion “remembering” something about a body and blood. The cross is so familiar, so regular, so Christian. But the “familiar” can desensitize us—doing something over and over again, seeing something over and over again, hearing something over and over again can lead us to think we understand fully and completely exhausted the meaning of these familiar things. Familiarity can keep us from attending to the depth and power of the infinitely inexhaustible Christian symbols.

In addition, things like crucifixion are culturally and historically so foreign to us. Most likely, we have not witnessed a crucifixion, we don't know what that's like. Our only exposure to such a thing might be the bible and church. Church-talk about the cross happens so routinely that we might fail to grasp just how profound it really is. We always risk losing the radical message of the cross in the familiarity of religious routine and the historical distance of the event.

But imagine, we have on our sanctuary wall something like an electric chair, a firing squad's collection of weapons, a gallows. We have hanging in our sanctuary an instrument of cruelty, shame, and death that was reserved for rebels and disobedient slaves.

Oh the irony, oh the strangeness. For one slave was, in fact, not disobedient, but was instead obedient to death on a cross (verse 8)! This slave did not take for himself status or honor, but emptied himself of such things and humbly bore human likeness (verse 7). This slave, Jesus Christ, was crucified, and we know—don't we?--gods are not crucified. Gods do not die. How utterly mystifying. How amazing.

Only then, only after the self-emptying one has been enslaved on a cross do we hear of Glory—Glory has been forever changed. For God then “exalted him” and gave him the name above every other (verse 9): that name is Lord (verse 11). Here again the irony, the strangeness. The name “Lord” in Greek is kyrios. It's most common English translation is “Lord” or “Master.” The opposite of a kyrios is a doulos—a “slave” or “servant.” In seeking humility and finding death on a cross, the slave, Jesus Christ, became our Master. The instrument reserved for a disobedient slave was filled by an obedient one. The Christ who could have sought the Glory of God instead emptied himself of any such claim. And now, the irony of the cross is its very place in and above churches all over the world.

We see in Christ, through this hymn, the ironic God of the Cross. Where we expect to find Glory and a throne, we find humility and a cross. Where we expect to find a disobedient slave, we find an obedient one. And the one who became a slave is, instead, Lord. The irony of the Cross is the unexpectedness found there. Glory is found on the Cross. The Cross is Glory.

Our hymn opens up for us a way of seeing God: through the humility and self-emptying of Christ we see God. Paul takes the power and poetry of these verses to encourage the Philippian church to live in a certain way. He urges the Philippians to be of “one mind” (verses 3). He asks that they live in humility and accord with one another by embodying the “same mind” (verse 3), a mind they not only share with each other, but can share with Christ Jesus (verse 5). To be clear, the church community is not being asked to believe the same things, to live the exact same way, or to have uniformity. The church is not exhorted to have the same social, political, or economic commitments, though those commitments may be challenged and shaped by the gospel message. Instead, Paul exhorts the Philippians to be humble and consider others. “The mind of Christ” which the Philippian church is asked to embody is made powerfully clear by the hymn in which we find Christ's humility and self-emptying.

Paul sees the radical example of Christ not as a strict act to follow—for Paul does not suggest that anyone be nailed to a cross. By extension, I do not suggest that we nail ourselves to pieces of wood. Rather, the “mind of Christ,” the humility of the self-emptying one, is ours to heal us and to reorient us. It cleanses and heals us of our disillusioned claims to power and might. It prevents us from stumbling through life with the unnecessary burdens of clamoring after human fame, glory, and power. No, in emptying ourselves we make room for salvation. This healing then empowers us as we live out in humility the ways of God.

The church, this community, is called into a unity grounded in the humility of Christ who lives within us.

What might all this mean for us, in a more concrete way, as we live and move in our daily existence and as we worship together in church?

In a conference about church leadership and authority, a professor once remarked that seeking authority directly is “coercive” and “manipulative.” Authority always and necessarily involves power, and directly seeking power over someone is a very dangerous task. One should, instead, seek to be good at a certain skill, like teaching or biking or managing, and authority will follow (it will be granted, in a sense).5 I think this logic is true of humility and Glory. When we seek out glory we take part in a self-serving manipulative game. Glory is not to be sought—for Christ himself did not lay claim to it. Instead, we seek after humility, and in being truly humble, we can sense the light of Glory shining upon us from above—bestowed by God, the source and end of Glory. For it is through the humility and self-emptying of Christ that we see God, and through our own humility and self-emptying that it is possible for us to participate with God in God's glorious purposes.

The hymn and words of Paul indicate for us, I believe, that our lives in the church and beyond should be lives of humility. We must make room for God, we must empty ourselves. We must empty ourselves of any claim we might have to glory—social, political, economic, intellectual—and in humility take up the tasks God calls us to pursue. In this way, we “work out our own salvation in fear and trembling” (verse 12). For “it is God who is at work in us” (verse 13)–not ourselves—and it is God who fills us again. Only now, we are filled to overflowing with the self-emptying one, the Christ, who gives us healing, courage, strength, and determination to overcome our most difficult circumstances and live into God's purposes. The Cross is Glory. Glory is the Cross.

When we are filled with self-emptying, when we have cleared ourselves for God to move and act, we might find words alone inadequate. For when we seek humility and let God bestow the Glory, when we embody the “mind of Christ” despite the circumstances—no matter how good or bad life is—

we might find that words alone will not do, and we must sing from the depth of our being,

“it is well, it is well with my soul.”

Amen.
____________________
1For a very concise summary of this story, see “Peace in Adversity” in the Chalice Hymnal: Worship Leader's Edition (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 1998), 561.
2See Ernst Lohmeyer, Kyrios Jesus: Eine Untersuchung zu Phil 2:5-11 (SHAW Philosophisch-historische Klasse. Jahrgang 1927/28; 4. Abhandlung; Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1961 [1928]). For a brief discussion of Lohmeyer's thesis in relation to scholarship since then, see the article by Joseph A. Marchal, Expecting a Hymn, Encountering An Argument: Introducing the Rhetoric of Philippians and Pauline Interpretation.
3The Council of Nicea (325 CE) considered matters about whether Christ was homoousios (one substance) or homoiousios (similar substance) with God. The Council of Chalcedon (451 CE), convened to consider the humanity of Jesus, stating that the Trinity had one nature (one ousia) but three persons (three hypostases). Jesus was considered both fully God and fully human. All of the complex metaphysics involved in these considerations can be nauseatingly difficult. What many wrestled with were the tensions found in Scripture about the relationship between God, Jesus, and the holy spirit. They tried to interpret these tensions in a coherent (and very metaphysical) way.
4These “types” or topos are not the only schema possible for making sense of Christian theology; however, I would argue they serve an important and irreplaceable function in understanding (traditionally) fundamental Christian symbols and their implications for human life.
5Rev. Dr. William Schweiker was a panelist at the conference Intimacy and Authority held at the University of Chicago Divinity School on September 26th, 2008. It was sponsored by the Border Crossings through a grant from the Lily Endowment. I am referencing his comments made at this conference.

October Newsletter

2008-09-25T12:30:00.002-04:00

Fall has arrived! But, I must admit, it was not much of a surprise. Even if I forget the day or month, I still recognize fall. For me, the seasonal transition to fall is distinctly tangible. The crisp air and redolent fragrances seem to suggest the coming colors and the falling leaves. I can feel fall “in my soul,” so to speak. The air, the change in temperature, and the subtle shift in light are penetrating, even if I am not aware of them at first. Something stirs inside me, and when I pause to examine this “feeling,” I notice fall. For me, fall arrives from the inside out.

I think faith is kind of like that. Some great Christian thinkers (and I’ll talk more about my favorites in next month’s Newsletter) talk about faith as an existential or fundamental trust. Trust in what? Trust in God. More precisely, and in a Christian sense, we can think of faith as trust in the meaningfulness of life itself as it is disclosed by God through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. This isn't something we can objectify and intellectually assent to; rather, we sense it stirring within as we live our lives. We suddenly sense life has been meaningful all along, even if we didn't recognize it at first (and, even when we forget!). Faith, like fall, is something that manifests itself from the inside out. I can feel faith “in my soul.”

Yet, so many times I hear faith talked about as if it is some kind of proposition which can be separated from our lives and scrutinized for its truth status. Faith, in this way, becomes an isolated object. If we reduce faith to theory and leave it intellectualized, we then risk losing the flesh and blood which give it life. Maybe people don’t have faith, but faith has people. However we talk about it, faith cannot be reduced to a proposition and treated like another one of our possessions. We don’t have faith like we have a car, or home, or book.

I will be the first to admit that I love to reflect philosophically and theologically on the Christian faith tradition. Despite the lurking danger of “thinking too much,” my reflections have prompted me to think about faith as an embodied reality. It is a “feeling” that springs on us from within as we live and move and have our being. We can sense its penetrating presence, even when we haven't named it. Think of a beautiful sunrise that not only causes you a brief pause, but fully captures your attention. In those moments of breath-taking awe we don’t have the sunrise, the sunrise has us! Some sunrises we can sense “in our soul.”

As we move into the fall season, may we also live into faith as an embodied trust that we feel “in our soul.” May we find that life is always already meaningful thanks to the God we find in Jesus Christ; and may that meaning permeate the totality of our lives: thought, word, and deed.
____________________
For Further Reference

Christian "existential thinking" can be found in thinkers stretching back to Paul, Augustine, and Luther. For a 20th century "theological existentialist," see Paul Tillich and his Courage to Be or Dynamics of Faith.

The notion of faith as "feeling" connects with a tradition flowing forth from the 18th cenutry German Romanticist Friedrich Schleiermacher. See his On Religion or The Christian Faith. Please note, "feeling" in this sense is not to be confused with a reduction to our bodily sense-perceptions.

Biblical Languages

2008-09-17T14:31:00.002-04:00

There is a common misconception about the biblical text that is unfortunately used to legitimate certain theological readings. Specifically, "original languages" do not offer a magical key into the concrete (and only) meanings of biblical passages, phrases, or words. Across the globe, on any given Sunday, a congregant might hear the words "but the original Greek tells us that this is what Paul meant by..." The idea that biblical Greek (or Hebrew) offers unquestionable clarity to English (or other) renderings is, I would argue, irresponsible.

Biblical Greek, or Koine Greek, is not unambiquous. There are not only difficulties and decisions involved in translation, but difficulties in constructing literal meanings with words and sentences employed with poor or ambiguous syntax. There are local tendencies with language and writing which effect authors, and which might be undetectable to our research and readings of the Greek or Hebrew texts. These nuances of language make authoritative appeal to the "original" biblical language quite problematic.

Whatsmore, there is not one "original" Greek or Hebrew text. We do not have the original "Leviticus," "Mark" or "Romans." What we have are copies, which vary by source, that create new kinds of interpretive and editorial problems for translators, theologians and linguists. Mis-spellings, editorial revisions, editorial additions, and theologically charged political struggles all touch the texts within the Hebrew Bible and New Testament. Different religious communities considered their texts sacred, and renditions of certain texts varied by community. These compilations make a univocal reading of any particular text problematic. Which text should we choose in reconstructing "the text," and why?

Beyond this, there are differences related to the Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible (the Septuagint). For instance, the Hebrew word for virgin can also be translated young girl. The Septuagint, which was available to the author of Matthew, translated that Hebrew word in a certain portion of Isaiah with a Greek word specific for virgin (indicating that the Septuagint translator(s) interpreted the Hebrew word in a certain way). Although the Hebrew word MAY have meant virgin, it definately meant virgin in the Greek translation. This, then, was the basis for the "virgin birth." This prophetic text, ambiguous in Hebrew, becomes a central theological event in the Christian narrative.

All these issues, I think, cloud the "clarity" trumpeted by many contemporary ministers and theologians.

As a result, we can not be so crass as to appeal to "original texts" for the last word on a theological discussion, debate, or difficulty. We must realize that a chain of interpretive decisions have led us not only to our English translation of the biblical text, but to the Hewbrew and Greek texts which are our sources for translation. We must proceed with humility and caution amidst languages which do not always provide concrete answers, but more questions.

Palin and Women's Issues

2008-09-16T08:35:00.002-04:00

A fellow divinity school student recently sent out an e-mail calling our attention to the issue of Sarah Palin's vice presidential bid as it intersects with conservative evangelical theology and the issue of women's leadership. He pointed us toward a provocative article which can be found at http://blogs.usatoday.com/oped/2008/09/the-palin-predi.html.

Although the "women's leadership issue" is one of great concern for many on both sides of the debate (about the legitimate role of women as leaders in the home, church, and/or civil office), the Palin vice presidential bid adds a further dimension. This is the dimension of the relationship between "religious beliefs" and "state office." It is not just about the legitimacy of Palin's bid, but about the legitimacy of her supporters supporting her while holding certain religious views (some assessments might render such support and certain conservative biblical views to be in "cognitive dissonance"). The issue seems ripe for all kinds of comments about the nature of political and religious participation: are the political and religious "spheres" distinct and separate, distinct but not separate, or completely intertwined?

Regardless of our political persuasion (Democrat, Republican, Green, Libertarian, Independent, etc), Palin-for-vice-president catapults the discussion regarding women in leadership into religious forums. This is a sensitive area for many, and discussion, I believe, will move us in a positive direction.

So, with that in mind, I have some questions:

If one believes (for whatever reason) that women should not have "spiritual leadership" in the home or church, can a woman still have leadership in civil office? If yes, does this imply that civil office is NOT a spiritual position of leadership?
If one believes (for whatever reason) that women should not have ANY leadership in home or church, can a woman still have leadership in civil office? If yes, on what grounds? Is civil office NOT a position of leadership?
Can one still support a vice-presidential candidate even if her role is not considered legitimate (for whatever reason) for such reasons as "the lesser of all the evils"?
Is the Palin-for-vice-president issue constructive for our country?

I hope you find these questions interesting and worth responding to as I would love to read your comments!

Ministry, Kenotic Theology and the Interruption of Christ

2008-09-04T22:36:00.001-04:00

My internship is a month underway and the tidal wave of ministry is washing over me already. I am not overwhelmed (at least not yet!), but I am reminded of the gravity and intensity of this vocation. It is truly a “calling.” Parish ministry is not just sermon preparation and community “high-fiving.” Rather, ministry is about challenging and comforting, encouraging and directing, paying attention to details and keeping the “big-picture” in mind. It comes with peculiar challenges, including both existential crises and mundane worries. And it comes with spectacular affirmation.

The complexities and ambiguities of ministry have the potential to overwhelm (thus, my metaphor “tidal wave,” above), but they can also be cleansing (in the fire-hose “blasting” kind of way—thus, my choice of “cleansing,” above). Ministry exists in this unique tension between threat and growth, dissolution and fulfillment.

To switch metaphors, the seriousness and weight of ministry is nothing short of an “interruption” (maybe, to combine metaphors, the “interruption” of a tidal wave?). But I mean this term in a more profound and less common sense; the sense without the negative connotation of “distracting me from what I need to get done.” Instead, I mean ministry-as-interruption to be an “eruption” that occurs “into” the normal course of life.

Eruptions are powerful and transformative. Think volcanoes here. They suddenly explode with tremendous internal pressure, sending voluminous ash and lava into the air. The horizon is altered, the landscape reformed. This is eruption.

But ministry-as-interruption is not simply a one-time cataclysmic rupture in the distance. Unlike most volcanic eruptions, ministry-as-interruption happens here, now, and everywhere (more like the volcano from the movie “Volcano”). It is the eruption into our normal course of life that forever changes the shape and meaning of that life, precisely because we didn't expect it. Unlike carefully protected observers, ministers are faced with interruption. And interruptions are dangerous.

When we are interrupted we are altered. Sometimes our pace is slowed (the more common sense of “interruption”), and sometimes our direction is shifted. Ministry-as-interruption may very well slow our pace, but often it is because our direction has (and needed to be!) shifted. Ministry-as-interruption is a place of unsettling re-direction.

Fortunately, I take comfort (and, thus, resist being overwhelmed) in the Kenotic Christ who interrupted our world. This is the self-emptying (Greek: kenosis) Christ who changed how we think of God, how we see ourselves, and how we live in our world. This is the direction-changing Christ who happened upon us, happens upon us, and will happen upon us. And this is true, I think, whether we see Christ-the-interruption historically or personally. Because I serve a Christ of interruption, I can only expect to be interrupted. But this, I maintain, is a good thing, even if it is a dangerous thing.

So may the tidal wave of ministry blast me with its force, so that I might be washed by its life-changing re-direction as I serve out Christ-the-interruption through his ministry-as-interruption. May interruptions lead me forward, even if forward is not always the same path.

The Priesthood of All Believers

2008-08-27T09:04:00.005-04:00

You might have already discovered that the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) has a rather elusive identity. However, there are some key features common to many of our congregations. So even though our theologies might differ (wildly at times) and our worship services may be unrecognizable from congregation to congregation, we Disciples have traditionally held to a long-standing Protestant principle: “The Priesthood of All Believers.” What ever could that mean? I'm glad you asked.

Martin Luther, that famed Magisterial Reformer from the 16th century (not to be confused with the civil rights leader from the 1950's and 60's), wrote many impassioned and contested works criticizing the Roman papal institution (i.e. “the Church”). He famously denied that ordination was a sacrament, and in so doing gave over the “priesthood” to “all believers.” Now that doesn't sound so revolutionary to us, but remember that Martin Luther lived in a time when the priesthood carried special privilege (the Pope, Bishops, and Monastics were of a different spiritual class). Because of that, lay members of the church could not participate in preaching, presiding over the Eucharist, or other liturgical functions. Martin Luther challenged this in the following way:

The pope or bishop anoints, shaves heads, ordains, consecrates, and prescribes garb different from that of the laity, but he can never make a man into a Christian or spiritual human being... In fact, we are all consecrated priests through Baptism, as St. Peter in 1 Peter 2[:9] says: “You are a royal priesthood and a priestly kingdom,” and Revelation [5:10], “Through your blood you have made us into priests and kings.”
(Three Treatises, Martin Luther, 12)

Relying on Scripture (Luther advocated sola scriptura, or “Scripture only”), he leveled the playing field, so to speak, for how we think of pastors and laity. Over time, the laity were empowered to take part in the ministry of the church in new ways: presiding over communion, reading from the Scriptures, and offering prayers.

The “founding fathers” of our denomination, Barton W. Stone, Thomas Campbell, and Alexander Campbell, all furthered this Protestant principle. Ministers were not just those who occupied the pastorate; rather, everyone was called into ministry through baptism. This open stance toward ministry paved the way for the incorporation of women into the diaconate and eldership in many of our churches, as well as the active involvement of lay members in Sunday worship.

What is important to recognize about our Protestant and denominational heritage is that pastors, although they have a peculiar office and function, are not spiritually better than anyone else. Our individual callings may take us to different places, but all Christians are called to minister. For some that will be through church offices, for others that will be living out the gospel in our daily lives as faithful disciples of our Lord Jesus Christ. Wherever we find ourselves, may we remember our part in that great ministering priesthood encompassing all those who profess the life-giving message of Jesus Christ.

Weightlifting

2008-08-18T12:16:00.002-04:00

The Olympics are in full swing. How many people here have seen at least a few minutes of the games this year? That's not too surprising, I don't think, considering some 70 million people tuned in to NBC to see the opening ceremonies. But for all the excitement of the Olympic games, many of the competitions go fairly unnoticed. And one of those sports is weightlifting.

Now when I think of weightlifting I often think of gigantic, muscle-bound athletes with veins popping out of their biceps. But, if you were to pass some of the Olympic weightlifters in plain clothes, you would find some pretty regular looking people. People who don't seem to be national or world champions. And after thinking about it, that kind of makes sense to me, because I've seen the super-human strength of some pretty regular people on occasion. The person who comes to mind first is my mom: she never lifted on record, but I can testify to her super-human strength. She put that on display for me one afternoon after I welcomed my new baby brother home from the hospital with a bite on the cheek. My 120 pound mom promptly broke a wooden spoon over my rear-end in one swing.

And we might all have similar stories of close-encounters with regular people demonstrating super-strength (Though I hope you weren't the same kind of participant I was). But a thought we might entertain this morning is that maybe most of these Olympic athletes are regular people, regular people who manage to do extraordinary things. And that's precisely what makes them so inspiring. They are, in so many ways, just like you, and just like me.

One regular person I read about was Melanie Roach. Melanie is a 117 pound woman who seems, at first glance, pretty normal. She is a wife, a mom for three children, and she owns a small business. But she is also, now, an Olympian. And the road that brought her to Beijing was pretty incredible. Melanie was a 2000 Olympic hopeful who missed the games in Sydney because of a back injury. After leaving weightlifting and mothering three children, she returned to the sport at the age of 33. She underwent back surgery and a whirlwind recovery before winning the first spot on the US Women's Olympic weightlifting team.

And so the question surfaces: How does a woman like this not only find ways to overcome injury, the demands of life, and the anxieties of competition, but also does all that and then lifts on the Olympic stage?

This is the question we must return to. What does it take not only to endure difficult circumstances, but also to lift world-class weights?

Now I would love to tell you that Melanie's story has an ending quite like Michael Phelps or Dara Torres. But Melanie didn't take the gold. She didn't take the silver, nor did she take the bronze. Like many other athletes at the Olympics, Melanie Roach competed and did not medal. That being said, she did achieve a personal best, completing all six lifts and breaking the American record. I'd say lifting a combined total of 425 pounds is pretty good for a 33 year-old mother of three who weighs in at only 117 pounds. So even without a shiny medal and media glory, the feat that Melanie struggled to achieve brings us back to our question. How do we struggle through tough circumstances to achieve world-class goals?

I want to suggest this morning that lifting weight successfully requires passion. If there is one thing all the Olympic athletes seem to share, it is passion. Passion is vitally important because it is through passion that a goal can transform and make meaningful the inevitable struggles. I want to suggest this morning that we can struggle through some of the most trying obstacles for the sake of a world-class goal, for a world-important hope; and we can do that when we have passion. For Melanie Roach, the inevitable struggles included injuries, age, and many competing commitments. And Melanie, in so many ways, is just like the rest of us.

So today we are going to use the Olympic games and weightlifting to think through our faith. Analogies like this serve as a bridge of understanding, a way for us to use 21st century experience in order to illuminate our lives of faith. And there is biblical precedent for that, I think. Paul and other NT authors use athletic metaphors of their own time in order to encourage, exhort, and teach. In fact we saw how that might work with Kory's sermon last week.
In that sermon we touched on the Olympic theme by looking into our races of faith. Kory reminded us that faith is not a one time event; that the life of faith is more like a race of endurance than a sprint. What's most important is that our races are about finishing faithfully, not finishing first, thanks be to God.

This week we are shifting our attention from running to lifting. From enduring on foot, to enduring under great pressure. I hope you will be able to think with me about how Olympic weightlifting might inform and enrich our faith.

With that in mind, let's turn in our bibles to the Gospel of Matthew.

Matthew 11:25-30

What's going on?

Chapters 5 – 7 is the famous sermon on the mount

chapters 8 – 9 is Jesus in action, healing and traveling.

In Chapter 10 Jesus speaks about missions and sending out the disciples.

Beginning of Chapter 11 Jesus addresses issues of his identity and that of John the baptist.

He then issues two woes against unrepentant Galilean cities. From those woes we move into our passage this morning.

v. 25 “these things” being Jesus' identity and role.

This passage is very recognizable, many of you may be familiar with it. You may also be familiar with some popular interpretations of it. I want to isolate two of them. First, some will point to this Scripture to establish faith as something different from, and maybe antagonistic toward, intelligence. After all, Jesus is revealed not to the intelligent but to infants (who we presume are without education and a well-developed intellect). Second, many people point to, and find comfort in, an “easy yoke,” which is understood to mean a life with less trouble and difficulty. Now both of these responses to Scripture have their place. We should be cautious about the corruptibility of our intellect, and we should rejoice when we find moments of rest under an “easy yoke.” Unfortunately, there is a tendency, as with much of Scripture, to over-simplify. So I am going to try and resist over-simplifying here; I guess I will be under-simplifying, maybe “complexifying” if you will.

I want to focus on some other elements that might help us make sense of this passage in a different way. I think it is far too simplistic for us to leave the passage thinking that Jesus' message and identity is not for smart people. In fact, what is regrettable is that some people have taken this passage to command that one should not go to school, especially not attend college or seminary. As I am in Divinity School, I would disagree here.

So, I don't think Jesus is condemning the intelligent because they are intelligent. Nor is Jesus, in my estimation, calling us to be, literally, infants. The Greek word (nepiois) translated “infant” or “child” might be better understood in this passage as “little persons” or “insignificant ones.” And that makes sense, Jesus' ministry was aimed at those who were marginalized and left out of society at the time: women, the sick, prostitutes, tax collectors... all kinds of sinners. So the ones who received Jesus' message and repented were these “insignificant ones.” Thus, Jesus is thanking God for graciously sending him to those who may have considered themselves insignificant, and were definitely considered insignificant by the powerful, learned elite.

And just as I don't think Jesus is condemning the intelligent for being intelligent, I don't think Jesus is talking about how easy life will be either. A yoke, is a yoke, is a yoke; even though a yoke may be light (relative to heavier yokes), it is still a yoke. One that carries with it a kind of weight. Jesus is not inviting us into a yoke-free existence. We might be able to eat eggs yolk-free, but we can never live yoke-free. So instead of going without any weights, we are invited by Jesus to be a kind of weightlifter; we are invited to lift Jesus' yoke with him, as he is yoked to us. Why is that, though, why can't we get the yoke-free pass?

In the Jewish tradition, the word “yoke” was a way of talking about obedience and servanthood. And Jesus reminds us in the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 6:24) that everybody serves someone, it's just a matter of who we serve. Thus, there is always a yoke. It's a matter of which yoke we choose to put on. Jesus invites the weary and the burdened into his service in order to become obedient to the will of God made known through Jesus. So on the one hand, with a Jewish connotation, “yoke” means a kind of obedience. On the other hand, the Greek word (zugos), which translates “yoke,” is one with imperial connotations. Jesus is calling people out of the taxing demands of Roman imperial obedience into a new Kingdom, one defined by justice, kindness, and humility (remember Micah 6:8?).

Jesus is also responding to the shackles, burdens, and weight of the religious elite who managed to burden many people with the demands of religious observance. On top of that, the religious system of Jesus' day also ostracized and marginalized the very people who they should have been serving. The poor, sick, and downtrodden were being treated as sinners and pushed out of the way. So Jesus called these very people into his service—the poor, sick and downtrodden, as well as the religiously burdened—so they might seek after the ways of God. But Jesus doesn't just call the poor, sick, downtrodden, and burdened into God's service, Jesus calls everyone. And it's here we should remember the first part of the passage, verse 25. Jesus is graciously revealed as Christ not to those who take pride in their wisdom and intelligence, for their self-righteous pride easily blinds them; rather Jesus is most easily seen by those who humble themselves and recognize their need for a different, lighter yoke.

Well what about this lighter yoke? The road of justice, kindness, and humility doesn't sound very easy, and it doesn't seem like we get a lot of rest. So what about rest and ease? What about the “lightness” of the yoke?

Ultimately, we are not invited out of our every-day lives into a life of ease. Instead, we are called into our every-day lives with a new purpose, with a new mission, obedient to a new Master. We are called to lift the weight of God's Kingdom, yoked to Jesus Christ. Our yoked existence to Jesus connects us to the work God began in Jesus. In other words, we are called to be weight-lifters, but now, with a different set of weights. These weights are those of the Kingdom of God. They are weights filled with the justice, kindness, and humility of Micah 6:8. And the people lifting them are pretty regular people, like you and like me; and so, like regular people, we struggle with all kinds of exterior things as well as the difficult task of lifting God's Kingdom into existence.

So our rest is not an absence of labor, for there is always something to do. Rather it is deeper, more “existential.” (A rest on the level of our soul, so to speak). I think St. Augustine, a 4th century Bishop from Africa, says it best as he addresses God: “You have made us for yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in You.” We can rest in the meaning and mission of God's Kingdom as we live out our lives yoked to our Savior Jesus Christ. The Kingdom of God is a world-class weight and a world-important hope. Christ invites regular people like you and me to lift this kind of incredible weight.

As we move from this morning's sermon to our hymn, to offering, and then to communion, may we be reminded of that lingering question I posed to us: “How do we endure difficult circumstances to lift world-class weights?” I want to suggest this morning we must be driven by passion. But the passion that drives us as weightlifters for the Kingdom of God is more than unbounded desire coming from the rest we find in the meaning of God's Kingdom, it is also the Passion of Jesus Christ. This is the Christ who yokes himself beside us, and whose Passion was one of suffering unto death on a cross. Yet this Passion has a mysterious ending, one not confined to capital punishment on a tree; no, it is an ending that inaugurates a great hope. For this passion ends in Resurrection and promises victory beyond death's horizon. When this Passion drives our weightlifting, it transforms all our every-day and most impossible struggles into meaningful labor for the Kingdom of God.

May that Passion allow us to lift the weights of God's Kingdom, and to find rest in the meaning and mission of God's call. Amen.

Christianity and Post-Modernisms

2008-08-05T22:08:00.002-04:00

"Post-Modernism" is a dirty, dirty word... at least in some circles. Mixing Christianity and postmodernism can be as volatile as nitro glycerine. Many think such a combination is sure to result in a catastrophic destructiveness worthy of an apocalyptic-like resistance. They hope not to lose the true meaning of the gospel to philosophical infiltrations that dilute and destroy its message. In the most extreme forms of resistance, postmodernism is seen as anti-gospel, the manifestation of evil through corrupt and bankrupt thinking.

For others, postmodernism is as trendy as a "faux-hawk." It's the new way to talk about Christianity without looking like an old, out-dated religionist. It smells like a latte and tastes like candy... mmm. These people see a turn to postmodern expression as the saving Grace for the Gospel in our day and age. We need to update our outdated Gospel to the newest, most current version--the gospel i-phone, if you will.

Both popular forms of resistance to and adoption of postmodernism seem to be suffering from a pretty serious problem. This problem, I want to suggest, is a historic struggle known as reductionism. Since when has postmodernism ever been one thing (or, for that matter, "humanity," or "Christianity," or "rationality")? The problem is, as is so often the case, that we want to think of things much too simplistically--often causing us to talk past one another. What one group thinks postmodernism is, another group does not. Yet, they both talk to each other with similar terms, all the while thinking in vastly different ways about those terms.

So, for those who fear postmodernism, their concerns should be aptly noted. They most likely fear a kind of postmodernism, only one of the many postmodernisms out there. Those who radically embrace postmodernism too often think they are embracing postmodernism "en toto", as if they weren't rejecting other postmodernisms (which, I want to suggest, they are--but, unfortunately, that's not so trendy...).

So what do we do? Is postmodernism to be or not to be? Well that is a good question.

Postmodernism is a term we could use to describe a time period, cultural attitudes and behaviors, philosophies, and/or aesthetic theories. What about the many uses and manifestations of "postmodernism" should we be afraid of as Christians. Well, of course, it will depend on what you are worried about.

Some Christians are worried about relativism. Rightly so, I think. Is postmodernism most basically relativism? Well, yes... oh, and no. Once again, there are forms of postmodernism, which, some might argue, can lead to kinds of relativism. Now let's be serious here--is postmodernism the issue, or relativism (and, to complicate matters further, what kind of relativism)? Relativism is not something new that emerged in the 20th century and is only currently flourishing today. The threat of relativism is a historical one, a problem (or a solution some might argue) facing thinkers for millenia. For the interested lot, check out Pyrrhonian skepticism. So, if relativism is the issue (again, it may only be one kind of relativism that is really the problem), why demonize postmodernism? Oh yeah, reductionism...or, to be more precise here: equivocation.

What I'm trying to get across is that postmodern thinking is manifold and pluriform. There are many different kinds of postmodernisms, and, if Christianity should watch out for certain things, then it should watch out for those things in their various forms--always aware that it is those particular things (like relativism) and not postmodernism "en toto" that is at issue.

Other Christians think postmodernism is the answer for the outdated Christian message. Again, its a little more complex than that. Which postmodernism? Our "postmodern protestors" (oh the ambiguity of that phrase makes me smile) are aware, I think, of some issues which must be considered for their potentially destructive impact. Now these issues may not be only postmodern issues, but they seems to be finding contemporary expression in (at least) some postmodernisms.

So, what do we do? I think we first need to acknowledge that we have a lot in common, regardless of our "for" or "against" mentality when it comes to postmodernism. We are all children of postmodernism (by virtue of encountering it). We are all living in an age in which we are wrestling with questions that the modern age gave us. In that way, we can all call ourselves "post-modern." Next, I think, we need to specify what we mean when we say "postmodernism." Are we referring to cultural attitudes and norms for behavior, or are we talking about a philosophical set of ideas that will inevitably shape our faith? Once these issues are explored I think we can move forward with productive and, I hope, civil conversation (well, looks like I just showed my hand). And this procedure, I want to suggest, just might maintain that element of love so central to the gospel message (as I read it). I sure hope so.

A Theology of Hope

2008-05-10T22:45:00.002-04:00

Last week I attended a Senior Ministry Project by a 3rd year MDiv student entitled "Where is thy victory?" In this very provoking project, a courageous individual took on the notion of the "after-life." My brief comments cannot do his project justice, and I am sure he would have much to say in response to my reflections. Nonetheless, I found his argument great fodder for further thought.

The conclusion of his project is startling and deserves some explanation: Desiring for/Hoping in an afterlife is Demonic. If you're head is swirling, I think that was the point. He begins with a simple, yet maybe agreeable premise: Humans are finite. For him, to be human is to be a limited, conditioned being--to be anything less, or more, would be "inhuman." He considers the "inhuman" the "Demonic."

If, as finite creatures, we cannot look into the abyss of death and accept its radical limiting reality on us as finite, human creatures, then, in some sense, we long for what is more than human (to endure as more than human, as infinite, eternal beings--no matter how you come to construe the afterlife).

This is, for him, a moment of idolatry--a demonic urge. We, in our desire for or hope in an afterlife reveal our idolatrous craving for what is not human, for what we are NOT as created creatures of God.

So, then, what do we do? Give up? Live life like "the devil?" No, he says, live life with the courage to affirm who it is that you are: finite creatures of God. Don't be dissatisfied with your limited, human nature. No, take it upon yourself, live life "in spite" of your limited existence: have the "courage to be." (He draws heavily on Paul Tillich for his theoretical framework, but, he firmly admits to take Tillich where Tillich may not want to go).

For this individual, the afterlife is a kind of idolatrous hope that exposes our sinful longings to be exactly what we are not. To overcome this, he thinks, we must admit that this is not the case (and, it seems to me, that this is CERTAINLY not the case). We MUST admit that we do, in fact, only live until we die, and, after that, cease to be.

I am far less radical, although I think that Tillich, and this 3rd year student, have important insights for us. For me, to look into the abyss of death, its radical finality, as a real POSSIBILITY is what matters. I want to grant that my life, as a human, is circumscribed to the realm of the finite, conditioned, and even contingent. Moreover, I want to resist the popular and prevalent theological notion that we should be driven by eternal reward or punishment--I am not, nay, SHOULD NOT be, motivated by this reductive notion of core self-interest.

However, I think we can reside in our limitedness; in our reality of unkowning what becomes us after this life. In other words, our hope need not be grounded in eternal life, nor must we affirm the ACTUAL radical finality of death. I find it unconvincing that THERE MUST NOT BE an afterlife for us to experience the life-changing transformation that comes, I believe, with the Christian witness.

The humility that the Christian message generates, the self-critical stance we take towards ourselves and others in our fallible condition of sinfulness, can bring us to the brink of that great abyss and cause us to look deep into its depths. How should the Christian message play out if it were true that we did not live beyond the grave? Would the message change? For me, it does not. My Christian witness is not grounded in an eternal life, THOUGH THERE MAY BE ONE. My notion of right and wrong, good and evil, is not dictated by heaven or hell. The longings for my ever-lasting life are, I agree, idolatrous--but, so would assuming that we know what God has in store for those who Love God. For, "No eye has seen, no ear has heard." We live in that perpetual state of expectation, not hoping for our reward or punishment, but for that eschatological moment of transformation: The arrival of that Kingdom--the Kingdom of God.

This is our Hope. This is our message. This is our call. As Christians, I believe our Hope is grounded in that grace-filled reality of the Kingdom, and whether I get it or not is beside the point: for I hope in IT, not in me. I long for IT, not me. My theology is a theology of Hope, grounded in a Kingdom I may never see--but one which drives me nonetheless. This is the transformation that our Christian witness can testify to, and in this, we might find our rest before God.

"I" am not "Me"

2008-05-08T10:21:00.003-04:00

I have recently been attending a tremendously difficult class taught by Jean-Luc Marion called "Negative Certitudes: The Phenomenology of the Impossible." This class has been tough to wrap my mind around, but it has also produced some interesting reflections which, I believe, have powerful theological implications. Specifically, we have been discussing the nature of a definition of "human essence."

What Marion, and others, want to assert is that we cannot get to the deepest dimension, phenomenologically speaking, of human essence. There is something that escapes our reflective powers. We can think about it like this: "I" reflect upon objects as they present themselves to me in my experience. "I" see a chair, a table, an apple. These "objects" are objects in the sense that they are disclosed to me under certain conditions (namely, the condition of being attended to in my experience). But, I do not just have access to external things, but also inner things (myself). Yet, my inner reflections must also have an object, and that object is "Me." However, I cannot fully reflect upon my inner self, because the object "Me" does not include the dimension of my self which is doing the reflection. In other words, every reflection needs an "I" to reflect, an "I" that stands outside of reflection.

From this it seems that "I" can never get to the "I" in my reflections, I'm left only with that part of myself that is capable of being subject to my own experience: "Me." From this, we can say that "I" am not "Me." Or, to say it differently, I can never reduce who it is that I am to "Me." I am always more than who I can think myself to be. The "I" is that mysterious element of myself that escapes reflection and any adequate definition of human essence. It is the part of myself (and, by extension, you) that, if we think theologically, could reflect the mysteriousness of God. If, as many religious thinkers like to think, we are created in some image-related way to God, then, this mystery may be a part of our very selves.

This opens up all kinds of neat things to think about. I would love to hear what you think.

Theological Problem of our Time

2008-04-14T22:55:00.002-04:00

Tonight at Disciples History and Thought class, Dr. Clark W. Gilpin asked us to think of the "theological problem of our time." Although there could be many good arguments about a number of "problems" (maybe, even, the problem of using the word "problem" so much), I thought that our world seems to be in a peculiar position: dealing with difference.

As our world has grown in connectivity due to our globalizing social tendencies, our encounters with people of difference has simultaneously increased. We come across people of different faiths, traditions, cultures, political views, sexual orientations, interests ,etc. The intersection of these differences is not leading to healthy appreciation of each other, but seems, at least to me, to lead too often to resistence. And this resistence can lead to conflict and violence, especially when difference is either ignored or demonized. We haven't done the best job getting to know each other, coming to appreciate diverse perspectives, or learning from each other.

As a Disciple of Christ, I have a rich heritage filled with concerns for unity. This has been a rallying cry for many congregations and ecumenical efforts. I think we can live into our spirit of "unity" by theologically addressing a central problem of our time: difference. Most importantly, I find it particularly pressing to consider unity-in-difference, similarity but not sameness. We need to find theological grounding to live, breath, and act amidst a plurality of people--to reside peacefully beside our sisters and brothers; and not just those who call themselves "christians" or "Americans" or "liberal."

I believe there is ample theological space for considering unity-in-difference, but, alas, I shall not work that out here and now. All I will say is that I affirm the importance of: openness toward difference, looking for similarity, and celebrating our togetherness--a togetherness we need if we plan to live a better tomorrow.

Christ in Conversation

2008-04-09T09:20:00.003-04:00

We live in a shrinking world. Diverse ideas and thoughts are colliding in public space; in work, school, and politics. William Schweiker notes that “Currently, diverse peoples and cultures, diverse 'worlds,' are merging into an interdependent global reality.”1 In this context, there are many reasons to be hopeful for our futures and shared space. Yet the reality of our increasingly interactive present can also draw our attention to the difficult task of navigating this shared space, a space where differences can erupt into conflict, and where conflict can devolve into violence. Situated within the complex web of intersecting traditions, cultures, and peoples is the minister, a localized Christian leader with a special relationship to a community of faith.

Yet the minister, wherever she may be, is faced with the daunting task of responding to the myriad concerns of a shrinking world. How might a minister respond? What resources does she have to articulate her concerns and speak to her community? How can she find ways to communicate responsibly beyond her community to a world that is compressing? These questions demand reflection and consideration. While addressing each one is beyond the scope of this inquiry, I will take up a general question in ministry: How might I, as a minister, think about speaking out? I intend to suggest that speaking as a minister, generally, to whatever audience, is not about communicating theological ideas, but about communicating theologically. For the way in which we communicate says as much about our theology as what we are communicating.2

Thus, I will examine one particular resource a minister might consider in communicating theologically. I want to suggest that the classical theological symbol of Christ is a particularly insightful way for considering how we might respond as ministers to a shrinking world. In speaking about ethical thought, William Schweiker writes that “there is a profound symbolic and conceptual poverty in much current thought.”3 While I agree that much thinking could be bettered with symbolic discourse, I firmly believe that faith communities have an abundance of symbolic resources. My fear is that we might neglect the fullness of these resources if they only supply content to our speech—and this would be, in a way, a kind of poverty. Our symbols and theological resources can also shape the very way in which we speak.

In considering how the theological symbol of Christ might affect how we speak, I will explore the notion of symbol expounded by Paul Tillich, the Christological trajectory of Douglas John Hall, and briefly touch on the model of conversation described by David Tracy. These thinkers will aid in constructing a way of thinking about communication informed by the Christian tradition, yet fully capable of engaging the larger community of traditions, cultures, and religions which are closing in on each other in the ever shrinking world.

For Christians, as the name suggests, the idea of “the Christ” is an important concept. The sacred texts of this tradition—specifically the New Testament—focus on the figure of Jesus as Christ, and create a wealth of images and thoughts for understanding our human situations in the world. These understandings come in direct contact with the concrete person of Jesus as Christ developed textually and theologically throughout the Christian tradition. But today, in our language of faith, what does it mean to talk about Christ? What does it mean to talk about anything “religious”? What are we doing differently when we speak in our language of faith about anything? What does it mean to talk about Jesus as Christ? I believe Paul Tillich has a valuable insight into the power and distinctiveness regarding the language of faith.

In his Dynamics of Faith, Paul Tillich writes “Faith is the state of being ultimately concerned.”4 For him, to be human is to concern oneself, in some way, ultimately. As a formal definition, then, faith is all encompassing of everyone who is human. But, for Tillich, the content of faith is contingent upon the symbolic expressions of concrete faith traditions which change over time and vary from place to place. Regardless of this contingency, he goes on to say that “symbolic language alone is able to express the ultimate.”5 Why, we might ask, is this the case?

Tillich explicates the notion of symbols by describing six characteristics. First, he notes that symbols, like “signs”—which is a term often used synonymously for symbols, but which needs to be distinguished—point beyond themselves to something else. However, unlike signs, symbols participate in the reality to which they are pointing. Because of this, symbols have the power to open up levels of reality which are otherwise closed off to us. In addition, symbols open up “hidden depths of our own being”6 which are correlated to dimensions of reality. His final two characteristics are that symbols must come to life in the collective unconscious, and, as a result, that they can grow and die.

Symbols are necessary because concrete, finite reality cannot express that which is infinite: “the true ultimate transcends the realm of finite reality infinitely.”7 Although symbols themselves must not be elevated to the level of the infinite—thus confusing their relation to the infinite with the infinite itself—they have a unique way of communicating, one that has a power “which surpasses in quality and strength the power of any non-symbolic language.”8 Thus, the notion of Christ as symbol is very important. It is a way of speaking about the infinite within the language of Christian faith which can open up levels of reality otherwise unknown to us. What are these levels of reality? What might the symbol of Christ unlock for us as we consider what it means to communicate, as Christian ministers, to our communities and the wider, yet still shrinking, world?

While the notion of Christ is filled with layers of rich meaning and can be expounded upon in many different ways, I want to focus on the Christological trajectory described by Douglas John Hall. Although he considers in more detail a different symbol within the Christian tradition, the Cross, his reflections are intimately bound up, as is the Cross, with the symbol of the Christ. Hall admits that with Jesus Christ “the theologica crucis has both its beginning and its center.”9 Thus, the theological understanding of Jesus Christ reveals something peculiar and important in the Christian faith and in Christian theology.

For Hall, the Christ is the unequaled revealing of God-self, yet it is also a concealing of Godself. He argues, “But if... one says that God reveals Godself supremely in a living person, the inherent and inviolable mystery of that person means that the revealing simply is, simultaneously, a concealing.”10 The simultaneity of revelation and concealment can be noted in the gospel accounts as characters interact with Jesus, “There is a sense of something of infinite significance being disclosed, yet at the same time they know that they are not able to receive this something, to take it and have it...”.11 Today, the situation is remarkably similar. Hall notes that “we want to know others unambiguously: we want to have them, possess them.”12 Here Hall wants to remind us that there is a symbolic union of divinity and humanity in Christ, and that “if it is utterly mysterious, transcendent, it is a mystery concealed beneath its opposite—mere humanity.”13

The Christ, as a unique symbol uniting divinity and humanity, also indicates a tension between these poles. It is often the case, as Hall points out, that divinity gets emphasized at the expense of Christ's humanity. But Hall wants to develop a relational Christology, one which he describes in terms of “representation.” He wants us to see “this unique understanding of God as occurring hiddenly through this genuinely human life.”14 This is because “Jesus is for faith God's representative, that his life is one of a unique relationship with God, a relationship that enables him to relate to us—to humanity—in a manner that is also unique.”15

What does all this mean for Christian ministers as they consider communicating theologically? I think Hall has several suggestions which I wish to connect to the revelation/concealment of Christ as humanity/divinity. To begin, the revelation/concealment found within Christ indicates a loss of absolutism on our part. As Hall writes, “This [Christian] community must try to understand and to articulate the presence and the meaning of one who, by definition, defies the community's power to understand yet who nevertheless (nevertheless!) requires this of his witnesses.”16 Hall continues: “[The Christian community] cannot possess this Truth, but it can and must seek to be oriented toward this Truth.”17 To put this in Christological terms, the revelation/concealment of Christ indicates to us our partial understanding. And this partial understanding drives us toward a humility which requires certain concrete practices.

Hall stresses the need for constant dialogue with the whole tradition in working out our understanding of the faith. He also emphasizes the need to listen to the wider ecumenical community beyond our Christian particularities. These practices provide checks and balances for our own feeble attempts to understand the mysterious and unconquerable reality which is simultaneously revealed to us and concealed from us. Yet I want to stretch this even further. The recognition of our insufficient knowledge and grasp of ultimate reality, although symbolically revealed in the Christ, should drive us to a kind of attitude toward ourselves and toward the wider world. And I believe this attitude is one which can shape the way we, as ministers, engage and communicate with the wider world.

Hall's practical suggestions for dialogue and listening is an important model grounded in, I believe, a recognition made evident to Christians in the symbol of the Christ. Just as Christ, like any symbol, is unable to fully capture the divine—the ultimate—so too it participates in that reality and is able to reveal something of it to us. Yet it is only partial as the transcendent remains unconstrained, not fully knowable, still a mystery. Thus, Christ reveals to us how much more we need revealed. Christ reveals to us an orientation toward the Truth, despite the fact that we are not able to hold on to it and contain it within our grasp. Instead, we are left to talk among ourselves about how best to move closer to this truth in our partial knowledge.

At this juncture, David Tracy's model of conversation is particularly important. Tracy describes conversations as a kind of game. He writes that “It is a game where we learn to give in to the movement required by questions worth exploring. The movement of conversation is questioning itself.”18 Tracy wants to show the way in which conversations with people can become conversations with texts: “We converse with one another. We can also converse with texts.”19 Yet I want to take insights from his model of conversation with texts to show how a particular attitude, informed by the symbol of Christ, can make conversation a valuable and constructive enterprise for Christian ministers.

Tracy notes that “Conversation in its primary form is an exploration of possibilities in the search for truth.”20 To begin a conversation, one must already recognize that truth is to be sought after, that it is not already possessed, in its entirety, by oneself. If the symbol of the Christ informs our attitudes, if it indicates to us that we do not have the fullness of the Truth found in the transcendent infinite which is still mysterious to us, then we will be willing to enter into conversation. For conversation engages the otherness that is all around us, the mystery that surrounds us. Tracy and Hall both recognize the power of the language of “disclosure-concealment.” As Tracy notes: “Such language is designed to challenge claims to full comprehension, to certainty, to mastery and control.”21 And it is a sense of mastery and control which prevents us from truly listening, from being open to the “mutual transformation”22 that conversation needs. We need to remember that it is important “to listen and to wait.”23 Although this is not the entirety of conversation—simply listening, being open, and waiting—it is the attitude which makes conversation possible. It is the attitude which makes genuine interaction a constructive endeavor because it allows for self-transformation. Tracy himself mentions the power and value of Christian dialogue with other religious traditions.24

Thus, we see Tracy extending the reach of dialogue and listening that Hall suggested. A minister, informed by the symbolic power of Christ, takes up a humble attitude before the transcendent mystery of the infinite in order to prepare for authentic, open engagement with diverse traditions and cultures. This is a way of communicating in a “time of many worlds.”25 It is a Christ-informed approach towards worlds which are shrinking together into a complex mix of inter-relations. To avoid conflict, to resist violence, we must learn, as ministers, that Christ offers us a way to approach others which is faithful to our tradition. It is an approach which is open to the disclosure of mystery at any moment with anyone, because we are not in full possession of the Truth—it is still partly concealed.

Our orientation toward Truth, revealed in Christ, orients us toward others within our community of faith, and towards those outside our community of faith. The humility and willingness to listen is what our shrinking world needs as we learn to navigate our future lives in proximity, next to each other. Conversation, authentic communication, can allow us to be transformed by each other, in all our differences and similarities. Yet, as Tracy indicates, conversation is not only about listening and waiting, there is an element of engagement which allows us to speak to our truth, however partial, and participate in the wider discourse between traditions, cultures, and religions. In this witness, our very way of speaking—openly and authentically—is a witness unto itself of our theology rooted in the symbolic power of the Christ. We are opened up by this symbol to the disclosure-concealment of the divine, and, as a result, we can be opened up to the disclosive possibilities of conversations with others as we seek the concealed and mysterious Truth of the infinite.
_______________________________
1Schweiker, William. Theological Ethics and Global Dynamics (Oxford: Blackwell, 2004), xi
2I do not intend to suggest that communicating theological ideas is meaningless or without value. What I hope to draw attention to is the way in which we, as ministers, might communicate to an audience which sometimes stretches beyond the confines of our community of faith. And in so doing, responsibly maintain a relation to our Christian convictions.
3Schweiker, x
4Tillich, Paul. The Dynamics of Faith (New York: Harper and Row, 1957), 1
5Tillich, 41
6Tillich, 43
7Tillich, 44
8Tillich, 45
9Hall, Douglas John. The Cross in our Context (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003), 111
10Hall, 114
11Hall, 121
12Hall, 122
13Hall, 121-2
14Hall, 124
15Hall, 126
16Hall, 117-8
17Hall, 118
18Tracy, David. Plurality and Ambiguity (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1987), 18
19Tracy, 19
20Tracy, 20
21Tracy, 22
22Tracy, 93
23Tracy, 51
24See Tracy, 94
25Schweiker, xi

Wedding Website

2008-01-23T21:44:00.000-05:00

You can check out our wedding website by following the links on this website! We are excited to be planning for this marital celebration of bliss and glee... er... something like that. But in all seriousness, I am very happy and overjoyed to have the opportunity and privilege to marry a caring, smart, and beuatiful woman, and to celebrate that with friends and family!

Engaged!

2007-12-28T11:21:00.000-05:00

Well, I was right. Rebecca did not check my last post before we left, so she did not have any clue that I would propose. And, of course, I did. She did say yes and now we are excitedly planning for our wedding. I trust it will all work out, but already I see the challenges of school, work, and wedding planning--not to mention attending weddings galore (May through August). But the future is radiant with possibility and hope, and I am thankful for that.

In addition, the Hampu household welcomed a new addition: Ethan Douglas Einar Torgersen! He is a beautiful baby boy with two loving parents: Rebecca's sister Rachel and her husband Marc. They are so very happy to be parents and will do a magnificent job raising little Ethan. Oh, if you can't tell, I'm a little bit excited about being an uncle-to-be.

With all that taking place over the last few weeks the holidays have been a very exciting and joyful time. There has been much to celebrate and much to be thankful for. I will do my best to be thankful for the snow in Chicago that Rebecca and I must return to, but no promises. I hope everyone has had a blessed holiday season! Grace and Peace.

Holiday Thoughts

2007-12-17T20:32:00.000-05:00

As the holidays approach, I've found myself with more time to reflect on the past quarter. It has been a wonderful experience thus far, although there have been many ups and downs. I eagerly await the challenges that await in the rest of the academic year, but for now, I am taking the opportunity to relax (and, yes, even get ahead!). I have been reading some for the upcoming New Testament course that will be taught by THE (once unknown to me) Margaret Mitchell. From what I've seen, heard, and witnessed, she is going to be amazing. In addition, the reading list that she has put together is tremendous and speaks to my interests directly.

In doing some of the reading and reflecting afterwards, I have come to realize that I am very interested in notions of hermeneutics. More specifically, I am interested in what we are doing when we are "meaning" and how we go about "meaning." In more general terms, I want to know how our conceptions of "meaning" affect our readings of sacred texts and the culminating implications for daily and ethical life. This is incredibly relevant to my parallel desire concerning parish ministry.

With all these thoughts swirling in my mind, I hope that these next few weeks will prove enlightening as I ponder my academic and professional direction. As great as a paycheck sounds in three years, I am feeling increasingly drawn toward further academic study and the pursuit of PhD work. The question remains, though, with whom? Who will I study with and under? My thoughts, as of now, are with William Schweiker, who, if you do not know, is an intellectual giant. I am excited to get to know and maybe study with him. But even if it isn't him, I rest assured that somebody here in this great big place will turn up with my interests in mind.

Oh, yeah, and I go on a cruise in a few days. That will be nice. And by nice I mean pretty much incredible as I've never done anything like this in my life. So, you could say, I'm stoked. To top it off, my girlfriend has a big surprise coming to her, and since she never reads my blog, I can safely make this hint here and now. If you catch this before Wednesday, December 19th, please don't make her aware of this little confession. I want it to be a surprise. But of course, I want to show her this public information afterwards. Oh her reaction will be priceless. 'Til then!

Experience Made Text: Text Made Experience

2007-12-07T17:29:00.000-05:00

In thinking theologically, we can utilize a vast array of sources for our considerations, speculations, and reflections. In my own life, I have a remembered history: written, oral, and undisclosed; a present circumstance: immediate contact with the external world ; accumulated knowledge; a collection of read material, including sacred Scripture; and thoughts, both expressed and unrevealed. When reflecting on these very categories, I am made aware of the structures which inform my perception of the world and my operation within that world. I believe such a recognition is the starting point for conceiving of “experience” in relation to and a constituent of “text.” Moreover, theological thinking can reflexively draw on this relationship to reorient itself.

The term “experience,” used in our contemporary world in many ways, is filled with layers of meaning. The same phenomena can be observed in our use of “text.” To begin a reflection on experience as it relates to text, we must first identify what “experience” might mean, what “text” might refer to, and how these concepts are inter-related and inter-situated. Doing this in relation to the gospel accounts serves to place such reflections in a theological location within a Christian context. And it is out of this situation that we can self-consciously comment on the happenings of our world.

“Experience” is a term which can be considered an interaction with the world for an individual or group. What makes this term all the more interesting for theological reflection is integrating the notions of time and commonality. Many questions are generated from the conception of time and experience, and the commonality of experience between individuals and groups. If experience has a temporal dimension, what are its limits? Is experience instantaneous or prolonged? Can individuals share similar experience, the same experience, or no experience at all? Can groups do likewise or also not at all? How do the transmitted experiences of others affect or inform my experience? How does my experience affect or inform my group's experience?

Turning to the term “text” makes things more complicated as the term itself appears fraught with ambiguity. Is a “text” a collection of words? Does it refer simply to written or printed signs which suggest something about the world? Does a “text” constitute the world with its signs? Are “texts” only visual? Can music, theater, cinema, conversations, lectures, or silence be “texts”? What, then, is the relationship between a “text” and the world; between a “text” and “experience.”

All of these questions are relevant for theological discourse as it considers human relationship with God, human inter-relationship, God's relationship with the natural world, and human relationship with the natural world. In theological terms, then, the questions become: how do we and how should we interact with the natural world, each other, and God? And, how do these interactions affect our very conceptions of these realities? I believe theological reflection upon the categories of experience and text, especially as they contribute to theological thinking itself, can offer important self-conscious opportunities for the assessment of personal beliefs and practices; and social, cultural and religious happenings.

A particular text, especially one considered “scripture” or writings that should be set apart, can provide a concrete opportunity to see how we relate ourselves to the world and how we conceive of the world relating itself to us. Thus, I will consider the canonical gospel accounts of Jesus of Nazareth to begin an inquiry into “experience” and “text” as it relates to a particular theological perspective: the Christian testimony of Jesus as Christ. Situating myself with a theological text for reflection will, I believe, allow for the reflexive theological thought which I find to be necessary for self-conscious assessment of the world and action within it.

Scriptural Text and Experience

Many religions have special, sacred texts. These are most often written words collected, preserved, and revisited. These texts are most always central, providing a rich source of symbols and formulas for religious practice and thought. From a Jewish point of view, Michael Fishbane writes that “the Bible is a religious teaching, recording moments of meeting between God and man...”1 This understanding of the Bible as scripture can be applied to the Christian canon and the event of Jesus. Thus, this event, presented in the Christian scriptures, is a special moment for religious teaching; a moment filled with the meeting of God and humanity. Dr. Fishbane continues with an important insight: “The received text of Scripture is, as Plato would say, the rescued speech of these meetings.”2

The “rescued speech” is, then, some kind of recording. A way of transmitting the moment of meeting between God and humanity to a new audience, one not initially present. What is being transmitted, it appears, is some kind of experience: a moment in time when humans encounter God in some capacity. This is theologically powerful. It is an engagement with a defining experience in the life of a community which has relation to that experience. For Christians who consider the event of Jesus, their identity is in some way grounded by the experience of the people who presented portions of his life, death, and resurrection in gospel accounts.

But what is the nature of that experience? What is the nature of recalling the experience of Jesus on earth? What is held within the speech that the gospel accounts rescue? Dr. Clark W. Gilpin, in his book A Preface to Theology, writes “the category experience connotes many things. It can refer to what everybody knows or what is intensely private and inaccessible to the public gaze. It may underscore the immediacy of the present by calling attention to a 'defining moment' in the life of a group, or it may instead call to mind the seasoned professional whose 'experience' qualifies her for the job.”3

Text as scripture, as a source of special symbols contributing to the identity of a religious community, seems to presuppose an accessibility. There is something about scripture which members of a community can absorb or ingest. The absorption or ingestion may require guidance and teaching, a hermeneutic peculiar to a particular community; but there is nevertheless a degree of accessibility. Thus, it would seem, the experience recalled by the rescuing speech contains some element which can be commonly shared and understood, especially over time. This is an element which makes theological symbols, as they are presented in scripture, powerful.

And yet, there is something more happening with scripture. There is something which is not accessible in its rescued speech. In some sense, the commonality of experience we presuppose in communication breaks down when we consider the particularity of humanity in the world: the individual nature of human perception located in a layered background of cultural, social, and historical meaning. The meeting of God and humanity in its historical location that scripture attempts to rescue seems, at least partially, inaccessible. There is a tension within scripture: a rescuing and a losing. But it is here that something entirely new emerges.

Experience Made Text

In the act of rendering experience into words, sentences, and scripture “each 'rescued' event is expressed by a dense blend of a particular historical moment and inherited or spontaneous style.”4 Most importantly, there is an inseparable connection between this style—or form—and the historical moment—or content. As a result, “every textual formulation of an event constructs a unique literary reality; to imagine a different formulation of it would be to construct a different reality.”5 The experience is made into text. The process involved transforms the brute content of experience into a literary reality. There is something of this logic inherent in the history of the term “text”:

"An ancient metaphor: thought is a thread, and the raconteur is a spinner of yarns -- but the true storyteller, the poet, is a weaver. The scribes made this old and audible abstraction into a new and visible fact. After long practice, their work took on such an even, flexible texture that they called the written page a textus, which means cloth."6

In this line of reasoning, the portrayal of Jesus in the gospels is a new reality woven together from experiences of his followers. Whether the authors had direct experience of Jesus' life, simply collected oral accounts and disparate written testimonies, or some combination of these; the experience which gave rise to the construction of the text has been transformed by the text into a new literary reality. This is an emergent quality inherent in conceptualizing and expressing our interaction with the world. Sacred scripture as text, then, presents its religious communities with a new reality.

Text Made Experience

This new reality is a world; a world within the text. As such, it can be “experienced.” Here we see one aspect of the power of text, and, thus, one aspect of the power of scripture. Scriptural texts present their readers with an opportunity for a new experience. This experience takes place within a literary world of characters, values, events, behaviors, and objects which are imbued with peculiar meanings. This is a world which a community can enter into, whether in separate locations over time or when assembled together. The community seems to share something of the experience which gave rise to the literary world, but this is layered with the new reality presented in the text itself.

Thus, scripture comes alive through this new experience. Scripture as text not only presents an interpretation of the world, but presents itself for interpretation. Dr. Fishbane writes “As a literary artifact, the words of the Bible require an interpreter for renewed life... For it is the reader who performs the text in his mind, lingers in its silences and suggestions, and so serves as its midwife and voice.”7 The text is voiced by its reader, in mind and out loud, and is experienced by its reader. There is, as a result, a layering of experience mediated by layers of interpretation.

In addition, the emergent literary reality of the text, which presents itself to be newly experienced, in some sense, has a constancy. This constancy is the solidification of the content in a particular formulation: The text as such. Yet, there is the revisitation of the text by the reader. In this process of revisitation, the text is imbued with new life through the accumulation of a broader network of meanings. These are produced in the time between readings with the addition of outside interactions with the world. Thus, the life of Jesus presented in the gospel accounts are living sources for experience, capable of new life in each new reading; rediscovered, reconsidered, and reapplied. In my own autobiographical theological reflections, I noted that “My spiritual story is not a closed remnant of the past. It is a living rough draft: edited in each moment; re-layered by each new experience; reshaped by new people, old friends, and anonymous strangers; re-reflected, re-remembered, and re-lived; endlessly rewritten, reworked, and rediscovered.”8 It is this recognition of newness in a text which brings it to life.

However, sacred scriptures are not often changed, at least to the degree that autobiographical reflections are rewritten and reconfigured over a life time. Thus, when only this material constancy is considered there is a danger in thinking that scripture is “dead,” unable to be read again without finding something new. Yet, when we recognize that just as experience is transformed by the literary world where it is expressed, so too the literary world is re-entered by its reader with the accumulation of meanings gained from the compilation of experiences over time. Consequently, scripture is made alive by the passing time. Although human life seems to move endlessly toward death, texts have the peculiar potential to live into the future with abundant life.

Through this awareness, theology can reflexively consider its own constructiveness by noting the interactive production between text and experience which moves from experience to text, text to experience, and experience to new experience. Theology, as it is grounded in the symbolic universe of sacred texts, can, in a way, reorient itself by reapproaching a central text and rearticulating a new cultural, social, or religious direction through the reinterpretation and reuse of the sacred text. The self-awareness necessary for this conscious reorientation takes place within the reflective practice of encountering “text” and “experience.”

Within the re-experience of scripture the reinterpretation of the gospel accounts of Jesus as Christ occur, yet the theologian must both recognize that this is happening and consider the implications of this constructive process. Foreseeing the consequences of these theological reformulations of Jesus as Christ is an integral component to theological responsibility. And through this scripture not only lives, but, in a way, gives new life to a culture, society, and religious community. This, then, is yet another powerful result of scripture as text. For where there is text, there is experience, where there is experience there is interpretation, and where there is self-recognized interpretation, there is the possibility for new interpretations to carry out transformation.
------------------------------------------------
1Michael Fishbane. Text and Texture: A literary reading of selected texts. (Oxford: Oneworld Publications, 1998), xi.
2Fishbane, xi
3Clark Gilpin. A Preface to Theology. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), 173.
4Fishbane, xi.
5Fishbane, xi.
6Robert Bringhurst. The Elements of Typographical Style. (Vancouver: Hartley and Marks Publishers, 2002). Quoted in Doug Harper. “Text.” Online Etymology Dictionary. November 2001. (6 December 2007).
7Fishbane, xi – xii.
8This quotation was taken from an autobiographical reflection presented in written and oral form to the 1st year Master of Divinity Colloquium at the University of Chicago, September 2007.

Pre-Reflections on Text and Experience

2007-11-15T00:20:00.000-05:00

At the end of this quarter, my first quarter of divinity school, I will be asked to communicate my thoughts on the relationship between text and experience. Specifically, as I engage in theological thinking, I am asking myself how experience, writing, and thinking in terms of theology inter-relate, inter-situate, and inter-change. All of this is profoundly challenging, and yet, curiously provocative.

I thought it might be best to pre-reflect on text and experience. These pre-reflections are "pre" in the sense that they are my initial attempts to capture--in words--how I understand that interrelationship of text and experience, and "reflections" in the sense that I am looking again or looking anew on these categories.

I have found writing to be incredibly therapeutic. Not simply in the cathartic sense, but in the formative one. Writing, for me, is an opportunity to solidify my thoughts. However, the solidification is not one of permanence, but of reference. Only when I solidify my thoughts can I come to terms with myself: I can affirm or resist my initial descriptions and conceptions. This is an interesting process for several reasons:

First, the very act of writing shapes previous experience and current thought in unique ways. It takes content and molds it in the form of novel words, phrases, paragraphs, and entire narratives or texts. In a sense, I admit, this is a modification of experience. It is the act of selecting from experience certain things for certain purposes which then re-impose themselves on the unselected material.

Second, the act of re-reading one's writing is an opportunity for revision; literally a seeing again. We can choose to see that experience through the lens of that writing or resist that writing altogether for a better, fuller, or alternative formulation.

Third, the process of (re)formulating experience is an act of emergence. It is the emergence of ideas which might otherwise not exist. The ideas are caught up in the words themselves, and it is only in working and reworking these words that such ideas can ever be embraced or denied.

Finally, the interplay between vision and revision, writing and rewriting is a dialogical trajectory which builds upon itself. It is dialogue with oneself while simultaneously constructing oneself.

Thus, much of my writing is not permanent assertion--although it may initially be an assertion--but reference. It is a point of reference which I can revisit and reassess. But it is a necessary starting point from which to continue and build. I believe that with my time spent at the university I will be wrestling with the theological process of self-formation. I hope that what I construct will be helpful and meaningful for others as they journey alongside me.

First Quarter Reflections

2007-11-09T11:26:00.000-05:00

The first quarter has flown by so quickly. Midterms have come and gone. Papers are being formulated for finals, and books are coming to completion (by coming to completion I mean I am scrambling to catch up on all the readings which I have not done...). Amidst the fury of the finale, I must say that life here is good. Good people, good food, good conversations, good classes, and good sleep (I think that has been the most helpful lately).

Good People:
I have had the wonderful opportunity to meet, learn about, and come to know many, many good people. People with good hearts, sharp minds, and strong wills. People who care for the oppressed, down-trodden, and marginalized in theory, and, as it seems, in practice. People who want to devote themselves to justice and the up-building of those around them. I have met social workers, future church leaders, future public-policy makers, and the probable campaign manager of our next generation politician. Whatsmore, it appears that these whom I have met are not just good people presently, but will continue to be so. For that I am thankful to be a part of such a community.

Good Food:
My dad recently came to Chicago and he was so kind as to take Rebecca and I out to eat. We visited a Brazilian resturaunt downtown, Fogo-de-Chao, which "made me want to be a better person." It was nice to change up my diet from canned soups and pb&j sandwiches to fresh fruit, vegetables and the most incredible selection of meats. It was a beautiful experience. Truly. I don't normally name my eating experiences "Beautiful"... but this definately deserves that description. The whole dining experience made me so appreciative to be in the city of Chicago where such opportunities are possible (although more for the financially privileged). Chicago is a cool place with cool stuff--good food being one such cool thing.

Good Conversations:
Whether its public church (at times) or the DDH basement, there are wonderful conversations which take place here at uChicago. Reflections on identity, God, meaning, purpose, freedom, destiny, culture, social responsibility, economics, and sports, along with the occasional silliness of sarcastic exchanges, all make the experience here so rich. I am fortunate to be in dialogue with a variety of different perspectives, backgrounds, theologies, ethnicities, concerns, and lives. There is much to discover, much to appreciate, and, as always, much to learn.

Good Classes:
Although some may disagree, I have found all my classes (for the most part) intellectually engaging. Public Church has reshaped my approach to ministry, Hebrew Bible has amplified my attention to the detail and constructedness of the Christian "1st Testament", Concepts of Religion in Modern Theology has introduced me to a number of new thinkers with provocative perspectives, and Greek is just plain cool. I think I love language. All this to say, I'm looking forward to next quarter when I can have a new smattering of classes to enjoy.

Good Sleep:
Thank goodness for good sleep. I don't know what I would do without it. Of course, its not good sleep all the time, but its good sleep enough to keep me going. I must say, I have yet to turn on my heater, which makes my room frigid as the season moves toward winter. But, the cozy comfort of my bed is a warm haven for deep sleep. It reminds me of growing up in Oregon. No heating except for a wood stove (which we huddled around to thaw out when we woke up in the dead of winter). Good memories. Good sleep.

Spiritual Chapter

2007-10-25T14:14:00.000-04:00

My spiritual story is defined by vulnerability. It is a story of vulnerability.

My spiritual story is not a closed remnant of the past. It is a living rough draft: edited in each moment; re-layered by each new experience; reshaped by new people, old friends, and anonymous strangers; re-reflected, re-remembered, and re-lived; endlessly rewritten, reworked, and rediscovered.

This is one chapter in a spiritual story of vulnerability. My story of vulnerability is translated through the peculiar and important voices of each chapter, and it is in this particular chapter that I found the virtuous voice of humility. Against such a backdrop I recall moments of becoming, theological re-birthing, and religious reorientation.

Becoming

I am vulnerable. But I haven't always been aware of my vulnerability.
As a youngster growing up in Oregon I clung closely to my religious upbringing and “moral center.” A member of the Nazarene Church, my religiosity, faith, and morality grounded my confidence and motivated my movements. I didn't swear, I didn't run in church, I didn't celebrate Halloween, I always played nice (okay not always), and I learned from the bible through Sunday school, bible quizzing, memory verses, children's church, and family devotionals.

Just as “learning the bible” was important, so was learning. I was a good kid, and I did what good kids do: excel in school. Of course, as I found out, the whole learning process is not limited to absorbing the “facts” of the external world. The learning process may move us to engage ourselves, and to become, self-consciously, the subject of our own understanding. As my learning turned inward, my vulnerability emerged: What if the religion I practice, the faith I affirm, and the world as I understand it could be otherwise? My first answer: it can't be otherwise, so find reasons why everything is as you see it.

As a “high schooler” in Kentucky I was constantly in pursuit of justification for the Christian (specifically my Christian) way of life, way of thinking, and way of reading the bible. I felt that “knowing God” meant knowing God. I thought that reading the NIV student bible, through a few selected New Testament passages, was the only correct way to read the bible. And thus, from my proper reading of the bible, I recognized, logically, that there was a very limited way to correctly live. In all this, there was an underlying desire for total assurance to guarantee that my faith was not delusional, stupid, or ridiculous. I embarked on a Cartesian-like quest for spiritual validity. I wanted a firm, solid, tremorless ground for my faith to build a life.

It was in looking for a tremorless ground that I experienced an earthquake. College presented all kinds of challenges to my thinking, both religiously and otherwise. Hearing new theological perspectives, engaging alternative readings of the biblical text, and, most importantly, questioning the very assumptions which grounded my faith, denominational affiliation, and life proved—at least for a time—to be a faith crisis.

I was immersed in a chaotic course of questioning which drew me deeper into unsettling insecurity about the contingencies of my existence, choices, and cultural location. I began to sense that I might have been wrong, that I might not have it all together, and that maybe, just maybe, there were other ways of thinking, reading, and doing which carried purpose, meaning, and truth. At the core of my crisis dwelt the most problematic thought: What if the God I've “known”, the God I've enjoyed, the God I've lived for does not exist as I've understood it? What if God doesn't exist at all? What if Christianity is an invalid, abusive system of corruption and greed which inculcates blind followers toward meaningless existence? This was a bad thing: an earth-shaking, ground-rocking crisis. This was my crisis of faith.

If the world isn't just as I've thought it to be, just as I've known it to be, just as securely in my grasp as I've secretly wanted it to be, then what is this world and this “God”? What if the religion I practice, the faith I affirm, and the world as I understand it could be otherwise? My second answer: it must be otherwise.

I entertained thoughts of atheism, and, for a while, felt numb enough to consider myself “okay” with the world around me. But my vulnerability wasn't solved. I still had reasons to think God could exist, or that my now old “faith” might have had some valid grounding. It was amidst this endless questioning and reconsidering that I came to a sudden and transformative realization. Maybe my problem is not with the content of my questions or doubts, but with questioning and doubting itself.

Up until that point, I hadn't really admitted the possibility of being wrong. Sure, we all say “yeah, I could be wrong” but I hadn't really admitted it. I may have admitted being wrong at particular instances in the past. But I definitely hadn't admitted the possibility that in everything I do, think, or say, I might be wrong. I hadn't admitted my vulnerability. I hadn't entertained the possibility of fallibility authentically, truthfully... existentially.

Theological Re-birthing

I am vulnerable. But I haven't always been aware of its life-affirming power.
In a moment of authenticity and truthfulness, my vulnerability transformed itself into humility. The insecurity and insufficiency of my life became the groundwork for the meaning and direction which I applied to life's events. Christianity, religion, and faith no longer concerned me in terms of absolute epistemic justification. Instead, my faith became a transparent resting place before God. As a finite, limited, unsure person I knelt before the alter of sufficiency and declared my own lack thereof.

I finally admitted that I could be wrong about my faith, my religion, and my encounter with the world, but despite that admission I affirmed my faith, my Christian heritage, and my interaction with the world nonetheless. I found the courage to affirm myself—to live—in spite of my insecurity, vulnerability, and limitedness.

The result was a humble faith, ever aware of fallibility and insufficiency, but willing to push forward in spite of such difficult circumstances. This new courage was powerful. And my life took on renewed purpose as a Christian living with uncertainty.

Religious Re-orientation

I am vulnerable. And I must live that way.

He has told you, O man, what is good;
And what does the LORD require of you
But to do justice, and to love kindness,
And to walk humbly with your God?
--Micah 6:8

Through a succession of strange events I came across a Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) congregation where, eventually, I would be asked to pastor. Knowing full well that they recognized my lack of training, absence of previous experience, and young age, I agreed. In the most humbling experience of my life, I discovered the beauty of sharing my vulnerability with others. My vulnerability was not something I ran from, but something I embraced with others. It was in our vulnerability, admitted before each other, that I was able to connect and commune with a congregation of faithful men and women in such a way as I had never experienced before. It was in this communion that I truly shared myself, in all my weakness, with those around me. In so doing, I walked alongside a woman going through a traumatic divorce, a middle-aged man battling a life of drug-abuse and family hardship, a young girl leaving behind her family to chase academic pursuits, and a family concerned for the life-decisions of their daughter. It was only out of my humility, vulnerability, and weakness that I could approach these people, their concerns, and struggle with them to search for answers.

It was in this community of faith that I discovered a desire to pursue ministry: not out of strength but out of weakness. Out of my humility came a direction and path that I had previously never considered for myself but which made itself readily apparent to me. And it is here, pursuing that path, that I find myself reflecting, reconsidering, and remembering a life that resisted vulnerability only to find peace within it. My hope is that this vulnerability, manifested as humility in all my pursuits, would be a source of courage and strength as I continue to live out my spiritual story, chapter by chapter.

Faith, Justice, and Hands

2007-10-18T20:18:00.000-04:00

Luke 18: 1 – 8

I don't have many opportunities to watch movies much these days, but I made some time recently to watch “Hotel Rwanda.” Several people had recommended this particular movie to me, and in my days at Centre College I overheard the conversation of a student, from Rwanda, who had experienced and survived the genocidal war that killed hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children. So, being ignorant of that conflict, I thought this movie might provide a little more than a night's worth of entertainment; it did.

There was one specific moment in the movie when I felt a flood of emotions cascading upon me: anger, frustration, shame, fear, and yet, through it all, hope.

It was a moment when the main character, played by Don Cheadle, thanks a television journalist for shooting footage of the atrocities afflicting the Rwandan people; images recording piles of bodies, machete massacres, and bloodied children:

Paul Rusesabagina: I am glad that you have shot this footage and that the world will see it. It is the only way we have a chance that people might intervene.
Jack: Yeah and if no one intervenes, is it still a good thing to show?
Paul Rusesabagina: How can they not intervene when they witness such atrocities?
Jack: I think if people see this footage they'll say, "oh my God that's horrible," and then go on eating their dinners.

I've been that person, casually acknowledging the injustices, brutalities, and afflictions that fill the world around me. I've been that person. I've ignored the calls for help and the shouts for mercy. I've been that person who went on eating dinner, satisfied and comfortable with my life, paying little to no attention toward the people who are suffering around me. I've been that person. Maybe, this morning, you have been that person too.

Or, maybe, you have been a person afflicted and crying out for help. Maybe you have been the recipient of the injustice in our world and cried out for God's mercy. This morning, I want to suggest that our scripture speaks both to the “comfortable” and the “uncomfortable”; to the afflicted and to those who can meet their cry for help. And through this I ask that we look for a dimension of our faith we may have forgotten, lost, or not yet discovered.

In our scripture today Jesus offers us a parable, which has already been contextualized for us: “Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not lose heart.” From the very beginning we are given a lens by which to understand this story. It is a way to see ourselves, to find encouragement, and to embrace hope.

Jesus continues with a parable about a marginalized member of society: a widow. With no husband for support and no right to inherit the husband's estate, widows were vulnerable, needy members of society. And it is no coincidence that Luke's gospel continuously references the plight and circumstances of widows, or that the early church ministered specifically to widows. I suggest to you this morning that our widow stands in place of the marginalized, the vulnerable, the needy, the forgotten members of our society, of any society.

In our parable, Jesus narrates the endless requests of a widow demanding justice from a judge. Our judge had no reverence for God, nor any respect for people (v. 2). This judge, characterized as anything but impartial, does not grant the request of the widow. Maybe he was waiting for a bribe. Maybe he was wanting to consider the power and status of the unnamed opponent. Regardless, this judge would not hear her cry for justice. And yet, our widow persists. She does not give up, she does not cease. And, finally, the unjust judge relents (v. 5). The unjust judge who eventually hears the cry of justice and submits to it is immediately contrasted with God: the swift benefactor of justice (v.8). We are made aware that God, unlike the unjust judge, acts quickly and establishes justice for the afflicted. Seen in light of verse 1 of Luke's 18th chapter, we recognize the importance of continual, ceaseless prayer, ever-hopeful for the justice of God.

And yet, this is not the whole story; it is not a simple reminder for the afflicted to pray, for the tormented to cry out to God. The final words of our parable this morning ask us a poignant question: “when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” Well, would he? Would the Son of Man find a faith where the afflicted take hope in God's justice and never stop crying out in prayer? Would the Son of Man find a faith which seeks out those prayers, which listens to the voices crying out?

In our parable this morning, I want to suggest that many of us may have been the widow, marginalized and afflicted, tormented and forgotten. But I also want to suggest that we are the justice of God, the physical hands of God's divine justice liberating the oppressed, welcoming the marginalized, comforting the afflicted, remembering the forgotten.

Our parable this morning speaks to the “comfortable” because it calls us out of our comfort toward action; toward service; specifically, toward justice.

I'm reminded of Chapter 8 verse 6 of Micah which asks: “And what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” (6:8)

Our parable this morning speaks to the “uncomfortable” because it reminds us to be persistent in our prayer, persistent in our crying out, persistent in our hope for the justice of God and God's comforting presence.

Our parable this morning speaks to us all because it not only encourages us to be persistent in our prayers and seek after God's comfort in our lives, but it also informs our faith. It informs our faith of the uncomfortable call to live out God's justice, to be the hands of God's justice.

I'm reminded of the hands of a southern farmer who was a tireless member of my last congregation. He was a man whose hands were rugged and tough, dirtied and soiled. He was a man whose hands told a story about his life; a man whose hands revealed his hard-working, laborsome efforts to provide food for his family, help for his neighbors, and services for his church. A man whose hands never quit.

When the Son of Man returns will he find faith on earth? I believe he will. Because I believe in the “hands of working people”... in the crusted, scarred, filthy, calloused hands of God's people, God's servants. I believe in your hands, I believe in my hands. And although our hands may not be perfect, I believe our hands can be God's justice.

I hope that when we see the atrocities of the world around us, that we will not haphazardly take note of yet another “terrible thing” and then, turning our back, go on with dinner, go on with our comfortable lives. I hope that tragedy effects us. That God's justice infects us. To borrow a phrase from David Vargas, the Disciple's President of the Department of Overseas Ministry, I hope that we are “contaminated with a passion” for God's mission, purpose and justice in our immediate world, and the world at large. I must admit that in doing this, there is not one “cookie-cutter” answer. We have the freedom to live out our passion, our “infection”, our “contamination” creatively, faithfully, uniquely. We can find a ministry in this church, in the regional church, or in the national church. Or, we can search for a ministry outside this church.

But I encourage you to find the place where your passion and God's passion converge. I believe that in doing this, in becoming and being the hands of God to the world around us, that we also receive God's healing hands upon our own lives.

I think the lyrics of the following song speak profoundly (hold paper):

I guess silence is not an option at this stage
I've been comfortable too long now, turn the page
I see shadows all around meBut to me it's proof of Your light

Show yourself to me, so I can show you to them
Give me what it takes to let me go
There's a world out there that's dyin'

Father please forgive them
For they know not what they do
Father won't You show me how
To have working man hands

You said if you love me you'll obey me, I've wondered why
You gave Your life for those around me, so should I
God forbid that I should stand before
YouOn that day, with unblemished hands

O God...
May our hands be Your hands of Justice.
May our hands be clasped in ceaseless prayer.
Amen.

Sadaam just needed his Islamic Bible...

2007-09-28T16:30:00.000-04:00

I received an e-mail recently which not only shocked me with its “biblical geography”, but with the very revealing perspective many citizens of our country believe we have in the world (see the interpretive move with the symbol of the “eagle” at the end of the e-mail). This “chain mail” provides ample material for all sorts of reflections. Enjoy!

VERY INTERESTING-
1. The Garden of Eden was in Iraq
2. Mesopotamia, which is now Iraq, was the cradle of civilization!
3. Noah built the ark in Iraq
4. The Tower of Babel was in Iraq
5. Abraham was from Ur, which is in Southern Iraq !
6. Isaac ' s wife Rebekah is from Nahor, which is in Iraq !
7. Jacob met Rachel in Iraq
8. Jonah preached in Nineveh - which is in Iraq
9. Assyria, which is in Iraq, conquered the ten tribes of Israel
10. Amos cried out in Iraq !
11 Babylon , which is in Iraq , destroyed Jerusalem
12. Daniel was in the lion ' s den in Iraq !
13. The three Hebrew children were in the fire in Iraq (Jesus had been in Iraq also as the fourth person in the Fiery Furnace!)
14. Belshazzar, the King of Babylon saw the 'writing on the wall' in Iraq
15. Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon, carried the Jews captive into Iraq
16. Ezekiel preached in Iraq ..
17. The wise men were from Iraq
18. Peter preached in Iraq
19. The 'Empire of Man' described in Revelation is called Babylon , which was a city in Iraq!
And you have probably seen this one: Israel is the nation most often mentioned in the Bible.

But do you know which nation is second?
It is Iraq !

However, that is not the name that is used in the Bible.
The names used in the Bible are Babylon , Land of Shinar, and Mesopotamia . The word Me sopotamia means between the two rivers, more exactly between the Tigris
And Euphrates Rivers ..

The name Iraq , means country with deep roots.

Indeed Iraq is a country with deep roots and is a very significant country in the Bible.
No other nation, except Israel , has more history and prophecy associated with it than Iraq

And also, This is something to think about: Since America is typically represented by an eagle.
Saddam should have read up on his Muslim passages...

The following verse is from the Koran, (the Islamic Bible)

Koran ( 9:11 ) - For it is written that a son of Arabia would awaken a fearsome Eagle. The wrath of the Eagle would be felt throughout the lands of Allah and lo, while some of the people trembled in despair still more rejoiced; for the wrath of the Eagle cleansed the lands of Allah;
And there was peace.

(Note the verse number!) Hmmmmmmm?!

This is a ribbon for soldiers fighting in Iraq
Pass it on to everyone and pray.

Pulpit, Power, and Purpose

2007-09-19T19:20:00.000-04:00

A recent conference held at the University of Chicago considered the relationship of Pulpit and Classroom in terms of advocacy. The conversations were oriented around the ethics of "advocating" in a religious and/or academic setting. Thought-provoking, challenging, and inspiring, the conference furnished ample material for reflection. I hope that my thoughts prove interesting, useful, and/or helpful for you.

The keynote address was offered by Dr. Franklin Gamwell, who provided a theoretical framework in which to reflect on the issues being considered. Dr. Gamwell began by carefully and narrowly defining religious communities and academic communities. Specifically, he built his definitions around the engagement of the "original" human question: "What makes human life ultimately worth living?" Religious communities, he proposed, give answers to this question. Academic communities, on the other hand, do not assert an answer or any answer, but provide a setting for critical reflections on proposed answers in order to assess the truth of such claims. In religious communities, certain things are assumed and then used to provide answers to the ultimate human question. But in academic communities, nothing can be assumed. Everything must remain open to question and argumentation. This openness to question and argumentation is a parameter for "discourse": the suspension of beliefs to examine the truth-hood of a belief.

Narrowing the focus, Gamwell suggested that Christians cultivate authenticity (living with the true Christian answer to the human question) through acting on belief in Jesus the Christ. In relation to Christian belief, academic discourse suspends belief to determine the validity of the Christian answer to the original human question. Theology, then, as a subset of academic discourse, critically reflects on Christian claims toward the original, ultimate human question.

Given this framework, we can begin to ask important ethical questions. What is the role of the preacher (a member of a religious community)? And what is the role of the teacher (a member of an academic community)? Provided the above definitions, how are preachers to preach and teachers to teach? What ethical considerations guide the appropriate use of speech when thinking on what to say and how to say it? Are specific topics inappropriate for certain settings?

Gamwell suggested that claims, which are announced and not discussed or argued, are not, in fact, "discourse." Thus, advocating through claims, which are not eligible for discussion or critique, is not appropriate for the academic setting. In contrast, such claims may be acceptable in the religious setting (i.e. from the pulpit) where "complete discourse" may not be suitable.

This is not to say that "answers" to the human question cannot be provided in the academic setting, but that they must be bound by discourse and not simply asserted. Whatsmore, religious settings can offer opportunities for discourse, but that such discourse is difficult (if not impossible) in a "preaching setting" where there is only one voice (that of the preacher).

Dr. Gamwell's presentation and the subsequent discussions were fuel for thought as I considered my own preaching, my own teaching, and my own future. The questions “how did I preach?” and “how will I preach?” became the question “how should I preach?” In my year at Perryville Christian Church, I intended and attempted to espouse a conversational approach to preaching. Specifically, I hoped to spark discussion, dissension, and constructive consideration. Many times I was unsuccessful, but on a few occasions I found success in my attempts. Those moments of discussion and dissension were not only fruitful, but healthy for the congregation, myself, and the community.

Now, after attending the conference, I might couch my approach to preaching in new terms: discursive homiletics. Instead of accepting the dichotomy between preaching with claims (religious community) and withholding assent for deliberation of claims (academic community), why not (attempt to) bridge the gap between academy and religion through preaching with teaching in mind. In other words, instead of offering a sermon that is creatively interpreted truth, exempt from question or communal consideration, why not offer the sermon as the starting point for discussion, question, dissension, debate, and reflection?

The problem with this approach is the differing church structures within the Christian faith. Polity most definitely changes how we consider preaching. For me, a member of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), the “priesthood of all believers”, congregational autonomy, resistance to creeds, and a heritage of rational inquiry make a discursive homiletic possible. However, a church polity characterized by strict hierarchies and creedal affirmations complicate the matter.

As a Disciples preacher, I can offer my sermon as “presentation.” I can responsibly provide, within my sermon, my assumptions and hermeneutical framework. After exposing my assumptions and interpretive lens, I can also point to, describe, or offer complementary, competing, or contradicting perspectives about the content of my sermon. I can ask the congregation (rhetorically, of course) to follow my thinking down a particular road while admitting and even describing of other paths.

But for more hierarchical communities of faith, the clergy may, in practice, be forced into “re-presentation”; namely, re-presenting what has already been presented as true for the denomination or religious community as a whole. The priest, minister, or pastor may be communicating creatively what is asserted (claimed) hierarchically. There is no room (or at least much less room) for communal conversation regarding elements of faith, practice, and dogma. As a result, discursive homiletics is not (as) possible.

I believe there may be (or, in fact, are) creative ways to resolve this difficulty within more strictly structured churches, but I feel the freedom of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) provides an advantage for developing and practicing a type of preaching which will (I believe) effectively engage a post-modern culture interested in conversation rather than firm assertion. The growth of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) may depend on a discursive homiletic seeking an active, responsive mind and not simply a listening ear. I have come to find in my engagement with unchurched individuals, religiously disenfranchised individuals, congregants, youth, and new church movements that more and more people are desiring religious leaders who will preach “with” rather than preach “at”. Already I have seen churches (and not just Disciple Churches) make steps in the direction of “presentation,” and I hope that such a trajectory will be investigated, tested, and pursued.

The pulpit is a place of great power. It is a space which can be used to shape individual people, congregations, entire communities, and the world. Making room within that space for conversation may amplify the power the pulpit possesses, and it may intensify the transformation catalyzed by the Christian message.

Open Theism

2007-09-04T16:30:00.000-04:00

There is a theological perspective, grounded in "free-will" thinking and augmented by a particular philosophy of time, which argues for a new understanding of God's foreknowledge.

(1) The classical view of God asserts that God is omniscient (or, all-knowing). To be omniscient is understood to mean that all things that exist can be known. What, then, exists that can be known? Typically, all actions and events-past, present, and future-are within the scope of God's knowledge. However, this presupposes that the future has, in some sense, already happened (a glorified "past" in the mind of God). But why must future events and actions already exist? The open theist is led to ask: How can future events, actions, and decisions already be objects of God's knowledge?

Open theists would argue that the future is not already determined; it has not already "happened" so to speak. The future, being OPEN to what WILL happen, is not within the scope of God's knowledge (omniscience). This is not because God DOES NOT know, but because the future is empty and has nothing which can be known. This open view of the future allows for God to remain omniscient, although augmenting what is possible for God to know. The future is no longer an object of God's knowledge simply because it is no longer concrete; no longer an object.

This shift in the understanding of omniscience changes how we concieve of God. But not entirely.

(2) The new "omniscience" does not hinder God's Will or God's Plan for human history. For open theists, God can still steer the course of human history toward a divine end which culminates in the triumph of God's goodness over the forces of evil and death. This is done not through absolute control, for God does not know and therefore does not absolutely control human decision, but through intimate present knowledge and unlimited reaction.

God, still omniscient, thoroughly knows the present. God knows all of the individual decisions that a person may or may not make, and has a specific reaction for each of those decisions (when they come about) which will ultimately lead to God's end. Thus, divine providence has not been evacuated from the picture, only modified.

(3) This view is not abstractly detached from the biblical text. According to open theists, the texts speak of a collective destiny which is still determined by God, but remains open to individual decisions, beliefs, and actions. This must be true, says the open theist, because moral decisions are punishable, which presupposes the freedom to choose between what is right and what is wrong. For this to occur, the future must not be closed, but open to the possibility of choice.

In other words, God knows where history will go, just not how, because that is up to us. In this view, there is no longer a God which makes humans passive recipients of what happens, but active agents of what will come about. And this, says the open theist, is worth understanding.

The Activity of Change

2007-08-23T14:56:00.001-04:00

Before I left for the city of Chicago, my brother and I had a discussion about the limitations of consciousness. We both agreed that space and time are very apparent to us, but my brother argued that perception/consciousness could occur outside the boundaries of space-time. For him, it was possible to exist in space and percieve reality without the constraint of time. I argued (probably not well) for the impossibility of perception/consciousness without the constraint of space OR time. For me, both are fundamental to conscious existence; they are the framework for consciousness.

For me, such a realization--that we are active in creating the world we percieve due to our "framework of perception"--leads us to important theological, philosophical, and ethical projects. More specifically, when we become aware of our conscious activity in the world, it becomes evermore important to responsibly develop benevolent and meaningful belief structures which lend themselves to mutual up-building. It is easy to sit back and passively accept a "false world", one which we think asserts itself upon us. But I think we are agreeing to see the world this way; an active acceptance cloaked in passivity. The world isn't necessarily this way. The world can be different, and we can be a part of making that change.

I think this is most notable in expressions like "that's just the way it is" or "that's just the way I am." These expressions resist the activity which can lead to change. Although not all change is necessarily good, good change only results from betterment, and betterment can only be brought about by activity. The psychological implications of seeing yourself in an active world are far reaching because they require us to do, think, and say. We can no longer sit back and feel good about how things "must be." Instead we can see the world as a place that can be better; a place that can change. This is because we can be better; we can change.

"Liberal" and "Conservative"

2007-08-21T13:27:00.000-04:00

I was speaking with a friend this week and during our conversation he informed me that a mutual acquaintance of ours had labeled me a "liberal." For those of you who do not know me personally, I strongly resist labels, especially the nomenclature of political idealogy. So, of course, I was a little disappointed to be pigeonholed so readily by someone who truly doesn't know my theological or political viewpoints. With that said, he was right.

After reflecting for a while I realized that I am a "liberal"... compared to him (at least I think). We often use these descriptive terms so absolutely to characterize ourselves and others, but I believe they tend to be more relative than we allow. For example, I was a substitute at Perryville Elementary this past school year and recieved the opportunity to play with third and fourth graders at recess. I shot basketball with them, chased many of them in fun, and went down the slides. While playing, many of the children called me "fast." I could run faster than them, and maybe faster than other people they had watched run. But--placing that ego-building compliment aside for a moment--am I fast?

As a football player, I was not fast. I wasn't slow either (although in high school I did have a coach inform me that he watched me score "the slowest touchdown" he had ever seen). I would consider myself of average speed. Now compared to some, specifically linemen, I was pretty fast. But compared to others, most notably Centre College's Adam Clark and Adam Blandford (who were exceptionally speedy), I was rather slow. So what am I? Slow? Fast? Well, I guess it all comes down to your frame of reference. Maybe the schoolkids were right: I am fast... compared to them.

The truth is terms like "conservative" and "liberal" are both very relative. They are descriptors which do not indicate the actual gradation of "conservative" or "liberal". For instance, what exactly is between a conservative and a liberal? Are these people neither conservative nor liberal? Or are they a convergence of the two, both liberal and conservative? Some may think one can't exist without falling neatly into one of the two categories. In contrast to this, I think we are all liberal, and we are all conservative. How much of each makes up our present perspective.

Whatsmore, our perspectives change over time. We might be a liberal liberal as a college student, and swing to be a liberal conservative after three kids and a mortgage (notice how "liberal" and "conservative" are both nouns and adjectives). It might not be fair to characterize anyone as a liberal or a conservative unless we are willing to acknowledge the historical deviations of that person's past and the potential changes of their future. I think it would be a good-faith gesture to recognize the descriptors "liberal" and "conservative" as being uniquely present-tense.

So, yes, I am a liberal. I am also a conservative. I am the individual who is both liberal and conservative, and if you want to know how that mixture is currently balanced, ask me. Labels are too often used for dismissals or uncritical support. I hope you do neither with me or anyone else. Instead, I hope you ask what people think, talk with people about their ideas and concerns, and work to make a better future for all of us. I don't care if you are "liberal" or "conservative." Because its the people who make this world better, not the names we give them.

Chicago!

2007-08-20T14:51:00.000-04:00

Well, I've made it to Chicago, a city of many names which include the Windy City, Chi-town, and the Second City (just to name a few). I was welcomed by the short runway of Midway and a dreary drizzle of rain. Although the weather seemed unconcerned with my arrival, I still feel very excited to be in a city filled with new possibilities and continual challenges. I believe school will be daunting, rigorous, and rewarding; and city life will be large, loud, dangerous, and fun. Through all of this, I look forward to connecting with an academic and religious community here at the divinity school and throughout the city.

My immediate concerns are to finish unpacking, find a close banking site, figure out the mass transit system, and then think about visiting churches.

But for now, I intend to eat. Until next time, Grace and Peace.

August Letter 2007

2007-08-18T10:17:00.001-04:00

It is difficult to come to terms with this my last letter to you. Eleven months have moved by so quickly. I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for your kindness, gentleness, encouragement, involvement, and support in my development and learning process as your pastor. I came with no credentials, but I leave with lasting memories, important lessons, and a true family of faith. I love you all and hope the best for you as individuals and as a community of faith. I firmly believe that God can move in tremendous and transformative ways in Perryville, Kentucky. May God's Kingdom be made real here with you.

I want to spend my last lines of ink on a provocative question that I heard posed a year and a half ago and which resurfaced in the past few weeks: “If Jesus' bones were found, would Christianity cease to to be true?” This question is only hypothetical, but it asks us to traverse troubling waters of possibility and to exercise our minds and hearts in a way unfamiliar to many of us. Would the bones of Jesus nullify the claims of Christianity?

For some, avoidance is the best defense. Outright dismissal of the question allows us to safely live in the “reality” of our Faith: Jesus Christ has risen indeed! But the question posed to us asks us to explain what such a “reality” means. Namely, what did, does, and could “resurrection” mean. The issue of Jesus' bodily resurrection has been a central tenant of Christian faith for centuries, but is this necessary? I don't want to dismiss the faith of those who believe in a bodily resurrection, rather I want to challenge that such a faith must be grounded in a bodily resurrection.

Paul had to explore the issue of bodily resurrection in his letters found in the New Testament. When asked about the type of body resurrected believers might have, he responded in a very careful way. The Greek word for flesh (sarx) was not used to describe the resurrected body. The Greek word for spirit (pneuma) was not used to describe the resurrected body. Instead Paul referred to a heavenly body (soma), which appears to be both physical and spiritual, and which appears to give continuity with this life while liberating us to the heavenly realm.

To be honest, Paul's description of the heavenly body is vaguely understandable at best. However, we can recognize that there is something distinctively different about the resurrected body. It is not identical with our flesh and bones. Yet it has a physical relation to the reality we recognize and experience.

How does this apply to Jesus? Well, much like Paul's description of the heavenly body, the description of the risen Christ is a strange combination of physical and non-physical properties. Christ walks through walls, disappears, and ascends to heaven. Yet, Christ is touchable, just ask Thomas. Christ looks real, just ask (if only we could) the traveling duo who didn't even realize they were speaking with the risen Christ. The gospel accounts of the resurrection are very comparable to Paul's writings about heavenly bodies. So, what do we make of this?

I want to suggest that the physical bones of Jesus do not have any necessary cancellation powers over our Faith. The message of Christ's resurrection is not a matter of resuscitation. We do not worship the resuscitated Jesus, but the Risen Christ! The rising of Christ into God's presence is a powerful truth; one that is not invalidated by bones or a filled tomb. Resurrection is not limited to a purely physical revival. Instead it is different. Christ can be resurrected and the bones of Jesus available for archaeological discovery.

So what, then, does “resurrection” mean? Well, it could mean many different things to many different people. For me, resurrection speaks to the triumphant message of Jesus' cause: the forces of evil, the power of domination, the threat of exploitation, and the grip of death do not bind us; they do not hold us. Suffering, malice, and destruction are powerless in the reality of God's Love and Christ's Redemption. We can have victory over evil because for us God made Jesus' death the beginning and not the end. This is a truth we can all come to embrace as Christians, no matter our doctrinal divisions or orthodox suspicions. God Resurrected Christ to a purposeful presence which might saturate our world one day. And in that day I find hope. For that day I pray.

May the Peace of God be upon you as you live out God's Love, Grace, and Mercy.

July Letter 2007

2007-08-18T10:15:00.000-04:00

July is most typically associated with “freedom.” The upcoming celebrations which will soon resonate around our country may remind us of the historic battles, “founding fathers”, monumental institutions, and trumpeted principles of our country. In last month's newsletter I commented about my perceptions of “freedom” in our country today, and about the liberty we can embrace through our faith in Christ as the realization of God's unconditional Love. I will shy away from more talk about freedom, and instead offer my thoughts and reflections on our country's history and what that means for our future.

The discipline of “History” has a peculiar way of providing differing and even opposing interpretations for our future direction and the subsequent action such a future would entail. We often look to our foundations and invoke the authoritative voices of our “fathers” as a way to navigate the turbulent waters of the current times: “What would G.W. (that's George Washington for the more affectionate) do?” What would he do? Unfortunately we don't have “G.W.” around to ask. But I wonder if it would matter? Is it best to cling to the “old ways” of the past? Is it better to abandon the past and look for a “new path” into our future? My answer to these last two questions is no and no, and yes and yes.

“The ways of the past” and the “new paths” of our current times are equally important informants for our collective future. Both must be considered, thought about, reflected on, and in conversation in order to successfully stand the test of time. Without “new ideas” and daring risks our country would not be here today. But it is also true that our country has survived by developing an identity grounded on lasting principles and traditions. We celebrate the fourth of July because we celebrate the America of the past, the America of the present, and our hope for the America of the future. In this we can celebrate all that being “American” has come to mean.

I hope to suggest that the future has never been identical to the past, and that as a result the future is always new. However, I also want to suggest that the future never leaves the past behind. Rather the future lives with the past whispering to it as it forges ahead, gently offering its advice, lessons, and tools for hopeful success. Let us not forget the voices of the past, and let us not shy from the new adventure of the future.

We cannot find ourselves living in the two extremes of past and future and sacrifice the integral connectivity between the two. The past is not necessarily better than the future. Societies do not inherently get worse as time moves on. But it is also true that societies do not inherently get better as time moves on. The future is not necessarily better than the past. What makes societies good, bad, or otherwise is the very path they trod as time goes on. I believe that our perspective and attitude regarding history can lend itself to interpret America's place in history in a prideful, arrogant way.

I fear that America suffers from an “Arrival Complex”: stopping in our path to admire where we are and forgetting to continue. This is the condition that distorts America into an “end” in itself. America is “it.” We, as Americans, have what we want and believe everyone else wants what we have. There is no need for improving ourselves because we are the standard, the measure of accomplishment. We are “developed”, “industrialized”, and “1st World.” We stand in the path to welcome others to us instead of moving onward together, sharing the ruggedness of the way.
Unfortunately this complex prevents us from fully realizing our own potential. We cannot be so bogged down with our past that we forget it was, and still is, taking us some place. It is toward that end that we—America—are a means. We must turn our thoughts toward the future, remembering from whence we came, and seek to arrive.

Imagine the greatest architect in the world pausing to admire her work and checking the blueprint to complete the task. Adjustments might need to be made. Corrections might have to be worked in. All of this is helpful and good. But while pausing, this carpenter does herself a disservice by scoffing at her assistants, contractors, and team, and confusing her greatness with the project itself. Her greatness will help create a masterpiece, but the project transcends her contribution.

We too can pause to see where we've come, what we're doing, but we cannot forget that we have somewhere to go. “Arriving” requires the arduous task of continual improvement through humble self-reflection and assessment. In this way we can move along the path. Yet just as tomorrow is never today, so too we have never arrived; instead we are always arriving.

May the path of our country, our community, and our church be a path of hope, love, and peace. May we remember the principles of our founding, the struggles of our history, and the hope for our future. America is not a beacon of light, but a bearer of light chasing a beacon. May we not forget that America has not arrived, but is always arriving.

June Letter 2007

2007-08-18T10:14:00.000-04:00

The summer months are around the corner and we can already feel the warmth building each and every day. For students, the “summer” has already begun, and with it comes the incredible freedom and release from schedules once filled with school obligations, homework, and extra-curricular activities. It's amazing that in a country so “free,” we often feel imprisoned by our daily duties; our everyday activities. In fact, it might be that we really aren't as “free” as we think. Many are trapped by their occupations, emotions, families, or school. The chains of captivity keep us bound to our jobs, satisfying our families, securing our futures, or maintaining happy feelings.

In a country built on freedom, where is it that we are truly free? After all, we aren't free to purchase a ticket and just walk onto a plane. Instead we have security checks and even invasive searches. We aren't free to do whatever we want. We have laws and rules which govern how we are to act, preventing certain behaviors from becoming the norm (murder, rape, assault, etc.). We are not free to eat or drink whatever we want, whenever we want. There are laws and regulations which are designed to prevent the use of illicit drugs, underage alcohol consumption, and smoking in certain places. I have realized over the years that although we enjoy certain liberties, none of us are guaranteed total freedom. There is always something which forces itself upon us from the outside, keeping us “contained.”

Now we may recognize that many of these external forces (laws, for example) are good things. They help us to live together peaceably. However, there are external forces that are not always good. The way our “free” country operates makes it a “must” to work and prepare financially for retirement. That “must” can imprison people to the slavery of a job; to the fear of financial insecurity. The way our “free” country embraces education makes many students feel bound and tied to getting the best grades, no matter the cost. All of this creates prisoners bound by external forces.

The good news is that much of this is self-inflicted, meaning we have a means of escape. It does not have to be the case that we are bound to our job, our school, our families, or our desire for pure, unadulterated happiness. Instead, we can throw off the chains that bind us, and realize that life is about more than these things. Ultimately what imprisons us is a sense of necessity in having financial security, an enjoyable job, a perfect family, or the absence of turmoil. The truth is insecurity is a part of life, many tasks in life are not fun, even the best families fight, and challenges in life are inevitable.

Freedom is found not in achieving our pursuits, but in living regardless of whether or not we achieve them. The goals and objectives we have in our lives are not bad in themselves. But when they imprison us by causing us to believe that life is only about these things, then we risk our freedom and peace of mind and subject ourselves to slavery. True freedom is realizing that we are not bound to anything; that life is not about achieving anything; life is simply about living.

We as Christians can see this truth operate in our spiritual lives as we understand the slavery of sin and the freedom of Christ. Sin is slavery; it is the perpetual mindset that this life is about something else besides being a Child of God; an infinitely valuable person. Our faith in Christ focuses our attention on our worth and value as the recipient of God's unconditional Love; a Love that is not dependent on our achievements or life-goals. Thus, truly embracing this Love rids us of the chains and slavery brought on by thinking we “must” be financially secure, emotionally satisfied, academically impressive, or socially acceptable.

This summer, as we watch children run “freely” through the streets, may we remember that life is not about our jobs, our families, our grades, or how good we feel. Life is about living. Life is about living as a Child of God, as an infinitely valuable person who God has chosen to give God's Love. In that we are free. In that we find peace. And in that, we can find happiness.

May Letter 2007

2007-08-18T10:12:00.000-04:00

Evangelism is an important phenomena in the history of our Faith. Paul's evangelistic efforts were responsible for the spread of the early “Jesus movement” in community after community. In more recent times, It was evangelism that led to the Great Awakening(s) in our Nation's infancy, and to the spread of Christianity westward into the frontier. In fact, it was the evangelistic spirit that led to Barton W. Stone's “camp meeting” at Cane Ridge which helped establish the Restoration movement, and, eventually, the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). The Restoration movement, a partnership between Thomas Campbell, Alexander Campbell, Barton W. Stone, and Walter Scott, flourished thanks to the hard work and immense sacrifice of traveling preachers. These preachers disseminated a message of unity and called for a return to the Christianity of the original church.

Without the evangelistic spirit or awareness that Paul and the early Disciples possessed, our church would not be as it is today. However, like the development of new theologies and ministries, evangelism has changed shape and is practiced in differing ways. Some of these ways are more helpful than others. Some are more acceptable to certain people types, while other Christian groups shy away from evangelism altogether.

Over the last few years, I have reflected on Evangelism consistently. I have seen the abuses and misconceptions surrounding Evangelism that have led to internal and external strife in the Christian world. My hope is to offer my voice to you and to the Christian community.

We need a new Evangelism; one that speaks to our world. I am persuaded that Evangelism should be centered around Jesus' teachings and ministry. I believe that Evangelism should be built around the idea of table fellowship, which Jesus espoused. It is here, in the image of a communal meal, that we can truly make evangelism a productive and worthwhile endeavor for our church, and our Faith. When we sit down to eat together, we share something in common despite our many differences. Similarly, Christian community must be a place for diverse perspectives to come together and share in the work and message of Christ. Evangelism must fundamentally be an invitation into that community, the extension of fellowship to a person or peoples that desire such inclusion.

Unfortunately, this is not the form Evangelism has always taken in our world.

In many churches and for many people, Evangelism has been about committing people to special beliefs and creeds. However, I believe Evangelism is not about talking to people, but about conversing with people. Evangelism should not make everyone think the same way or believe the same things. Evangelism must be centered on invitational community. A community that shares in the work of Christ despite our diverse backgrounds, cultural locations, social perspectives, and political ideologies. The invitation must be open and should be unconditional.

Ultimately, people in our world do not need to hear why “we” are “right” and “they” are “wrong.” People in our world do not need to be told how to think, what to say, or that their particular culture is invalid. Instead, people need to be given an invitation; an invitation to commune and fellowship with their neighbors of good conscience and loving intent. When people are not treated as people, but rather as objects of conversion, Christianity loses its sensitivity, compassion, and missional message. Christianity is about God's Love for God's people; it's about community in spite of diversity, and up-building God's Kingdom. May that invitation, extended to us, be reciprocated to the people of the world.

March Letter 2007

2007-08-18T10:11:00.000-04:00

Spring is arriving and we will soon rediscover the brilliant, green, life-filled world around us. Lawns will need mowed, bushes pruned, flowers gardened, and much more in terms of “yard work.” The abundance of green and the liveliness that accompanies the color is well captured in the energetic celebrations of St. Patrick’s Day the world over. Many will wear green lest they be pinched, many will eat Irish food, and many will drink Irish drink. No matter how you choose to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day (or if you choose to do so), pause to consider an interesting tale that grows from the man behind the day.

St. Patrick, born of the name Maewyn, took up a mission to Ireland to establish monasteries, schools, and make converts to the Catholic faith. Very successful at all three, St. Patrick retired after thirty years of service to the Church and to Ireland. His death on March 17th, 461 CE has been commemorated as St. Patrick’s Day ever since.

Many stories circulate about his mission work. There are stories claiming that St. Patrick raised people from the dead. Other stories claim he drove out all the snakes from Ireland (keep in mind snakes were never native). Although these are unsubstantiated tales, there is one that might speak to us today. It is said that the shamrock (three-leaf clover) is so closely related to the celebrations of St. Patrick’s Day because St. Patrick himself used it as a sort of sermon illustration. To better conceptualize the idea of the Trinity, St. Patrick held up a shamrock to demonstrate the connectedness of three separate persons in the one God-head.

As we reflect on our thoughts of God this month, may we recognize the many different ways we can come to see God. Some see God in a shamrock, others in a mountain, still others in a river. All of these natural symbols have their own way of expressing the beautiful depth and complexity of our God: a God of individuality and a God of community; a God of Majesty and Awe; a God of ever-flowing life. May the green color of St. Patrick’s Day and the shamrock itself point us toward the abundant life that flows from God. May we revel in that God-given life and use it for the Glory of the Kingdom of God.

February Letter 2007

2007-08-18T10:09:00.000-04:00

February is already here, can you believe it? Just days ago we were ushering in 2007 and looking toward a bright future of endless possibility and potential. Now we have put the month of January behind us; a peculiar and warm winter month which surprised us day in and day out. It was 52 degrees one day and icy the next. All the peculiarities of the weather were compounded in my own life by the random misfortunes of health and wealth. In one week I managed to replace my battery, alternator, and timing belt (a substantial financial “investment”); and also punctured my lip with my very own tooth (not on purpose of course).

All of these strange events prompted a rather interesting process of reflection. My thoughts took me to the power and hope of the cross, but I found it quite difficult to put the events of my life in terms of sin and grace. Keep in mind that I have not lived a sinless month, free of failure and moral misjudgments, but I looked to find a way for Christ and the Cross to be meaningful where personal responsibility was not to blame. How could Christ and the Cross be meaningful, hope-full, and redeeming in events over which I had no control?

I remembered a book that I read by an author from Yale Divinity School called “Imagining Redemption.” In this book, the author, Dr. Kelsey, examined an example of redemption in terms of evil, rather than sin. So many times we think of Christ, the Cross, and God as instruments of personal salvation which free us from moral failures or poor ethical choices. We formulate Christ in terms of sin, and sin alone. Unfortunately that leaves half (or more) of the world's problems without a solution. What about all the things that happen to us over which we have no control?

Unlike Pat Robertson, who infamously charged Ariel Sharone's political actions as the reason for his heart attack, I do not find personal sin to be the operating force behind uncontrollable circumstance. Rather, there is just bad stuff that happens. There is the helplessness of the human race in a world that is riddled with evil. This takes the form of natural disasters, abuse, disease, illness, injury, social conditions, etc. These are victims who share no responsibility in the circumstances that are forced upon them. So how does Christ and the Cross prove to be meaningful in these situations?

Well, we have many times heard that Christ redeems us from our personal sin; our human fallibility before the Holy God. But many times we do not realize that Christ also redeems us from the evil that befalls us. Yes, Christ also makes those situations and circumstances uniquely hope-full. Dr. Kelsey pointed out that Christ provides each and every one of us with an identity. Paul said in 2nd Corinthians that we are each a new creation, a new human subject in relation to Christ (v. 17). As Christians, every evil circumstance which comes our way loses its power over us. Those circumstances cannot control who it is that we are as Christians. Instead, Christ gives us the power over these circumstances. Through Christ we have the power and hope to transform these circumstances by liberating ourselves from its grip. Evil circumstances do not define us. Evil circumstances do not control us. We are not victims of abuse, victims of disaster, or victims poverty. We are not confined by these past misfortunes. No, we have the freedom of our future in Christ. We have the infinite accessibility of a hopeful future thanks to the infinite Love found on the Cross.

So as I recalled my own situation: a fat, wounded lip, and an empty wallet; I realized that these circumstances are not what define me as “Michael Swartzentruber.” Rather, Christ offers me the identity of a Righteous God, the power of a purpose centered on God's Kingdom, and the hope of liberation from my past. I am not Michael, the fat lip substitute. No, I am Michael, Christian, Disciple of Christ.

I think this is a powerful way to see Jesus. In Luke 4 we read that Jesus unrolled the scroll of Isaiah and read: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor” (v. 18-19). Jesus ministered to those who found themselves helplessly captive to the forces of evil in society, to the evil of illness, and to the evil of poverty. Christ still ministers to us today, freeing us from the evil which befalls us.

Through the message of Jesus and the power of the Cross we have the infinite potential to form our futures as followers of the Christ. We are not defined by the evil that has come, is come, or will come. No, we are grounded in the God who was, and is, and will be. This is a beautiful message of redemption, one that magnifies and intensifies the reconciliation of our personal sin. What a Glorious God, what a Wonderful Redeemer.

January Letter 2007

2007-08-18T10:05:00.000-04:00

The Christmas Season came and went. I hope and pray that the excitement, festivities, and celebration did not leave you stressed, disappointed, or exhausted. But it may have. Traveling, family interaction, planning, and preparation are time-consuming and energy-depleting endeavors. As the New Year sneaks up on us, my prayer is that whatever our circumstance, we find renewal and hope in the opportunities and potential that lie before us in the days ahead.

We prepare now to usher in the coming year. Many of you will celebrate the New Year with friends and family, while others will choose a more solitary approach. Regardless of how we decide to spend our time at the brink of the New Year, let us remember the comforting Hope that the it brings. This coming year is an opportunity to re-commit ourselves to the up-building of God's Kingdom; to the Divine work of the Most High God. It seems certain that we will find ourselves in situations testing our commitment to God's Kingdom. This might occur on a personal level, as we individually battle the difficulties and obstacles of maintaining a dedication to a Kingdom that requires sacrifice and selflessness. It might occur on a more communal level, as we struggle collectively to expand God's Kingdom. For there is much sacrifice and selflessness that accompanies a community: compromise, compassion, willingness to change and adapt.

It seems evident to me that a staunch opposition to change comes at the expense of other's emotions, spiritual health, and communal sanctity. If the church is dedicated to up-building God's Kingdom, then it requires we situate ourselves in a spirit of community. The spirit of community is inclusion: the effort to bring in those who otherwise do not belong. Inclusion has two sides. First, it seeks out those who have yet to belong. Second, inclusion seeks out those who already belong. Both of these factors must be present in order to build-up God's Kingdom.

How then, do we strive after both of these aspects of inclusive community? Well, quite simply, we elevate the sanctity of the community above our own desires and selfish aspirations. Good intentions can become soaked in selfish ambition when the result is excluding members of God's Kingdom. The only way to prevent selfish individuals—which we all are—from dominating a community is to hold fast to humility. We must humble ourselves before the community at large, God's Kingdom, so that we might serve as Christ called us. This means that “change” might occur, if it is in the interest of the community at large. In fact, Christ demands that change should occur, for this is at the heart of spiritual transformation. Those transformed by the Grace found in Christ should not be opponents of change, but should see the power and importance that change brings; for our own change in Christ brought us Hope.

Ultimately we must recognize that change should be guided by compromise and compassion, a submission to God's greater desire for a completed Kingdom. How we want things and how we have always done things do not make them the best now as we strive to continue the up-building of God's Kingdom. If change never occurred then we would not find ourselves living the very lives we enjoy. Change is not only inevitable, but necessary to growth, development, and God's Kingdom. Thus, we must be both accepting of change, but also cognizant of how we change. We change in the spirit of community, inclusively aware of those inside and outside our community. We change with humility, so as to keep our selfish ambitions in check. We change in Hope; in the hope that God's Kingdom will be made complete through our efforts, sacrifices, and servitude. As the New Year comes upon us, may we re-commit ourselves to God's Kingdom by embracing change, humility, and a spirit of community. For we have Hope that in this coming year, God's Kingdom might expand and move ever closer to completion.

December Letter 2006

2007-08-18T10:02:00.000-04:00

The Christmas Season is upon us! It seems the years move past us with increasing haste, and here we are again at yet another joy-filled holiday. As I was reflecting these past few weeks, my mind was drawn toward the beauty of the Advent season. Yes, I was drawn to the Advent season, in part because it highlights a forgotten aspect of our Christmas holiday. But also because the meanings surrounding much of the Advent tradition was, and in some ways still is, a mystery to me.

As a child growing up in the church, I always knew what Christmas was “all about.” I knew that Santa was a wonderful compliment to the Christmas season, but that Jesus' birth was the central component. I recognized that Christmas was distinctly meaningful to me as a Christian because it commemorated the past arrival of Jesus. However, the only future arrival that I looked towards was that of the particular holiday: the Christmas event. I spent very little time, if any, recognizing that the very Christmas holiday I yearned for actually reminds us of a more splendid arrival. An arrival that is not limited to the past, but that is joyously longed for in our future. It is the arrival of God's Kingdom.

It seems so easy to narrowly focus our attention on the Christmas event, and leave behind the power and meaning of the Christ-event. In fact, this is directly a result of our commercialization of the Christmas season and our own forgetfulness of the past. But none of us go unscathed in the battle of remembrance; we all forget the Christ-event meaning of Christmas. Sure, we may not forget that Christmas reminds us of Jesus' birth, and we may aptly remember the stories of the wise-men, angels, and shepherds. But that is all part of the Christmas event, a commemoration of Jesus. What the Christ-event points toward is the eternal in-breaking love of God through Christ which established the beginning of a new Kingdom; a Kingdom yet completed. Thus, the arrival we truly celebrate is not as much the past reality of God's love in Christ, but the future realization of that love in our world.

The Christmas holiday means the future realization of that once established Kingdom of God in the birth, death, and resurrection of Jesus the Christ. So although we commemorate Jesus' birth, we also celebrate the coming Kingdom. The Christmas holiday has been turned into an event focused squarely on the past and has lost all touch with the powerful message for our future. But the future Kingdom is the very focus of the Advent spirit. It captures that lost component of our Christmas holiday. Advent embraces the fullness of the Christ-event during the Christmas season; the past, present, and future.

Advent originally was a time of fasting. Its intent was to use hunger to constantly remind the Christian that the meaning of Christ resides in the future realization of a past event, carried with us in each moment of the present. Advent has evolved many new meanings while losing certain rituals. But the season still embraces the idea of “Arrival.” The past arrival of Jesus and the future arrival of the Kingdom. Both these arrivals are so intimately related that we fail to fully understand the “true” meaning of Christmas when we leave one of these arrivals out of our thoughts and reflection.

As you celebrate this Christmas, remember the beauty, power, and depth of the entire Christ-event. Do not fall prey to the Christmas event and only await the gifts, family, and feasting while “faithfully” commemorating Jesus' birth. Do not remember just the past. Remember the future. Do not forget the coming Kingdom and the focus of the Advent season. For this is our hope, this is our Arrival!

November Letter 2006

2007-08-18T09:53:00.000-04:00

As the cold weather that accompanies the end of fall directs our attention toward the wintry months ahead, I thought it would be appropriate to highlight the importance of a “warm” church. Perryville Christian Church, along with many churches in the state and nation, is continually threatened with the icy attack of stagnation and complacency. Many of you are aware that ice comes from water. As the winter months drawer near, this is evident all around us. Water attended by the cold yields ice. But what is it about the cold that makes ice? Well, temperature is determined by the speed of molecules. As those molecules slow, they becomes “colder.” Thus, when water molecules are slowed by cooler external circumstances, ice forms. What we notice is this: slowing down leads to ice.

If ice is the direct result of slowing down, then boiling water must be the exact opposite. The excited molecules bouncing around incessantly create “warmth.” So then, we notice something very important: If we hope to be a “warm” and welcoming church, we must have activity. The more we slow down, the more our atmosphere becomes cold, icy, and ultimately unwelcoming. The “aura” of our church is determined by the level of excitement we find in our members. The more our “excited” members “bounce” around incessantly, the warmer and more welcoming we will not only appear, but be. We must, then, be a church filled with “excited” members who are actively seeking out a place within our Faith community. It is one thing to attend church, it is yet another to be a contributor. Be a contributor. Make this your Winter's goal.

As you begin your preparation for the seasonal activities of work and home, do not forget the importance of contributing to the church. Do not let the iciness of complacent stagnation destroy the vibrant “warmth” that our church is striving to possess. May our church be alive like our God is alive. May we be active in this community of Faith as God is active in the greater world of Faith. May our warmth find its source in the Most High God.

Called By God

2007-06-10T12:54:00.000-04:00

Questions: Am I called by God? What does a “Call” from God mean?

Galatians 1:11-24

BackgroundPaul wrote Galatians
Galatians is a polemic: refutation (in contrast to an apologia—defense) -->(gr.) lit. means “war-like”
Fierce, argumentative, “fiery”
Paul wrote a polemical epistle to the Galatian churches

Opponents (conjecture)
Outside opponents: Christian “Judaizers”--Jewish Christians who wanted all followers of Christ/God to obey Jewish customs (circumcision)
Inside opponents: Galatians reading Hebrew bible and following its customs/traditions
Inside opponents: Converts who incorporated Jewish/Pagan religious thoughts/rituals into Paul's teachings

Paul's Gospel? One of inclusion—Gentiles to be followers of God as Gentiles. Inclusive community which grounds its identity in the grace of God, not in physical actions/works/rituals (circumcision)Doesn't negate the value, worth, or place of circumcision, but situates circumcision as a uniquely Jewish custom that is not necessary for God's Grace, for “Justification” before God

Typically Paul begins his letters with words of thanksgiving, here he begins his letter with “astonishment”-->indicates something is wrong, immediately

Paul blasts Galatians for skewing his message (by incorporating circumcision-as necessity)

Paul has to re-establish his authority—claiming divine right to give this message and taking evidence from his own life to corroborate his claim

Paul's life is one of divine appointment (as he claims)--his message has divine authority—no human motivations

**Paul's words seem to imply that his authority and motivation have been questioned
[Paul issuing his response—reacting to his accusers]

v.13-24
Paul's “conversion” and missional purpose
Paul was in the Pharisaic sect of Judaism, he advanced eagerly, he persecuted followers of the Messiah, Christ

Revelation of Christ left him with an unforgettable encounter that drastically changed his world
From persecutor to motivator, from opponent to supporter, from Pharisaic Judaism to Messianic Judaism

Paul's antagonistic past was transformed by his encounter with Christ, so much so, that Paul took on a new purpose, a new meaning, and a new direction (symbolized by a new name—Saul to Paul)

Call from God was a Call to action
Immediately Paul went and proclaimed the message of God's Grace, the message of Christianity

Paul, called by God, devoted his life's work to the gospel message

It is not too late for us
We all have our regrets, failures, and imperfections
Yet we all have the opportunity to be confronted and transformed by Christ

Nobody is too far gone, too hopeless—Saul the persecutor became Paul the missionary
Problem: we are too complacent, too satisfied, too apathetic to change the world around us—being called by God is a compelling challenge to act, to labor for God.

Going to church, serving on occasion, doing “our part” feels like enough—but is that radical enough? Have I the radical shift in focus that Paul had? Have I really embraced my call from God? Have I met my call in action, in deed?

We are all “called by God”--we each have the opportunity to be confronted by God and transformed by God—coming face to face with Christ's message, sacrifice, and meaning challenges us to take upon ourselves that message, sacrifice, and meaning- transforming us
Will we be confronted, will we be transformed, will we hear God's voice calling us?

I pray you do.

“The final test of religious faith is whether it will enable men to endure insecurity without complacency or despair, whether it can so interpret the ancient verities that they will not become mere escape hatches from responsibilities but instruments of insights into what civilization means.”
--Reinhold Niebuhr

Finally, a Call by God is a call to endure, and whats more: overcome. Being called to action does not make life easy or simple. Being called to action is a challenge to overcome the new obstacles and difficulties that accompany God's Will for God's Kingdom. Paul, the disciples, and Jesus all faced the road of difficulty, but found a hope and peace that enabled them to overcome all they faced. They endured. A call from God is a call to action, a call to continual action, a call to endure.

I hope this morning you sense that God is calling you. That God is calling you to more than church attendance and spiritual superficiality. I hope you hear the voice of God calling you to service, to action, and to perseverance. For in those things we, as Christians, find our deepest sense of belonging, meaning, and purpose. May that be made real to us this morning. May we answer that call this morning. May we follow God's voice into the untamed wilderness of service and labor, and give God the Glory.

Hymn

Benediction:

God of Majesty and Grace, we come into your House and Magnify Your name, and Worship You. We offer to you our thankfulness and ask to be guided by Your hand of Peace, Your Will of Love, and Your Call to service. May we be listening and ready to do Your work in this world, to build it up for the good of all and the Glory of God. Grant to us mercy when we fall short of your divine appointments, and give to us forgiveness for our sinfulness and shortcomings. For it is in the cross that we find forgiveness, mercy, grace and a Hope that overcomes.

Amen.

Spirit Sustenance

2007-06-10T12:51:00.000-04:00

Romans 5:1-5

*Therefore: When we come across a therefore, we must ask ourselves... what is it there for?

“Since we have been justified by faith”: Conclusion based on earlier premises
1. Wretchedness of Humanity
2. Consequences of Humanity's wretchedness
3. God's Righteous Judgment
4. Insufficiency of Human actions to restore relationship to God
5. Sufficiency of God's Grace through Faith--Christ as agent

What? Justification

How? Faith

Why? Peace with God

Peace as Reconciliation, restoring the relationship... a true, personal “Peace” comes from such a restored relationship... the God we ran from can now embrace us as we accept that we are children of our God.

Peace with God yields rejoicing in Hope (v. 2)Peace leads to Hope which gives us Joy... advent themes

But....
what about the difficulties in life, what about the things that make us disappointed, discouraged, or depressed... not joyful or glad?

Peace, Joy, Hope are not just one time experiences, rather they are a new orientation, a new meaning, a transforming way of seeing the world. Peace with God, Joy in God, and Hope from God give us new and powerful meaning when facing life's difficulties. We can see through the lens of HOPE.

v. 3--> “MORE THAN THAT” (what is more! And there is more!--a connotation of happiness! And guess what else??!!!??)

Because we are at Peace with God, restored to God, in intimate fellowship with God, we can have joy even in our sufferings.

Our sufferings have new meanings—they are made meaningful through the Grace of God given to us—why? Because suffering forces us to make important decisions...

It puts us in a position to make choices of endurance, to weather the storm, to find a way to survive the difficulty—such experience makes future sufferings easier to overcome—gives us a sort of strength and readiness

endurance builds up character—the character that affirms God's purpose despite the difficulties that come our way

That character re-produces our original hope—it re-affirms the hope we already had before we encountered our difficulty—it allows us to realize that our hope was superficial or surface-level, but a hope that inspires endurance and builds a God-affirming character

But what is it that sustains us? What gives us the strength to endure, especially when our troubles are overwhelming?

God's Spirit (v. 5)--God's Love has been poured out for us and is constantly with us, it will not allow us to be put to shame, to flounder in meaninglessness- it is a love that sustains us in our troubles, that is ever-present in all we experience. Seeing the world through the lens of Hope is made real to us in the spirit's sustaining presence.

Holy Spirit, as an Agent of Grace, sustains us in many ways, but three ways can be noticed specifically through this verse:

Endurance—Spirit gives us strengthCharacter—Spirit offers resiliency
Hope—Spirit allows us to “feel” our hope
Spirit is the intimate presence of God who, through our sufferings, sustains us God's beloved

Last week, Pentecost:
outpouring of Holy Spirit on diverse crowd establishing a unified Church
Holy Spirit, as agent of God's Grace, gave the infant church endurance, character, and hope
(even through all its troubles...)

There are collective aspects to the Holy Spirit, to Hope, and to suffering
We, as the church, suffer together in many ways, we face trials, obstacles, and difficultiesSome things are personal issues that we share with each other and face together
Other things are issues facing the whole church

Through all of this, there is a collective hope, that we will endure, and establish the character of a church necessary for up-building God's Kingdom.

A Graduation Call

2007-05-20T12:32:00.000-04:00

According to the Christian calendar, Pentecost is the first Sunday after the Seven Sundays of Easter. Next week will be Pentecost Sunday in which we celebrate the coming of the Holy Spirit on the disciples as they pursued the work of Christ after his ascension. More than simply remembering that special time in the theological history of the church, Pentecost is an opportunity for us, as a congregational unit of the greater Body of Christ to re-embrace the presence of God among us. The Holy Spirit, God's presence, is something that has profound meaning for us as Christians.

But before we reach Pentecost Sunday, let us look to the moments preceding that tremendous story. Our scripture this morning speaks of a graduation moment of sorts.

Many of you are familiar with this graduation story, a moment when the disciples take on the responsibility of God's work for themselves without the physical, observable presence of their Christ.

Text: Acts 1: 6-11

The disciples, in a very real sense, have graduated from physical followers to leaders. Although they will follow after the Will of God and the teachings of Christ, they now are left to lead the up-building of God's Kingdom without their Lord and Savior to hold their hands or instruct them in each moment.

According to our text this morning, two men appeared next to the disciples as they gazed toward heaven. They asked a very poignant question, “Why do you stand looking up toward heaven?” In some sense, they are asking, “What are you doing standing around?” The Christ was gone, but he had not left; his instruction and his spirit were now the tools and inspiration to carry on God's work—and there was no time for “dilly-dallying.” Although the disciples had made it to a milestone in their faith, although they had witnessed the resurrection and seen the ascension, it was now time to press on with the things of God, with the Kingdom of God.

This morning we are the proud family of faith who has helped nurture several graduates among us. Many of us have had our own graduations, some of us look forward to the graduation that awaits. All of us, however, have the opportunity to reflect on graduation. Graduation has a way of turning our attention toward the process and adventure of life, and draws our focus toward the greater questions life proposes.

Like the graduation of the disciples, we have important choices and great tasks which lie ahead. We too have the work of God before us and the spirit of Christ with us. The question of graduation is this: How will we use our past to build-up our future?

Joe: “My college really turned out some great men.”
Bill: “When did you graduate?”
Joe: “I didn’t graduate. I was turned out.”

Through your work in high school, middle school, and elementary school, you have prepared yourself to be turned in, and not turned out. You have the opportunity now, to use the skills and knowledge you have gained thus far to your benefit as you learn more, live more, and love more.
We are all called to graduate. We are all called to leave those who have guided us and to make decisions for ourselves. Like the disciples who took on the up-building of God's Kingdom without the physical presence of their Lord and Savior, we too must make decisions based on our past instruction and experiences; we must use the guidance of our parents, the experience of our faith, and the knowledge of our schooling to make decisions for our future which are not only personally important, but meaningful for the world in which you live.

One of the most important realizations for those who graduate is that they cannot stand around looking at the sky forever. The question is posed to us all, graduated, graduating, or yet graduated: “Are you just going to stand there?” We cannot be caught up and so absorbed with the sky, with our past, with our fear of the future, that we forget to move and act in this world, in our world. We have important work to do, and the clock is ticking.

Sarah, Stephen and Matt, you as graduates have the opportunity to move further into the world as independent men and women. You have the opportunity to make life the fruitful adventure it can be, and to do the work of God in your own unique and creative way. The possibilities are truly endless for you. But as you ponder the possibility of the future, do not be paralyzed by indecision, fear, or uncertainty. Remember where you came from, realize where you are, Dream of where you are going, then go there.

Because I am privileged with this pulpit, I want to take this opportunity to share with you and everyone here one of my greatest graduation lessons. In all my time in school, I feel the greatest lesson I have learned about the world is this: we are not born into this world evil, instead we are born far worse: indifferent. I have found it is far easier to simply not care and float along than to ever be or do evil, or be or do good. And the truth is, too many people in this world simply do not care. It's not that they are mean-spirited, hateful, or even malicious, but they just don't care. They float through life without passion or compassion. They contribute to the pain and evil in this world by not becoming a force that seeks to stop it or change it. Do not be a person of indifference, instead recognize that this world needs caring, involved “doers.” Our world needs people with vision, people with passion, and above all, people with compassion.

Sarah, Stephen and Matt, as you move your separate ways and take on the new responsibilities and lives of young men and women learning the ways of adulthood, my prayer for you is not that you would make the right decision every time, nor that you would be perfect and happy at all times. The truth is, you won't. There will be mistakes along the way, poor judgments, and even...dare I say it for our valedictorian, bad grades. My prayer is that you care. That the poor decisions, bad grades, and unhappiness would not be accepted, but that you would have the desire to make better decisions, better grades, and live happily. My hope, my prayer, and my charge to you this morning is that you would remember that care and compassion lead to passion and good work.

The greatest example of this truth for us as Christians is the life of Jesus. Jesus' compassion in his ministry led to his passion, his suffering and death, and ultimately to the resurrection of Christ. May your compassion give you the passion to make this world a better place to live, to build-up God's Kingdom. When you learn to care, when you remember to care, and when you do care, you make this world about more than yourself: You make it about God and God's children.

Sarah, Stephen, and Matt, we are proud of you. We appreciate you. We love you. We want you to know that as you move forward, you can always return to us for support and encouragement. We consider you a part of our family, and family never dies. The memories of family keep each member present and alive, and we will always remember you, always pray for you, and always lift you up.

Amen.

Benediction:

God of Grace, God of Mercy, we thank you for our graduates this morning. We appreciate the opportunity we all have to encourage them, support them, and love them as they extend a part of us out into their new worlds. May we all be reminded that our world needs compassion and passion, and that indifference is our greatest foe. Let us be people of God, children of God, faithful servants of God. Grant to us the wisdom and understanding to overcome our challenges, move past our mistakes, and embrace the beautiful future we have in you. Be with our graduates as they leave us, draw them back to us in times of need, and keep them safe in all they do. We thank you for our time with these graduates, from childhood to adulthood, and may that time prove meaningful as the opportunities of life burst forth. May those opportunities not be wasted, and may all of our lives be a pleasant offering to You.

Amen.

Loving a Child in the Making

2007-05-16T06:55:00.000-04:00

“ Loving a Child in the Making”

Writing a Mother's Day sermon is difficult for 2 reasons... 1.) for me—not a parent, not a mother... I can only speak from the perspective of a child, loved by a mother, and as an outsider, one day hoping to be a parent...

2.) We may all readily recognize that Mother's Day is a special time when we can recognize together the important work and sacrifice of mothers. It is a day to celebrate the wonderful gift of motherhood. But Mother's Day cannot pressupose/assume that every child and every mother has the same experience. For some, Mother's Day can be painful.

There are those who are mothers not by choice, but by accident.
There are those who can never become mothers.
There are those who have had traumatic and painful experiences because of their mothers.

We must remind ourselves that speaking about mothers is not always a welcome idea to everyone. I am cognizant and sensitive toward that; I understand that could be a reality in our congregation.

Thus it is my hope to speak generally about the beautiful possibility of motherhood. No matter the imperfect lives we live, no matter the pit-falls and disappointments we experience, motherhood in its purest form is something valuable, something worth noting. So Mother's Day is a time to be sensitive to those who understand mother's differently, but also to celebrate together the joyous possibility, the great responsibility, and the wonderful ideal that is motherhood.

We all have our ideas of what it means to be a mother:
A teacher gave her class of second graders a lesson on the magnet and what it does. The next day in a written test, she included this question: " My full name has six letters. The first one is M. I pick up things. What am I?" When the test papers were turned in, the teacher was astonished to find that almost 50 percent of the students answered the question with the word “Mother.”

Some see a mother as a cleaner or a tidier.

Some see their mother's as exalted deities above reproach:
A little boy forgot his lines in a Sunday school presentation. His mother was in the front row to prompt him. She gestured and formed the words silently with her lips, but it did not help. Her son's memory was blank. Finally, she leaned forward and whispered the cue, "I am the light of the world." The child beamed and with great feeling and a loud clear voice said, "My mother is the light of the world."

No matter what we think of mothers, I hope we can all admit that mothers have tremendous impact, tremendous influence, and tremendous responsibility. It's often said that to become a mother is quite easy, but that being a mother is very hard. With motherhood there are many joys, many sorrows, and many moments of self-discovery.

I am sure there are many opportunities for you to hear just how a mother should act, or maybe ten ways to successful parenting, but honestly I believe that there are no cookie-cutter formulas for motherhood which will guarantee perfect children or the perfect life. Many good mothers will be disappointed with the poor decisions of their child or children. Some inattentive, indifferent, or neglectful mothers may find their child or children to be upstanding and respectful.
Being a mother is not so much about making a child lovable as it is about loving a child in the
making.

Each child is pre-disposed to certain behaviors by virtue of their genetic personality type (just how they are born). Some children are born rebellious, others born obedient. But children are also shaped by a variety of outside influences. Some children may be able to make good and forthright decisions despite poor parenting. Other children, no matter how excellent their parents were, may still make short-sighted and harmful decisions. There is just no formula for perfect results in parenting, in being a mother.

There are a few traits, however, that all mothers who call themselves “Christian” should seek after: discipline for their child(ren); joy for their child(ren); and hope for their child(ren).

1. Discipline
“The rod and reproof give wisdom, but a child left to himself brings shame to his mother.” Proverbs 29:15

Mothers have a responsibility to discipline their children. This does not necessarily imply physical discipline or a type of physical discipline, but it does imply the discipline of love: teaching consequences and correcting harmful patterns. The point of parental discipline is to teach self-discipline, to develop a child toward making good and praiseworthy decisions for themselves.

A child left undisciplined can bring shame to his mother (because the child has brought shame to herself).

2. Joy
Psalmist writing about God:
Psalm 113:9 “He gives the barren woman a home, making her the joyous mother of children. Praise the Lord!”

Mothers must be joyful for their children. Rejoice in the accomplishments, revel in the life of their child(ren).

When children see that they bring their parents happiness, just for being who they are, no matter what they do, then those children taste the Love and Grace of God. The Joy of a mother for her child provides an unmatched feeling of self-worth and value. Children need to be loved, just as we, children of God, desperately seek after the Love of a most Merciful God.

3. Hope
Proverbs 10:1 “A wise son makes a glad father, but a foolish son is a sorrow to his mother.”
Mother's must have hopes and dreams for their children. Mothers have reason to be disappointed because they hope for the best. They desire to see their child grow into good men and women, into loving, caring, and driven people. Mothers have hopes, mothers have dreams, and mothers impart to their children the value of having hopes and dreams. Just as a mother's love must be unconditional, so too must the mother hope unconditionally for their children; that despite their decisions, they should still reach their goals, dreams, and aspirations.
Being a mother is not so much about making a child lovable as it is about loving a child in the making. That Love is one of Discipline, Joy, and Hope.

“The love of a mother is never exhausted. It never changes--it never tires--it endures through all; in good repute, in bad repute, in the face of the world's condemnation, a mother's love still lives on. “--Washington Irving

Our world needs the Discipline, Joy, and Hope of mothers for their children. It is in those moments of a mothers love, that children can taste the sweet Grace of God, the rich Love of our Most Merciful Lord. It is in the caring arms of a mother, in the tender instruction of her voice, and in the tears of her disappointments that children can find for themselves the beauty and hope of life.

As for you children in the congregation:
“Hear, my son, your father's instruction, and forsake not your mother's teaching.” Proverbs 1:8

Amen.

Benediction:
Gracious God, you have brought mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, and children into our world. We offer up to you our gratitude for the opportunity to share life with our families, and for the special privelage to live in a world where mothers exist. Not all mothers are great mothers, and not one mother is perfect, but we thank you for the gift of a loving mothers in our world, that we, as children, might have the chance to taste a portion of Your Powerful Love for us. We ask that we see the possibility and responsibility that motherhood brings, that we would be supportive husbands and respectful children; that we would be Loving, Disciplining, Joyful, Hoping mothers. May we all be sincere Children of God and may Your Love shine for us so that we might shine for you.
Amen.

Because He Lives

2007-04-09T19:21:00.000-04:00

We come to Easter Sunday, the most sacred day in all the Christian Calendar. We have prepared for this day by reflecting and remembering the passion of Jesus in Jerusalem, the events leading up to his crucifixion.

Now we come to the climax of the Gospel stories, the pinnacle of the good news, the beauty of the Christian message: the resurrection of Christ, the once crucified Jesus.

There are so many ways to comment on this most important and central element of the Christian story, but let us focus on a rather unconventional interpretation. Let us come to the text and see the Risen Christ in a new way this morning.

Many of you have heard the powerful message of the redemption of your sins. We have heard it preached and sung, prayed and chanted: Jesus Christ, crucified on calvary, washed away our sins with his own blood, removing our inequities in the sight of the Lord, making us, sinners, the ones despised and wretched before God, clean and white as snow.

This is truly a beautiful message. It is one of Grace and over-powering Mercy. It demonstrates the profound Love that God has for his children... all his children.

You see, God found a way to redeem the most violent death of his beloved son: the Christ. He made a vile and contemptible situation, one of hate and terror, imperial triumph, and injustice into a beacon of hope for all the world.

But believe it or not, this is only a part of the story. We as Christians serve a God who has redeemed us through Christ. But this redemption is not limited to our sins. It is not a redemption purely in this respect, no, it is larger, it encompasses the entirety of our being, it surrounds who we are and truly sets us free.

There are two ways to focus on redemption. First, we can understand redemption in terms of our sinfulness. This is the crux of many sermons this morning. No doubt many of you have heard this perspective time and again. But there is another way to understand our redemption through Christ. Christ has also redeemed the evil that comes upon each and every one of us.
So first, Christ redeems our sins. And second, Christ redeems our evil.
Why this distinction, why this two-fold nature of redemption?

Sins we are responsible for. Sin, spiritual death, is the consequence of our sinful action before God. It is the result of our human fallibility, our imperfection, before the most righteous God.
But evil we are not directly responsible for. These are the unfortunate circumstances that come to each of us. These are the trials and tribulations, the difficulties and the hard times that plague us all. These are the moments of despair when we see the absurdity, the unfathomable way the world has brought us such craziness, such heart-ache, such pain.

Why is it absurd? Because we have no reason to explain it.

Why did the hurricane hit New Orleans the way it did? Why did the heart of Hitler spawn such evil that millions of Jews were horrifically tortured and exterminated in a systematic genocide? Why do many suffer from poverty and starvation? Why did the young person we know pass away so suddenly, with such potential and life ahead of her? Why are these horrible things happening to me? Why?

There are times when we cry out to God, but the reasons are not there to be had for us. We cannot understand why our lives are the way they are. We cannot understand why such circumstances have over-run our lives and left us in despair, hopelessness and grief. Our hearts, plagued by the evils of the world, the cruelty of decisions not our own, are anguished.
The important thing here is that there are things in this world that we encounter which we are not morally responsible for. These are the difficult things in life. When we mess up, we can understand the consequences, even while we suffer through them.

But when we have not personally sinned to deserve the death of a loved one or the torture of a Nazi regime, then life becomes much more difficult. We have not loved to be betrayed or worked to be unemployed.

Sometimes, the world throws at us the evils of existence and we are caught in the storm, helpless and hopeless.

There is a book out by Ellie Wiesel called “Night.” In it, Elie tells of his painful experience in a Nazi concentration camp as a Jewish boy. He recalls the bitter loss of faith he encountered as he saw and felt the cruelty and violence of the world first-hand. In fact, one event stands out to me, it is a moment when Elie, in a way, describes the absence of God in his life, the true feeling of hopelessness before a supposedly Gracious God. He witnesses the hanging of a young boy by the Nazi's, the cruel and unspeakable death of an adolescent used to keep the prisoners in fear of the Nazi power and force.

One of the Jewish onlookers painfully cries out: “Where is God now?”

Elie writes: “Where is God now?" And I heard a voice within me answer him: "Where is He? Here He is He is hanging here on this gallows.”

In that moment, I felt that the unthinkable terror Elie observed erased the idea of a truly Merciful God from his mind. He was overwhelmed by the despair of his situation, by the evil that came over him.

Now imagine you are a disciple of Jesus. You are a follower of this wonderful man who has brought healing, hope, and joy. Now imagine your leader, the one you follow with passion and zeal is taken from you, tortured, beaten, spat upon, humiliated and hung upon a cross.
You too would be in despair, fearful of the future, uncertain and confused about the direction of your life. The cross, a symbol of terror, a device used to publicly warn of anyone who might betray the Romans has taken your leader, hung him, pierced him, and left him to be picked apart by vultures, and devoured by wild dogs.

You catch wind that your beloved Jesus has been moved, lifeless and dead, from the terrible cross to a grave site. Imagine this morning that you are Mary Magdalene, and you have come to the tomb, distraught, hoping to mourn the confusing and absurd death of your beloved Lord. You become nauseated with the unfathomable pain that you witnessed Jesus suffer before he breathed his last. Feelings of betrayal swirl around your confused head as you remember the disgusting deeds of one of Jesus' closest followers, a deed which led to all this.

Turn with me to our scripture this morning to see what happens to Mary.
Text: John 20: 1-18

In our passage this morning we witness a remarkable transformation. Mary Magdalene, the weeping follower of a dead leader becomes transformed into the eager messenger of the risen Christ. Mary, weeping at the thought of her leader further humiliated by thieves taking his already maimed body, cries out.

The word translated “weeping” truly signifies an uncontrollable crying, a gut-wrenching, heart-aching, painful sobbing.

Mary is hopeless and helpless, confused and dismayed, betrayed and fearful. And so she cries.
I think it is possible to see Mary with despair similar to that of the child Elie Wiesel. She too witnessed the cruel and violent death of someone she thought to be innocent. Someone who brought her hope, direction, and joy. She came to the garden to mourn the evil that had come upon her and her Lord only to find more pain, more evil, a stolen body.

But then the transformation... she encounters the risen Christ. She becomes transformed by her living Lord and clings to him. She is so overwhelmed that she rushes to him and embraces him, so much so, that Christ asks her to let him go. Her sorrow has been removed. Christ gives her a special appointment, to share his resurrection with the disciples. And so, she became his messenger to the disciples and ANNOUNCED the risen Lord. A woman of despair, encountering the risen Christ, becomes an empowered woman of purpose.

This is the choice we all face today. Will evil, the terrible force of which drives us into despair, overcome us? Or will we be transformed by the liberating force of Christ? Will we be renewed, be made new by the power of God through our Lord and Savior?

Christ sets us free from fear, he removes the pain of the past and grants us the infinite possibility of the future. He gives us liberation from a world which is full of evil, and grants to us the purposes of God, the direction of the most High, and a place amongst his children within the Kingdom of God. How wonderful is our Christ? How wonderful is our God?

But the choice is ours. Will we choose hope, or will we let fear run its course?

Sermon Illustration:
Shawshank Redemption, movie based on short story written by Stephen King

Andy Dufresne: Tim Robbins

“Red”: Morgan Freeman

BROOKS: Dear fellas, I can't believe how fast things move on the outside. I saw an automobile once when I was a kid but now they're everywhere. The world went and got itself in a big damn hurry. The parole board got me into this halfway house called "The Brewer". And a job bagging groceries at the Foodway. It's hard work and I try to keep up but my hands hurt most of the time. I don't think the store manager likes me very much. Sometimes after work I go to the park and feed the birds. I keep thinking Jake might just show up and say hello. But he never does. I hope wherever he is he's okay and makin' new friends. I have trouble sleepin' at night. I have bad dreams like I'm falling. I wake up scared. Sometimes it takes me a while to remember where I am. Maybe I should get me a gun, an, an rob the Foodway so they'd send me home. I could shoot the manager while I was at it, sort of like a bonus. I guess I'm too old for that sort of nonsense anymore. I don't like it here. I'm tired of being afraid all the time. I've decided not to stay. I doubt they'll kick up any fuss. Not for an old crook like me.

RED: Let me tell you something my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane.

RED: All I do anymore is think of ways to break my parole so maybe they'd send me back. Terrible thing to live in fear. Brooks Hatlen knew it. Knew it all too well. All I want is to be back where things make sense. Where I won't have to be afraid all the time. Only one thing stops me. A promise I made to Andy.

LETTER from Andy: Dear Red, If you're reading this, you've gotten out. And if you've come this far, maybe you're willing to come a little further. You remember the name of the town, don't you? I could use a good man to help me get my project on wheels. I'll keep an eye out for you and the chessboard ready. Remember, Red. Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things and no good thing ever dies. I will be hoping that this letter finds you, and finds you well. Your friend, Andy.

RED: Get busy livin', or get busy dyin'. That's god-damn right. For the second time in my life, I am guilty of committing a crime. Parole violation. Of course, I doubt they'll toss up any roadblocks for that. Not for an old crook like me.

RED: I find I'm so excited, I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it is the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain. I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend, and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.

**Shawshank Redemption: Fear can hold you prisoner. Hope can set you free.

How can hope set us free this morning? Paul put it best: In Christ we are new creations... in Christ the old has gone... in Christ the new has come.

You see Christ redeems the evil that comes upon us. How? Christ provides us with an identity, a new identity. This is one free of evil and pain, full of hope and joy. Christ makes it so that we are defined by his Love and Grace, and not by the terrible things that happen to us in the world. Christ makes our lives worth living. Christ makes our lives full of hope.

I think this gives new meaning to a song we will sing... listen to these words:

Because he lives, I can face tomorrow
Because he lives, all fear is gone
Because I know he holds the future,
And life is worth the living just because he lives.

Let us sing. As you finish this morning's hymn, you may choose to find a place where you can see the wonderful baptism of two of our own, who have chosen to accept and live out the redemption of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Benediction: Merciful God, you are most Gracious and Just, be here on this special day as we celebrate the beauty of the risen Christ, your son, our Savior. We thank you for the reality of his message, that through a terrible death we might gain hope, joy, and peace. Lord we ask for the patience to endure the troubles that come upon us, we ask for forgiveness for our shortcomings, and in it all, we rejoice over the redemption we have in Christ. You provide for us the infinite possibility of a new future in you, a new hope in your Love, and a new purpose in God's Kingdom. May we hold that in our hearts this morning. Lord God, may we never forget the depth or the beauty of your Grace and Love for us, demonstrated so clearly and so profoundly in the death and resurrection of the Christ. This morning, in your house, we are yours, be with us.
Amen.

Overwhelming Grace

2007-02-04T14:19:00.000-05:00

This morning we are going to continue to look at Jesus' public ministry. This morning's passage from Luke comes directly on the heels of last week's scripture which described Jesus in his hometown of Nazareth. If you will remember, Jesus read from the scroll of Isaiah and then made a bold and mind-blowing pronouncement: “Today the scripture has been fulfilled.” Jesus asserted to the listeners in Nazareth's synagogue that he himself was the fulfillment of Isaiah's prophetic message: liberation, good news, and the day of the Lord's favor. Last week we investigated Jesus' understanding of himself and his public ministry guided by the notion of forgiveness. This week we will look at Jesus' public ministry in the light of a different notion: the idea of overwhelming grace.

Turn in your bible to Luke 4: 21- 30.

This passage completes Luke's depiction of Jesus' experience in his hometown of Nazareth. What we saw last week was that Jesus' reading of Isaiah was a characterization and self-description of his ministry, attitude toward ministry, but we also noticed that it connected him with past prophets. Jesus, in taking up the scripture of Isaiah and announcing its fulfillment in himself, embraces the prophetic nature of Isaiah; both the author and the text. What we might see this week is the very response of those attending the synagogue that morning—their response to Jesus' claim that scripture had been fulfilled in himsef—will, in a sense, foreshadow Jesus' death, and connect Jesus to the prophets of old.

The prophets of old were people who were often rejected. Sometimes the prophets were in very prominent positions. Often, kings would have a court prophet and would cater to and listen to the prophet. Unfortunately, prophetic messages sometimes ridiculed the very ruling authority that occupied the court. Why were prophets of old rejected by their people? Prophetic messages challenged those who were in control and those who were in power. Often times the social conditions, which were influenced by the powerful, required a prophetic message. These messages critiqued the social situations, and as a result, implicitly (if not explicitly) critiqued those in power; those in control. If you know anything about those in power, you might readily agree that they do not like to be critiqued (especially when the critique might threaten their very power and control). To be honest, if I possessed such power I would have a hard time listening to the critiques warnings of prophetic messages.

Another reason why the prophets of old were rejected by their people was because they demanded change. Not only did the prophetic message challenge the powerful and controlling, but it also demanded the powerful and controlling change their ways and change the social/religious conditions. Finally, the prophetic message also described the “or else.” Prophetic messages pronounced the consequences of a lack of change, often culminating in a message of doom and gloom: destruction and invasion. The messages called for the rulers and people to honor the God that protected them, lest God allow other Kingdoms to invade and conquer. The messages called for those in power, along with the every day folks of the kingdom, to change their ways toward each other, and toward the God that found favor with them.

As you can imagine, prophets were not the most celebrated and popular people. And this image of prophetic rejection is a paradigm which connects to Jesus' experience in ministry, and ultimately on the cross. Jesus offered a prophetic message which challenged the powerful forces of the Jewish religious system. Jesus was at odds with the Pharisees, Sadducees, and teachers of the law. If you will remember, Jesus wanted to emphasize the reality of Yahweh's Mercy, while others, particularly the Pharisees, wanted to emphasize Yahweh's Holiness. To emphasize God's Holiness implied that God's followers had to be strictly committed to holiness; everyone had to be holy: everyone had to follow the law. Jesus argued that this emphasis of God's Holiness was inappropriate because it created unhelpful divisions. Instead, Jesus wanted to see it through that God's Mercy was emphasized. As a result, Jesus' message challenged the current way the Jewish religion was understood, and whats more, he challenged those who enforced the religious system. Jesus' challenge was a call to change; a call to re-interpret the religious system by using the principle of Mercy above the principle of Holiness. Jesus asked the religious leaders and religious people of his day to look at God and their religion in a different way, from the vantage point of Mercy, Grace, and ultimately Love. Jesus wanted not to remove the concept of God's Holiness, but instead to see God as first Merciful, and then Holy. This challenge still rings true today as we reflect on the meaning of God in light of Jesus' message, ministry, and the event of the cross.

Jesus also described the “or else” if nothing changed. His prophetic message included the consequences of remaining without change. Things must change, the religious and social landscape had to be altered to incorporate those who were excluded, oppressed, and in need of deliverance.

The prophetic nature of Jesus' message made him an easy figure for rejection. In fact we will see time and again that Jesus is rejected in his ministry. Ultimately we will see that Jesus is climatically rejected on the cross. Luke describes the process of rejection as it plays out to the very end. And in the very end, Jesus is crucified.

We see this morning that Jesus begins his public ministry with a prophetic message; we also see Jesus for the first time rejected. This one event captures both the direction of his message and the trajectory of his reception. He would be received with a prophet's welcome: rejection.
We do need to look carefully at those who reject him in Nazareth. Because in Nazareth we do not see Jesus at odds with the religiously powerful, but instead with those with whom he was intimately associated: the people of his hometown. It is very important that we look at the context of this scripture passage to understand why his very own people did not want to hear him or welcome his message.

What makes the people of Nazareth particularly unwilling to accept Jesus? Let's begin to examine this scripture, beginning in verse 22. We see that what Jesus said regarding Isaiah immediately awed the people of the synagogue: “they spoke well of him and marveled at the gracious words which were coming from his mouth.” Initially they found his words attractive. They marveled at his message of liberation and good news. But then they remembered the Jesus they saw growing up in Nazareth. They did not see Jesus in light of the first part of Jesus' words from Isaiah: “The spirit of the Lord is upon me” (Luke 4: 18). Those words indicated that Jesus had a special relationship with Yahweh; the God of the Israelites; the God of the Jewish people. Unfortunately those at the synagogue did not see Jesus in terms of Yahweh but in terms of Joseph. At the end of verse 22 we read: “and they said, is not this Joseph's son?” What they seem to be asking is whether or not Jesus, born to the family of a carpenter could have anything all that great to actually say or do. Those in the synagogue only understood Jesus in terms of his earthly family and not in terms of his heavenly family and relationship with God.

We see Jesus' response in verse 23. The proverb which Jesus speaks of refers to his previous ministry in Galilee where he did a few miracles, signs, and wonders. Jesus already realizes that the people of his hometown will demand that he, the “physician,” should “heal himself” by performing in his hometown when he did outside of it. But Jesus refuses to perform a sign for those in Nazareth. Why?

Well it may be that the people of his hometown already see him as only in relationship to Joseph, only as Joseph's son. They might be unwilling to see him in any other way, and, as a result, cannot—or better will not—fathom Jesus as a wonder-worker in special relationship to God. In a sense they may have already closed their eyes and yet demand to see a sign. Jesus may see any such attempt to offer a sign as being futile and pointless. But we truly don't know why Jesus does not perform a sign for them. Luke's account does not specifically address why it is that Jesus will not give his own people a sign, just that Jesus does not. So we can speculate as to the reason, but according to Luke we have nothing definitive reason.

But Jesus goes on to say that there were prophets of old who did not provide miracles for their own people, but only for outsiders. He gives two examples: First, the prophet Elijah offers his council to a widow of Sidon, an outsider, and not to the countless widows who doubtlessly existed within his own Israelite community; second, the prophet Elisha went to a Syrian leper, an outsider, instead of to the lepers of his own people. After offering these examples as precedent, what was the response of those at the synagogue to Jesus? What did they say to Jesus when they realized the implications of his message: that he would minister to the outsiders, that he had come to reconcile those who were separated, those who had been excluded? Their response in verse 28 is one of wrath. They are infuriated and unable to comprehend how this could be. The inclusion of outsiders was not acceptable. They may have been thinking: “they are outsiders for a reason, we are holy people, separate people.”

An inclusion of outsiders muddled the boundary that the religious system of the day labored to create. And if we remember anything about Jesus it should be this: Jesus was a boundary-breaker, a division healer. Those in the synagogue could not fathom the overwhelming Grace that Jesus sought to employ on behalf of God. In fact, their inability to understand was a direct result of the religious system which was guided by the principle of Holiness; a principle which trumped all else, including Mercy. But Jesus came to emphasize Yahweh's divine Mercy, God's overwhelming Grace and Love. And thus, Jesus ministry took him directly to those who were outsiders, those who were not included because of the notion of Holiness and the divisions it created. Just like Elisha and Elijah, Jesus would minister to the outsiders.

The ministry to outsiders was spurred by a Grace so powerful, that it overwhelmed those in the synagogue. Now the Jewish people experienced Grace, the favor of God as God's chosen people. But they could not understand how it was that Grace could penetrate the entirety of the world and encapsulate everyone. But Jesus, as God's prophet, came with a message of change designed to include those who had been excluded. Moreover, Jesus' message of inclusion was supposedly stifled by his death. But in truth it was amplified, magnified, and intensified. Jesus' death and resurrection actually made the message of inclusion complete for all time. Remember back to Jesus on the cross and the image we see in our minds of the temple curtain torn in two. This symbolic tearing opens up the world to the presence of God. Everyone can be with God.

And it is the inclusion of outsiders that brings us to God's House this morning in worship and praise. We are or were once “outsiders.” We have the fallible traits of humanity that separates us from the most Holy God. But when we come to fathom and experience God's Mercy, God's unquenchable and overwhelming Grace, we realize that we can be included in the Kingdom of God. In fact, it is in the spirit of inclusion and community that we can prepare to witness a baptism: The sacral baptism of Jacob Simoneau. As we prepare to witness that public act of baptism, let us remember the overwhelming Grace that makes this possible, the overwhelming Love of God which beckons us to this place in praise.

Turn in your hymnal to the song of Iinvitation. If you need to move to better see the baptism, please do so now.

Benediction:

Most Merciful God, meet us in this place, your house of worship. May we welcome Jacob into our family as Your Child. Grant us the strength to encourage Jacob as he embarks on a journey of faith as part of this community. May we journey next to him in faithfulness, up-building your Kingdom in Hope, Love, Peace, and Joy. Grant us the wisdom to discern your Will for our lives, your plan for your Kingdom. May we be steadfast servants, filled with humility and the beauty of your overwhelming grace. Amen.

The Forgiven World

2007-02-04T14:16:00.000-05:00

There's a Spanish story of a father and son who had become estranged. The son ran away, and the father set off to find him. He searched for months to no avail. Finally, in a last desperate effort to find him, the father put an ad in a Madrid newspaper. The ad read: Dear Paco, meet me in front of this newspaper office at noon on Saturday. All is forgiven. I love you. Your Father. On Saturday 800 Pacos showed up, looking for forgiveness and love from their fathers. (sermonillustrations.com)

I think we might find this to be true in our world today. If you were to look around I believe you would find a world that is desperately in need of the practice of forgiveness. But instead it seems our world has far too much fury and wrath. People lack compassion, mercy and grace. Yet we as Christians, followers of Christ, fall victim to the mentality of wrath, judgment, and fury, when instead we should be the exemplars of the aforementioned virtues. We might be able to better model compassion, mercy, and grace if we look to Jesus' public ministry in light of forgiveness.
So this morning we are going to be looking at the idea of forgiveness. However, before we arrive at an explicit teaching of Jesus regarding forgiveness, we are going to look at the beginning of Jesus' public ministry. If you will remember, we have previously been exploring Jesus' childhood and then his baptism as an ordaining event. Now we will transition to some of the first events in the life of the public Jesus.

If you have your bibles with you this morning, turn to Luke chapter 4.

Text: Luke 4: 14-21

What's interesting about this passage is that we recognize, much as the gospel of Matthew has demonstrated for us, that Jesus' ministry is one of teaching. It comes to include miracles, healings, and exorcisms, but Jesus is very much a teacher. So Jesus goes about teaching in Galilee and then comes to his hometown of Nazareth. Jesus, here in the synagogue of Nazareth, proclaims a prophetic message from Isaiah.

Just because Jesus chooses this scripture from the Hebrew Bible does not mean that we can necessarily interpret these things of Jesus himself. Rather, it is because Jesus, as recorded in this Gospel, believes these things are fulfilled in himself. If this is the case, then we can understand the purpose of Jesus' public ministry through the scriptural prophecy.

Reading from Isaiah serves two important purposes for understanding Jesus. First, the opening line of the passage Jesus reads states that the “spirit of the Lord is upon me.” What this is expressing is a special relationship between Jesus and Yahweh, which we observed at Jesus' baptism when he was ordained into public ministry. God had found favor with Jesus; there existed a special relationship. Second, the remaining verses from the passage Jesus read characterize the focus, flavor, and concern of Jesus in his ministry. There is Good News for the poor, liberty for the captives, sight for the blind, and freedom for the oppressed. At the very end we see that it is the year of the Lord's favor. Jesus then boldly claims that those who are listening are witnessing the fulfillment of such prophecy, implicitly claiming that it is he who has brought the fulfillment. Jesus is a bearer of Good News, Liberty, and Sight.

When we apply the prophetic message that Jesus claims to his ministry, we will notice that Jesus truly does minister to the oppressed and needy, restore sight both physical and spiritual, and offer Good News to the poor. But what he offers to the poor is in truth for us all, because we are all poor in reality. We lack the divinity that is needed to bring us reconciliation with God.
So the ministry of Jesus can be interpreted in light of this passage pieced together from Isaiah. The question we then have to ask ourselves is: how does all this happen? What principle motivates such compassion and mercy? What is behind compassion and mercy? I want to suggest to you this morning that the principle made explicit in Jesus' death is the operating principle behind Jesus' ministry: forgiveness. So today let us examine forgiveness.

I submit to you this morning that to be a Christian is to embrace forgiveness, and not just the typical understanding of our personal forgiveness from God through Christ's atonement. Instead I want to reflect on the over-arching and ever-present mentality of forgiveness that we all need in our world today. So this morning I will ask you to consider the notion of pre-forgiveness. The idea that the world and people are already forgiven, not just by Christ, but also by you and me.
But first let us look at what “forgiveness” is? As I tend to do a lot, allow me to ask you to think about the original understanding and etymology of the word “forgiveness.” The roots of the word forgiveness stretch back to Old English and the word “forgiefan.” It meant to give, grant, or allow and many times pertained to the giving involved in marriage. The prefix “for-” literally means completely. The stem “giefan” literally means “to give.” To forgive is to completely give. However, that isn't the way we typically understand forgiveness. The modern usage often implies a giving up of desire or power to punish. And actually that understanding comes from the latin “perdonare” (German: “vergeben”) which comes into English as “pardon.”

Forgiveness as we use it today is more like “pardon”... to forgo deserved punishment, to give up power/desire to punish. But this morning I am going to ask us not to focus on the personal aspect of forgiveness which is linked to God sparing us from our deserved punishment. Instead we are going to focus on forgiveness as a complete and total gift to the world. But not just from God, also from us as we transmit God's forgiveness to the world.

We have lost the idea of forgiveness as a gift, grant or allowance. A lot of times forgiveness feels like a burden. Christ asks us to remember that forgiveness is not as much about punishment and who deserves it, but about the gift of Mercy, and how we all get it.

Text: Matthew 18: 21- 22

Jesus asks us to forgive 490 times; seven times seventy. But the question we need to ask ourselves is whether we think Jesus wants us to literally forgive a person 490 times, and then after that we are free to withhold forgiveness, or whether this is somehow asking us to forgive always. Remember that numbers are very important in biblical times. Numbers have central importance to the creation narrative which gives us our seven day week. Seven is a very important number, because it represents totality or completeness. Also, remember if you will that any multiple of seven, or any additional sevens in a number magnify the importance of totality or completeness. Thus, Jesus does not just say completely forgive, or forgive a lot, but rather COMPLETELY, TOTALLY, and ALWAYS forgive: there is no limit to forgiveness. Forgiveness does not dry up.

My question now is: how then, can we be expected to do this? Well, if we look at how Jesus did it, then we might be able to understand how we can do the same. So we need to look at Jesus ministry as a whole and his death to comprehend how Jesus “did” forgiveness. Jesus ministry, as the precursor to his death, was not separate from his death. Both Jesus' ministry and death can be seen in the light of forgiveness. If the event of the cross was the culmination of his ministry in ever-lasting forgiveness, then Jesus' ministry in itself was working to express that principle in concrete ways.

I submit to you this morning that Jesus' ministry was the concrete application of ever-lasting forgiveness. Jesus ministered and spent time with those that the world had rejected. Jesus' message catered to the dirty, unclean, ill, possessed and “out-of-bounds” members of society. Thus, Jesus could be seen as someone who showed kindness and mercy to the seemingly un-forgiven.

Why were they “seemingly” un-forgiven? Because they were only un-forgiven im-pure, and un-clean from the perspective of those who could not accept them. Jesus, by virtue of his acceptance, sees them as forgiven subjects of God's Mercy. These are not un-forgiven people with whom Jesus associates, but forgiven people whom the world does not recognize. Jesus sees and plays out God's Mercy in the world by seeing people as forgiven.

But to view the world through the eyes of forgiveness is difficult to do. Yet we must ask ourselves how we view people. Do we view the world through the lens of forgiveness? Are people un-forgiven in our eyes, or are they already forgiven? When we see people as forgiven, how does that change how we interact with those around us, especially when we are wronged? God has already forgiven them. Shouldn't we?

To view the world through the eyes of forgiveness requires two things: first, that the eyes have received forgiveness, and second that the world has been forgiven. Both of these conditions have been satisfied for all time by Christ. We live in a terrible world which was terribly forgiven by the Christ. Do we acknowledge and accept that world, or do we reject it? Do we choose to hold on to our own wrath, hate and fury, and refuse to offer our forgiveness? Forgiveness is not as much about doing something as it is about accepting something that has already been done.

I am not saying that forgiveness is not tough, difficult, or at times seemingly burdensome. When we have been seriously wronged it is incredibly hard to sacrifice our dignity and pride at the alter of forgiveness. But then again, the world ultimately is not about us. The world has already been forgiven and so we must extend that attitude of forgiveness to others. We have been filled with forgiveness so that we might overflow and offer the world a taste of the beauty of forgiveness. When we as Christians to not demonstrate forgiveness, when we hold on to our fury and our hatred, we give a message to the world of fury and hatred. I do not believe that is Christ's message.

In his book Lee: The Last Years, Charles Flood reports that after the Civil War, Robert E. Lee visited a Kentucky lady who took him to the remains of a grand old tree in front of her house. And there she bitterly cried that its limbs and trunk had been destroyed by Federal artillery fire. She looked to Lee for a word condemning the North or at least sympathizing with her loss. After a brief silence, Lee said, "Cut it down, my dear Madam, and forget it." It is better to forgive the injustices of the past than to allow them to remain, let bitterness take root and poison the rest of our life.

We must learn to forgive, but not because it hasn't been done. Forgiveness has already come, when we choose to reject it—when we cannot forgive others—we may be indicating that we cannot forgive ourselves. The pain of un-forgiveness can saturates us, and ultimately can poison us.

Listen to these profound and moving words: “O Lord, remember not only the men and women of good will, but also those of ill will. But do not remember all of the suffering they have inflicted upon us: Instead remember the fruits we have borne because of this suffering, our fellowship, our loyalty to one another, our humility, our courage, our generosity, the greatness of heart that has grown from this trouble. When our persecutors come to be judged by you, let all of these fruits that we have borne be their forgiveness.” These are the words that were found on the clothing of a dead child at Ravensbruck concentration camp. How is it possible that we cannot forgive, when this child, experiencing one of the greatest wrongs of humanity, can do so?
This morning as you reflect on forgiveness, remember that you have been forgiven by a loving God that embraces you. But also remember that the Love you receive is a gift that must be transmitted to the world in forgiveness. The rest of the world has been forgiven by God. Have you forgiven those in the world as well?

Let us sing.

Benediction: Lord of Heaven and Earth we thank you this morning for our forgiveness. May we be sources of forgiveness in this world, recognizing that you have loved us all so much, that you would send the Christ to us, to offer us all Hope, Love, Peace, Joy and Redemption. And let us resist our selfish desire for hate and vengeance, and instead offer Grace, Mercy and Forgiveness so that we may Love as you have Loved and Forgive as you have Forgiven.

The Kingdom of Community

2007-01-02T14:22:00.000-05:00

We have moved from the Christmas Holiday to the brink of the New Years Holiday. This being the last Sunday in December I thought it appropriate to continue touching on the theme of Kingdom. Although I have completed the sermon series on the advent themes: Hope, Love, Joy and Peace; I want to continue searching the idea of Kingdom as it relates to the early life of Jesus. In fact, this is the fifth Sunday of Advent, and so it seems fitting to end our advent celebration with a last look at the Kingdom.

So, I think it is rather appropriate to ask ourselves “what is Kingdom?” What is this thing we call a “kingdom”? As it is traditionally understood—and it may seem quite obvious—Kingdom is the realm where the King rules. But that realm is not just physical, it includes the subjects, the “ones presided over”. A kingdom is not just a physical space or boundary, but it also incorporates the composition of people within such a boundary. Thus, “kingdom” is both place and people. And because it includes people, it necessarily includes community.

An exploration in community in this context forces us to ask a couple questions: Where do we find community? What should the community in the Kingdom of God look like? I think we can begin to glimpse answers to these questions by looking at our lectionary text this morning from Luke. This is a passage of scripture that presents the early life of Jesus, after his birth but well before his public ministry.

Flip through your bibles to the Gospel of Luke, the second chapter. As you do so, it may strike you that we have been focusing on Luke's version of Jesus' early life quite a bit in the last month. This is true for several reasons. If you are familiar with the Gospels, you will notice that Mark and John have virtually nothing to say about Jesus' birth and early life. In fact, only Matthew and Luke comment and narrate on the early life of Jesus. And between these two Gospels, Luke gives us more than Matthew. Now, there are some important differences between the Gospels which combine to give us unique information and narrative, such as Matthew's account of the flight to Egypt. But for our purposes this morning, we return to the Gospel of Luke and the story of Jesus and his parents in their trip to Jerusalem.

Text: Luke 2: 41-52

I was talking about this story with my mother, and she wondered to me “how is it possible that Joseph and Mary could lose their child, Jesus?” If you will remember, Mary had a messenger come and tell her that her son would be incredibly special. So it is hard to imagine Mary and Joseph casually unconcerned with Jesus' whereabouts. It is tough to comprehend how they could lose Jesus. So I would like to offer some historical context which might make this event seem a little more understandable. Also, historical context will provide us with the reasons for which Mary, Joseph and Jesus were traveling to Jerusalem in the first place.

First, if we were to look back at the Hebrew Bible and search the Law, we would find that every male of the covenant was to travel to Jerusalem for three feasts. These feasts were: Passover, Pentecost, and Tabernacles. Now this law had been in effect for hundreds upon hundreds of years, beginning at a time when most, if not all Israelites, had relatively easy access to the temple. But in 586 BCE, the Babylonian Empire invaded the Israelite land and conquered the Israelites. To prevent the Israelites from unifying and revolting, the Babylonians dispersed, scattered, and spread out the Israelites within the Babylonian Empire. Many Israelites were sent to Babylon. This event sparked many prophetic texts and new ideas concerning how to maintain the Israelite religion despite the new circumstances. It was now very difficult for the Israelites to come to Jerusalem three times a year for these feasts.

Over time, it became customary for Jewish men to attempt to travel once during the year to Jerusalem for one of the three feasts. This custom was particularly true to Palestinian Jews who were in relatively reasonable traveling distance to Jerusalem. Joseph and Mary, being Palestinian Jews, traveled every year, as our text informs us, to the feast of the Passover. This was their attempt to fulfill the Law according to their custom.

Now you may ask yourself, why is it that Mary accompanied Joseph if the Law only required the male to travel and attend? Well it was also common for women and children to make the pilgrimage with the men. Often, large groups of family and friends would travel in a caravan to the Holy City. You may notice that our text seems to imply that Jesus did not typically travel with his parents on these journeys, but that this year he did. So why is it that Jesus came? Well, when a male child of the Jewish religion reaches puberty, usually around age 12, he then becomes a man of the Jewish faith. Thus, Jesus, upon his 12th birthday, became a Jewish man subject to the edicts of the Jewish Law. As a result, Jesus accompanied his father to Jerusalem in this customary pilgrimage.

But we must turn to my mom's question: How did Jesus get lost? Well, I believe the historical context will provide us with some insight. The text appears quite plain, yet it seems that Joseph and Mary were quite irresponsible. It was tradition, at later times, for women and children to separate from men. Small women and children went ahead and men followed. If this later, documented tradition, arose during the time of Jesus, then it is possible that Joseph and Mary were separated as they left Jerusalem. Thus, each parent may have believed Jesus was with the other. This caravan would have traveled for an entire day before setting up camp, and upon doing so, Mary and Joseph would have found each other and realized Jesus was missing.
Hoping Jesus was with relatives or friends in the caravan, Joseph and Mary searched the people who had traveled with them. After three days of frantic searching, Mary and Joseph returned to Jerusalem to find Jesus in the temple. It was typical at that time, that teaching took place in the temple courtyard. This is precisely the image we see when Mary and Joseph arrive at the temple. Jesus, sitting in the courtyard, is among teachers. It was also typical in Jewish education for problems to be worked out in discussion. The student would question the teacher and a dialog would develop. So it is in this context that Jesus remains at the temple. And it is here that Mary and Joseph, distraught and probably exhausted, arrive. Mary, bewildered and frustrated, asks Jesus: Why have you treated us in this way? Behold your father and I have been searching for you in great distress” (v. 48).

It appears Mary did not understand why Jesus had not returned with them, for there seems to be some criticism or rebuke in her voice as she questions Jesus. And Jesus answers in a very interesting way: “Why were you searching for me? Did you not know I must be in my Father's house?” (v. 49). Jesus seems to be saying that this is the place that he had to be, that he needed to be. What's more, Jesus uses very peculiar language in saying “My Father's House.” This is terminology that was not typical and indicates to us that Jesus has begun to recognize a special relationship to God. But Jesus also recognizes the importance of the temple and this his “Father's House.”

So we must ask ourselves what it is that the temple served to do during Jesus' time. Well, the temple in Jerusalem was the center of the Jewish religion; the cultic center. This was the place where the Jewish people would come to find instruction (commune with each other), to sacrifice (perform religion), and to pray (commune with God). Thus, the temple was a place of communion, and as such it was also a place of community. Community as a Jewish religion and community before Yahweh. It is in this place of community that Jesus says: “I must be in my Father's house.”

So let's look at community here and now. Obviously, Jesus recognizes the importance of community in his Father's house. So too, we must look for and recognize community in our lives, especially as it relates to the idea of “God's Kingdom.” So to begin, I figured it would be appropriate to take up a very theological perspective. This is a perspective which assesses our humanity in light of God's divinity. Many of you may have heard of “the Trinity.” This is the concept of the “three-in-one” or “one-in-three.” It is a difficult, paradoxical, seemingly incompatible notion of God. It places three co-equal beings under the Godhead: God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. You may remember some time ago when Pastor Fullard attempted to explain during the Children's moment the concept of the Trinity. I was amazed because I find this concept hard enough for myself as a young adult, let alone a small child.
Despite the paradox which appears to be built into this concept, the Trinity offers us some valuable insight into the idea of community. Under the umbrella of God's individuality (the Godhead), is God's Community. The three (community) being one (individuality). What makes this important for us, is the realization that we, as God's creatures, are reflections of God. As a result, we too have an internal desire and need for community despite our independence and individuality.

Now, there is an anthropological (anthros being “man” in Greek) perspective as well, one that doesn't assess our position in light of God's being, but that simply observes and assesses humanity. A famous and ancient philosopher, Aristotle, argued from such an anthropological position. He argued that human were political animals. But a "political animal" is not one that is democratic, republican, independent, libertarian or other group that deals with politics as we know it. Rather, a political animal means an animal whose nature is to live in a polis or city, not without others or in very small groups. Ultimately, Aristotle recognized that humans were “social” animals. Aristotle recognized that very thing we saw from the theological perspective: that humans exist in and need society, other people, community. We are people who are by nature social. He also argued that "Civilization" (from Latin civitas, a city) is the natural state for humans. It is the natural state not because it is the original state—we are not born into social our fullest social relationships—but in the sense that the natural goal of human development is life in society, life with people.

Now there are lots of people who think that faith, spirituality, and Christianity can be done independently, individually. To some extent they are correct, for faith and Christianity is a personal matter. But it is also a public matter, it is not solely individual. There is a need, desire, and built-in sense of community that must be fulfilled. This is a necessary and important part of Christianity, an important part of following Christ. In fact, Aristotle rejected the idea common at the time, and since, that civilization is artificial, conventional, unnatural. He argued that instead humans need community. If we look around and judge for ourselves in our own experience I think we might find ourselves in agreement with Aristotle; in agreement with the theological perspective. People exist in and depend on society.

We can even move to the project of sociology, which seeks to study companionship and association. The founder of Sociology, Auguste Comte, sought to unify economics, psychology, and history under one academic discipline. He felt that humans passed through similar stages including philosophy and science, which could be studied. The studies could then yield solutions to social ills.

If we apply theology, anthropology and sociology to our notion of Kingdom, we see that the Kingdom of God is a special society, a special community; a society of people who need each other and the God they unity under. But where do we find this community now? Where do we find this idea of the Kingdom of God in our present day, especially when this is an incomplete Kingdom? Where do we find our sense of social belonging and our sense of community?
I suggest to you this morning that Church provides us with our physical, emotional, and spiritual society. Church, the House of God, is our place of community. It unites theology, economics, psychology and much more to prescribe remedies for social ills in the Spirit of God. The church provides people, united under God, a place of worship, communion, celebration, comfort, edification, instruction, and much, much more. The church is the physical manifestation of God's
Kingdom in its present form, even if incomplete.

Since we have touched on the notion of the Kingdom of God during this advent season, we now must realize that such a Kingdom begins here, in our church. The Kingdom we long to see built-up in the world around us must first begin within the walls where we worship. To build-up the Kingdom of God means to build-up our churches, our communities of faith. We have to have a strong church to work toward a strong and completed Kingdom of God. And God's House is not limited to the church building, but it does include it. Thus the Kingdom must begin inside these walls. If these walls do not contain the attitude of the Kingdom, the Hope and Love of the Kingdom, then we are spinning our wheels, we are only “talking about the Kingdom” instead of being the Kingdom.

The purpose of up-building God's Kingdom is to make these walls expand... but not physically to create a larger church, although this might happen. Instead we are called to include everyone inside these “walls” of love, compassion, hope, joy, and peace. As we reach out to those in our community we are reaching out beyond our physical walls to include them in our walls of Love, Hope, and Joy. That doesn't only mean bringing more people into our building, although that does and sometimes should happen. But it does mean reaching out to a community in action, thought, prayer and compassion so as to expand our walls to include everyone in our city, county, state, nation.

Are we building up God's Kingdom within our very walls? We must begin there in order to build “outwards” (in a sense upwards). We must remember that Jesus could be found at his “father's house.” Where can we find you? Are you committed to the Kingdom through your commitment to church? Are you celebrating, fellowshipping, and worshiping God in God's House? Many people lose God's guiding presence in their daily lives, but there is a place where that can be restored, where God's guiding presence can be re-discovered... that place is in God's House. This is where we find Christ, offering us guidance as we work to build-up the Kingdom of God.

The Coming Kingdom of Peace

2006-12-24T00:21:00.000-05:00

This morning we will complete the series we began the first week in December. The series has focused on the different aspects of the coming Kingdom as they pertain to the Themes of Advent: Hope, Love, Joy, and today Peace. The lectionary text this morning focuses on a very interesting and important passage of scripture. Not only does our text bring together the strands of Advent, but it also speaks to the anticipation, expectation, participation, and longing surrounding the coming Kingdom. What we will read is a story that takes place after Mary has been visited by a messenger; a messenger explaining that she would conceive a very important and special child. But the messenger also informed Mary of her relative Elizabeth, a barren older woman, who had now conceived. Thus, in an attempt to validate the claims of the heavenly messenger, Mary traveled to her relative.

Text: Luke 1: 39-55

What Mary is described in Luke as saying is truly remarkable. Yes it is verse and not prose, and it echoes back to many Hebrew Bible passages. But it also affirms Mary's acceptance of her coming son. Mary, in haste, traveled to her relative Elizabeth to confirm if the heavenly messenger should be trusted. In seeing Elizabeth, a once barren mother, six months pregnant with her child John, Mary felt over-whelming Joy; a Joy that expressed itself through the Magnificat. The first word in the Latin Vulgate for Mary's song of praise begins “Magnificat” and in English it is translated “magnifies.” Thus, Mary, upon realizing her special privilege and the hope her son would bring, magnifies God.

The coming of Jesus created an immense Joy in Mary. Joy, however, comes from some source. And the source of Mary's Joy waits in the Grace of her God, the Mercy of Yahweh. As her song says, “And his mercy is for those who fear him...” (v.50) and “he has filled the hungry with good things...” (v.53). Mary's words reflect not only an admiration for God's Love, Grace, and Promise, but also set the precedent for Jesus' ministry to the poor, oppressed, hungry, and needy. Her song anticipates the Kingdom Jesus would begin by indicating the neediness of the world, and the Salvation God offers the humble. Here we find a woman who anticipates, expects, longs for and definitely participates in, the coming Kingdom of God. In Mary we see Hope because of God's Love. In Mary we see Joy expressed in a beautiful and revolutionary song. A song concerned for the poor, down-trodden, and rejected of the world. We can speculate about the Peace Mary may have encountered or experienced, but it isn't until the birth of Jesus that we begin to see the coming Kingdom of Peace made apparent.

So I believe it is very appropriate to read the “Christmas story” at this juncture. We have seen the presence of Hope, Love, and Joy, but let us focus here on Peace.

So turn in your bible with me to Luke chapter 2. Now you may have heard these verses many times over the years, but today read them through the lens of the Kingdom, through the eyes of someone expecting and anticipating the completion of the Kingdom that Jesus established in his birth, death, and resurrection. This is the birth of that man, who manifested God's Divine Grace, Mercy, and Redemption so that we might participate in God's Kingdom as the Children of God. This is a beautiful and important story. So, listen.

The “Christmas Story”
Text: Luke 2: 1-20

What a beautiful story. A story that has been told countless times, spanning history and the globe. A story which can bring us into the life of Christ. I mean, after reading it so many times I feel as though I could be in those words that Luke writes. I could be right there in that story watching the events of the narrative unfold. I feel as though I am watching with knowing eyes the birth of a Messiah who would bring the world endless Hope and eternal Joy. Can you see the child this morning? Can you see Mary tenderly wrap the babe in rags? Can you see this gentle mother, filled with Hope, Love, and Joy, carefully place Jesus in the manger? And all the while Joseph watches eagerly over her shoulder. Can you picture it?

Now imagine we travel a little ways. We come upon some lowly shepherds watching over their flocks. They patiently perform their duties unaware of the strange events about to transpire. And you can almost see this dirty but dedicated group of people burdened with their uncleanliness. These shepherds could not keep ritually clean in their profession, yet the very sheep they watched over would become the sacrificial lambs used in the temple. And it is the shepherds, the lowly animal care-takers who were shown a splendid site. A messenger from God comes before them to proclaim the birth of their savior, the one who would ultimately cleanse their ritual impurity. Hear the words of the heavenly host that joined with the messenger saying: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!”

And then we travel with those shepherds back to find Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus. There in that lowly stable, in the dirt and hay, layed the Messiah. Surrounded by the lowly shepherds, a carpenter, and a weary mother sleeps the Anointed One, The Christ. This is the Arrival of Hope, Love, Joy, and as we shall begin to see today: Peace.

But what is this Peace that we talk so fondly of? What is this Peace that the heavenly host proclaimed to the shepherds? What is this Peace that Mary might have felt with the her son, the coming Redeemer, as she endured her pregnancy? Well to begin, let's explore what it is we mean when we use the word “peace”. As you might find in many dictionaries, the word peace is often used to indicate quiet, silence, or some form of rest. This is expressed in the phrase “needing some peace and quiet.” And couldn't you go for some “peace and quiet” during the holiday season? A little break from the hustle, bustle, and endless holiday jingles would be nice.
But what else do we mean when we talk about Peace? Another dictionary definition might reveal that “peace” refers to harmony in personal relations. Such harmony is being understood when people use the phrase “at peace with herself.” To be at one with yourself, or to be “together” psychologically seems to offer us peace. But what else offers Peace?

Further dictionary examination might reveal that Peace indicates an end of hostility between those at war, or in opposition. This is the Peace that is sought when governments battle, countries fight, and people feud. But what is it that unites all these notions of Peace? And how does that connect to and inform us of spiritual Peace?

I submit to you this morning that all these notions of Peace carry with them the idea of Freedom. To be at peace with yourself, to be in a state of quietude, or to end enmity with another is to be released. So in the first sense of Peace, “peace and quiet,” we are released from the noise and exhaustion of the world. We are freed from the constraints of schedule and task, from the demands of those around us. We are free to rest and be alone. And in the second case, “peace with oneself,” we find that we are free from inner dispute and torment. We have a unified personality, a psychological wholeness. The third case, “peace not war,” we find that we are freed from the confines of hate and death. We are liberated from opposition to embrace Love. Ultimately, Peace brings freedom.

But I also submit to you this morning that all these notion of Peace also carry with them the idea of unity, or togetherness. Whether this is internal togetherness or external togetherness, Peace implies harmony or accord. To be individually at Peace is to have internal, psychological unity or wholeness. To be collectively at Peace is to have external unity with the rest of those in your world. And we see this in Jesus. In fact, we see this in the meaning and power of Christ .
Jesus' arrival as a baby and Christ's life, death, and resurrection have two effects which promote Peace. First, Christ, as our Redeemer, restores Peace between God and humanity. This is the individual element of Peace. Correspondingly, this is also the internal spiritual Peace. Each one of you has access to the Peace that comes from God's Grace and Mercy. This is the Peace of Reconciliation, the Peace of Redemption, or the Peace of Salvation. But this is not all the Peace that is produced by the Christ-event. There is a corollary Peace, a Peace that is derived from Reconciliation and Redemption; and which transcends the individual. This is the collective Peace of God's Children. This is the Peace between human and human. It parallels external peace because it involves our interaction in the world around us. A Peace that flows directly from the Reconciliation between God and human produces a Peace that unifies and unites human and human.

Thus the coming Kingdom of Peace is one which embraces both aspects of Peace. Its source is Hope which emanates from Love. But Peace is not purely private. We are missing the larger image of the Kingdom when we focus solely on the private aspect of Peace. Peace is also collective. It has collective meaning, and more importantly, collective power. Peace can transform. It can not only transform an individual who has been affected by Hope and Love, but it can affect a world desperately needing Hope and Love. What's more, the heavenly host and messenger from God make an interesting and important connection between Peace and God's pleasure. They come on the scene to proclaim God's Glory, but also to proclaim that God is glorified and pleased with those to whom there is Peace. Having Hope in God's promise of Love yields a Peace which pleases God.

So this morning, as we close, we have to ask ourselves a few important questions. In this time of Peace, Joy, Love, and Hope, is God pleased with me? Is God pleased with me? Do I have Peace? Do I have the internal Peace of Christ's redemption? Have I stopped there? Have I forgotten the external Peace of Christ? Is God not only pleased with me, but with us, collectively, as a community? Do we have peace in Perryville? Is God pleased with us as a collective state? Do we have, practice, or strive after Peace in Kentucky? And now the tough question. Is God pleased with us as a collective nation? Does America long for Peace, pursuing it with all its resources and capabilities? Are we a nation of peace? I ask you this morning to reflect on the condition of your Peace, and of our Peace. Do not simply focus on your internal Peace, Hope, Love, and Joy. This is corrupt and perverted if we think that these issues are only a personal matter. For the Kingdom calls us into a collective whole. The Kingdom which Advent draws our attention toward is filled with people, lots of people, living in the Hope of a Promised Love that produces Joy and Peace. A Joy and Peace we share with those around us, not just in our own hearts and thoughts. Have you been sharing your Joy and Peace? Have you been making Peace on earth, and are you filled with good will toward all humanity?

I invite you this morning, as the Christmas Holiday reaches the threshold, to find Peace. If this means finding personal Peace for the first time, then come, kneel before the God who can bring you personal Peace in the redemption of your sin and the evil that has befallen you. If instead, you have found internal peace, but struggle with external opposition, come and pray with me. I invite you as well to the alter of humility where you can find that Peace which extends into all the world. There is a need in each of our lives to admit our short-comings, both with our own personal selves and with the world. The house of God is a haven of Love which offers the cleansing of such burdens. Come, I invite you to pray as we sing our closing Hymn.

Benediction:

Holy God, the psalmist wrote that where “Steadfast love and faithfulness meet; righteousness and peace kiss each other” (85:10). May we find that to be true today. May we find your steadfast Love which gives us Hope. May we be faithful with that Love, striving for Peace in a fallen and broken world. Let us realize that Peace is not only for our own pockets, to give us a false sense of security and momentary happiness. May our Peace be both internal and external. May we work toward the Kingdom of Peace, building up all of humanity in Love, Compassion, and Mercy. May we extend the Grace of God toward the needy, hungry, impoverished, and down-trodden. Give us the hands to serve those that Christ served, the hearts to love those that Christ loved, and the desire to spread your Peace to all the world. May this Christmas be one which beckons us toward the Kingdom, the unfinished Kingdom. Let us await its completion in anticipation and expectation, ever-fueled to participation, and never forgetting our longing. For You have given us all we could ever need by sending that babe to our world so many years ago. A babe that would transform our lives and give us the drive to transform our world. May that be our image of Christmas, a changing world moved toward Hope, Love, Joy, and Peace. Amen.

The Coming Kingdom of Joy

2006-12-17T22:12:00.000-05:00

Christmas is drawing close. In fact, we are only 8 days away from the much anticipated day. Children are anxious, filled with the excitement and mystery of the gift-giving season. Parents are squeezing their budgets, and preparing for family and friends. In fact it seems the jolly atmosphere of the holidays is forever balanced with the stress and nervousness that accompanies our busy, sometimes frantic, preparations. We can't manage to escape the anxiety which accompanies our joy in this time of celebration. In fact, the holidays manage to remind us that there are always two perspectives to every situation. With great Joy comes great trouble and the potential for disappointment. In order to achieve a joy-filled holiday, there is always the potential, the risk, that all might come tumbling down on us. It appears that joy is generated from the very risk and difficulty that we somehow overcome.

This notion of joy accompanied by difficulty and potential sorrow is at the heart of our scripture passage this morning. As we have discussed the different aspects of the coming Kingdom, we have seen anticipation, expectation, preparation, and longing expressed in different ways. Today, we will look at a scripture which points us to the joy we have in actively awaiting the coming Kingdom of God. But this scripture, like our own experience with the holidays, demonstrates that there is a subtle paradox alongside our joy; the presence of sorrow.

Turn with me in your bibles to John, chapter 16. As you flip through your bibles, let me give you some context to our passage. Jesus, in chapters 13-16 of the gospel of John, has been providing his disciples with a reassurance that concludes with abounding Joy. Jesus, in preparing for his passion, is offering the disciples a hope. This hope produces a joy that will overcome any conflict. You see, in all of Jesus' reassurance, he never promises that the disciples will be without troubles. . Rather, we get this image of “sorrowful joy.”

Text: John 16: 19-22

In reflecting this week about “Joy” my mind was mysteriously drawn to the joystick of all things. For some reason, I kept thinking about all the different ways that the word “joy” was used in our lives, and I couldn't help but think about the term “joystick.” What is a joystick? Well, it it the mechanism that young children use to control animated people, air-crafts, and futuristic vehicles. But the joystick did not originate as a tool for playing video and computer games. Actually the joystick got its name in the first two decades of the 20th century when fighter planes were developed and used. Pilots found that their air-craft brought them great joy in flying, offering incredible rushes of adreniline and excitement. The danger of battle and the thrill of victory complimented the freedom of flying over the earth. In that, pilots were brought great joy. But ultimately the source of that joy could be identified in their control mechanism: the “joy-stick”. This “stick” gave the pilot control of the plane. And once in control of the plane, then the “joy” could happen.

Imagine swooping and diving, twisting and turning, feeling the wind in your hair and the freedom in each motion. Such joy was captured in the very instrument that controlled the plane: the “joystick.” But mind you this joy did not come without a cost. For in every flight was conflict. In every flight was an ensuing battle, waiting to be fought. Not only did the fighter pilots of WWI and beyond experience the freedom of flying, but also the danger of immanent death. Yet in each flight, there was great joy... joy despite danger, joy in light of trouble. This is sorrowful joy in that each flight signaled possible demise, yet guaranteed excitement and thrill.

In a sense, this captures what Jesus is trying to explain to his disciples in our passage from John. Jesus begins by explaining to his disciples that they will not see him in a little while, and then they will see him again. This puzzles the disciples who ask him what he means, and Jesus responds by describing the coming sorrow of the disciples. They will weep and lament. This moment for John signals the death of Jesus. This moment signals the sorrow of the disciples, for their savior will be taken from them. Yet, this necessary sorrow will result in great joy. The saddened hearts of the disciples will become joy-filled.

To make this all the more clear, Jesus gives us the example of a mother in labor. Faced with the physical pain of birth, the mother experiences initial sorrow. The birth of her child is not easy, it is not happy or joyous in the physical sense. Rather, there is quite a sacrifice that is involved. Yet, when the new-born babe arrives, the mother's joy overcomes her sorrow. In fact, she “forgets” her sorrow; it's as if the sorrow were never there. This is the beauty of joy, for it overcomes the greatest sorrows.

Much like the laboring mother, the disciples would be faced with trouble and difficulty, sorrow and pain. Yet this would subside once they discovered their joy, a joy so wonderful and infinite that it would erase every memory of sorrow. But what is this Joy? What is this moment when the disciples' will “see me again”?

There are a range of interpretations which offer us an explanation of Jesus' intentions toward his disciples. Was Jesus simply predicting his death and resurrection, or was Jesus offering the disciples a hope in the second coming of Christ? Regardless, the words captured here seem to point us to a Joy that transcends sorrow, a Joy that is rooted in the Grace of Christ. Whether that is the fulfillment of the Kingdom, or the enjoyment of personal Redemption, Jesus offers us an ever-lasting hope which produces great Joy.

However, the important element in this message is the presence of sorrow. Joy is not promised by itself. Jesus' words in our passage point toward the presence of sorrow, the reality of pain. There is no escaping the danger of difficulty. Trouble and toil will always be before us, yet there is a Joy that exists which overcomes such conflict. This Joy is so wonderful, so amazing, so infinite, that it causes every sorrow to subside, and every tear to be dried. There is a Hope which produces Joy, a Redeemer who conquers our insufficiency.

I read an interesting quote from George Bernard Shaw: “This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one: the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap, and being a force of nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances, complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.” I think Shaw highlights the message of Jesus this morning by drawing our attention to the true joy in life. We can participate in a purpose mightier than ourselves. We can be thoroughly worn out and thrown on the scrap heap with exhaustion, yet find hope and comfort in the up-building of God's Kingdom, in the hope of Christ's redemption. We can find Joy in the allegiance to Christ's Righteous cause, instead of becoming selfish clods of grievance which complain about our own happiness.

Paul himself comments on the nature of God's Kingdom in Romans 14. In verse 17 of that chapter Paul explains: “For the Kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking but of righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit.” The trivial happiness of food and drink, frivolous passing pleasures, do not capture the message or essence of God's Kingdom. This is the Kingdom of Joy and Righteousness where God's children take pleasure in the beauty of God's Grace and the abundance of God's Redeeming power. Conflict, which did and still does exist, dissolves in the cleansing flood of God's Love. And what more could we rejoice in? What mightier cause is there? Where could you find greater Love than this?

I love Mother Teresa quotes. She says that “Joy is a net for catching souls.” In our world of suffering and sorrow, of hatred and anger, what more could our world need than the infinite Love of God? Our world cries out for a joy that will cause every sorrow to evaporate and every conflict to be resolved. In this world of desperation and need are God's children, abounding in Joy and Hope, offering their service and humble hearts. Are you one of these? Are you a member of that fighter squadron which soars through the dim and dangerous skies toward the bright horizon of Hope? Are you navigating your way through this world with the purpose of up-building God's Kingdom, embracing the Joy and Happiness that accompanies such action?

May we cast our nets of Joy this morning. May we step onto into our planes and grab hold of that which steers our course. May we grasp firmly the source of joy in our endeavors: the Gracious Love of God through Christ our Redeemer. May we walk boldly into a world where suffering and torment not only exist, but often prevail. May we be courageous in facing potential disappointment in order that we might bring the light and reality of God's Love to all the world, for all to enjoy. May we help erase the sorrow of our world by devoting ourselves to the greater and mightier cause of God's Kingdom. A Kingdom of Joy which does not turn from sorrow, but which overcomes it.

Benediction:

May You, our Gracious God, be with us this morning. May your Love fall around us, on us, in us, and may it flow abundantly through us. May our veins pulse with your love to the beat of Joy. Let us rejoice in our Redeemer, who in this moment we celebrate and remember, treasure and hold dear. Keep our eyes fixed on your Grace, our hands attached to the needs of this world, and our hearts glad with a Hope that comes from our Redemption. May we usher in the Kingdom of Joy with all the Mercy we have been afforded and all the Compassion we have been given. For it is in Christ that we are transformed, and in Christ that we transform our world. Let us rejoice, O God, fill our mouths with praise! In You our Spirits are lifted this morning. Amen.

The Coming Kingdom of Love

2006-12-09T23:04:00.000-05:00

Over the last several Sundays we have explored the idea of a coming Kingdom, a Hope in the completion of God's work here on earth. We are drawn to this subject by the forward-looking spirit of Advent anchored in the event of Christ. The idea of Advent seems to offer us renewal, a refreshing taste of the anticipated Kingdom we labor to build. In the toil of our labor, in the difficulties of our service, we often find ourselves distracted from our Hope, our Expectation. Advent refocuses our desire, re-centers our actions. It is in Advent that we come back to that first Arrival, the arrival of Christ, so that we might continue to usher in the second Arrival; the arrival of the completed Kingdom.

What then, does that Kingdom look like? If we toil with such difficulty, if we are hard-pressed in service and sacrifice, where do we look to find encouragement and motivation? Last week, on the first Sunday of Advent, we exposed our Hope. The first Sunday of Advent had us light the first candle in our wreathe: the Hope Candle. The coming Kingdom is one of great Hope, a Hope centered in Redemption. This is something we have found to be anticipated, expected, participated in, and longed for. But how is such Redemption made real in our world? What is the medium of Redemption? What is the color of Redemption? Redemption is colored with Love. Redemption is made real in Love. It is in Love that the Kingdom of Hope is built. It is in Love that the Kingdom of Redemption stands tall, welcoming all those who are weary and weak. Now today, on the second Sunday of Advent, we light the candle of Love.

So this week, in our exploration of the Coming Kingdom, we turn to Love. And Love is a peculiar thing, in fact it is a topic I have addressed twice before. In two sermons last month I brought before you all two important ways of understanding Love. First, to Love is to have self-sacrificial action. This notion of intimate self-sacrifice is at the heart of the word agape. As a result, when we love one another and God, we must love with an attitude of service and sacrifice that seeks goals beyond our meager gain. Second, to Love is to be of God. This idea stems from the notion that God is in nature Love, and thus is embodied in our actions of Love. Both understandings of Love are crucial in getting at the concept of a Kingdom of Love.

In a Kingdom of Love we must have self-sacrificial action in order to dwell in the Spirit of God. But what's more, this self-sacrificial action, embodied in Christ, is not passive. Obviously action is not passive. It is quite clear that “action” is an active concept. But, if this is the case, why is our love so passive? Why do we wait to Love? Why do we passively expect Loving opportunities to find us? It seems this idea has infiltrated our minds and even poisoned our notions of romance and marriage.

Newspaper columnist and minister George Crane tells of a wife who came into his office full of hatred toward her husband. “I do not only want to get rid of him, I want to get even. Before I divorce him, I want to hurt him as much as he has me."

Dr. Crane suggested an ingenious plan "Go home and act as if you really love your husband. Tell him how much he means to you. Praise him for every decent trait. Go out of your way to be as kind, considerate, and generous as possible. Spare no efforts to please him, to enjoy him. Make him believe you love him. After you've convinced him of your undying love and that you cannot live without him, then drop the bomb. Tell him that you're getting a divorce. That will really hurt him." With revenge in her eyes, she smiled and exclaimed, "Beautiful, beautiful. Will he ever be surprised!" And she did it with enthusiasm. Acting "as if." For two months she showed love, kindness, listening, giving, reinforcing, sharing. When she didn't return, Crane called. "Are you ready now to go through with the divorce?"

"Divorce?" she exclaimed. "Never! I discovered I really do love him." Her actions had changed her feelings. Motion resulted in emotion. The ability to love is established not so much by fervent promise as often repeated deeds.” (www.sermonillustrations.org)

Amazingly, this woman found a “change of heart” through the active nature of Love. The Love which she so angrily missed, had in all reality disappeared when she ceased to be an active agent of Love. It re-emerged when she embraced the expressions of Love. What she found was that the very expressions she offered her husband actually created and developed Love. Love is not so much a noun as it is a verb. When we think of Love as a noun, as something we have and not something we do, then Love loses action and ceases to be Love. Love is active, it is action.

Happiness is often associated with Love. It is understood that Love brings with it great happiness. Many years ago, much before the time of Jesus, Aristotle took up the notion of Happiness. In an effort to clarify what it is that constitutes happiness, Aristotle explained that a happy life is a well-lived life. For Aristotle, to be happy was not to be in a state of bliss or enjoyment. Happiness was not an emotion as much as a motion. Aristotle taught that to live with a habit of doing happy things created “happiness.” Ultimately, you can't be happy unless you “do happy.”So to connect Love with Happiness we are forced to return to the active nature of things.

To Love and be Happy is to be an active agent of Happiness and Love. And we see this in the birth, ministry, death, and resurrection of our Savior Jesus Christ. In fact we are brought back to this reality in the telling of Christ's Arrival. God was active in Loving the world. God DID Love for us by sending our Redeemer to dwell among us. God still Loves us by offering us that same Redeemer. These actions, these activities of Love, are what drive us to send forth that same Love. We cannot sit by and passively wait our turn to Love. We cannot hide our hearts with trivial pleasures and earthly concerns. This is ignoring Love. We cannot “have Love” and yet not “do Love.”

With this in mind, turn with me in your bibles to Matthew 24. Once again we are going to return to the “Kingdom Talk” of Jesus as he converses with his disciples. We are going to look at what Jesus says about the Kingdom so that we might be better instructed in our own attitude and actions toward the Kingdom we anticipate, expect, participate in, and long for. In our passage this morning, Jesus is discussing the coming Son of Man. Last week we noted that the coming Son of Man is intricately related to the coming Kingdom. The coming Son of Man is the climax of the completed Kingdom, the final stroke of the Kingdom-building.

Matthew 24: 42-51

Did you hear those first few words, that command from Christ: “Stay awake” (v. 42). To remain awake is to not fall asleep. To remain awake is an active state. To fall asleep is to fall into passivity. Christ instructs his disciples to remain active. To illustrate this meaning of “awake,” Jesus describes the wise and faithful servant as being responsible with appointed tasks, offering food at the proper time (v. 45). The unfaithful, unwise servant is the one who forgets the coming Son of Man, or the return of the master, and eats and drinks for personal pleasure. The servant who falls asleep with the drunkenness of earthly pleasures and concerns will be placed with the hypocrites where there is much “weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

The Kingdom that is illustrated is one of activity, of responsibility, of appropriate action. Jesus specifically reveals the model of faithful waiting: active anticipation. To be faithful in expecting the Kingdom is to be actively anticipating, actively participating. We cannot separate our longing and our anticipation from our actions and labor. There is not one moment that passes by which does not call for our hands and feet, for our thoughts and prayers. We are not a people of passivity, sleeping away the days until the Kingdom is at hand. No, such a Kingdom will never arrive. The Kingdom can only be ushered in by those who remain faithful in a waking, active service. This is the waking, active nature of Love. It is here that we find God's Kingdom coming to fruition; it is here that we realize God dwelling among us.

So often we have wanted to focus our attention on the Love that God gives us, and forget the important Love that we must be responsible for. In fact, C.S. Lewis once wrote: “On the whole, God's Love for us is much safer to think about than our Love for Him.” But why? Dr. Lewis also wrote, “To love at all is to be venerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin or your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable...The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers...of love is Hell. (C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves, 169).

A motionless, dark, airless Love is no Love at all. Refusing to “do Love” is refusing Love itself. When we make life about our “hobbies and little luxuries,” we forsake Love and embrace ourselves. No Kingdom of God could ever by completed by people who dare not Love. And like Dr. Lewis wrote, Love is dangerous. There is toil and difficulty in our actions of Love. We suffer when we Love the suffering. We identify with those whom we Love.. when we Love. For in Love, there is no “them.” There is only “us.” And this is the Kingdom of Love which we anticipate, expect, participate in, and long for. A Kingdom where there is only Us, united in a Love originating from the Most High God. Such a Kingdom of self-sacrifice fits the model that Christ demonstrated on the cross, and of which we are reminded in His birth. A Kingdom where Love is ever-present, is a Kingdom where God resides, where Christ is glorified. This is the Kingdom we long to see. This is the Kingdom we await. But our anticipation and expectation is not passive. It is not without action. Our anticipation and expectation come with participation... for this is the heart of Love.

Benediction:

Glorious God, Almighty Redeemer, may we leave this place of worship with humble hearts and pensive minds. May we be renewed by Your Gracious Love, renewed in the spirit of service and sacrifice which anticipates your Kingdom. Lord God, may our hands not be clean on that day when we see You face to face. May we have the hands of working people, soiled with the labor of our Love. A Love that originates with You. For your Love was demonstrated through the gift of Christ, born so many years ago. May we be ever-hopeful in that most Merciful Gift, mindful of the persistent need we have for such a Love; mindful of the persistent need the world has for such a Love. Let us be instruments of Love, agents of Love, givers of Love. Remind us that Love is not a possession, it is an action. Give us the strength, courage, and desire to Love, so that one day we might witness the Glorious coming of the Kingdom of Love. For we are Yours, and we Love You. Amen.