Sermon preached September 30, 2012
Text: Mark 9:38-50
Obesity is an issue in the United States. People just need to eat more healthy foods. I mean look at all those other people and their poor eating habits. They really need to make some changes. They need to watch what they eat. They need to exercise more. Of course I can handle burgers and fries sometimes. And there are lots of days when I just have to miss exercising.
And doesn’t it bug you when those people are on their cell phones while in a check out line. I mean couldn’t they just wait a bit. I am sure what they are talking about is no great emergency. They are probably reporting on the cover of The National Enquirer. Now sometimes I’ve had to be on my phone while checking out, but it is always vitally important.
And do you ever get in line at a sandwich shop behind a person who has like never been in a sandwich shop before. I mean, please – look at the menu before you get in line. Figure it out a little bit first. How hard is it to choose cheese or bread or vegetables? Of course, sometimes I just want to try something new and am not sure what that should be. Give me a little time.
As human beings we are pretty good at finding fault with others and letting ourselves off the hook for the same thing. Someone has called this a “ubiquitous human failing” (Martha Nussbaum, The New Religious Intolerance, 100).
Many have recognized this tendency among we humans. How many of you ever took a philosophy class? I won’t ask how many of you ever slept through a philosophy class. One of my college majors was philosophy and every few years there comes a time when I can say – “it was good that you were a philosophy major.” Today is such a day.
Immanuel Kant (1724-1804) is a well-known name in philosophy, both for his thinking about human knowing and for this thinking about ethics. Kant tried to figure out the nature of morally right actions, and he came up with a few ways of talking about that. One of them goes like this: Act only on that maxim through which you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law. Kant was trying to get at the ubiquitous human problem of people exempting themselves from the rules. If you don’t think people should talk on their cell phones while in a check-out line, then the same applies to you.
Martha Nussbaum, a contemporary philosopher, and this will be the last philosopher mentioned this morning, in her recent book The New Religious Intolerance, says that Kant’s ideas have deeper roots. She finds the same message in Jesus. She cites the saying of Jesus about the beam and the speck that we used for our invitation to worship. She writes: The Gospel is saying that people have a strong tendency to self-blindness and to insulating their own faults from critique. She believes it is a “failure to acknowledge the equal reality of others” (Nussbaum, 100, 102).
We easily see the faults of others. We are willing to scrutinize others. We want to exempt ourselves. Nussbaum thinks that this is a form of considering ourselves more important than others, the center of the universe. It is a way of saying, “it’s all about me.” Nussbaum says that the testimony from Jesus to Kant is that instead we should be working toward – “it’s all about not about me.” It’s all about not about you.
I would even go a bit further. I think Jesus wants to flip the equation. Rather than being harder on others, more willing to scrutinize others, I think Jesus encourages gentleness toward others and more scrutiny of ourselves.
Mark 9. In the first part of this reading, the disciples are put out because someone was casting out demons in Jesus’ name, but he was not with the group. It’s all about us, isn’t it? Jesus tells them otherwise. His words suggest that we should celebrate good wherever we find it, and if someone else is up to it that is o.k. There is something bigger going on, God’s work in the world. It’s all about that. It’s all about not about you.
There is another wonderful illustration of this attitude in the New Testament. I was reading Philippians this week as part of my own spiritual discipline. In the first chapter we find Paul writing: Some proclaim Christ from envy and rivalry, but others from goodwill. These proclaim Christ out of love, knowing that I have been put here for the defense of the gospel; the others proclaim Christ out of selfish ambition, not sincerely but intending to increase my suffering in my imprisonment. Not exactly complimentary. But then Paul writes, “What does it matter?”
What does it matter if good is being done by someone else, even if we may suspect some things about them? Good is being done. It’s not all about you. It’s not all about us.
The second part of Mark 9 drives home the point even more starkly, using uncomfortable imagery. Pay attention to others. Be gentle and nurturing toward others. It’s not all about you. The startling images of burning and cutting are a dramatic way of making that point. Jesus isn’t inviting self-abuse. He is pushing a point – it’s not all about you. We are good at scrutinizing others, and being gentle toward ourselves. We would do better to scrutinize ourselves and be gentle toward others. It’s all about not about you.
Yet it is all about you. I enjoy word play and this sermon title is meant to be word play. The Christian life is both all about and not about you. It is about contributing to something bigger than we are – God’s on-going work in the world. It is about celebrating the good wherever it is to be found, and encouraging and nurturing it. It is about being gentler toward others and having the courage to scrutinize ourselves.
There is a lot of “me” there. There is a lot of “you” there. The gospel reading poses the question to us of what kind of salt we will be. What kind of life will we lead?
Let me address one image in particular in this reading – the image of hell. “Hell” – where their worm never dies, and the fire is never quenched, a quote from Isaiah 66:24 which is not speaking of individual afterlife. Hell translates the Greek word “Gehenna,” which refers to the Valley of Hinonom. “This valley south of Jerusalem, once the site of pagan sacrifices, was later made the city garbage dump, where stench, maggots, and fire were always present” (The People’s New Testament Commentary).
What kind of life will we lead? If we don’t care, if our lives are not about service and love and helping the little ones, and contributing to something bigger than ourselves, they are like garbage. The choice is ours – fine salt, goodness, or garbage. The reality is we have some of both, but we are always better at spotting the trashy parts of other people’s lives than seeing the garbage in our own. We need to turn that around. Yet, finally, we should find that place where we can be gentle with others and with ourselves. I have long appreciated that line from Desiderata: Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. Living the Jesus way requires some self-discipline and self-scrutiny. The only way we know if we are getting that all about/not about thing right is if we are willing to look gently and firmly at our own lives – celebrating the goodness and trying to let the garbage go.
Here’s the thing. God wants to love the world through you in a way that is only through you. So you matter a great deal. It is all about you and your response to this ever present invitation from God. It is not about you in that the work to which we give ourselves is always bigger than any of us and the work needs all of us.
There is a story that comes from the Hasidic Jewish tradition . Every person, the tradition states, should carry two pieces of paper, one in the right pocket and one in the left. One of the pieces of paper should read, ‘I am but dust and ashes.” The other should read “For my sake the world was created.”
Exercise wholesome discipline. Be gentle with others. Celebrate goodness wherever it is found. Offer the cup of cold water. Nurture the little ones. Let God love the world through you. It’s all about you. It’s all about not about you. Live with it. Amen.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Friday, September 28, 2012
Try a Little Tenderness
Sermon preached September 23, 2012
Text: James 3:13-18; Mark 9:30-37
Water. This summer I had a couple of profound experiences with water. 2:45 am June 20 the phone at our house rang. That is usually not good news. It wasn’t. The Red Cross was calling to see if we would open our church as an emergency shelter because the rains had been pouring so hard that residents of Fond Du Lac and other areas were being evacuated. On my way to the church in the dark, I drove along Skyline Parkway, and just a couple of blocks from here were some cones around what looked like a deep hole with light shining out of it. Having a small car I navigated around the cones to get to the church. Later I realized I had driven right by that car that had sunk into the sink hole on Skyline. It was probably not the smartest thing I have ever done. Later that morning a couple who were at the church asked if anyone could take them down to CHUM. I agreed to do so. The rain was still falling hard, and driving downtown I could see how some avenues had become rivers, and how pavement had been torn loose. Few of us will forget what we witnessed June 20 and after here in Duluth.
Later in the summer, as part of our vacation we visited Niagara Falls. They are an amazing sight to see. We signed up for a tour, and as part of our tour, we were driven up river from the falls, toward Lake Ontario. A few miles north of the falls, at a much more serene place in the Niagara River, our driver told us that thousands of years ago, this was where the falls were located. The falls have gradually moved down stream to their current location, and the current rate of the movement of the falls is about 1 foot per year. Water falling over rock wears away at it year after year. It happens even when the water is flowing gently.
Gentleness. The American Heritage Dictionary defines gentle this way: considerate or kindly in disposition, amiable and tender. I have become impressed in more recent years by how often “gentleness” is mentioned in the New Testament, including in our readings for today. In James we read: Who is wise and understanding among you? Show by your good life that your works are done with gentleness born of wisdom…. But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy. And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace for those who make peace.
The image of Jesus is Mark 9 is an image of gentleness, along with an image of strength. The disciples argue about greatness. Jesus tells them that the greatest are those who serve. Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me. Gentleness.
I have become convinced that gentleness is a hallmark of the Christian life, of the Jesus way. Someone has written: “gentleness is a vital dimension of the kingdom of God” (John Swinton, Living Gently in a Violent World, 19). What does that mean for us who want to be on the Jesus way?
We need to know that gentleness is not weakness. The gentle Jesus welcoming children is on the way to Jerusalem, on the way to the cross. It will take deep strength to keep integrity in the midst of all that will be happening. There is remarkable strength in the gentleness of Jesus. Gentleness is the strength of a flowing stream. In the Chinese classic Tao Te Ching we find these words: The softest thing in the world overcomes the hardest thing in the world. (#43, translated by Stephen Mitchell). Another translation of that same text reads: The softest, most pliable thing in the world runs roughshod over the firmest thing in the world (tr. Robert G. Hendricks).
What does gentle strength look like? There could be a book in this, but I have just a few minutes. Let me quickly identify five dimensions of the gentleness of the Jesus way.
Gentleness means smoothing over rough edges. Who of us does not have some rough places in our lives – impatience, anger, less compassion than we would like, some pattern of behavior that is not life-giving? In a speech given the night Martin Luther King, Jr. was killed, Bobby Kennedy said: let's dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years ago: to tame the savageness of man and make gentle the life of this world. Some of that “savageness” rests inside us. We have rough edges that need smoothing inside our lives – we need some self-monitoring and self-discipline.
I have been thinking about the need for self-monitoring and self-discipline lately in regard to free speech and freedom of expression. I believe strongly in free speech and freedom of expression. I also think people need to think a bit about how they want to express their viewpoint. Is it helpful to criticize radical Islam by making an awful film trashing the prophet Mohammed? A woman named Pamela Geller is taking out ads in a few New York subway stations that will read: “In any war between the civilized man and the savage, support the civilized man. Support Israel. Defeat Jihad.” Is equating Islam with savagery really helpful? The violent response of some Muslims to the wretched film, “Innocence of the Muslims” is another example of expression run amok. An offensive film is no justification at all for violence and killing. On another front, is the best use of free speech the publication of topless photos of Kate Middleton, the Duchess of Cambridge?
Gentleness encourages some self-restraint, self-examination, self-discipline so that rough edges in our lives can be smoothed over, making more gentle our lives and our world.
Gentleness means openness to others. Children in Jesus’ day were not given a lot of attention in the society. They were marginalized. Jesus takes time for them. Jesus embraces them. Gentleness means openness to others. We keep the possibility of friendship open with those who are different from us and those on the margins. We are able to say to others, in the words of Josef Pieper: “It’s good that you exist; it’s good that you are in this world” (quoted in Living Gently in a Violent World, 20). Let’s try it with a neighbor. It’s good that you exist; it’s good that you are in this world. Might such gentleness affect how we think about the constitutional amendments we have to vote on this fall – on marriage and on voter identification?
Gentleness as openness to others also means be willing to learn from others. I was so pleased that we held an event called “Respectful Conversations” here. It provided a structure for people to talk about the marriage amendment in a respectful way. The goal was to open and soften hearts rather than to change minds. The process can be used with other issues. Gentleness.
Gentleness entails compassion for others. When we get to know others, we may encounter suffering, and gentleness moves us to do what we can to help those who suffer. We want to make more gentle the life of this world.
Gentleness involves engaging conflict well. Gentle people will disagree with one another. James cautions us about conflict, but his words are about conflict gone awry. Engaging conflict well is a part of gentleness. I am pleased that our denomination supports an organization called JustPeace. It is a center for mediation and conflict transformation and it offers wonderful guidance for working with differences and conflicts. It starts by suggesting building strong relationships as a context for dealing with differences, relationships where we listen well and share lovingly. We cultivate in ourselves God’s love. We use processes for conversation that help us understand each other better – processes like respectful conversations or circle processes. I am going to post the JustPeace web site when I post my sermon (www.justpeaceumc.org).
Finally, gentleness has to do with recognizing that we need to give ourselves to something bigger than ourselves. I am going to explore some of this more next week in a sermon whose title will be: “It’s All About Not About You.” Here’s what I need to say this morning. In our lives, we want to leave something worthwhile behind. There is this song by Lee Ann Womack with the lyrics: I’ll probably never hold the brush that paints a masterpiece/I’ll probably never find the pen that writes a symphony/But if I will love then I will find/I’ve touched another life and that’s something/Something worth leaving behind. When we live life with that kind of gentleness, we not only leave something worthwhile behind, we give God something God can use in God’s work of building a newer world.
Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes no me but the one who sent me.
The wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy.
Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling us to live gently. Try a little tenderness – a heart full of grace, a soul generated by love. Amen.
Text: James 3:13-18; Mark 9:30-37
Water. This summer I had a couple of profound experiences with water. 2:45 am June 20 the phone at our house rang. That is usually not good news. It wasn’t. The Red Cross was calling to see if we would open our church as an emergency shelter because the rains had been pouring so hard that residents of Fond Du Lac and other areas were being evacuated. On my way to the church in the dark, I drove along Skyline Parkway, and just a couple of blocks from here were some cones around what looked like a deep hole with light shining out of it. Having a small car I navigated around the cones to get to the church. Later I realized I had driven right by that car that had sunk into the sink hole on Skyline. It was probably not the smartest thing I have ever done. Later that morning a couple who were at the church asked if anyone could take them down to CHUM. I agreed to do so. The rain was still falling hard, and driving downtown I could see how some avenues had become rivers, and how pavement had been torn loose. Few of us will forget what we witnessed June 20 and after here in Duluth.
Later in the summer, as part of our vacation we visited Niagara Falls. They are an amazing sight to see. We signed up for a tour, and as part of our tour, we were driven up river from the falls, toward Lake Ontario. A few miles north of the falls, at a much more serene place in the Niagara River, our driver told us that thousands of years ago, this was where the falls were located. The falls have gradually moved down stream to their current location, and the current rate of the movement of the falls is about 1 foot per year. Water falling over rock wears away at it year after year. It happens even when the water is flowing gently.
Gentleness. The American Heritage Dictionary defines gentle this way: considerate or kindly in disposition, amiable and tender. I have become impressed in more recent years by how often “gentleness” is mentioned in the New Testament, including in our readings for today. In James we read: Who is wise and understanding among you? Show by your good life that your works are done with gentleness born of wisdom…. But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy. And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace for those who make peace.
The image of Jesus is Mark 9 is an image of gentleness, along with an image of strength. The disciples argue about greatness. Jesus tells them that the greatest are those who serve. Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me. Gentleness.
I have become convinced that gentleness is a hallmark of the Christian life, of the Jesus way. Someone has written: “gentleness is a vital dimension of the kingdom of God” (John Swinton, Living Gently in a Violent World, 19). What does that mean for us who want to be on the Jesus way?
We need to know that gentleness is not weakness. The gentle Jesus welcoming children is on the way to Jerusalem, on the way to the cross. It will take deep strength to keep integrity in the midst of all that will be happening. There is remarkable strength in the gentleness of Jesus. Gentleness is the strength of a flowing stream. In the Chinese classic Tao Te Ching we find these words: The softest thing in the world overcomes the hardest thing in the world. (#43, translated by Stephen Mitchell). Another translation of that same text reads: The softest, most pliable thing in the world runs roughshod over the firmest thing in the world (tr. Robert G. Hendricks).
What does gentle strength look like? There could be a book in this, but I have just a few minutes. Let me quickly identify five dimensions of the gentleness of the Jesus way.
Gentleness means smoothing over rough edges. Who of us does not have some rough places in our lives – impatience, anger, less compassion than we would like, some pattern of behavior that is not life-giving? In a speech given the night Martin Luther King, Jr. was killed, Bobby Kennedy said: let's dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years ago: to tame the savageness of man and make gentle the life of this world. Some of that “savageness” rests inside us. We have rough edges that need smoothing inside our lives – we need some self-monitoring and self-discipline.
I have been thinking about the need for self-monitoring and self-discipline lately in regard to free speech and freedom of expression. I believe strongly in free speech and freedom of expression. I also think people need to think a bit about how they want to express their viewpoint. Is it helpful to criticize radical Islam by making an awful film trashing the prophet Mohammed? A woman named Pamela Geller is taking out ads in a few New York subway stations that will read: “In any war between the civilized man and the savage, support the civilized man. Support Israel. Defeat Jihad.” Is equating Islam with savagery really helpful? The violent response of some Muslims to the wretched film, “Innocence of the Muslims” is another example of expression run amok. An offensive film is no justification at all for violence and killing. On another front, is the best use of free speech the publication of topless photos of Kate Middleton, the Duchess of Cambridge?
Gentleness encourages some self-restraint, self-examination, self-discipline so that rough edges in our lives can be smoothed over, making more gentle our lives and our world.
Gentleness means openness to others. Children in Jesus’ day were not given a lot of attention in the society. They were marginalized. Jesus takes time for them. Jesus embraces them. Gentleness means openness to others. We keep the possibility of friendship open with those who are different from us and those on the margins. We are able to say to others, in the words of Josef Pieper: “It’s good that you exist; it’s good that you are in this world” (quoted in Living Gently in a Violent World, 20). Let’s try it with a neighbor. It’s good that you exist; it’s good that you are in this world. Might such gentleness affect how we think about the constitutional amendments we have to vote on this fall – on marriage and on voter identification?
Gentleness as openness to others also means be willing to learn from others. I was so pleased that we held an event called “Respectful Conversations” here. It provided a structure for people to talk about the marriage amendment in a respectful way. The goal was to open and soften hearts rather than to change minds. The process can be used with other issues. Gentleness.
Gentleness entails compassion for others. When we get to know others, we may encounter suffering, and gentleness moves us to do what we can to help those who suffer. We want to make more gentle the life of this world.
Gentleness involves engaging conflict well. Gentle people will disagree with one another. James cautions us about conflict, but his words are about conflict gone awry. Engaging conflict well is a part of gentleness. I am pleased that our denomination supports an organization called JustPeace. It is a center for mediation and conflict transformation and it offers wonderful guidance for working with differences and conflicts. It starts by suggesting building strong relationships as a context for dealing with differences, relationships where we listen well and share lovingly. We cultivate in ourselves God’s love. We use processes for conversation that help us understand each other better – processes like respectful conversations or circle processes. I am going to post the JustPeace web site when I post my sermon (www.justpeaceumc.org).
Finally, gentleness has to do with recognizing that we need to give ourselves to something bigger than ourselves. I am going to explore some of this more next week in a sermon whose title will be: “It’s All About Not About You.” Here’s what I need to say this morning. In our lives, we want to leave something worthwhile behind. There is this song by Lee Ann Womack with the lyrics: I’ll probably never hold the brush that paints a masterpiece/I’ll probably never find the pen that writes a symphony/But if I will love then I will find/I’ve touched another life and that’s something/Something worth leaving behind. When we live life with that kind of gentleness, we not only leave something worthwhile behind, we give God something God can use in God’s work of building a newer world.
Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes no me but the one who sent me.
The wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy.
Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling us to live gently. Try a little tenderness – a heart full of grace, a soul generated by love. Amen.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Just Getting Started
Sermon preached September 16, 2012
Text: Mark 8:27-38
Thirty years ago this past summer, just about a mile from here at Holy Cross Lutheran Church, a young woman named Julie and a young man named David said “I do.” Even if I said that we were both sixteen at the time, we still would not be all that young today. Thirty years.
In those years I have had the wonderful opportunity to officiate at a lot of weddings for others. There is a great deal of work and planning that goes into most weddings, that goes into that moment when a couple says, “I do.” But that is just the beginning. Those who think that is the moment in a marriage are mistaken. It is an important moment, but only a beginning. Things are just getting started.
Thirty years ago, Julie and I made that beginning, and a lot has happened in those thirty years. We have three children, all now in their twenties. The day of their births was significant. David wanted to come early. He was born six weeks prematurely on the day one of Julie’s cousins was married. Beth arrived a little early, too. She was born on a Sunday morning right in the middle of the worship service at Roseau United Methodist Church where I was the pastor. You will be pleased to know I missed church that day. Sarah was a little early, as well. Julie was scheduled for a c-section, but Sarah could not wait and the operation happened a few days earlier than expected. Our children were born, named and baptized. But that is just getting started. It is just getting started for them. It is just getting started as a parent. As a parent you don’t just get to name your children then move on.
School began this past week. It is always fun to talk with parents and children about that. At Wednesday dinner I got to hear some wonderful stories from Abby Adamec about school. That first day when your child enters kindergarten is a milestone, for both parent and child. But it is just getting started. I went to kindergarten at Lakeside Elementary, and I was just getting started. K-12, then four years of college, then three years of seminary, then seven more years completing a Ph.D.
I like to cook. I am not a great chef or anything, but I like to cook. I know that when you get your recipe out and you put all the ingredients on the counter, you are just getting started. You don’t holler out “dinner’s ready” if that’s only how far you’ve progressed.
I remember an episode of the television show Seinfeld. It is still on quite a bit on re-runs. Jerry is going to pick up a rental car. He is told that they don’t have a car for him. “But I made a reservation.” “I know.” “Isn’t the reservation supposed to hold the car? I don’t think you understand what a reservation is.” “I know what a reservation is.” I don’t think you do. You know how to take the reservation. Anyone can take a reservation. You just don’t know how to hold the reservation, and that’s really the most important part of the reservation.” Taking a reservation is just getting started.
There is something of that just getting started thing happening in the Gospel reading for today. Jesus inquires about who people think he is, and then asks who the disciples think he is. Peter: “You are the Messiah.” It is often translated, “You are the Christ.” Apparently Peter is spot on. You get the sense from the way the conversation moves forward, however, that Peter thinks this is it. It is going to be easy street from here on out. They have discovered who Jesus is, and now it is just a matter of sliding into glory.
In the starkest, boldest terms, Jesus says, “no.” Jesus says, “you’re just getting started.” Here is how he says it. First he tells them all that suffering is on the horizon. Then he says: If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. To say Jesus is the Christ is just getting started.
There is a stream in the Christian faith tradition that places a great deal of emphasis on that moment of decision for Jesus. The ministry of Billy Graham, which has influenced my life along the way, focuses a lot on that moment of decision. His radio program, which I listened to some in my teenage years was called “The Hour of Decision.” It began in 1950 and is still being broadcast. The magazine of the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association, which I once subscribed to is called Decision. There is a stream in the Christian faith tradition that emphasizes that moment of decision. In my Christian coffee house days, I remember a song we sometimes sang. Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me. Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me. Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me. I know it was the hand of the Lord. It was on a ________, somebody touched me. We were all invited to know that day of the week on which we had made our decision for Jesus. After the sermon, we are going to sing a song that I first sang in my Christian coffee house days.
Deciding for Jesus, saying yes to Jesus in an hour of decision, whether it was at an evangelistic rally, watching Billy Graham on television, in Sunday School, at camp, or maybe just over a period of time, that is important. Such a moment of decision matters. But it is just getting started. There was a study done awhile back that indicated that a significant number of people who come forward at Billy Graham events have come forward before. Nothing wrong with that, unless they have forgotten that coming forward to decide for Jesus is just getting started. I want to give Billy Graham credit. He understands that. I remember doing some of his bible studies as a youth as one way to move forward after my hour of decision. Saying yes to Jesus, saying about Jesus, “you are the Christ,” is just getting started.
Here’s what we know about the way forward. There is some suffering along the Jesus way. This is not to say God causes our suffering to teach us something. This is not meant to be a blind acceptance of suffering, not at all. Suffering is there in the world – hunger, homelessness, abuse, addiction. There are children with distended bellies and children dying of malaria. We have a choice. We can see it, and suffer because we truly see it and respond, or we can turn away. The way of life is to look, see, respond. Those who would try to save their lives by looking away, lose their lives. Those who look, suffer and respond find their lives. I think there is some link between being able to see the hurt and pain of the world and being able to see the beauty and wonder of the world.
The way forward is the way of the cross. Here the cross is not meant only as a symbol of suffering, which is most often how we see it. Jesus’ cross was a literal cross. Our cross is living out our lives in response to God. It is to respond to God in all things. It is to live wide open and to love with abandon. This is the way of life.
To say “yes” to Jesus is just getting started. It is like saying “I do,” or the first day of school, or a birth, or getting all the ingredients ready to be prepared into a meal. It is important to say “yes,” and even more important to keep saying “yes,” top stay on the journey.
There is good news here. The good news is that this way that refuses to avoid suffering, that this way of the cross, is the way of life. There is more good news. No matter who you are, where you’ve been, what you’ve done, the way is always open. And if you once said “yes,” and then gotten lost on the way, a new beginning is always possible. With Jesus you can always say “yes” again as if for the first time.
There are moments in our lives where we all may need a new beginning, a sense that we are just getting started. There is a certain joy and excitement in that. Maybe now is such a time in your life. Maybe now is such a time as we come together as a new congregation. There is joy and excitement in that.
Let’s get started again on the Jesus way. Let’s keep going in the Jesus way. Amen.
Text: Mark 8:27-38
Thirty years ago this past summer, just about a mile from here at Holy Cross Lutheran Church, a young woman named Julie and a young man named David said “I do.” Even if I said that we were both sixteen at the time, we still would not be all that young today. Thirty years.
In those years I have had the wonderful opportunity to officiate at a lot of weddings for others. There is a great deal of work and planning that goes into most weddings, that goes into that moment when a couple says, “I do.” But that is just the beginning. Those who think that is the moment in a marriage are mistaken. It is an important moment, but only a beginning. Things are just getting started.
Thirty years ago, Julie and I made that beginning, and a lot has happened in those thirty years. We have three children, all now in their twenties. The day of their births was significant. David wanted to come early. He was born six weeks prematurely on the day one of Julie’s cousins was married. Beth arrived a little early, too. She was born on a Sunday morning right in the middle of the worship service at Roseau United Methodist Church where I was the pastor. You will be pleased to know I missed church that day. Sarah was a little early, as well. Julie was scheduled for a c-section, but Sarah could not wait and the operation happened a few days earlier than expected. Our children were born, named and baptized. But that is just getting started. It is just getting started for them. It is just getting started as a parent. As a parent you don’t just get to name your children then move on.
School began this past week. It is always fun to talk with parents and children about that. At Wednesday dinner I got to hear some wonderful stories from Abby Adamec about school. That first day when your child enters kindergarten is a milestone, for both parent and child. But it is just getting started. I went to kindergarten at Lakeside Elementary, and I was just getting started. K-12, then four years of college, then three years of seminary, then seven more years completing a Ph.D.
I like to cook. I am not a great chef or anything, but I like to cook. I know that when you get your recipe out and you put all the ingredients on the counter, you are just getting started. You don’t holler out “dinner’s ready” if that’s only how far you’ve progressed.
I remember an episode of the television show Seinfeld. It is still on quite a bit on re-runs. Jerry is going to pick up a rental car. He is told that they don’t have a car for him. “But I made a reservation.” “I know.” “Isn’t the reservation supposed to hold the car? I don’t think you understand what a reservation is.” “I know what a reservation is.” I don’t think you do. You know how to take the reservation. Anyone can take a reservation. You just don’t know how to hold the reservation, and that’s really the most important part of the reservation.” Taking a reservation is just getting started.
There is something of that just getting started thing happening in the Gospel reading for today. Jesus inquires about who people think he is, and then asks who the disciples think he is. Peter: “You are the Messiah.” It is often translated, “You are the Christ.” Apparently Peter is spot on. You get the sense from the way the conversation moves forward, however, that Peter thinks this is it. It is going to be easy street from here on out. They have discovered who Jesus is, and now it is just a matter of sliding into glory.
In the starkest, boldest terms, Jesus says, “no.” Jesus says, “you’re just getting started.” Here is how he says it. First he tells them all that suffering is on the horizon. Then he says: If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. To say Jesus is the Christ is just getting started.
There is a stream in the Christian faith tradition that places a great deal of emphasis on that moment of decision for Jesus. The ministry of Billy Graham, which has influenced my life along the way, focuses a lot on that moment of decision. His radio program, which I listened to some in my teenage years was called “The Hour of Decision.” It began in 1950 and is still being broadcast. The magazine of the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association, which I once subscribed to is called Decision. There is a stream in the Christian faith tradition that emphasizes that moment of decision. In my Christian coffee house days, I remember a song we sometimes sang. Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me. Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me. Glory, glory, glory, somebody touched me. I know it was the hand of the Lord. It was on a ________, somebody touched me. We were all invited to know that day of the week on which we had made our decision for Jesus. After the sermon, we are going to sing a song that I first sang in my Christian coffee house days.
Deciding for Jesus, saying yes to Jesus in an hour of decision, whether it was at an evangelistic rally, watching Billy Graham on television, in Sunday School, at camp, or maybe just over a period of time, that is important. Such a moment of decision matters. But it is just getting started. There was a study done awhile back that indicated that a significant number of people who come forward at Billy Graham events have come forward before. Nothing wrong with that, unless they have forgotten that coming forward to decide for Jesus is just getting started. I want to give Billy Graham credit. He understands that. I remember doing some of his bible studies as a youth as one way to move forward after my hour of decision. Saying yes to Jesus, saying about Jesus, “you are the Christ,” is just getting started.
Here’s what we know about the way forward. There is some suffering along the Jesus way. This is not to say God causes our suffering to teach us something. This is not meant to be a blind acceptance of suffering, not at all. Suffering is there in the world – hunger, homelessness, abuse, addiction. There are children with distended bellies and children dying of malaria. We have a choice. We can see it, and suffer because we truly see it and respond, or we can turn away. The way of life is to look, see, respond. Those who would try to save their lives by looking away, lose their lives. Those who look, suffer and respond find their lives. I think there is some link between being able to see the hurt and pain of the world and being able to see the beauty and wonder of the world.
The way forward is the way of the cross. Here the cross is not meant only as a symbol of suffering, which is most often how we see it. Jesus’ cross was a literal cross. Our cross is living out our lives in response to God. It is to respond to God in all things. It is to live wide open and to love with abandon. This is the way of life.
To say “yes” to Jesus is just getting started. It is like saying “I do,” or the first day of school, or a birth, or getting all the ingredients ready to be prepared into a meal. It is important to say “yes,” and even more important to keep saying “yes,” top stay on the journey.
There is good news here. The good news is that this way that refuses to avoid suffering, that this way of the cross, is the way of life. There is more good news. No matter who you are, where you’ve been, what you’ve done, the way is always open. And if you once said “yes,” and then gotten lost on the way, a new beginning is always possible. With Jesus you can always say “yes” again as if for the first time.
There are moments in our lives where we all may need a new beginning, a sense that we are just getting started. There is a certain joy and excitement in that. Maybe now is such a time in your life. Maybe now is such a time as we come together as a new congregation. There is joy and excitement in that.
Let’s get started again on the Jesus way. Let’s keep going in the Jesus way. Amen.
Friday, September 14, 2012
All Together Now
Sermon preached September 9, 2012
Texts: James 2:1-7; Mark 7:24-37
His name was Ed. I can’t remember just what grade I was in at Lester Park Elementary when I met Ed, but Ed stood out. His skin was a little darker, though I never really thought much about that. His clothes were a little dingy. His body gave off a distinctive odor. Because of that, Ed was often teased, and often left out. I never knew much about Ed, though the story was that he had a big family and had to share a bed with brothers.
Anyway, I am not sure why, but I felt bad for Ed. I noticed the odor, but didn’t think that was enough for people to be mean. I empathized with his predicament, feeling left out. I reached out to include Ed on the playground or in class. It seemed like the right thing to do. Maybe something Iwas learning in Sunday School and at home was having an effect. After a couple of years, Ed’s family moved and he was no longer in school with me. I don’t know what ever happened to him.
I tell this story not to tout my moral heroism from childhood on. I tell it because I still remember it, and I tell it fully aware of other failings on my part to be inclusive, to reach out. Kids can sometimes be cruel and excluding. Sometimes to feel in, we collude and keep others out. Most of us know both sides of that experience – being in, feeling left out.
Thinking about this I also remember poets I read in high school. They are the only two poets I remember reading in high school though I am sure there must have been others. My love for poetry developed later. So I remember the poet Carl Sandburg, and I remember that one time he was asked what he considered the ugliest word in the English language. “The ugliest word in the English language is exclusive,” the old poet said.
I remember Robert Frost, he of the two roads diverging in a wood. In one of his poems (“Mending Wall”) Frost wrote, “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.” Later in the poem he reflects, “Before I built a wall I’d ask to know/What I was walling in or walling out.”
The human experience is often of walling in or feeling walled out. Our human experience is filled with times when we have felt excluded or we have excluded. Though there may be something in us that doesn’t love a wall, the roots of exclusion run deep in the human heart. Psycho-social theorists offer a number of explanations for the human tendency to exclude, to draw lines that differentiate between in and out. That tendency is rooted in our need for self-esteem and self-significance (Rollo May, Power and Innocence). One unhealthy way we bolster ourselves is by putting others down. That tendency is rooted in our fear of death (Ernest Becker, Escape From Evil). If we can become part of a larger, exclusive group, we live on in a certain sense. That tendency is rooted in a discomfort with our own shadow side, those internal things that we project onto others so we don’t have to deal with them in ourselves (Jung, in Becker, 94-95).
We have a tendency to exclude, and when we are at our best, we struggle against that tendency. Might Jesus have been struggling with that tendency in today’s gospel story? Being fully human, he was born into a certain culture and would have been influenced, as we all are, by cultural understandings of in-groups and out-groups. Is this a story about struggling with the human tendency to exclude? Perhaps. What is most important to note is that walls are broken down, potential exclusion becomes inclusion. As a good Jew, Jesus should not have been talking to a woman, let alone a Syrophonecian woman. But he discovers a rather remarkable person – a woman displaying enormous care for her daughter, a woman of wit and intelligence. For saying that, you may go – the demon has left your daughter. The humanity of the other person is affirmed. She is no longer outside, excluded.
The very next story continues the theme of inclusion. Jesus is traveling in Gentile territory. The Decapolis was a name for a region of ten Greek cities. Here, too, there are hurting people, and Jesus takes time for one, touching him, bringing healing.
But if you like your lessons straight up, James gives it to us that way. He recognizes the human struggle with exclusion, labeling people in and out, favored and not. My brothers and sisters, do you with your acts of favoritism really believe in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ? James pushes us to see the humanity of all and to widen the circle of care.
I can’t help but think that these scriptures might speak to us as we consider constitutional amendments about marriage and voter id in November, but I don’t want to say more about that now. We will have Faith Forum discussions about each of these issues in the coming weeks.
Friends, Christian faith is about our personal relationship with Jesus Christ, but not only about that. Christian faith is about eternal life after death, but not only about that. Christian faith is about creating community, about bringing different people together who can walk with each other on their journey with God in Jesus. It is about mutual respect and care. It is about widening the circle. It is about seeing the image of God in others, all others.
Right here, right now it is about two streams, one river. I have been using that image to talk about the coming together of Chester Park United Methodist Church and First United Methodist Church. Two streams, one river. We are all together now, and all have a place and all are important. Christian faith for us, right here, right now, has something to do with being all together now. It is not that every person here will be best friends with every other person. It will be that there are possibilities for friendship in faith here, and always mutual respect.
As we come together, the task before us is more than combining the two streams of our histories, people, and communities of faith. The task before us is to make sure the one river is a river flowing with living water. We want our river to flow with the living water of God’s Spirit. We want our river to flow with the living water of faith, hope and love. We want our river to be a river where justice flows down like water, and righteousness like and ever flowing stream.
And friends, when the river of our life together in Jesus is flowing with living water, there will always be room for more. We will keep widening the banks. God is not done adding to our river here. We will embrace any who want to join us on our journey with Jesus. We will welcome all. We will invite others who need a little of the refreshing water of God’s Spirit in their lives.
This is who we are. This is who God is calling us to be - two streams, one river, a river flowing with living water, embracing all, recognizing the image of God in all. All together now.
We are going to reaffirm our commitment to our faith and to our faith community. We are going to dedicate ourselves to the work of two streams, one river and that river to flow with the living water of God’s Spirit and God’s inclusive love. All together now.
Adapted from Ruth C. Duck, Bread for the Journey
The church is a family of people with varieties of gifts, united by the Spirit revealed in Jesus of Nazareth. It is the Spirit of caring for one another, of forgiving, of helping each other, of love revealed in the life and death of Jesus. All together now:
WE WANT TO SHARE IN THAT SPIRIT.
The church is the people of God, with a diversity of needs, ideas, and visions, inspired by the Spirit burning through the words and deeds of Jesus as recorded in Scripture. May that same Spirit rest upon us. It is the Spirit of openness to the world and to all people as our sisters and brothers, of continual searching and learning and of saying, “We believe, help our unbelief.” It is the stirring toward growth and renewal that takes many forms. All together now:
WE WANT TO SHARE IN THAT SPIRIT.
The Spirit of the Christ calls us into a life of servanthood, even when it means suffering. The Suffering Servant bears the grief and sorrow of others, and trough suffering brings wholeness. All together now:
WE WANT TO SHARE IN THAT SPIRIT.
The Spirit of the Christ which was present in Jesus is the Spirit of the Exodus – the Spirit that opts for liberation and justice. The cries of the brick-makers in Egypt and throughout history have been heard by the God of the Exodus. All together now:
WE WANT TO SHARE IN THAT SPIRIT.
The Spirit of the Christ which was present with Jesus is the Spirit of covenant formation, of community-building. We stand in a line with a great cloud of witnesses that include Abraham and Sarah, Miriam and Moses, Esther and David, Job’s daughters and the sons of the prophets, Martha and Jesus, John Wesley, Jacob Albright, Philip Otterbein and Martin Boehm, our forefathers and foremothers from Chester Park UMC and First UMC, and brothers and sisters in our midst who stand open to the Spirit’s bidding. All together now:
WE WANT TO SHARE IN THAT SPIRIT.
The Spirit of the Christ is also the Ruler of creation. The Spirit that was the creative brooding Presence in the midst of the waters of chaos is still moving in our midst and in the midst of the ongoing creation of the world to bring order out of chaos, unity in the midst of disunity, life in the midst of death. All together now:
WE WANT TO SHARE IN THAT SPIRIT.
As followers of God in the Jesus way, we enact the embrace of God’s grace and love through the waters of baptism. Remember your baptism and be thankful.
As baptized people, we again say “yes” to God – Creator, Christ and Spirit, when we become part of the community of faith, of The United Methodist Church, and of this congregation of The United Methodist Church. I ask you all together now to renew your commitment to uphold the ministries of this church by your prayers, your presence, your gifts, your service and your witness, that in all things God may be glorified. All together now: YES
This is a day of new beginnings. Amen.
Texts: James 2:1-7; Mark 7:24-37
His name was Ed. I can’t remember just what grade I was in at Lester Park Elementary when I met Ed, but Ed stood out. His skin was a little darker, though I never really thought much about that. His clothes were a little dingy. His body gave off a distinctive odor. Because of that, Ed was often teased, and often left out. I never knew much about Ed, though the story was that he had a big family and had to share a bed with brothers.
Anyway, I am not sure why, but I felt bad for Ed. I noticed the odor, but didn’t think that was enough for people to be mean. I empathized with his predicament, feeling left out. I reached out to include Ed on the playground or in class. It seemed like the right thing to do. Maybe something Iwas learning in Sunday School and at home was having an effect. After a couple of years, Ed’s family moved and he was no longer in school with me. I don’t know what ever happened to him.
I tell this story not to tout my moral heroism from childhood on. I tell it because I still remember it, and I tell it fully aware of other failings on my part to be inclusive, to reach out. Kids can sometimes be cruel and excluding. Sometimes to feel in, we collude and keep others out. Most of us know both sides of that experience – being in, feeling left out.
Thinking about this I also remember poets I read in high school. They are the only two poets I remember reading in high school though I am sure there must have been others. My love for poetry developed later. So I remember the poet Carl Sandburg, and I remember that one time he was asked what he considered the ugliest word in the English language. “The ugliest word in the English language is exclusive,” the old poet said.
I remember Robert Frost, he of the two roads diverging in a wood. In one of his poems (“Mending Wall”) Frost wrote, “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.” Later in the poem he reflects, “Before I built a wall I’d ask to know/What I was walling in or walling out.”
The human experience is often of walling in or feeling walled out. Our human experience is filled with times when we have felt excluded or we have excluded. Though there may be something in us that doesn’t love a wall, the roots of exclusion run deep in the human heart. Psycho-social theorists offer a number of explanations for the human tendency to exclude, to draw lines that differentiate between in and out. That tendency is rooted in our need for self-esteem and self-significance (Rollo May, Power and Innocence). One unhealthy way we bolster ourselves is by putting others down. That tendency is rooted in our fear of death (Ernest Becker, Escape From Evil). If we can become part of a larger, exclusive group, we live on in a certain sense. That tendency is rooted in a discomfort with our own shadow side, those internal things that we project onto others so we don’t have to deal with them in ourselves (Jung, in Becker, 94-95).
We have a tendency to exclude, and when we are at our best, we struggle against that tendency. Might Jesus have been struggling with that tendency in today’s gospel story? Being fully human, he was born into a certain culture and would have been influenced, as we all are, by cultural understandings of in-groups and out-groups. Is this a story about struggling with the human tendency to exclude? Perhaps. What is most important to note is that walls are broken down, potential exclusion becomes inclusion. As a good Jew, Jesus should not have been talking to a woman, let alone a Syrophonecian woman. But he discovers a rather remarkable person – a woman displaying enormous care for her daughter, a woman of wit and intelligence. For saying that, you may go – the demon has left your daughter. The humanity of the other person is affirmed. She is no longer outside, excluded.
The very next story continues the theme of inclusion. Jesus is traveling in Gentile territory. The Decapolis was a name for a region of ten Greek cities. Here, too, there are hurting people, and Jesus takes time for one, touching him, bringing healing.
But if you like your lessons straight up, James gives it to us that way. He recognizes the human struggle with exclusion, labeling people in and out, favored and not. My brothers and sisters, do you with your acts of favoritism really believe in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ? James pushes us to see the humanity of all and to widen the circle of care.
I can’t help but think that these scriptures might speak to us as we consider constitutional amendments about marriage and voter id in November, but I don’t want to say more about that now. We will have Faith Forum discussions about each of these issues in the coming weeks.
Friends, Christian faith is about our personal relationship with Jesus Christ, but not only about that. Christian faith is about eternal life after death, but not only about that. Christian faith is about creating community, about bringing different people together who can walk with each other on their journey with God in Jesus. It is about mutual respect and care. It is about widening the circle. It is about seeing the image of God in others, all others.
Right here, right now it is about two streams, one river. I have been using that image to talk about the coming together of Chester Park United Methodist Church and First United Methodist Church. Two streams, one river. We are all together now, and all have a place and all are important. Christian faith for us, right here, right now, has something to do with being all together now. It is not that every person here will be best friends with every other person. It will be that there are possibilities for friendship in faith here, and always mutual respect.
As we come together, the task before us is more than combining the two streams of our histories, people, and communities of faith. The task before us is to make sure the one river is a river flowing with living water. We want our river to flow with the living water of God’s Spirit. We want our river to flow with the living water of faith, hope and love. We want our river to be a river where justice flows down like water, and righteousness like and ever flowing stream.
And friends, when the river of our life together in Jesus is flowing with living water, there will always be room for more. We will keep widening the banks. God is not done adding to our river here. We will embrace any who want to join us on our journey with Jesus. We will welcome all. We will invite others who need a little of the refreshing water of God’s Spirit in their lives.
This is who we are. This is who God is calling us to be - two streams, one river, a river flowing with living water, embracing all, recognizing the image of God in all. All together now.
We are going to reaffirm our commitment to our faith and to our faith community. We are going to dedicate ourselves to the work of two streams, one river and that river to flow with the living water of God’s Spirit and God’s inclusive love. All together now.
Adapted from Ruth C. Duck, Bread for the Journey
The church is a family of people with varieties of gifts, united by the Spirit revealed in Jesus of Nazareth. It is the Spirit of caring for one another, of forgiving, of helping each other, of love revealed in the life and death of Jesus. All together now:
WE WANT TO SHARE IN THAT SPIRIT.
The church is the people of God, with a diversity of needs, ideas, and visions, inspired by the Spirit burning through the words and deeds of Jesus as recorded in Scripture. May that same Spirit rest upon us. It is the Spirit of openness to the world and to all people as our sisters and brothers, of continual searching and learning and of saying, “We believe, help our unbelief.” It is the stirring toward growth and renewal that takes many forms. All together now:
WE WANT TO SHARE IN THAT SPIRIT.
The Spirit of the Christ calls us into a life of servanthood, even when it means suffering. The Suffering Servant bears the grief and sorrow of others, and trough suffering brings wholeness. All together now:
WE WANT TO SHARE IN THAT SPIRIT.
The Spirit of the Christ which was present in Jesus is the Spirit of the Exodus – the Spirit that opts for liberation and justice. The cries of the brick-makers in Egypt and throughout history have been heard by the God of the Exodus. All together now:
WE WANT TO SHARE IN THAT SPIRIT.
The Spirit of the Christ which was present with Jesus is the Spirit of covenant formation, of community-building. We stand in a line with a great cloud of witnesses that include Abraham and Sarah, Miriam and Moses, Esther and David, Job’s daughters and the sons of the prophets, Martha and Jesus, John Wesley, Jacob Albright, Philip Otterbein and Martin Boehm, our forefathers and foremothers from Chester Park UMC and First UMC, and brothers and sisters in our midst who stand open to the Spirit’s bidding. All together now:
WE WANT TO SHARE IN THAT SPIRIT.
The Spirit of the Christ is also the Ruler of creation. The Spirit that was the creative brooding Presence in the midst of the waters of chaos is still moving in our midst and in the midst of the ongoing creation of the world to bring order out of chaos, unity in the midst of disunity, life in the midst of death. All together now:
WE WANT TO SHARE IN THAT SPIRIT.
As followers of God in the Jesus way, we enact the embrace of God’s grace and love through the waters of baptism. Remember your baptism and be thankful.
As baptized people, we again say “yes” to God – Creator, Christ and Spirit, when we become part of the community of faith, of The United Methodist Church, and of this congregation of The United Methodist Church. I ask you all together now to renew your commitment to uphold the ministries of this church by your prayers, your presence, your gifts, your service and your witness, that in all things God may be glorified. All together now: YES
This is a day of new beginnings. Amen.
Friday, September 7, 2012
The 59th Bridge Street
Sermon preached September 2, 2012
Texts: Song of Songs 2:8-13
I am going to share a story from television in a moment, but in thinking about it, I have to admit, that my television references are pretty dated. It says something about my tv watching. I used to know a lot more about current tv programs. Now whole popular television series have gone by without my ever having watched them. I saw a couple episodes of the show “Monk” and enjoyed them, but that series has been off television for three years now. The shows I know best have been off the air, except for reruns, for quite a few years now. Some of this has to do with what I choose to watch – baseball, football, the Olympics, news, movies on dvd. I watched a lot of the Republican Convention this past week, and I will watch a lot of the Democratic Convention this coming week. Some of this also has to do with time. I don’t have a lot of time to watch television. Life is too busy.
So MASH, the last episode of which aired when I was in seminary. Father Mulcahy was visiting the hospital ward and came upon a soldier reading the Bible. Impressed, Father Mulcahy asked what part of the Bible he was reading. “The Song of Solomon.” “Maybe you should read something a little less edifying.”
The Song of Solomon or The Song of Songs – this is, I think, the first time I have every preached on this fascinating book of the Bible, at least on a Sunday morning.
So why now, why today?
We are headed into a busy time. I am headed into a busy time. We continue to work together as people from the former Chester Park and the former First UMC to make our merger a success. There is work yet to do. As you read in the newsletter, this fall we are going to begin a partnership with Hillside Community Church, renting them space in the social hall on Sunday evenings for their worship services. There will be bumps along the way, but I think there are some good things that can come from this, beyond the additional income for our church. There is the typical autumn programming and before you know it we will be discussing Christmas Eve. Minnesota is receiving a new bishop, and as Chairperson of the Minnesota Conference Committee on the Episcopacy, I am in charge of planning the welcome and installation service next Sunday afternoon. I will be leaving for the Twin Cities shortly following worship next Sunday.
I have found myself saying, “I will be glad when this is over.” I have said it about the new bishop’s installation service, not that I am not looking forward to it, but it is stressful planning it. I know that some of you say that same thing, from time to time – “I will be glad when X is done.” We all will say that from time to time, but if that becomes our default mode, think about what that means. We are wishing our life away.
We need to slow down. Especially as we get busy, we need to make sure we take time to slow down. Last Sunday in talking about thin places, places where we behold God, experience the one in whom we live, all around and within us (Marcus Borg, The Heart of Christianity, 156) – I said we work with God to create thin places by praying for open hearts, by paying attention, and by slowing down.
Paying attention and slowing down, that returns me to the Song of Songs – that is the Hebrew name for the book, “The Song of Songs” which probably means the greatest of songs. The Song of Songs is a series of love poems, often in dialogue, between a woman and a man. In the section we read today, the woman imagines her beloved coming to her, and imagines him inviting her away “now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come.” The entire book is comprised of such songs, some more sensual than what we read, all that pay attention to imagery, to emotion, to the natural world, to love.
Reading this book, one is encouraged to slow down, to pay attention to what is going on in the beauty of the natural world and the beauty of the human soul. We are encouraged to notice beauty, to pay attention and foster human connection, to celebrate human love.
So we are going to do a little of that in the next few moments.
One important piece of writing about beauty, one that is beautiful in itself is this passage from Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. I have shared it before but in seven plus years I think one is entitled to a couple of repeats.
Unless all ages and races of men have been deluded by the same mass hypnotist, there seems to be such a thing as beauty, a grace wholly gratuitous…. About five years ago I saw a mockingbird make a straight vertical descent from the roof gutter of a four-story building. It was an act as careless and spontaneous as the curl of a stem or the kindling of a star. The mockingbird took a single step into the air and dropped. His wings were still folded against his sides as though he were singing from a limb and not falling, accelerating thirty-two feet per second per second, through empty air. Just a breath before he would have been dashed to the ground, he unfurled his wings with exact, deliberate care, revealing the broad bars of white, spread his elegant, white-banded tail, and so floated onto the grass. I had just rounded a corner when his insouciant step caught my eye; there was no one else in sight. The fact of his free fall was like the old philosophical conundrum about the tree that falls in the forest. The anwer must be, I think, that beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. The least we can do is try to be there. (Annie Dillard Reader, 286-287)
Beauty and grace happen. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land. The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance. Beauty and grace happen, but when we are crazy busy, we walk right by, we miss them. What moment of beauty last captured your eyes, your ears? What moment of beauty last took your breath away?
Wendell Berry is a Kentucky farmer, essayist, novelist and poet. He has an on-going series of poems he has entitled “Sabbath Poems.” Of them he writes: These poems were written in silence, in solitude, mainly out of doors…. I hope that some readers will read them as they were written: slowly, and with more patience than effort…. The poems are about moments when the heart and mind are open and aware. (from “Preface” to A Timbered Choir)
One of Wendell Berry’s Sabbath poems is this:
The incarnate Word is with us,
is still speaking, is present
always, yet leaves no sign
but everything that is.
There is a connection between beauty and grace and love and God. The incarnate Word is with us, is still speaking, is present always, yet leaves no sign but everything that is. The signs of God’s presence in the world are beauty, grace and love. One could wonder why those who made decisions about books to include in the Bible made the decision to include the Song of Songs, a book which uses the word “kiss” more than the word “God,” a book, in fact, which does not mention God at all. This has often been embarrassing, and both Jewish and Christian commentators have often offered allegorical interpretations of the book – it is really about the love of God for God’s people.
Maybe, but perhaps the real wisdom here is a celebration of beauty, grace and love as signs of God’s presence in the world, and an encouragement to us to slow down, to pay attention.
It is September. Life, busy as always, is going to get crazy busy again. To take the Song of Songs seriously as Scripture is to take the advice of a song about the Queensboro Bridge – the 59th Street Bridge.
Play Simon and Garfunkel, “The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin’ Groovy)”
Slow down. Feel groovy. See beauty. Feel God. Amen.
Feelin' Groovy
Texts: Song of Songs 2:8-13
I am going to share a story from television in a moment, but in thinking about it, I have to admit, that my television references are pretty dated. It says something about my tv watching. I used to know a lot more about current tv programs. Now whole popular television series have gone by without my ever having watched them. I saw a couple episodes of the show “Monk” and enjoyed them, but that series has been off television for three years now. The shows I know best have been off the air, except for reruns, for quite a few years now. Some of this has to do with what I choose to watch – baseball, football, the Olympics, news, movies on dvd. I watched a lot of the Republican Convention this past week, and I will watch a lot of the Democratic Convention this coming week. Some of this also has to do with time. I don’t have a lot of time to watch television. Life is too busy.
So MASH, the last episode of which aired when I was in seminary. Father Mulcahy was visiting the hospital ward and came upon a soldier reading the Bible. Impressed, Father Mulcahy asked what part of the Bible he was reading. “The Song of Solomon.” “Maybe you should read something a little less edifying.”
The Song of Solomon or The Song of Songs – this is, I think, the first time I have every preached on this fascinating book of the Bible, at least on a Sunday morning.
So why now, why today?
We are headed into a busy time. I am headed into a busy time. We continue to work together as people from the former Chester Park and the former First UMC to make our merger a success. There is work yet to do. As you read in the newsletter, this fall we are going to begin a partnership with Hillside Community Church, renting them space in the social hall on Sunday evenings for their worship services. There will be bumps along the way, but I think there are some good things that can come from this, beyond the additional income for our church. There is the typical autumn programming and before you know it we will be discussing Christmas Eve. Minnesota is receiving a new bishop, and as Chairperson of the Minnesota Conference Committee on the Episcopacy, I am in charge of planning the welcome and installation service next Sunday afternoon. I will be leaving for the Twin Cities shortly following worship next Sunday.
I have found myself saying, “I will be glad when this is over.” I have said it about the new bishop’s installation service, not that I am not looking forward to it, but it is stressful planning it. I know that some of you say that same thing, from time to time – “I will be glad when X is done.” We all will say that from time to time, but if that becomes our default mode, think about what that means. We are wishing our life away.
We need to slow down. Especially as we get busy, we need to make sure we take time to slow down. Last Sunday in talking about thin places, places where we behold God, experience the one in whom we live, all around and within us (Marcus Borg, The Heart of Christianity, 156) – I said we work with God to create thin places by praying for open hearts, by paying attention, and by slowing down.
Paying attention and slowing down, that returns me to the Song of Songs – that is the Hebrew name for the book, “The Song of Songs” which probably means the greatest of songs. The Song of Songs is a series of love poems, often in dialogue, between a woman and a man. In the section we read today, the woman imagines her beloved coming to her, and imagines him inviting her away “now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come.” The entire book is comprised of such songs, some more sensual than what we read, all that pay attention to imagery, to emotion, to the natural world, to love.
Reading this book, one is encouraged to slow down, to pay attention to what is going on in the beauty of the natural world and the beauty of the human soul. We are encouraged to notice beauty, to pay attention and foster human connection, to celebrate human love.
So we are going to do a little of that in the next few moments.
One important piece of writing about beauty, one that is beautiful in itself is this passage from Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. I have shared it before but in seven plus years I think one is entitled to a couple of repeats.
Unless all ages and races of men have been deluded by the same mass hypnotist, there seems to be such a thing as beauty, a grace wholly gratuitous…. About five years ago I saw a mockingbird make a straight vertical descent from the roof gutter of a four-story building. It was an act as careless and spontaneous as the curl of a stem or the kindling of a star. The mockingbird took a single step into the air and dropped. His wings were still folded against his sides as though he were singing from a limb and not falling, accelerating thirty-two feet per second per second, through empty air. Just a breath before he would have been dashed to the ground, he unfurled his wings with exact, deliberate care, revealing the broad bars of white, spread his elegant, white-banded tail, and so floated onto the grass. I had just rounded a corner when his insouciant step caught my eye; there was no one else in sight. The fact of his free fall was like the old philosophical conundrum about the tree that falls in the forest. The anwer must be, I think, that beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. The least we can do is try to be there. (Annie Dillard Reader, 286-287)
Beauty and grace happen. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land. The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance. Beauty and grace happen, but when we are crazy busy, we walk right by, we miss them. What moment of beauty last captured your eyes, your ears? What moment of beauty last took your breath away?
Wendell Berry is a Kentucky farmer, essayist, novelist and poet. He has an on-going series of poems he has entitled “Sabbath Poems.” Of them he writes: These poems were written in silence, in solitude, mainly out of doors…. I hope that some readers will read them as they were written: slowly, and with more patience than effort…. The poems are about moments when the heart and mind are open and aware. (from “Preface” to A Timbered Choir)
One of Wendell Berry’s Sabbath poems is this:
The incarnate Word is with us,
is still speaking, is present
always, yet leaves no sign
but everything that is.
There is a connection between beauty and grace and love and God. The incarnate Word is with us, is still speaking, is present always, yet leaves no sign but everything that is. The signs of God’s presence in the world are beauty, grace and love. One could wonder why those who made decisions about books to include in the Bible made the decision to include the Song of Songs, a book which uses the word “kiss” more than the word “God,” a book, in fact, which does not mention God at all. This has often been embarrassing, and both Jewish and Christian commentators have often offered allegorical interpretations of the book – it is really about the love of God for God’s people.
Maybe, but perhaps the real wisdom here is a celebration of beauty, grace and love as signs of God’s presence in the world, and an encouragement to us to slow down, to pay attention.
It is September. Life, busy as always, is going to get crazy busy again. To take the Song of Songs seriously as Scripture is to take the advice of a song about the Queensboro Bridge – the 59th Street Bridge.
Play Simon and Garfunkel, “The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin’ Groovy)”
Slow down. Feel groovy. See beauty. Feel God. Amen.
Feelin' Groovy
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Thin Places
Sermon preached August 26, 2012
Texts: I Kings 8:1,6,10-11, 22-30, 41-43
I am now in my eighth year as pastor at First UMC, though it is all our first year together as the new First United Methodist Church which includes Chester Park United Methodist Church. Anyway, there were some interesting things I noticed early in my time here. Every so often, I would see vans from florists gather together in our parking lot. I wondered about that. Were these just friends who liked to meet on breaks? I can’t remember if someone told me, or I just figured it out – the florist delivery drivers were meeting to consolidate their work. If Engwalls was headed to church X for a funeral, maybe they could take the flowers from Peterson-Anderson, and vice versa. By the way, I have in no way been compensated for product placement in this sermon!
I also noticed that on Tuesday mornings as people came into the building, the headed right away for the bathrooms. Did they all just have long drives to get here? Tuesdays used to be the Weight Watchers meeting day. It took me awhile to realize what was happening - - - Weight Watchers – weigh-in - bathroom first!
Weight Watchers no longer meets here. They left this spring for a location just above Cold Stone Creamery – sort of the epitome of irony. I trust they have good bathroom facilities in their new location. Yet some might think that Weight Watchers is making a return here. Last Sunday’s sermon was entitled “Just Goes To My Hips” and this Sunday’s is “Thin Places.”
Thin places. This is not a weight loss goal. Marcus Borg describes “thin places” this way. Thin places are places where… we behold God, experience the one in whom we live, all around and within us…. A thin place is a sacrament of the sacred, a mediator of the sacred, a means whereby the sacred becomes present to us. A thin place is a means of grace. (The Heart of Christianity, 156)
I Kings 8 is about a thin place. It is about the temple Solomon had built for God. It is about the dedication of that temple, and it seems as if it was quite the occasion. And when the priests came out of the holy place, a cloud filled the house of the Lord, so that the priests could not stand to minister because of the cloud; for the glory of the Lord filled the house of the Lord. This is a wild description of a thin place. Solomon, the king, prays. He recalls God’s steadfast love and he prays that the temple, though it cannot really contain God, would always be a thin place. O Lord my God… that your eyes may be open night and day toward this house. Remarkably, Solomon also prays that this thin place would be an inclusive place. When a foreigner comes and prays toward this house, then hear in heaven your dwelling place.
I want to briefly develop this idea of thin places and then do a little testifying and then wrap up.
The notion that there are “thin places” is rooted in the idea that God is everywhere. There is a technical theological word for this. We say that God is “omnipresent” – present everywhere. Marcus Borg: “Thin places” has its home in a particular way of thinking about God. Deeply rooted in the Bible and the Christian tradition, this way of thinking sees God, “the More,” as the encompassing Spirit in which everything is. God is not somewhere else, but “right here.” (The Heart of Christianity, 155) We hear this in passages like Psalm 139 (The Message): Is there anyplace I can go to avoid your Spirit? to be out of your sight? If I climb to the sky, you’re there! If I go underground, you’re there! If I flew on morning’s wings to the far western horizon, You’d find me in a minute – you’re already there waiting! We hear it in this morning’s text. But will God indeed dwell on the earth? Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that I have built!
Joan Chittister shares this story from the Islamic Sufi tradition. Once upon a time a Sufi made the annual pilgrimage to Mecca. It was a long walk for him and the sun was warm and bright. He had come miles without stopping. Finally, in sight of the mosque at Mecca, sure of the goal now, the old man lay down on the road to rest. Suddenly one of the other pilgrims shook him awake, none too gently. “Wake up,” he commanded. “You blaspheme. You lie in such a way that your feet are pointed toward God in the holy mosque! What kind of Sufi are you?!” The old Sufi opened one eye, smiled just a bit, and said, “I thank you, holy sir. Now if you would be kind enough to turn my feet in some direction where they are not pointed toward God.” (The Breath of the Soul, 63-64)
God is everywhere. God is all around. Yet sometimes, God can feel distant. We can recall the words of Psalm 22: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?” Jesus used these words on the cross. This is not my focus today, but I don’t want to ignore the reality of this experience in our lives – the dark nights of the soul.
Other times, the God we affirm all around and within us, seems very near, as near as the beating of our hearts or the movement of our breath. That’s what the idea of thin places is all about. Marcus Borg: A thin place is anywhere our hearts are opened… a means whereby the sacred becomes present to us (156). Thin places can literally be places, but they can also be moments, those times in our lives when God felt very near, where we knew in our bones, God was deep inside and all around. One of the great pains of a church building closing, is that it has been a thin place for so many over the years. The experiences you had at Chester Park will always be with you, but there is pain that the building won’t be there in the same way. Some of the folks here at First experienced some of that when the congregation moved into this building. The old building on Third and Third West was a thin place, too.
We grieve when our thin places, that are literally places, change or are gone. We can also celebrate the wonderful variety of places and moments that can be thin places. Here is where I want to do some testifying to my own experiences of thin places – places and moments when the God I know in Jesus Christ felt remarkably close and deep within. I share these to celebrate the wonderful grace of God and to help us see the variety of possibilities for thin places.
Driving one night near Itasca State Park, going home to Alexandria from a church conference I pulled to the shoulder and got out of the car for a few moments. The snow was falling heavily, the wind was blowing, and there were no other sounds. I was alone, but knew I wasn’t. Driving to worship in Hawley, Minnesota from Alexandria early on a Sunday morning, I was listening to a tape of John Coltrane – “My Favorite Things,” “Naima,” “A Love Supreme” – and I felt completely surrounded by the beauty of God’s grace. I have been to the Rosebud Reservation in South Dakota twice on mission trips. There is something about the wide open horizons there, and the rolling hills, and the sense of history that makes that a thin place. Sharing work with others on such trips has often been a thin place, as is shared work at Ruby’s Pantry quite often. The shores of Lake Superior, especially at night when you experience the lake as much through sound as sight, have been a thin place. Worship when United Methodists gather at Annual Conference is often a thin place for me. This past week we welcomed “shut-in” members of our congregation for communion and lunch. God’s grace has often been remarkably present to me in that event. The intention of Sunday worship is that this will often be a thin place for us, I know it is for me, often.
I deeply appreciate how Diana Butler Bass discusses worship in her book, Christianity For the Rest of Us. This is the foundation of worship. If you can take an hour on Sunday morning and open people to experiencing just a quarter-second of awe, wonder, and surrender…. Hospitality, beauty, celebration. Awe, wonder, mystery. Communities making merry…. Every act of worship, no matter how private or public, how discreet or elaborate, enacts God’s dream for the world. By learning to look for it, by opening ourselves to sensing the awe and wonder of the dance, we might glimpse the ripples of God (173, 178). Worship is intended to be a thin place, but there is no magic formula for this. It takes our best thinking and imagining. It takes all of us coming together with open hearts and curious minds.
One last thin place that I would like to testify to and that is words. As I was going to bed Thursday night, I was reading an essay by John Leonard, “Reading for My Life.” Leonard was a long-time book reviewer for various publications and for CBS Sunday Morning. His essay ends this way: So do they all, these writers I’m waving my arms about, these angels made of words. Watch out for them. They give you dreams. I thought about this sermon and all the angels made of words I have known, words that come to me and open me up and create a thin place where God shines more brightly, where God plants God’s dream for the world a little more deeply in my soul. Novelists, essayists, poets, philosophers, theologians have been thin places for me.
Thin places. Where would you testify to having discovered them in your life? We cherish them. We trust that with God, more such places will be created in our lives and in our life together.
How? We pray for open hearts. Marcus Borg rightly suggests that “open hearts” and “thin places” suggest much of what is central to being Christian (149). We pay attention. One poet whose poems have often been thin places for me is Mary Oliver.
Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it. (Red Bird, 37)
We slow down – but more about that next week.
In the meantime, may you be blessed with thin places. Amen.
Texts: I Kings 8:1,6,10-11, 22-30, 41-43
I am now in my eighth year as pastor at First UMC, though it is all our first year together as the new First United Methodist Church which includes Chester Park United Methodist Church. Anyway, there were some interesting things I noticed early in my time here. Every so often, I would see vans from florists gather together in our parking lot. I wondered about that. Were these just friends who liked to meet on breaks? I can’t remember if someone told me, or I just figured it out – the florist delivery drivers were meeting to consolidate their work. If Engwalls was headed to church X for a funeral, maybe they could take the flowers from Peterson-Anderson, and vice versa. By the way, I have in no way been compensated for product placement in this sermon!
I also noticed that on Tuesday mornings as people came into the building, the headed right away for the bathrooms. Did they all just have long drives to get here? Tuesdays used to be the Weight Watchers meeting day. It took me awhile to realize what was happening - - - Weight Watchers – weigh-in - bathroom first!
Weight Watchers no longer meets here. They left this spring for a location just above Cold Stone Creamery – sort of the epitome of irony. I trust they have good bathroom facilities in their new location. Yet some might think that Weight Watchers is making a return here. Last Sunday’s sermon was entitled “Just Goes To My Hips” and this Sunday’s is “Thin Places.”
Thin places. This is not a weight loss goal. Marcus Borg describes “thin places” this way. Thin places are places where… we behold God, experience the one in whom we live, all around and within us…. A thin place is a sacrament of the sacred, a mediator of the sacred, a means whereby the sacred becomes present to us. A thin place is a means of grace. (The Heart of Christianity, 156)
I Kings 8 is about a thin place. It is about the temple Solomon had built for God. It is about the dedication of that temple, and it seems as if it was quite the occasion. And when the priests came out of the holy place, a cloud filled the house of the Lord, so that the priests could not stand to minister because of the cloud; for the glory of the Lord filled the house of the Lord. This is a wild description of a thin place. Solomon, the king, prays. He recalls God’s steadfast love and he prays that the temple, though it cannot really contain God, would always be a thin place. O Lord my God… that your eyes may be open night and day toward this house. Remarkably, Solomon also prays that this thin place would be an inclusive place. When a foreigner comes and prays toward this house, then hear in heaven your dwelling place.
I want to briefly develop this idea of thin places and then do a little testifying and then wrap up.
The notion that there are “thin places” is rooted in the idea that God is everywhere. There is a technical theological word for this. We say that God is “omnipresent” – present everywhere. Marcus Borg: “Thin places” has its home in a particular way of thinking about God. Deeply rooted in the Bible and the Christian tradition, this way of thinking sees God, “the More,” as the encompassing Spirit in which everything is. God is not somewhere else, but “right here.” (The Heart of Christianity, 155) We hear this in passages like Psalm 139 (The Message): Is there anyplace I can go to avoid your Spirit? to be out of your sight? If I climb to the sky, you’re there! If I go underground, you’re there! If I flew on morning’s wings to the far western horizon, You’d find me in a minute – you’re already there waiting! We hear it in this morning’s text. But will God indeed dwell on the earth? Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that I have built!
Joan Chittister shares this story from the Islamic Sufi tradition. Once upon a time a Sufi made the annual pilgrimage to Mecca. It was a long walk for him and the sun was warm and bright. He had come miles without stopping. Finally, in sight of the mosque at Mecca, sure of the goal now, the old man lay down on the road to rest. Suddenly one of the other pilgrims shook him awake, none too gently. “Wake up,” he commanded. “You blaspheme. You lie in such a way that your feet are pointed toward God in the holy mosque! What kind of Sufi are you?!” The old Sufi opened one eye, smiled just a bit, and said, “I thank you, holy sir. Now if you would be kind enough to turn my feet in some direction where they are not pointed toward God.” (The Breath of the Soul, 63-64)
God is everywhere. God is all around. Yet sometimes, God can feel distant. We can recall the words of Psalm 22: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?” Jesus used these words on the cross. This is not my focus today, but I don’t want to ignore the reality of this experience in our lives – the dark nights of the soul.
Other times, the God we affirm all around and within us, seems very near, as near as the beating of our hearts or the movement of our breath. That’s what the idea of thin places is all about. Marcus Borg: A thin place is anywhere our hearts are opened… a means whereby the sacred becomes present to us (156). Thin places can literally be places, but they can also be moments, those times in our lives when God felt very near, where we knew in our bones, God was deep inside and all around. One of the great pains of a church building closing, is that it has been a thin place for so many over the years. The experiences you had at Chester Park will always be with you, but there is pain that the building won’t be there in the same way. Some of the folks here at First experienced some of that when the congregation moved into this building. The old building on Third and Third West was a thin place, too.
We grieve when our thin places, that are literally places, change or are gone. We can also celebrate the wonderful variety of places and moments that can be thin places. Here is where I want to do some testifying to my own experiences of thin places – places and moments when the God I know in Jesus Christ felt remarkably close and deep within. I share these to celebrate the wonderful grace of God and to help us see the variety of possibilities for thin places.
Driving one night near Itasca State Park, going home to Alexandria from a church conference I pulled to the shoulder and got out of the car for a few moments. The snow was falling heavily, the wind was blowing, and there were no other sounds. I was alone, but knew I wasn’t. Driving to worship in Hawley, Minnesota from Alexandria early on a Sunday morning, I was listening to a tape of John Coltrane – “My Favorite Things,” “Naima,” “A Love Supreme” – and I felt completely surrounded by the beauty of God’s grace. I have been to the Rosebud Reservation in South Dakota twice on mission trips. There is something about the wide open horizons there, and the rolling hills, and the sense of history that makes that a thin place. Sharing work with others on such trips has often been a thin place, as is shared work at Ruby’s Pantry quite often. The shores of Lake Superior, especially at night when you experience the lake as much through sound as sight, have been a thin place. Worship when United Methodists gather at Annual Conference is often a thin place for me. This past week we welcomed “shut-in” members of our congregation for communion and lunch. God’s grace has often been remarkably present to me in that event. The intention of Sunday worship is that this will often be a thin place for us, I know it is for me, often.
I deeply appreciate how Diana Butler Bass discusses worship in her book, Christianity For the Rest of Us. This is the foundation of worship. If you can take an hour on Sunday morning and open people to experiencing just a quarter-second of awe, wonder, and surrender…. Hospitality, beauty, celebration. Awe, wonder, mystery. Communities making merry…. Every act of worship, no matter how private or public, how discreet or elaborate, enacts God’s dream for the world. By learning to look for it, by opening ourselves to sensing the awe and wonder of the dance, we might glimpse the ripples of God (173, 178). Worship is intended to be a thin place, but there is no magic formula for this. It takes our best thinking and imagining. It takes all of us coming together with open hearts and curious minds.
One last thin place that I would like to testify to and that is words. As I was going to bed Thursday night, I was reading an essay by John Leonard, “Reading for My Life.” Leonard was a long-time book reviewer for various publications and for CBS Sunday Morning. His essay ends this way: So do they all, these writers I’m waving my arms about, these angels made of words. Watch out for them. They give you dreams. I thought about this sermon and all the angels made of words I have known, words that come to me and open me up and create a thin place where God shines more brightly, where God plants God’s dream for the world a little more deeply in my soul. Novelists, essayists, poets, philosophers, theologians have been thin places for me.
Thin places. Where would you testify to having discovered them in your life? We cherish them. We trust that with God, more such places will be created in our lives and in our life together.
How? We pray for open hearts. Marcus Borg rightly suggests that “open hearts” and “thin places” suggest much of what is central to being Christian (149). We pay attention. One poet whose poems have often been thin places for me is Mary Oliver.
Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it. (Red Bird, 37)
We slow down – but more about that next week.
In the meantime, may you be blessed with thin places. Amen.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Just Goes To My Hips
Sermon preached August 19, 2012
Texts: John 6:51-58
You are an astute group of people so I am sure you notice that people tend to have different body types. We tend to carry our weight differently, and if we have some extra, we store it differently. Some folks carry a bit more weight in their legs and hips, some around their mid-section. I tend to carry it in my mid-section, and right now I need to pay some attention to that, lose a little bit here – though it also tends to be the last place I lost weight.
Thinking about that, I recalled in the recesses of my mind the television character Rhoda from the Mary Tyler Moore Show – a seventies classic set in Minneapolis. By the way, some of the shows were written by Lorenzo Music, a graduate of Duluth Central High School. Anyone in one episode, Rhoda picks up a piece of candy then says, “I don’t know why I’m eating this. I should just apply it directly to my hips.”
So to some extent, we are what we eat, and we carry what we eat in our unique ways.
In today’s Scripture reading, Jesus encourages a certain kind of eating. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh…. Very truly I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life…. The one who eats this bread will live forever.
Let’s be honest, this is puzzling and even disturbing. One hears echoes of the recent fascination with vampires – weird creatures who feast on blood and who continue to live though dead in some way. Such creatures may make for entertaining movies and books, but what might the Gospel reading be trying to say to us? Surely there is more than entertainment intended.
In approaching this passage of Scripture, I think it is important that we remind ourselves of the importance of symbolic language in Scripture and religion. The well-known religious scholar Huston Smith considers “metaphor, symbolism and myth” indispensable - - - “they are religions ‘technical language.’” (The Huston Smith Reader, 99-100). John Sanford, writing about the Gospel of John, says this: In order to understand what the Fourth Gospel means by images such as that of the living bread, we must be open to wider spiritual vistas. If our minds can think only literally, if we have refused any insight into ourselves, if our only means of perception are through the physical senses, if we become theologically and psychologically rigid, then we cannot appreciate the tremendous subtlety and variety of the images of Christ that we find in John’s Gospel. (Mystical Christianity, 166)
Most of us would be willing to grant that the language of Jesus here is symbolic and metaphoric. We find precedence for it in the religious tradition of Jesus. Proverbs 9:5-6, the voice of wisdom: Come, eat of my bread and drink of the wine I have mixed. Lay aside immaturity, and live, and walk in the way of insight. Jesus takes this image and makes it more personal. There is where it gets more challenging. “Eat me,” Jesus says, and in our day and time that kind of language is an expression of anger. I would not want to have that on our church sign as the sermon title.
The symbolic language Jesus is using evokes intimacy, a kind of union. We eat food and it goes to our hips or our stomachs. We take Jesus in, and Jesus wants to go to our hearts, our minds, our souls. Writing about this text, United Methodist bishop Will Willimon penned these words: Ah, wouldn’t the Christian faith be easier if it were a matter of mere belief or intellectual assent! No, today’s rather scandalously carnal, incarnational gospel reminds us that Jesus intends to have all of us, body and soul. His truth wants to burrow deep within us, to consume us as we consume him, to flow through our veins, to be digested, to nourish every nook and cranny of our being. (Feasting On the Word)
Sweets may just go to our hips. Jesus wants to go to our core and to every nook and cranny of our lives. He desires that his love, his compassion, his passion for God and God’s dream for the world permeate us, and nourish us. Jesus wants us to have life that is real life.
When I read this gospel text I cannot help but think about the book many of us read last fall, Sara Miles Take This Bread. Its beginning captures the spirit of Jesus words in John 6. One early, cloudy morning when I was forty-six, I walked into a church, ate a piece of bread, took a sip of wine. A routine Sunday activity for tens of millions of Americans – except that up until that moment I’d led a thoroughly secular life, at best indifferent to religion, more often appalled by its fundamentalist crusades. This was my first communion. It changed everything. Eating Jesus, as I did that day to my great astonishment, led me against all my expectations to a faith I’d scorned and work I’d never imagined. The mysterious sacrament turned out to be not a symbolic wafer at all but actual food – indeed, the bread of life. In that shocking moment of communion, filled with a deep desire to reach for and become part of a body, I realized that what I’d been doing with my life all along was what I was meant to do: feed people. And so I did. I took communion, I passed bread to others, and then I kept going. (xi)
Jesus wants to do that in each of our lives: feed our deepest hungers, become part of our lives, bring us together with others, help us carry his presence into the world. We know what it is like to feel hungry, and most of us are fortunate that we do not experience that hunger for long because we have the means to satisfy it. As human beings, we have deeper hungers. The poet Carl Sandburg wrote that “There are hungers/for a nameless bread” (“Timesweep” in Collected Poems, 758). We hunger for meaning. We hunger for connection. We hunger for direction. We hunger for acceptance. We hunger for forgiveness. We hunger for love. John Sanford (Mystical Christianity), 163: Healthy souls… yearn for the inner food that nourishes spiritual health. But the process is also reversed; the healthy spiritual food has the power to cure the soul of its ills. In Jesus we find healthy food for our souls – food that nourishes our deepest hungers and cures us of our ills.
So how do we take Jesus in, let him go to our hearts, our minds, our souls? We take Jesus in as we worship, and for Christians that symbolic taking in at communion is particularly powerful. We take Jesus in through prayer. We take Jesus in through Scripture reading. We take Jesus in as we commit ourselves to the Jesus way in the world – the way of love, peace, reconciliation, justice, compassion. The list of how we take Jesus in is important. Yet letting Jesus into the depth of our lives is what matters, and that is more than going through the motions. Finally we know that we are taking Jesus into our lives, when our lives have that quality about them that Jesus called eternal life. Eternal life is less about living forever than it is about living with the eternal spirit of Jesus always. We get some sense for how well we are taking Jesus in when we look at what our lives are putting out.
Anne Lamott shares this story in her book Bird By Bird. An eight-year old boy had a younger sister who was dying of leukemia, and was told that without a blood transfusion she would die. His parents explained this to him, and said that his blood could be a good match. Could they test his blood? The boy agreed. The test revealed that he was a good match and could be the blood donor. His parents asked him if he would be willing to donate a pint of blood, that it could be the only chance his sister had of living. The boy said he would have to think about it overnight.
The next day to boy went to his parents to say that he was willing to donate his blood for his sister. So they took him to the hospital where he was put on a gurney beside his six-year old sister. Both of them were hooked up to IVs. A nurse withdrew a pint of blood from the boy, which was then put in the girl’s IV. The boy lay on his gurney in silence while the blood dripped into his sister, until the doctor came over to see what he was doing. Then the boy opened his eyes and asked, “How soon until I start to die?” (205).
Eat the living bread that is Jesus. Take him into your life. Let us take him into our life together. Let’s take Jesus in, letting him go into our hearts, our minds, our souls, into every nook and cranny of who we are – as individuals and as this community of faith, this family of faith. Let’s take Jesus in so that we will love extravagantly. Let’s take Jesus in so that we will shine brightly. Let’s take Jesus in so that we will show extraordinary compassion.
Taking Jesus in, letting his love touch the world through us, our deepest hungers are fed by the bread of life and we know eternal life. Amen
Texts: John 6:51-58
You are an astute group of people so I am sure you notice that people tend to have different body types. We tend to carry our weight differently, and if we have some extra, we store it differently. Some folks carry a bit more weight in their legs and hips, some around their mid-section. I tend to carry it in my mid-section, and right now I need to pay some attention to that, lose a little bit here – though it also tends to be the last place I lost weight.
Thinking about that, I recalled in the recesses of my mind the television character Rhoda from the Mary Tyler Moore Show – a seventies classic set in Minneapolis. By the way, some of the shows were written by Lorenzo Music, a graduate of Duluth Central High School. Anyone in one episode, Rhoda picks up a piece of candy then says, “I don’t know why I’m eating this. I should just apply it directly to my hips.”
So to some extent, we are what we eat, and we carry what we eat in our unique ways.
In today’s Scripture reading, Jesus encourages a certain kind of eating. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh…. Very truly I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life…. The one who eats this bread will live forever.
Let’s be honest, this is puzzling and even disturbing. One hears echoes of the recent fascination with vampires – weird creatures who feast on blood and who continue to live though dead in some way. Such creatures may make for entertaining movies and books, but what might the Gospel reading be trying to say to us? Surely there is more than entertainment intended.
In approaching this passage of Scripture, I think it is important that we remind ourselves of the importance of symbolic language in Scripture and religion. The well-known religious scholar Huston Smith considers “metaphor, symbolism and myth” indispensable - - - “they are religions ‘technical language.’” (The Huston Smith Reader, 99-100). John Sanford, writing about the Gospel of John, says this: In order to understand what the Fourth Gospel means by images such as that of the living bread, we must be open to wider spiritual vistas. If our minds can think only literally, if we have refused any insight into ourselves, if our only means of perception are through the physical senses, if we become theologically and psychologically rigid, then we cannot appreciate the tremendous subtlety and variety of the images of Christ that we find in John’s Gospel. (Mystical Christianity, 166)
Most of us would be willing to grant that the language of Jesus here is symbolic and metaphoric. We find precedence for it in the religious tradition of Jesus. Proverbs 9:5-6, the voice of wisdom: Come, eat of my bread and drink of the wine I have mixed. Lay aside immaturity, and live, and walk in the way of insight. Jesus takes this image and makes it more personal. There is where it gets more challenging. “Eat me,” Jesus says, and in our day and time that kind of language is an expression of anger. I would not want to have that on our church sign as the sermon title.
The symbolic language Jesus is using evokes intimacy, a kind of union. We eat food and it goes to our hips or our stomachs. We take Jesus in, and Jesus wants to go to our hearts, our minds, our souls. Writing about this text, United Methodist bishop Will Willimon penned these words: Ah, wouldn’t the Christian faith be easier if it were a matter of mere belief or intellectual assent! No, today’s rather scandalously carnal, incarnational gospel reminds us that Jesus intends to have all of us, body and soul. His truth wants to burrow deep within us, to consume us as we consume him, to flow through our veins, to be digested, to nourish every nook and cranny of our being. (Feasting On the Word)
Sweets may just go to our hips. Jesus wants to go to our core and to every nook and cranny of our lives. He desires that his love, his compassion, his passion for God and God’s dream for the world permeate us, and nourish us. Jesus wants us to have life that is real life.
When I read this gospel text I cannot help but think about the book many of us read last fall, Sara Miles Take This Bread. Its beginning captures the spirit of Jesus words in John 6. One early, cloudy morning when I was forty-six, I walked into a church, ate a piece of bread, took a sip of wine. A routine Sunday activity for tens of millions of Americans – except that up until that moment I’d led a thoroughly secular life, at best indifferent to religion, more often appalled by its fundamentalist crusades. This was my first communion. It changed everything. Eating Jesus, as I did that day to my great astonishment, led me against all my expectations to a faith I’d scorned and work I’d never imagined. The mysterious sacrament turned out to be not a symbolic wafer at all but actual food – indeed, the bread of life. In that shocking moment of communion, filled with a deep desire to reach for and become part of a body, I realized that what I’d been doing with my life all along was what I was meant to do: feed people. And so I did. I took communion, I passed bread to others, and then I kept going. (xi)
Jesus wants to do that in each of our lives: feed our deepest hungers, become part of our lives, bring us together with others, help us carry his presence into the world. We know what it is like to feel hungry, and most of us are fortunate that we do not experience that hunger for long because we have the means to satisfy it. As human beings, we have deeper hungers. The poet Carl Sandburg wrote that “There are hungers/for a nameless bread” (“Timesweep” in Collected Poems, 758). We hunger for meaning. We hunger for connection. We hunger for direction. We hunger for acceptance. We hunger for forgiveness. We hunger for love. John Sanford (Mystical Christianity), 163: Healthy souls… yearn for the inner food that nourishes spiritual health. But the process is also reversed; the healthy spiritual food has the power to cure the soul of its ills. In Jesus we find healthy food for our souls – food that nourishes our deepest hungers and cures us of our ills.
So how do we take Jesus in, let him go to our hearts, our minds, our souls? We take Jesus in as we worship, and for Christians that symbolic taking in at communion is particularly powerful. We take Jesus in through prayer. We take Jesus in through Scripture reading. We take Jesus in as we commit ourselves to the Jesus way in the world – the way of love, peace, reconciliation, justice, compassion. The list of how we take Jesus in is important. Yet letting Jesus into the depth of our lives is what matters, and that is more than going through the motions. Finally we know that we are taking Jesus into our lives, when our lives have that quality about them that Jesus called eternal life. Eternal life is less about living forever than it is about living with the eternal spirit of Jesus always. We get some sense for how well we are taking Jesus in when we look at what our lives are putting out.
Anne Lamott shares this story in her book Bird By Bird. An eight-year old boy had a younger sister who was dying of leukemia, and was told that without a blood transfusion she would die. His parents explained this to him, and said that his blood could be a good match. Could they test his blood? The boy agreed. The test revealed that he was a good match and could be the blood donor. His parents asked him if he would be willing to donate a pint of blood, that it could be the only chance his sister had of living. The boy said he would have to think about it overnight.
The next day to boy went to his parents to say that he was willing to donate his blood for his sister. So they took him to the hospital where he was put on a gurney beside his six-year old sister. Both of them were hooked up to IVs. A nurse withdrew a pint of blood from the boy, which was then put in the girl’s IV. The boy lay on his gurney in silence while the blood dripped into his sister, until the doctor came over to see what he was doing. Then the boy opened his eyes and asked, “How soon until I start to die?” (205).
Eat the living bread that is Jesus. Take him into your life. Let us take him into our life together. Let’s take Jesus in, letting him go into our hearts, our minds, our souls, into every nook and cranny of who we are – as individuals and as this community of faith, this family of faith. Let’s take Jesus in so that we will love extravagantly. Let’s take Jesus in so that we will shine brightly. Let’s take Jesus in so that we will show extraordinary compassion.
Taking Jesus in, letting his love touch the world through us, our deepest hungers are fed by the bread of life and we know eternal life. Amen
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