Sermon preached April 15, 2012
Texts: Acts 4:32-35; I John 1:5-10; John 20:19-23
I am going to begin this morning with a poem and will show it by Power Point as well. The poem is entitled “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front” and the poet is Wendell Berry.
Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion – put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?
Go lie with your love in the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn’t go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.
Perhaps this poem startles you a bit, or puzzles you a bit. What’s wrong with vacation with pay? Why praise ignorance? Lose your mind?
Berry wants to startle and puzzle us. He wants us to think, and to laugh. The poem should be read both humorously and seriously. There is humor in his seriousness and seriousness in his humor. “Be joyful though you have considered all the facts.”
The final line may be most startling of all. “Practice resurrection.” Whatever we make of Berry’s critique of the contemporary world or of his humorous suggestions for how to live differently I hope we take seriously his encouragement to practice resurrection, because resurrection is something to be practiced. We are Easter people, and it is meant to show in our lives. And sometimes practicing resurrection will mean that we are counter-cultural, that we will question the easy assumptions of the world around us, that we will be different.
Reading the Scriptures for this first Sunday after Easter, we are confronted with texts which tell us something about what it means to practice resurrection. Some of the ways they encourage us to practice resurrection run counter to the ways of the world around us. From each of the three Scriptures we read I want to pick one way we are encouraged to “practice resurrection,” to live as God’s Easter people.
In the reading from the Gospel of John, following the resurrection Jesus finds his way into a locked room where the disciples had gathered. They met behind locked doors because of their fear. Two of the things Jesus says to them: “Peace be with you…. Receive the Holy Spirit.”
Practicing resurrection, being God’s Easter people, means welcoming God’s Spirit and nurturing the spirit in our lives. In one of my sermons during Lent I quoted a young woman who had posted a blog about 15 reasons why she left the church. Here were a couple of her reasons. I left the church because my questions were seen as liabilities. I left the church because I believe the earth is 4.5 billion years old and that humans share a common ancestor with apes, which I was told was incompatible with my faith. I left the church because sometimes I doubt, and church can be the worst place to doubt. (Rachel Held Evans)
In response to her blog, many wrote encouraging her to find a mainline church. “But we’re avoiding all of those pitfalls. We’re inclusive. We’re not judgmental. We care for the community.” Rachel Held Evans responds: Well when was the last time you talked about why you are inclusive, why you embrace science, why you care for the poor? When was the last time you engaged in a serious, church-wide Bible study or launched a series on the spiritual disciplines? Evangelicals are used to being intensely engaged in their faith. If they don’t sense that your church offers them a safe place to wrestle and grow, they won’t come at all. I speak from my own experience, because, while there is much I love and appreciate about mainline denominations, when I visit, I always leave feeling like something’s missing. I miss that evangelical fire-in-the-belly that makes people talk about their faith with passion and conviction. I miss the familiarity with scripture and the intensive Bible studies. I miss the emphasis on cultivating a personal spirituality.
I share that not because we should cultivate our spirituality in response to one woman’s criticisms of mainline churches. I share that because I believe practicing resurrection means we will tend to our inner spiritual life. We will pray. We will engage Scriptures – with our head and our heart. We will explore spiritual disciplines. We will cultivate some fire in the belly, some passion for our faith. We strive for a faith that is passionate, compassionate and thoughtful. That’s counter-cultural. That’s practicing resurrection.
Practicing resurrection also has something to do with forgiveness. In the gospel reading, Jesus speaks of forgiveness. “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” I John speaks both of our need to walk in the light, and of our need for forgiveness.
Over the years as a pastor, I have been asked frequently about forgiveness. It is a challenging topic. I am asked about forgiveness, in part, because people have experienced a lot of hurt in their lives, some of it very deep. People have been wounded, sometimes badly. People have been abused, if not physically or sexually, then perhaps psychologically. Then they hear things like, “Christians have to forgive.” Perhaps a Scripture is quoted, such as Colossians 3:13: Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. The directive seems clear, the feelings and experiences less so.
I think Biblical forgiveness is an ideal toward which we strive and a process in which we are engaged. It is not very helpful to think of it simply as a command or a directive. The language in John is interesting. “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” I don’t think this makes forgiveness an optional resurrection practice. I think it provides some important complexity to those who simply say “you must forgive.” As Easter people we need to grapple with and be engaged with forgiveness, in all its messiness and complexity.
Here are some important things to remember along the way. Forgiveness does not mean we continue to put ourselves in positions where one who has hurt us can continue to hurt us. Forgiveness does not mean that we act like nothing ever happened. Forgiveness is as significant for our own well-being as for whatever relationship we want to have with the person we forgive. I deeply appreciate the words of Jack Kornfield on forgiveness. Forgiveness is a letting go of past suffering and betrayal, a release of the burden of the past and hate that we carry. Forgiveness honors the heart’s greatest dignity…. Forgiveness means giving up all hope of a better past. (The Art of Forgiveness, Lovingkindness and Peace, 20, 25)
For Christians, forgiveness is not simply something which we seek to enact, it is also something we receive. “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not is us. If we confess our sins, the One who is faithful and just will forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” Maybe not language we use every day, but the idea is that we, too, fall short. We, too, need forgiveness. When we recognize that we need forgiveness sometimes, our own ability to forgive increases.
Practicing resurrection, being God’s Easter people, means welcoming God’s Spirit and nurturing the spirit in our lives. Practicing resurrection, being God’s Easter people means grappling with forgiveness. Practicing resurrection, being God’s Easter people also means tending the common good.
Here is a mouthful. The nexus of relationships that forms our existence is… given. We do not create these relationships; we experience them, being given with existence. And from this matrix come resources of grace that can carry us beyond the meanings of our own making, and alert us to goodness that is not of our own willing or defining. (Bernard Meland, Fallible Forms and Symbols, 151). This is a long way of saying that we come into a world in a web of relationships that we did not create, but from which we benefit. Over time, we contribute to that commons, that web of relationships, as well as benefit from it. This is the gift and reality of community, of the common good.
Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common…. Great grace was upon them all. There was not a needy person among them. Is practicing resurrection counter to private property? I don’t think so, but this vision of the early Christian community should grab our attention. As a church we are not simply a collection of isolated individuals. Yes, we are individuals and the church should be helping us along our journey with Jesus. We are also together creating community, something from which we want many to benefit. In community we ask not only, “What’s in it for me?” we also ask, “What’s good for the community?”
This resurrection practice should affect our understanding of politics as well. There is a common good from which we benefit and too which we contribute and we need to think about what is good for the broader human community, the planetary community. Practicing resurrection is counter to a politics of hyper-individualism.
Christ is risen. Practice resurrection. A story.
When our daughter Beth was in India, she was traveling by train and there met a woman from Paris, a woman around age 50. They began talking and the woman was explaining that she was in India to visit friends, and that she had been there before and gave Beth some tips on traveling in India. Anyway, they had a nice conversation, and a more extended conversation than they might have had otherwise because the train was late. Arriving at their destination, the woman became concerned. She had not been able to get a hold of her friends, who were not sure just when she was coming. It was now late, and the woman was not sure where she was going to stay. Beth told the woman that she had a nice hotel room and would be glad to put her up for the night. She could share the large bed. The woman was deeply grateful and told Beth if ever she was in Paris to look her up.
Beth had told us this story, and Beth, Sarah and Julie discussed it again as they traveled to the Twin Cities to take Beth to her flight to Uganda. Julie said she was both proud of Beth, but concerned for that kind of behavior. Beth said, “You know, Mom, I was raised by you and Dad, raised in the church, and I often ask what would Jesus do, and I think Jesus would have invited that woman to spend the night and share the bed.” Then they all laughed because, well, there is sort of a funny side to that. But Jesus makes a difference. That’s the point.
Christ is risen. Practice resurrection. Amen.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Friday, April 13, 2012
More Than a Feeling
Sermon preached Easter Sunday April 6, 2012
Texts: I Corinthians 15:3-11; Mark 16:1-8
So a week or so ago I went to check our church web site and received a warning – “the web site might be infected.” Thinking that this might be some kind of mistake I tried another internet browser whose warning was starker – big red circle with a subtraction sign inside. Just to really check it out, I tried to get to our site on my home computer, and my anti-virus would not even let me go there. WARNING - Yikes. Just before Easter and a web site issue. Thankfully, we were able to get the site cleaned out, though some problems still may need work.
Warnings. Here are a few for you (Power Point slide show - see photos below).
Warning. Maybe Easter should come with a warning sign. WARNING: You may never be the same again. WARNING: The same power that raised Jesus wants to work in you. WARNING: God wants to mess with your life.
When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. They had been saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” Ordinary events – grieving after a death, the sun rising, concern about heavy lifting. The women wished to perfume Jesus perhaps like we perfume our sanctuary on Easter morning with lilies. And what happens? The stone is rolled away and a young man in a white robe is sitting there. “And they were alarmed.” The young man speaks: “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here.” So they fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone.
WARNING: With God around, an ordinary morning can be filled with alarm, amazement, maybe even terror. God wants to mess with your life. But there is a bit of wry humor in Mark’s gospel. “They said nothing to anyone.” Yet here is their story. You know what - somebody told! These women had their lives changed that morning, and they could not keep it a secret forever. Those listening to Mark’s Gospel, probably Gentile Christians who knew of the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem at the hands of the Romans and who may have been experiencing some of the persecution of Nero themselves, those first hearers of Mark’s gospel had had their lives changed because the story continued to be told.
One of the most popular movies in current release is The Hunger Games. It is a futuristic story about a nation called Panem. There are echoes of imperial Rome in the story. Annually in Panem, each of the outlying 12 districts must send a young man and a young woman to compete in a contest called “The Hunger Game” – a contest to the death with only one survivor/winner. Reflecting with the producer of the games, Panem’s president says: Why do we have a winner? Hope. It is the only thing stronger than fear. A little hope is effective, a lot of hope is dangerous. A spark is fine, as long as it is contained.
WARNING: Easter is about hope, a lot of hope, hope that is more than a feeling. Hope as a feeling is important and it matters. Feeling a little hopeful makes the day a little brighter. Feeling a little hopeful means we may try something a bit new – a new restaurant, a new book, a new music group, a new hobby. “I hope I like this.” Sometimes we are disappointed, but there are other foods, books, movies, music, hobbies. The Twins season opened on Friday, and one of the announcers said that opening day is the most hopeful day of the baseball season. I hope the Twins have a better year this year, but if it isn’t so good, well it won’t devastate me.
Easter hope is something different, something more, more than a feeling – and those of you hoping to hear the Boston song this morning will be disappointed. Easter hope is hope as a wild energy that changes our lives, a wind that blows in our lives and carries us to new places and in new directions, a fire that burns hot and bright, illuminating the world in new ways and burning away the dross. Easter hope can take an ordinary morning and leave us amazed and astonished and maybe even momentarily speechless. Just when we think we have Jesus all nicely wrapped up and perfumed, we find that he is not exactly where we thought, exactly what we thought, exactly who we thought.
Paul experienced a living Jesus, a risen Christ in his life. He believes his experience of this risen, living Jesus was just like that of the first disciples. This experience changed him profoundly. “By the grace of God I am what I am, and God’s grace has not been in vain.”
Dietrich Bonhoeffer wanted in his life to follow the risen Christ. It moved him from teacher and theologian in a state Church in Germany, to working in opposition to the Hitler government. For his opposition, Bonhoeffer was arrested and eventually executed by the Nazis. In his book Discipleship, Bonhoeffer wrote about following Jesus, and living with the wild energy of hope. Where will the call of discipleship lead those who follow it? What decisions and painful separations will it entail? We must take this question to him who alone knows the answer. Only Jesus Christ, who bids us follow him, knows where the path will lead. But we know that it will be a path of mercy beyond measure. Discipleship is joy. (40)
Christ is risen. Christ is alive. The wild energy of hope has been unleashed. The winds of the Spirit are blowing. The fires of the Spirit have been ignited. WARNING – this could change your life. This we also know – the way of Easter, the way of Jesus, the way of the wild energy of hope, is a way of joy.
Writer Anne Lamott has been changed by the risen Christ, by the energy of hope that is Easter. Easter is profound, she writes. Easter says that love is more powerful than death; bigger than the dark…. Darkness is our context, and Easter’s context: without it, you couldn’t see the light. Hope is not about proving. It’s about choosing to believe this one thing, that love is bigger than any grim, bleak [stuff] anyone can throw at us. (Plan B, 268, 275)
Easter is about hope that is more than a feeling. It is about hope that trusts that love is strong and beautiful. It is about a hope that produces joy. It is about hope that is a wild energy, a wild ride, trying to follow Jesus and the way of Jesus, knowing that when we get too perfumey about him, he has gone someplace else and invites us to follow in astonishment and amazement.
Easter should come with warning signs. WARNING: THERE IS A LOT OF HOPE HERE AND A LOT OF HOPE CAN BE DANGEROUS. WARNING: WINDS OF THE SPIRIT BLOWING HERE. WARNING: GOD WANTS TO MESS WITH YOUR LIFE.
Knowing this, maybe you should have stayed away. Unless…
Unless there is an ache in your heart for something more, a yearning to be something more.
Unless, unless there is a pain, a wound, a grief in your life that needs penetrating healing.
Unless, unless you feel discouraged, weary down to your bones, weary down to your soul.
Unless, unless you feel all alone, with no direction home, like a complete unknown.
Unless, unless you seek forgiveness and have found it hard to come by.
Unless, unless there are patterns in your life that need breaking so that you can be free to love and grow and flourish.
Unless, unless you’ve been tempted to give up searching for a better world and give in to cynicism.
Unless, unless you’re puzzled by the human condition, capable of such beauty and tenderness and kindness and such horror and cruelty and brutality.
Unless, that is, you need a hope that is more than a feeling, a hope that is a wild energy, a whirlwind, a blazing fire, a hope that says that love is stronger than any grim, bleak stuff anyone can throw at us, a hope rooted in a God who long ago surprised, amazed, astonished three women going to check on their dead friends grave. He has been raised; he is not here. They were speechless, but only for a while.
I love serendipity, coincidences that are sheer grace. Early this week I was listening to some music. A group of musicians have set some Woody Guthrie lyrics to music and released a CD entitled “New Multitudes.” The first song contained these lyrics. Don’t let any earthly calamity knock your dreamer and hoping machine out of order. That’s Easter, a hope that is more than a feeling, a hope that changes everything, even if over time, a hope that keeps on even if calamity strikes, a hope that keeps your dreamer and hoping machine in order. Let that hope into your soul and you can never be sure exactly where its wild energy may take you. You’ve been warned, but let hope and the God of hope in anyway. Christ is risen. Amen.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Going Mobile
Sermon preached March 25, 2012
Texts: Jeremiah 31:31-34; John 12:20-33
Here is a song about the Christian spiritual life – “Going Mobile” The Who.
Going Mobile
Here is a story about the Christian spiritual life – “The Carpenter and the Unbuilder.” (story)
Once upon a time there was a man living in a certain kingdom who received an invitation from his king to come to dinner. Something inside him was excited as never before by the invitation. Something was afraid as well. Would he have the right clothes to wear? Would his manners be good enough for his lord's table? What would they talk about when they were not eating? Above all, the man was frightened by the long journey to the king's castle.
So what did the man do? Well, he spent one month deciding what to wear and buying the clothes he did not already have. He spent two months learning the rules of etiquette and practicing them as he ate. He spent three months reading up on all the latest issues faced by the kingdom so he would have something to say.
Finally he faced the journey itself. By trade the man was a carpenter. He built small houses and extra outhouses and garages better than anyone else. After he had packed the clothing and food he thought he would need for the journey, he had room for only a little more. So he decided to pack a few tools, enough to permit him to build adequate overnight shelter on the journey. Then he started out.
The first day he traveled through the morning and early afternoon, stopping only to eat some lunch. Then he set about constructing a rough shelter to spend the night in. After a few hours labor he had a small, safe, dry place to sleep. The next morning as he was about to start out again, he looked at the shelter he had built. He began to notice places where it could be improved. So instead of resuming the journey right away, he began to make improvements on his little dwelling. Well, one thing led to another, garage to kitchen to indoor plumbing, and so on. Soon, he had pretty much forgotten about the invitation and the journey.
Meanwhile the king was beginning to wonder about the man. And so, as kings are able to do, he arranged for another person who was also traveling to the dinner to stop by and see how the man was coming along.
When the king's friend found him, the carpenter was living in his second house. He had sold the first one to someone, remembered the invitation, and moved on for a day or so. However, he had soon settled in and built an even bigger and better house on the profits he had made from the sale of his first one. The carpenter was only too happy to invite the visitor in for lunch; but while he was content to accept the offer of food, the visitor said he preferred to eat out in the yard under a tree.
"Is there a reason you don't want to come inside?" asked the carpenter, immediately wondering if his house wasn't quite right in some way.
"Why yes," replied the visitor. "You see, I am on a journey to have dinner with the king of our land. It is important for me to stay on the journey. Perhaps after lunch you would like to come with me?"
"What you say sounds familiar to me," said the carpenter. "I think I too received an invitation to have dinner with the king, but I have been a little bit uncertain of the way."
"I know," responded the stranger. "I was once uncertain as well. As a matter of fact, once I was a carpenter just like you. I too wanted to build safe places along the way to stay in. One day, another person on the journey helped me learn how to unbuild instead of to build. He helped me leave the house I was living in and trust the journey itself. I was worried about following the right path. He told me that there were a number of paths that would lead to the dinner. The king had set it up that way, and the king had also set up warnings along the wrong paths. The important thing was simply to put one foot in front of the other with love and trust. I was also worried about what I had left behind. To this he said that the king had seen to it that everything worth saving would be at the castle waiting for me."
"What you say is certainly of comfort. It helps to know that you have been just like me," said the carpenter.
"Well then, why don't we let go of this house and get on with the journey?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Can I sleep on it?"
"I suppose."
"May I fix a bed for you?"
"No," countered the visitor. "I will just stay out here under the tree. It is easier to notice the wonderful things the king has put along the way when you aren't looking out from inside something you have put up to protect yourself."
The unbuilder waited outside all night. The next morning the carpenter indeed had decided to resume the journey. Together they prepared to set out.
"Well," asked the carpenter. "Which way shall we go?"
"Which way seems right to you?" replied the unbuilder.
"I'm not sure."
"I'll tell you what. Let's just sit here a few minutes and think hard about the king. Remember the stories you have been told about him. Remember how much you love him. Remember how much he loves you. When you have remembered as clearly as you think you can, consider the paths that lie before you and see which one seems to satisfy your longing for, and remembrance of, the king. Let your desire to be with the king become more powerful in you than your uncertainty and fear about choosing the right or wrong path."
Silently they sat through the morning in the carpenter's front yard. Slowly it began to seem as though they were already on the journey. As that feeling grew and grew, it suddenly didn't seem like any decision needed to be made; it just happened. With a deep sense of freedom they were off.
Many of the days went just like that, new steps out of silent beginnings and pure desires. They simply waited until the sense of journeying wrapped itself around even their waiting, and then they were off without worrying whether they were on the "right" path or not. In the stillness of their hearts they made room for the path and the path seemed to come to them.
Of course the carpenter still felt the need to build a home from time to time. The unbuilder made sure he understood what he was doing and then let him do it if he really wanted to. While the carpenter labored, the unbuilder, his guide and friend, would continue the silent waiting in the yard under a tree, and soon they would unbuild yet another house and begin the journey again.
In the meantime the king kept the food warm, which he was very good at doing.
The Christian spiritual life is a journey – going mobile. The journey of faith, the journey with Jesus, the walk with God is on-going, continuous and it is a process of building, unbuilding and rebuilding.
“Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit,” Jesus says. A journey, a process.
“This is the covenant that I will make… after those days, says the Lord: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts,” these word from Jeremiah. The journey is about a new heart, always a new heart.
In thinking about this journey of faith I think about the words of Gandalf the wizard: “My dear Bilbo… You are not the hobbit that you were.”
In thinking about this journey of faith I think about the wise doctor, Dr. Seuss. Congratulations! Today is your day. Your off to Great Places! You’re off and away! You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes…. Out there things can happen and frequently do to people as brainy and footsy as you. And when things start to happen, don’t worry. Don’t stew. Just go right along. You’ll start happening too. OH! THE PLACES YOU’LL GO!
Moving back to Duluth six and a half years ago has been fascinating. I grew up here as many of you know. Oh, the places you’ll go – well, in some ways I’ve not gone very far. But things are different, and I don’t mean just in the usual ways. Yes, I am older than when I last lived here in 1982. And I have children – adult children. The junior high I attended (where Dick Wallin was the principal) is now the high school I attended (where Irv St. John and Joe Berini were on staff). The grocery store where I worked while in high school and college is now a fitness center. Things are different.
But the biggest differences are inside. That’s where the journey has really gone places. I am not the same hobbit I was. With God’s Spirit working on me and in me and with me I am sometimes happening too. Oh, the places I’ve gone. I think I’ve learned some things along the way.
The journey of faith, the journey with Jesus is a journey about passions, about the heart. The new heart that God creates in us is a heart that is soft, supple and can be broken. As a teenager, I knew what it was to have a broken heart, but the kind of heartbreak God continues to create is a heart that breaks for others, that is passionate about the well-being of others – the lonely, the left out, the hungry, the suffering, the poor, the grieving. My heart particularly breaks for those who have been hurt by religion, church words that have wounded. I want to help them find a way back to God, to Jesus, to community. The journey of faith is about a new heart, always a new heart, a heart that can break, but a heart that breaks open, a heart passionate about God and the good.
The journey of faith, the journey with Jesus is a journey about compassion – about being with, about feeling with, about seeing with. When I first became a pastor, I was often uncomfortable in really difficult situations. What would I say, what could I say to be of help? I’ve learned that what matters most is hanging in there with people, even when it is hard – trying to feel with them, see what they see, even when we may disagree. The compassionate heart is often also the courageous heart.
The journey of faith, the journey with Jesus is about being open to questions. I was saddened the other day when I read a blog post that a friend and colleague linked on Facebook. In the blog a young woman shared 15 reasons why she left the church. Here are a couple of her reasons. I left the church because my questions were seen as liabilities. I left the church because I believe the earth is 4.5 billion years old and that humans share a common ancestor with apes, which I was told was incompatible with my faith. I left the church because sometimes I doubt, and church can be the worst place to doubt. (Rachel Held Evans) Questions are an important part of the journey.
The journey of faith, the journey with Jesus is about taking the next step. We are on a way. The earliest followers of Jesus were called “the Way.” Congratulations! Today is your day. Your off to Great Places! You’re off and away! You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes - - - brains and feet and hearts and minds and souls that need to take the next step. Sometimes the next step is to build a resting place for a time. Sometimes the next step is to unbuild and move on – unbuild our usual ways of thinking or doing Christian faith. We are going mobile.
Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. This is the way of faith, the journey with Jesus – dying and rising – build, unbuild, rebuild - - - going mobile.
This is the covenant that I will make… I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts. This is the way of faith, the journey with Jesus – a new heart, always a new heart - - - going mobile.
But oh the places you’ll go, many of them inside, deep inside. When we have gone places inside the familiar places outside are never the same. I think of the words of T. S. Eliot (Four Quartets, 58, 59).
What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
…
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And to know the place for the first time.
“My dear Bilbo… You are not the hobbit that you were.” On the journey with Jesus, none of us ever is. Amen.
Texts: Jeremiah 31:31-34; John 12:20-33
Here is a song about the Christian spiritual life – “Going Mobile” The Who.
Going Mobile
Here is a story about the Christian spiritual life – “The Carpenter and the Unbuilder.” (story)
Once upon a time there was a man living in a certain kingdom who received an invitation from his king to come to dinner. Something inside him was excited as never before by the invitation. Something was afraid as well. Would he have the right clothes to wear? Would his manners be good enough for his lord's table? What would they talk about when they were not eating? Above all, the man was frightened by the long journey to the king's castle.
So what did the man do? Well, he spent one month deciding what to wear and buying the clothes he did not already have. He spent two months learning the rules of etiquette and practicing them as he ate. He spent three months reading up on all the latest issues faced by the kingdom so he would have something to say.
Finally he faced the journey itself. By trade the man was a carpenter. He built small houses and extra outhouses and garages better than anyone else. After he had packed the clothing and food he thought he would need for the journey, he had room for only a little more. So he decided to pack a few tools, enough to permit him to build adequate overnight shelter on the journey. Then he started out.
The first day he traveled through the morning and early afternoon, stopping only to eat some lunch. Then he set about constructing a rough shelter to spend the night in. After a few hours labor he had a small, safe, dry place to sleep. The next morning as he was about to start out again, he looked at the shelter he had built. He began to notice places where it could be improved. So instead of resuming the journey right away, he began to make improvements on his little dwelling. Well, one thing led to another, garage to kitchen to indoor plumbing, and so on. Soon, he had pretty much forgotten about the invitation and the journey.
Meanwhile the king was beginning to wonder about the man. And so, as kings are able to do, he arranged for another person who was also traveling to the dinner to stop by and see how the man was coming along.
When the king's friend found him, the carpenter was living in his second house. He had sold the first one to someone, remembered the invitation, and moved on for a day or so. However, he had soon settled in and built an even bigger and better house on the profits he had made from the sale of his first one. The carpenter was only too happy to invite the visitor in for lunch; but while he was content to accept the offer of food, the visitor said he preferred to eat out in the yard under a tree.
"Is there a reason you don't want to come inside?" asked the carpenter, immediately wondering if his house wasn't quite right in some way.
"Why yes," replied the visitor. "You see, I am on a journey to have dinner with the king of our land. It is important for me to stay on the journey. Perhaps after lunch you would like to come with me?"
"What you say sounds familiar to me," said the carpenter. "I think I too received an invitation to have dinner with the king, but I have been a little bit uncertain of the way."
"I know," responded the stranger. "I was once uncertain as well. As a matter of fact, once I was a carpenter just like you. I too wanted to build safe places along the way to stay in. One day, another person on the journey helped me learn how to unbuild instead of to build. He helped me leave the house I was living in and trust the journey itself. I was worried about following the right path. He told me that there were a number of paths that would lead to the dinner. The king had set it up that way, and the king had also set up warnings along the wrong paths. The important thing was simply to put one foot in front of the other with love and trust. I was also worried about what I had left behind. To this he said that the king had seen to it that everything worth saving would be at the castle waiting for me."
"What you say is certainly of comfort. It helps to know that you have been just like me," said the carpenter.
"Well then, why don't we let go of this house and get on with the journey?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Can I sleep on it?"
"I suppose."
"May I fix a bed for you?"
"No," countered the visitor. "I will just stay out here under the tree. It is easier to notice the wonderful things the king has put along the way when you aren't looking out from inside something you have put up to protect yourself."
The unbuilder waited outside all night. The next morning the carpenter indeed had decided to resume the journey. Together they prepared to set out.
"Well," asked the carpenter. "Which way shall we go?"
"Which way seems right to you?" replied the unbuilder.
"I'm not sure."
"I'll tell you what. Let's just sit here a few minutes and think hard about the king. Remember the stories you have been told about him. Remember how much you love him. Remember how much he loves you. When you have remembered as clearly as you think you can, consider the paths that lie before you and see which one seems to satisfy your longing for, and remembrance of, the king. Let your desire to be with the king become more powerful in you than your uncertainty and fear about choosing the right or wrong path."
Silently they sat through the morning in the carpenter's front yard. Slowly it began to seem as though they were already on the journey. As that feeling grew and grew, it suddenly didn't seem like any decision needed to be made; it just happened. With a deep sense of freedom they were off.
Many of the days went just like that, new steps out of silent beginnings and pure desires. They simply waited until the sense of journeying wrapped itself around even their waiting, and then they were off without worrying whether they were on the "right" path or not. In the stillness of their hearts they made room for the path and the path seemed to come to them.
Of course the carpenter still felt the need to build a home from time to time. The unbuilder made sure he understood what he was doing and then let him do it if he really wanted to. While the carpenter labored, the unbuilder, his guide and friend, would continue the silent waiting in the yard under a tree, and soon they would unbuild yet another house and begin the journey again.
In the meantime the king kept the food warm, which he was very good at doing.
The Christian spiritual life is a journey – going mobile. The journey of faith, the journey with Jesus, the walk with God is on-going, continuous and it is a process of building, unbuilding and rebuilding.
“Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit,” Jesus says. A journey, a process.
“This is the covenant that I will make… after those days, says the Lord: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts,” these word from Jeremiah. The journey is about a new heart, always a new heart.
In thinking about this journey of faith I think about the words of Gandalf the wizard: “My dear Bilbo… You are not the hobbit that you were.”
In thinking about this journey of faith I think about the wise doctor, Dr. Seuss. Congratulations! Today is your day. Your off to Great Places! You’re off and away! You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes…. Out there things can happen and frequently do to people as brainy and footsy as you. And when things start to happen, don’t worry. Don’t stew. Just go right along. You’ll start happening too. OH! THE PLACES YOU’LL GO!
Moving back to Duluth six and a half years ago has been fascinating. I grew up here as many of you know. Oh, the places you’ll go – well, in some ways I’ve not gone very far. But things are different, and I don’t mean just in the usual ways. Yes, I am older than when I last lived here in 1982. And I have children – adult children. The junior high I attended (where Dick Wallin was the principal) is now the high school I attended (where Irv St. John and Joe Berini were on staff). The grocery store where I worked while in high school and college is now a fitness center. Things are different.
But the biggest differences are inside. That’s where the journey has really gone places. I am not the same hobbit I was. With God’s Spirit working on me and in me and with me I am sometimes happening too. Oh, the places I’ve gone. I think I’ve learned some things along the way.
The journey of faith, the journey with Jesus is a journey about passions, about the heart. The new heart that God creates in us is a heart that is soft, supple and can be broken. As a teenager, I knew what it was to have a broken heart, but the kind of heartbreak God continues to create is a heart that breaks for others, that is passionate about the well-being of others – the lonely, the left out, the hungry, the suffering, the poor, the grieving. My heart particularly breaks for those who have been hurt by religion, church words that have wounded. I want to help them find a way back to God, to Jesus, to community. The journey of faith is about a new heart, always a new heart, a heart that can break, but a heart that breaks open, a heart passionate about God and the good.
The journey of faith, the journey with Jesus is a journey about compassion – about being with, about feeling with, about seeing with. When I first became a pastor, I was often uncomfortable in really difficult situations. What would I say, what could I say to be of help? I’ve learned that what matters most is hanging in there with people, even when it is hard – trying to feel with them, see what they see, even when we may disagree. The compassionate heart is often also the courageous heart.
The journey of faith, the journey with Jesus is about being open to questions. I was saddened the other day when I read a blog post that a friend and colleague linked on Facebook. In the blog a young woman shared 15 reasons why she left the church. Here are a couple of her reasons. I left the church because my questions were seen as liabilities. I left the church because I believe the earth is 4.5 billion years old and that humans share a common ancestor with apes, which I was told was incompatible with my faith. I left the church because sometimes I doubt, and church can be the worst place to doubt. (Rachel Held Evans) Questions are an important part of the journey.
The journey of faith, the journey with Jesus is about taking the next step. We are on a way. The earliest followers of Jesus were called “the Way.” Congratulations! Today is your day. Your off to Great Places! You’re off and away! You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes - - - brains and feet and hearts and minds and souls that need to take the next step. Sometimes the next step is to build a resting place for a time. Sometimes the next step is to unbuild and move on – unbuild our usual ways of thinking or doing Christian faith. We are going mobile.
Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. This is the way of faith, the journey with Jesus – dying and rising – build, unbuild, rebuild - - - going mobile.
This is the covenant that I will make… I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts. This is the way of faith, the journey with Jesus – a new heart, always a new heart - - - going mobile.
But oh the places you’ll go, many of them inside, deep inside. When we have gone places inside the familiar places outside are never the same. I think of the words of T. S. Eliot (Four Quartets, 58, 59).
What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
…
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And to know the place for the first time.
“My dear Bilbo… You are not the hobbit that you were.” On the journey with Jesus, none of us ever is. Amen.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Like God
Sermon preached March 18, 2012
Texts: Ephesians 2:1-10; John 3:14-21
Retired Archbishop Robert Runcie used to tell of an incident that occurred while he was the Archbishop of Canterbury. Evidently, he once boarded a train in England and discovered that all the other passengers in the carriage were patients at a mental institution who were being taken on an excursion. A hospital attendant was counting the patients to be sure that they were all present. “One, two, three, four, five...” When he came to Runcie, he said, “And who are you?” “I am the Archbishop of Canterbury,” Robert Runcie replied. The attendant smiled, pointed to him, and continued pleasantly, “... six, seven, eight…”
I recall an episode of the television show M*A*S*H (Season 4, Quo Vadis Captain Chandler, November 1975) in which a wounded soldier is brought into the hospital claiming he is Jesus Christ. There is a haunting quality about the soldier, yet what do the doctors do? They call in the psychiatrist Sidney Freedman. Turns out the man is bomber pilot named Captain Chandler who is now unable to continue drop bombs.
To think of yourself as Jesus or God or even the Archbishop of Canterbury can get you classified as unbalanced – one brick shy of a load, one French fry short of a Happy Meal. Place a marker on that thought for a few moments.
This Lent our theme is “journey to and journey through” and today I want to talk about that aspect of our journey of faith which is the journey to God. At the heart of the Christian message, at the heart of the Christian gospel is the good news that God desires a relationship with us. “For God so loved the world.” “But God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us.” Both the reading from the Gospel of John and from Ephesians paint a picture of a God who desires to be in relationship with us, a God of overflowing love who is always reaching out to draw us near. The journey of Christian faith is the journey to God.
Yet we also believe that God is already here. God is already present. God is ever-present. So where’s the “journey”? If God is already here, we don’t have to go anywhere to find God, to locate God. Is the journey of faith simply walking in place?
The journey of faith, which is the journey to God is really a journey with God inside our own lives. God is doing something in us. God is creating new life in us. God is working in us to shine light into the world. God is working in us to create goodness. God is working eternal life in us – and I think eternal life in the Bible is something more than just life after death – it is a quality of life before death, too.
Let me put this even more radically. I think the journey of faith, the journey to God is a journey with the creative power of God’s love in our lives and that God’s creative power is at work making us like God. God is forming Jesus in us. God is forming God in us. In the devotional book I am using for Lent this year, Joan Chittister writes, “The One who has been within reach all our lives has begun to come to life quietly, but clearly, within us” (The Breath of the Soul, 57).
Think about that – our journey to God is the journey of having God come to life within us! ‘Course it’s not safe, but it’s good.
But we need to be careful here. If our understanding of God is of a capricious power, of one who never gains from the experiences of others, than to make claims about God being born in us leads to trouble. Caesar in the time of Jesus claimed to be son of God, and ruled ruthlessly, conflating the peace of Rome with the peace of God. History is littered with stories of megalomaniacs who confuse their murderous whims with the will of God. That’s not what the spiritual journey is about in the Christian journey of faith.
The heart of God is a heart of love – for God so loved the world. The heart of God is a heart of compassion and kindness – but God, who is rich in mercy. What God is seeking to create in us are hearts with God-like love, hearts with God-like kindness, hearts with God-like compassion. John Wesley, the primary person to whom United Methodists trace their stream of Christian faith, understood God’s saving action as “our renewal in the image of God” (Charles Wood, CFO paper on United Methodist Ecclesiology, referring to Wesley’s sermon “God’s Approbation of His Work”). He understood our journey to God as a journey to love – recall his definition of Christian perfection: By perfection I mean the humble, gentle, patient love of God and neighbor, ruling our habits, attitudes, words, and actions. (“Brief Thoughts on Christian Perfection” January, 1767)
This is what living our faith is about – becoming more transparent to the love of God that God creates inside of us - - - being more like plastic wrap than like cardboard. The journey to God is a journey to love – growing in love, growing into Jesus, growing into God.
Two quotes and a story.
The Jewish philosopher and theologian Abraham Joshua Heschel, wrote in his book Man Is Not Alone: If man is not more than human he is less than human (211). I think what Heschel is trying to say is that there is something in us of the divine, that we are “contemporaries with God” (211). We have the capacity to see our lives on a small screen, to define our loves narrowly, or we can continue the journey to God, opening our hearts and souls to greater love, kindness and compassion. If we fail to do that, we end up being something less than human.
Walter Wink is a New Testament scholar and theologian. In his book The Human Being, Wink writes, Jesus incarnated God in his own person in order to show all of us how to incarnate God. And to incarnate God is what it means to be fully human (30). To incarnate God is what it means to be fully human. That’s where our journey to God is headed, to making God more real in our lives and in the world, to becoming more like God.
Abbot Lot went to see Abbot Joseph and said, “Father, according as I am able, I keep my little rule, and my little fast, my prayer, meditation and contemplative silence; and according as I am able I strive to cleanse my heart of bad thoughts: now what more should I do?” The elder rose up in reply and stretched out his hands to heaven, and his fingers became like lamps of fire. He said, “why not become all flame?” (Kathleen Norris, Dakota, 123; Thomas Merton, The Wisdom of the Desert, 50)
I believe that it is as I grow into God, as I embody Jesus, I become my best me, become more fully human. It is then that I am better able to release gifts of love to the world. I believe that it is as we, as a community, grow into God, embody Jesus that we become the best church we can be. It is then that we are better able to release our gifts of love to the world. The world needs our gifts – the fire of God’s love for warmth, light, energy and to burn away hatred, prejudice, fearfulness, paralyzing anxiety. When we tend the flame of God within we can send sparks of faith, hope and love into the world.
For God so loved - God, who is rich in mercy. Out of love God is working in our lives and in our life together – to make us more loving, to make us more like God. That’s our journey to God. Why not become all flame? Amen.
Texts: Ephesians 2:1-10; John 3:14-21
Retired Archbishop Robert Runcie used to tell of an incident that occurred while he was the Archbishop of Canterbury. Evidently, he once boarded a train in England and discovered that all the other passengers in the carriage were patients at a mental institution who were being taken on an excursion. A hospital attendant was counting the patients to be sure that they were all present. “One, two, three, four, five...” When he came to Runcie, he said, “And who are you?” “I am the Archbishop of Canterbury,” Robert Runcie replied. The attendant smiled, pointed to him, and continued pleasantly, “... six, seven, eight…”
I recall an episode of the television show M*A*S*H (Season 4, Quo Vadis Captain Chandler, November 1975) in which a wounded soldier is brought into the hospital claiming he is Jesus Christ. There is a haunting quality about the soldier, yet what do the doctors do? They call in the psychiatrist Sidney Freedman. Turns out the man is bomber pilot named Captain Chandler who is now unable to continue drop bombs.
To think of yourself as Jesus or God or even the Archbishop of Canterbury can get you classified as unbalanced – one brick shy of a load, one French fry short of a Happy Meal. Place a marker on that thought for a few moments.
This Lent our theme is “journey to and journey through” and today I want to talk about that aspect of our journey of faith which is the journey to God. At the heart of the Christian message, at the heart of the Christian gospel is the good news that God desires a relationship with us. “For God so loved the world.” “But God, who is rich in mercy, out of the great love with which he loved us.” Both the reading from the Gospel of John and from Ephesians paint a picture of a God who desires to be in relationship with us, a God of overflowing love who is always reaching out to draw us near. The journey of Christian faith is the journey to God.
Yet we also believe that God is already here. God is already present. God is ever-present. So where’s the “journey”? If God is already here, we don’t have to go anywhere to find God, to locate God. Is the journey of faith simply walking in place?
The journey of faith, which is the journey to God is really a journey with God inside our own lives. God is doing something in us. God is creating new life in us. God is working in us to shine light into the world. God is working in us to create goodness. God is working eternal life in us – and I think eternal life in the Bible is something more than just life after death – it is a quality of life before death, too.
Let me put this even more radically. I think the journey of faith, the journey to God is a journey with the creative power of God’s love in our lives and that God’s creative power is at work making us like God. God is forming Jesus in us. God is forming God in us. In the devotional book I am using for Lent this year, Joan Chittister writes, “The One who has been within reach all our lives has begun to come to life quietly, but clearly, within us” (The Breath of the Soul, 57).
Think about that – our journey to God is the journey of having God come to life within us! ‘Course it’s not safe, but it’s good.
But we need to be careful here. If our understanding of God is of a capricious power, of one who never gains from the experiences of others, than to make claims about God being born in us leads to trouble. Caesar in the time of Jesus claimed to be son of God, and ruled ruthlessly, conflating the peace of Rome with the peace of God. History is littered with stories of megalomaniacs who confuse their murderous whims with the will of God. That’s not what the spiritual journey is about in the Christian journey of faith.
The heart of God is a heart of love – for God so loved the world. The heart of God is a heart of compassion and kindness – but God, who is rich in mercy. What God is seeking to create in us are hearts with God-like love, hearts with God-like kindness, hearts with God-like compassion. John Wesley, the primary person to whom United Methodists trace their stream of Christian faith, understood God’s saving action as “our renewal in the image of God” (Charles Wood, CFO paper on United Methodist Ecclesiology, referring to Wesley’s sermon “God’s Approbation of His Work”). He understood our journey to God as a journey to love – recall his definition of Christian perfection: By perfection I mean the humble, gentle, patient love of God and neighbor, ruling our habits, attitudes, words, and actions. (“Brief Thoughts on Christian Perfection” January, 1767)
This is what living our faith is about – becoming more transparent to the love of God that God creates inside of us - - - being more like plastic wrap than like cardboard. The journey to God is a journey to love – growing in love, growing into Jesus, growing into God.
Two quotes and a story.
The Jewish philosopher and theologian Abraham Joshua Heschel, wrote in his book Man Is Not Alone: If man is not more than human he is less than human (211). I think what Heschel is trying to say is that there is something in us of the divine, that we are “contemporaries with God” (211). We have the capacity to see our lives on a small screen, to define our loves narrowly, or we can continue the journey to God, opening our hearts and souls to greater love, kindness and compassion. If we fail to do that, we end up being something less than human.
Walter Wink is a New Testament scholar and theologian. In his book The Human Being, Wink writes, Jesus incarnated God in his own person in order to show all of us how to incarnate God. And to incarnate God is what it means to be fully human (30). To incarnate God is what it means to be fully human. That’s where our journey to God is headed, to making God more real in our lives and in the world, to becoming more like God.
Abbot Lot went to see Abbot Joseph and said, “Father, according as I am able, I keep my little rule, and my little fast, my prayer, meditation and contemplative silence; and according as I am able I strive to cleanse my heart of bad thoughts: now what more should I do?” The elder rose up in reply and stretched out his hands to heaven, and his fingers became like lamps of fire. He said, “why not become all flame?” (Kathleen Norris, Dakota, 123; Thomas Merton, The Wisdom of the Desert, 50)
I believe that it is as I grow into God, as I embody Jesus, I become my best me, become more fully human. It is then that I am better able to release gifts of love to the world. I believe that it is as we, as a community, grow into God, embody Jesus that we become the best church we can be. It is then that we are better able to release our gifts of love to the world. The world needs our gifts – the fire of God’s love for warmth, light, energy and to burn away hatred, prejudice, fearfulness, paralyzing anxiety. When we tend the flame of God within we can send sparks of faith, hope and love into the world.
For God so loved - God, who is rich in mercy. Out of love God is working in our lives and in our life together – to make us more loving, to make us more like God. That’s our journey to God. Why not become all flame? Amen.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Perfect Fear Casts Out Love
Sermon preached March 11, 2012
Text: John 2:13-22
We made a decision at the staff meeting on Tuesday February 28 that if the schools were closed on Wednesday February 29 due to the expected snow storm, we would keep the building closed until noon and then decide about the rest of the day. The schools were closed, so I had more time that morning to read the newspaper. One item tickled my funny bone. It was a weather-related closing. The state tournament sendoff for the Superior High School boys hockey team for today has been cancelled due to the team leaving Tuesday. Seems a pretty good reason for cancelling a pep rally, the team has already left town.
Has religion, the church, an idea of God ever left you feeling empty and alone, alone in the blizzards of life, maybe even created the blizzard? Has religion, the church, an idea of God left you feeling like that? Have they been a burden instead of relieving burdens? Instead of making life more alive and interesting, have these left you feeling more lifeless?
Here are some stories.
Rob Bell is the founding pastor of Mars Hill Bible Church in Grand Rapids, MI. He tells the story about an art show the church held a few years ago. I had been giving a series of teachings on peacemaking, and we invited artists to display their paintings, poems, and sculptures that reflected their understanding of what it means to be a peacemaker. One woman included in her work a quote from Mahatma Gandhi, which a number of people found quite compelling. But not everyone. Someone attached a piece of paper to it. On the piece of paper was written: “Reality check: He’s in hell.” This story was the initial impetus for Bell to write his book Love Wins (p. 1).
Adam Hamilton, pastor of Church of the Resurrection in suburban Kansas City, the largest United Methodist Church in the United State tells this story. I was officiating at a graveside funeral for a young man who had taken his own life. The parents were still in shock and experiencing intense grief. In the eulogy and message I sought to help them and all who had gathered to make sense of this terrible tragedy while finding comfort and hope in God. As a part of the service we remembered the unique and special qualities of their son. Following the service a husband and wife – sister and brother-in-law of one of the boy’s parents came to me and asked, “Why didn’t you tell them that their son is in hell today?” Hamilton shared this story in his book When Christians Get It Wrong (7).
A woman I know suffered through one of the most difficult experiences a mother can, her young adult daughter died suddenly while in the hospital. She told a group that as she was sharing her story with another person one time, this other person told her that she probably had not prayed enough, or not prayed just right for her daughter.
Jeri finds herself in the office of a Christian counselor. She was either going crazy or on the verge of a spiritual breakthrough. The counselor asked her what was going on. Well, I went to my pastor a few months ago because I was feeling depressed a lot. He pegged the root problem right away, but I can’t seem to do anything about it…. I guess I would have to say the problem is, well, me. My pastor says I’m in rebellion against God. Apparently Jeri’s pastor, on hearing that she was depressed prescribed memorizing praise verses from the Bible to be repeated over and over again. When that did not help Jeri, she returned to her pastor to let him know that it was not helping. Further she told him that women in her family had some history with depression, that she was having some physical problems, and that things with her husband were not so great. She wasn’t sure his recommendation was what she needed. The pastor had a response. The fact that you won’t accept my counsel without raising all these objections and other possibilities was the major indication to me, Jeri, that your root problem is spiritual, not physical or emotional. When you talked about arguing with your husband, rather than submitting to him and trusting God, that confirmed it. The pastor concluded that Jeri was in rebellion against God, leading Jeri to seek help elsewhere. This anecdote is from a book entitled The Subtle Power of Spiritual Abuse (17-18).
Renee Alston in her book Stumbling Toward Faith, shares this horrendous story. I grew up in an abusive household. Much of my abuse was spiritual – and when I say spiritual, I don’t mean new age, esoteric, random mumblings from half-Wiccan, hippie parents… I mean that my father raped me while reciting the Lord’s Prayer. I mean that my father molested me while singing Christian hymns. (Bell, Love Wins, 7) Perfect fear casts out love.
I know - all these stories are from a Christian context. I am certainly not saying that all awful things that happen in the name of God and religion happen in the name of Jesus or the Christian religion. Each religious tradition has its horror stories. Hindus in India burn Muslims in train car. Muslims in Afghanistan, while perhaps rightly outraged by the desecration of Korans, nevertheless allow their outrage to boil over into murderousness – much to the consternation of many other Muslims. I focus on Christian stories because that is my tradition, our tradition, and it is from that tradition and to that tradition that I speak. It is for that tradition I have some responsibility.
Given these horror stories, is it any wonder that National Public Radio might broadcast a debate entitled “Would the World Be Better Off Without Religion?” By the way the debate was held at New York University and prior to the debate, 52% of the audience members agreed that the world would be better off without religion. After the debate, 59% agreed. (NPR, November 21, 2011)
Given such stories, is it any wonder that Daniel Radcliffe, the young actor who played the role of Harry Potter in the highly-successful films might say the following when asked about his religion. I don’t [believe in God]. I have a problem with religion or anything that says, “We have all the answers,” because there’s no such thing as “the answers.” We’re complex. We change our minds on issues all the time. Religion leaves no room for human complexity. (Parade, January 8, 2012)
Perfect fear casts out love.
This Lent our theme has been “journey to and journey through.” Some of what we need to go through on our journey of faith, our spiritual journey, our journey with Jesus, may be religious baggage, scars and wounds left by people who have wielded religious language as a weapon. Many of us have experiences of being hurt or wounded. We have experienced things that have come in the name of God, but that miss the Spirit of God. We have experienced things that have come in the name of Jesus, but without the love of Jesus. If we are to grow in our faith we need to allow ourselves to look at these scars and wound. We need to see where religious language has gotten in the way of a relationship to God instead of facilitating that relationship.
And from where might we get the idea that our journey with Jesus can be helped by questions and critical thinking? How about from Jesus? The story we read this morning is sort of the ultimate in a journey through religious baggage. The story should not be read as a wholesale condemnation of Jewish practice in the time of Jesus, nor in our time. It should be read, I think, as a cautionary tale. Religious language can become hurtful and repressive. Religious concepts can be misused. Religious practices can become life-denying rather than opening us up to the fullness of life. In the story, Jesus recognizes that the tools meant to further the God-life can be misused. His cleansing of the temple is a wonderful symbolic/metaphorical action – it is the journey through religious baggage. It is the willingness to learn and grow and cast off old religious notions that no longer give life or connect with God.
Two quotes and a wrap-up. Kirk Bingamon, a psychologist and theologian, in one of his works writes about “the supreme choice facing every person of faith, namely, whether or not to update and transform our psychical image of God” (Freud and Faith, p. 60). In his lectures on religion, Alfred North Whitehead writes that “Religion… runs through three stages, if it evolves to its final satisfaction. It is the transition from God the void to God the enemy, and from God the enemy to God the companion” (Religion in the Making)
To see the journey of faith, our journey with Jesus, as a journey through religious baggage is see the importance of growth in faith. It is to understand that there are unhealthy uses of religious language and practice that need to be avoided, and sometimes wounds in our lives from such misuse of religious language and practice – wounds that can be healed more fully. In our journey with Jesus, questions are o.k., even necessary. In our journey with Jesus, critical thinking is, well, critical.
I want to cultivate in my life a passionate and compassionate faith that is also a thoughtful faith, a faith that not only leaves room for human complexity but helps me understand it even better. I want us together to build a community of faith where we hear the stories of hurting people even when their hurt has come from someone claiming to speak in the name of God, of Jesus, and of Christian faith. I want us to be a place where after the temple is cleansed, after we have critically looked at our religious baggage, God’s of love still flows freely and Jesus remains alive and well. I want us to be a place where we can let go of whatever hurtful ideas have come to us in religious garb and embrace God as our companion on the journey. God has already embraced us in Jesus. Amen.
Text: John 2:13-22
We made a decision at the staff meeting on Tuesday February 28 that if the schools were closed on Wednesday February 29 due to the expected snow storm, we would keep the building closed until noon and then decide about the rest of the day. The schools were closed, so I had more time that morning to read the newspaper. One item tickled my funny bone. It was a weather-related closing. The state tournament sendoff for the Superior High School boys hockey team for today has been cancelled due to the team leaving Tuesday. Seems a pretty good reason for cancelling a pep rally, the team has already left town.
Has religion, the church, an idea of God ever left you feeling empty and alone, alone in the blizzards of life, maybe even created the blizzard? Has religion, the church, an idea of God left you feeling like that? Have they been a burden instead of relieving burdens? Instead of making life more alive and interesting, have these left you feeling more lifeless?
Here are some stories.
Rob Bell is the founding pastor of Mars Hill Bible Church in Grand Rapids, MI. He tells the story about an art show the church held a few years ago. I had been giving a series of teachings on peacemaking, and we invited artists to display their paintings, poems, and sculptures that reflected their understanding of what it means to be a peacemaker. One woman included in her work a quote from Mahatma Gandhi, which a number of people found quite compelling. But not everyone. Someone attached a piece of paper to it. On the piece of paper was written: “Reality check: He’s in hell.” This story was the initial impetus for Bell to write his book Love Wins (p. 1).
Adam Hamilton, pastor of Church of the Resurrection in suburban Kansas City, the largest United Methodist Church in the United State tells this story. I was officiating at a graveside funeral for a young man who had taken his own life. The parents were still in shock and experiencing intense grief. In the eulogy and message I sought to help them and all who had gathered to make sense of this terrible tragedy while finding comfort and hope in God. As a part of the service we remembered the unique and special qualities of their son. Following the service a husband and wife – sister and brother-in-law of one of the boy’s parents came to me and asked, “Why didn’t you tell them that their son is in hell today?” Hamilton shared this story in his book When Christians Get It Wrong (7).
A woman I know suffered through one of the most difficult experiences a mother can, her young adult daughter died suddenly while in the hospital. She told a group that as she was sharing her story with another person one time, this other person told her that she probably had not prayed enough, or not prayed just right for her daughter.
Jeri finds herself in the office of a Christian counselor. She was either going crazy or on the verge of a spiritual breakthrough. The counselor asked her what was going on. Well, I went to my pastor a few months ago because I was feeling depressed a lot. He pegged the root problem right away, but I can’t seem to do anything about it…. I guess I would have to say the problem is, well, me. My pastor says I’m in rebellion against God. Apparently Jeri’s pastor, on hearing that she was depressed prescribed memorizing praise verses from the Bible to be repeated over and over again. When that did not help Jeri, she returned to her pastor to let him know that it was not helping. Further she told him that women in her family had some history with depression, that she was having some physical problems, and that things with her husband were not so great. She wasn’t sure his recommendation was what she needed. The pastor had a response. The fact that you won’t accept my counsel without raising all these objections and other possibilities was the major indication to me, Jeri, that your root problem is spiritual, not physical or emotional. When you talked about arguing with your husband, rather than submitting to him and trusting God, that confirmed it. The pastor concluded that Jeri was in rebellion against God, leading Jeri to seek help elsewhere. This anecdote is from a book entitled The Subtle Power of Spiritual Abuse (17-18).
Renee Alston in her book Stumbling Toward Faith, shares this horrendous story. I grew up in an abusive household. Much of my abuse was spiritual – and when I say spiritual, I don’t mean new age, esoteric, random mumblings from half-Wiccan, hippie parents… I mean that my father raped me while reciting the Lord’s Prayer. I mean that my father molested me while singing Christian hymns. (Bell, Love Wins, 7) Perfect fear casts out love.
I know - all these stories are from a Christian context. I am certainly not saying that all awful things that happen in the name of God and religion happen in the name of Jesus or the Christian religion. Each religious tradition has its horror stories. Hindus in India burn Muslims in train car. Muslims in Afghanistan, while perhaps rightly outraged by the desecration of Korans, nevertheless allow their outrage to boil over into murderousness – much to the consternation of many other Muslims. I focus on Christian stories because that is my tradition, our tradition, and it is from that tradition and to that tradition that I speak. It is for that tradition I have some responsibility.
Given these horror stories, is it any wonder that National Public Radio might broadcast a debate entitled “Would the World Be Better Off Without Religion?” By the way the debate was held at New York University and prior to the debate, 52% of the audience members agreed that the world would be better off without religion. After the debate, 59% agreed. (NPR, November 21, 2011)
Given such stories, is it any wonder that Daniel Radcliffe, the young actor who played the role of Harry Potter in the highly-successful films might say the following when asked about his religion. I don’t [believe in God]. I have a problem with religion or anything that says, “We have all the answers,” because there’s no such thing as “the answers.” We’re complex. We change our minds on issues all the time. Religion leaves no room for human complexity. (Parade, January 8, 2012)
Perfect fear casts out love.
This Lent our theme has been “journey to and journey through.” Some of what we need to go through on our journey of faith, our spiritual journey, our journey with Jesus, may be religious baggage, scars and wounds left by people who have wielded religious language as a weapon. Many of us have experiences of being hurt or wounded. We have experienced things that have come in the name of God, but that miss the Spirit of God. We have experienced things that have come in the name of Jesus, but without the love of Jesus. If we are to grow in our faith we need to allow ourselves to look at these scars and wound. We need to see where religious language has gotten in the way of a relationship to God instead of facilitating that relationship.
And from where might we get the idea that our journey with Jesus can be helped by questions and critical thinking? How about from Jesus? The story we read this morning is sort of the ultimate in a journey through religious baggage. The story should not be read as a wholesale condemnation of Jewish practice in the time of Jesus, nor in our time. It should be read, I think, as a cautionary tale. Religious language can become hurtful and repressive. Religious concepts can be misused. Religious practices can become life-denying rather than opening us up to the fullness of life. In the story, Jesus recognizes that the tools meant to further the God-life can be misused. His cleansing of the temple is a wonderful symbolic/metaphorical action – it is the journey through religious baggage. It is the willingness to learn and grow and cast off old religious notions that no longer give life or connect with God.
Two quotes and a wrap-up. Kirk Bingamon, a psychologist and theologian, in one of his works writes about “the supreme choice facing every person of faith, namely, whether or not to update and transform our psychical image of God” (Freud and Faith, p. 60). In his lectures on religion, Alfred North Whitehead writes that “Religion… runs through three stages, if it evolves to its final satisfaction. It is the transition from God the void to God the enemy, and from God the enemy to God the companion” (Religion in the Making)
To see the journey of faith, our journey with Jesus, as a journey through religious baggage is see the importance of growth in faith. It is to understand that there are unhealthy uses of religious language and practice that need to be avoided, and sometimes wounds in our lives from such misuse of religious language and practice – wounds that can be healed more fully. In our journey with Jesus, questions are o.k., even necessary. In our journey with Jesus, critical thinking is, well, critical.
I want to cultivate in my life a passionate and compassionate faith that is also a thoughtful faith, a faith that not only leaves room for human complexity but helps me understand it even better. I want us together to build a community of faith where we hear the stories of hurting people even when their hurt has come from someone claiming to speak in the name of God, of Jesus, and of Christian faith. I want us to be a place where after the temple is cleansed, after we have critically looked at our religious baggage, God’s of love still flows freely and Jesus remains alive and well. I want us to be a place where we can let go of whatever hurtful ideas have come to us in religious garb and embrace God as our companion on the journey. God has already embraced us in Jesus. Amen.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Degrinchification
Sermon preached March 4, 2012
Texts: Genesis 17:1-7, 15-17; Mark 8:31-38
Begin with “Prodigal Son” Power Point from Discovery Zone.
No, you did not miss it. We did not read this story this morning, but the story fits. It fits our Lenten theme of “journey to and journey through.” It fits today’s emphasis on journey to generosity and justice. The journey of Christian faith, our journey with Jesus, or with God in Jesus, is a journey in certain directions, toward something. One of those directions is generosity and justice. One of the early self-descriptions of the Christian community, found in the second chapter of Acts, is that followers of Jesus were people with “glad and generous hearts” (Acts 2:46).
The Christian journey of faith is a journey to generosity and justice, to glad and generous hearts. The short journey of the father toward his wayward son returning home, a journey he made running, was also a journey toward a more generous heart, toward a generosity of spirit. The father’s sprint both displayed his generous heart, and it deepened it. And Jesus told the story of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32) in response to people who were grumbling about his sense of hospitality and his eating habits. “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them” (Luke 15:2). He was saying, “God’s kingdom is like this – joy and celebration and welcome.” Jesus was saying something in this story about the character of God. God is an open-hearted, open-handed God, a God of profound and profuse generosity.
That God is open-hearted, open-handed, profoundly generous is an ancient witness in the biblical faith. God’s character is revealed in his dealings with Abraham and Sarah. To this childless old couple God promises profuse blessings. From them will come multitudes. God’s profuse generosity will be on display in the fruitfulness of Abraham and Sarah. God is going to bless them. Nations will come from them. Kings of peoples will come from them. In another place the profound generosity of God’s covenant with Abraham is extended to all. “By your offspring shall all the nations of the earth gain blessings for themselves” (Genesis 22:18). So profuse and profound is the generosity of God, so wild and mind-blowing, that the response of Abraham is to fall on his face and laugh.
God is an open-hearted, open-handed God, a God of profound, profuse and wild generosity. The generosity of God is that God wants to bless all nations, all peoples. As followers of Jesus, we are recipients of the generosity of God. We know God’s grace, God’s persistent presence in our lives – God never giving up on us. We experience the beauty of God’s creation. We see unimaginable kindness and tenderness in relationship. We witness compassion, care for the earth, work for justice, peace and reconciliation. We are loved and gifted.
We are recipients of the generosity of God, but not so we can horde all that generosity. Such hording kills life. Holding too tightly chokes the flow of life and love. Jesus said: 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. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Holding too tightly to life, grasping, clinging chokes the flow of life and love.
Tuesday’s Duluth News Tribune reported on the results of a study that was presented this week in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences. The study concluded that wealthy people are more likely to commit unethical acts because they are more motivated by greed. The researchers concluded that “because rich people have more financial resources, they’re less dependent on social bonds for survival.” In the words of one researcher (Paul Piff): If you occupy a more insular world, you’re less likely to be sensitive to the needs of others. The research also seemed to indicate that anyone who becomes wealthy is prone to that kind of insularity.
I don’t read this study as an indictment of rich people, or a criticism of wealth per se, but it points to a pattern in human beings, a pattern Jesus perhaps had in mind when he warned against holding too tightly, clinging, grasping. Such behaviors and attitudes keep our hearts Grinch-small.
The journey of faith, the journey with Jesus is a journey toward generosity and justice, toward a glad and generous heart. It is a journey in the direction of degrinchification.
All this use of the word generosity in a sermon may have you squirming on your wallets or holding a little more tightly to your purses. Please relax. I am speaking about a principle, not making a pitch. The journey of faith is a journey toward generosity and justice.
Generosity has something to do with sharing, but it is not only about sharing our financial resources. That is part of it, but only a part. Generosity has to do with sharing our time, our energy, the gift that is in us. For my Lenten discipline this year I am reading through two books, Malcolm Boyd’s Are You Running With Me, Jesus? And Joan Chittister’s The Breath of the Soul. This week, I read these words in Joan Chittister’s book. Each of us has been given something that is meant to make the world a better place for the rest of us. We cook and sing and teach and write and clean and organize in uncommonly common ways. Each of us has something that the rest of the world needs. (The Breath of the Soul, 26). Generous hearts celebrate the gift that is given. Generous hearts seek to develop that gift. Generous hearts give that gift to the world.
Generosity of spirit is also an important part of generosity. When I was a district superintendent, I noticed, and then wrote about generosity of spirit. Churches that were doing better seemed to have such a generosity of spirit. There was laughter. People did not hold on to grudges. People recognized that sometimes another person was not being mean, but was just having a bad day. Small things stayed small. Generosity of spirit is a reflection of the love of God in our midst and is a quality those outside the church are hungry for.
The journey of faith, the journey with Jesus is a journey toward generosity and justice, toward a glad and generous heart. It is a journey in the direction of degrinchification.
The biblical concept of justice is rooted in an understanding of God’s generosity and is rooted in the idea of the generous heart. For Christians, justice includes “recognition of all others as persons equally created in the image of God – free, thinking, creative and relational persons with capacities to develop these qualities” (Bard, 365). I wrote that in my doctoral dissertation 18 years ago. God has given to all gifts to be developed and shared. There is an inherent dignity in that that needs to be respected.
Out of this understanding of the generosity of God and the potential of each person comes a sense that the world should be ordered so that no one starves, so that each person has some opportunity to develop themselves. Out of our generosity of heart we want to see others develop their hearts and minds and lives. That’s justice. Justice moves us into the realms of law and politics where we have legitimate disagreements about what laws and what ordering of society recognizes human dignity and offers opportunity for growth and development. That we disagree, though, is no reason to avoid the call of justice into the hard work of law and politics.
Yet at its core, the biblical concept of justice is that it is a matter of the heart, of developing hearts big enough and strong enough to care about the poor, the outcast, those on the margins, the hurting, the abused, the lonely. Lady Gaga, at Harvard this week to kick off her Born This Way Foundation, encouraged her audience to “challenge meanness and cruelty” and noted that there is no law that will make people be kind to one another. She is right. Justice is a matter of politics and law, but even more deeply it is a matter of the heart, of a degrinchified glad and generous heart. And that’s where our journey with Jesus is trying to take us. Amen.
Texts: Genesis 17:1-7, 15-17; Mark 8:31-38
Begin with “Prodigal Son” Power Point from Discovery Zone.
No, you did not miss it. We did not read this story this morning, but the story fits. It fits our Lenten theme of “journey to and journey through.” It fits today’s emphasis on journey to generosity and justice. The journey of Christian faith, our journey with Jesus, or with God in Jesus, is a journey in certain directions, toward something. One of those directions is generosity and justice. One of the early self-descriptions of the Christian community, found in the second chapter of Acts, is that followers of Jesus were people with “glad and generous hearts” (Acts 2:46).
The Christian journey of faith is a journey to generosity and justice, to glad and generous hearts. The short journey of the father toward his wayward son returning home, a journey he made running, was also a journey toward a more generous heart, toward a generosity of spirit. The father’s sprint both displayed his generous heart, and it deepened it. And Jesus told the story of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32) in response to people who were grumbling about his sense of hospitality and his eating habits. “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them” (Luke 15:2). He was saying, “God’s kingdom is like this – joy and celebration and welcome.” Jesus was saying something in this story about the character of God. God is an open-hearted, open-handed God, a God of profound and profuse generosity.
That God is open-hearted, open-handed, profoundly generous is an ancient witness in the biblical faith. God’s character is revealed in his dealings with Abraham and Sarah. To this childless old couple God promises profuse blessings. From them will come multitudes. God’s profuse generosity will be on display in the fruitfulness of Abraham and Sarah. God is going to bless them. Nations will come from them. Kings of peoples will come from them. In another place the profound generosity of God’s covenant with Abraham is extended to all. “By your offspring shall all the nations of the earth gain blessings for themselves” (Genesis 22:18). So profuse and profound is the generosity of God, so wild and mind-blowing, that the response of Abraham is to fall on his face and laugh.
God is an open-hearted, open-handed God, a God of profound, profuse and wild generosity. The generosity of God is that God wants to bless all nations, all peoples. As followers of Jesus, we are recipients of the generosity of God. We know God’s grace, God’s persistent presence in our lives – God never giving up on us. We experience the beauty of God’s creation. We see unimaginable kindness and tenderness in relationship. We witness compassion, care for the earth, work for justice, peace and reconciliation. We are loved and gifted.
We are recipients of the generosity of God, but not so we can horde all that generosity. Such hording kills life. Holding too tightly chokes the flow of life and love. Jesus said: 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. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Holding too tightly to life, grasping, clinging chokes the flow of life and love.
Tuesday’s Duluth News Tribune reported on the results of a study that was presented this week in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences. The study concluded that wealthy people are more likely to commit unethical acts because they are more motivated by greed. The researchers concluded that “because rich people have more financial resources, they’re less dependent on social bonds for survival.” In the words of one researcher (Paul Piff): If you occupy a more insular world, you’re less likely to be sensitive to the needs of others. The research also seemed to indicate that anyone who becomes wealthy is prone to that kind of insularity.
I don’t read this study as an indictment of rich people, or a criticism of wealth per se, but it points to a pattern in human beings, a pattern Jesus perhaps had in mind when he warned against holding too tightly, clinging, grasping. Such behaviors and attitudes keep our hearts Grinch-small.
The journey of faith, the journey with Jesus is a journey toward generosity and justice, toward a glad and generous heart. It is a journey in the direction of degrinchification.
All this use of the word generosity in a sermon may have you squirming on your wallets or holding a little more tightly to your purses. Please relax. I am speaking about a principle, not making a pitch. The journey of faith is a journey toward generosity and justice.
Generosity has something to do with sharing, but it is not only about sharing our financial resources. That is part of it, but only a part. Generosity has to do with sharing our time, our energy, the gift that is in us. For my Lenten discipline this year I am reading through two books, Malcolm Boyd’s Are You Running With Me, Jesus? And Joan Chittister’s The Breath of the Soul. This week, I read these words in Joan Chittister’s book. Each of us has been given something that is meant to make the world a better place for the rest of us. We cook and sing and teach and write and clean and organize in uncommonly common ways. Each of us has something that the rest of the world needs. (The Breath of the Soul, 26). Generous hearts celebrate the gift that is given. Generous hearts seek to develop that gift. Generous hearts give that gift to the world.
Generosity of spirit is also an important part of generosity. When I was a district superintendent, I noticed, and then wrote about generosity of spirit. Churches that were doing better seemed to have such a generosity of spirit. There was laughter. People did not hold on to grudges. People recognized that sometimes another person was not being mean, but was just having a bad day. Small things stayed small. Generosity of spirit is a reflection of the love of God in our midst and is a quality those outside the church are hungry for.
The journey of faith, the journey with Jesus is a journey toward generosity and justice, toward a glad and generous heart. It is a journey in the direction of degrinchification.
The biblical concept of justice is rooted in an understanding of God’s generosity and is rooted in the idea of the generous heart. For Christians, justice includes “recognition of all others as persons equally created in the image of God – free, thinking, creative and relational persons with capacities to develop these qualities” (Bard, 365). I wrote that in my doctoral dissertation 18 years ago. God has given to all gifts to be developed and shared. There is an inherent dignity in that that needs to be respected.
Out of this understanding of the generosity of God and the potential of each person comes a sense that the world should be ordered so that no one starves, so that each person has some opportunity to develop themselves. Out of our generosity of heart we want to see others develop their hearts and minds and lives. That’s justice. Justice moves us into the realms of law and politics where we have legitimate disagreements about what laws and what ordering of society recognizes human dignity and offers opportunity for growth and development. That we disagree, though, is no reason to avoid the call of justice into the hard work of law and politics.
Yet at its core, the biblical concept of justice is that it is a matter of the heart, of developing hearts big enough and strong enough to care about the poor, the outcast, those on the margins, the hurting, the abused, the lonely. Lady Gaga, at Harvard this week to kick off her Born This Way Foundation, encouraged her audience to “challenge meanness and cruelty” and noted that there is no law that will make people be kind to one another. She is right. Justice is a matter of politics and law, but even more deeply it is a matter of the heart, of a degrinchified glad and generous heart. And that’s where our journey with Jesus is trying to take us. Amen.
Friday, March 2, 2012
A Haunted Forest
Sermon preached February 26, 2012
Texts: Mark 1:9-15
Sometimes things come together in worship in wonderfully surprising ways – a hymn chosen weeks before says just what it needs to say, an anthem sung by the choir or by Tapestry fits perfectly the theme of the sermon. It happened last week when one of Tapestry’s songs had a line in it about the journey of faith encouraging questions. Sometimes I get goose bumps when such things happen. All I can do is give thanks to God for that kind of serendipitous grace.
And other times – well…. Take today for instance. Weeks ago Marilew Barnidge came to ask me about UMW Sunday, United Methodist Women. I knew that I was planning the sermon series I finished last week, so I thought it would be good to wait until that was done. Next Sunday is a communion Sunday, so that probably would not work as well, so we chose today. Today is the first Sunday in the season of Lent and what I had not considered is that the traditional reading for the first Sunday in Lent is the temptation story of Jesus. So here we are – women and temptation.
Just for fun, I thought I would type women and temptation into an internet search engine. I did this at home because I was not sure what might come up. It ended up being kind of interesting. There were a number of advice sites – Bible churches and an Islamic site – about avoiding the temptation of women. One site claimed that beautiful women seem more a temptation for men than handsome men are for beautiful women, but another site was claiming that women, too, can be tempted by men. Then there was a link to a film called “Women in Temptation” a Czech romantic comedy about a therapist whose husband leaves her for a younger woman. I watched the trailer, and it looked like it could be a funny and enjoyable film, though I cannot be certain because I don’t understand a word of Czech.
I really did not want to preach on women and temptation anyway. And my sermon title has nothing to do with United Methodist Women. I am grateful for the work of United Methodist Women in this church and in The United Methodist Church. I am honored that as pastor, I am a member of United Methodist Women. My sermon today, however, is focusing on Lent, and on our theme for Lent – “journey to and journey through.”
John Wesley, to whom United Methodist Christians trace their beginnings, was an advocate of the importance of growth in the Christian life – growth in grace, growth in faith, growth in love. To use the theological term, he considered “sanctification” a vital part of Christian life, and believed that Christians should be moving toward “Christian perfection” which Wesley defined this way: By perfection I mean the humble, gentle, patient love of God and our neighbor ruling our tempers, words and actions. (January 27, 1767) By “tempers” Wesley meant something like attitudes and dispositions. Our journey of faith is a journey to that kind of life, and I will be saying more about that in coming weeks.
The journey of faith, however, is not all sweetness and light. It is not all smooth sailing. Sometimes the way is wide and smooth, but sometimes it is narrow, bumpy and potholed. Sometimes the landscape is beautiful, and sometimes we travel through haunted forests. We have the testimony of many that this is the case.
Anthony of Egypt (251-356 CE) was among those early Christians who believed his faith needed to be lived out away from the mainstream society, away from the Roman Empire, which during his life became much more accommodating to the Christian faith under Emperor Constantine. Many took to caves along the Nile River to live out their faith. There were thousands of such hermits by the end of the fourth century and about 5,000 who had established themselves in the desert outside the Egyptian city of Alexandria. Anthony was one of these. Collectively these Christians have come to be known as the Desert Fathers and Mothers, and their writings on the Christian journey of faith have been preserved. Saint Anthony of Egypt once said, “This is the great work of a person: always to take the blame for his or her own sins before God and to expect temptation until the last breath” (The Wisdom of the Desert Fathers and Mothers, Paraclete Press, 88). The journey of faith can be potholed roads and haunted forests.
Another Desert Father, a man known as John the Dwarf had prayed to God to remove his passions. He went and shared with an old man, “I find myself in peace, without an enemy.” The old man told John, “Go, ask God to stir up warfare so that you may regain the affliction and humility that you used to have. For it is by warfare that the soul makes progress.” (The Wisdom of the Desert Fathers and Mothers, 110)
But we can look even earlier in our faith tradition, to our Scriptures for testimony that the journey of faith can be arduous, can take us through difficult places, haunted forests.
Right after Jesus is baptized and hears the remarkable words, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased,” he is driven out into the desert, the wilderness, by the Spirit. “He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.” (Mark 1:11-13)
Mark provides no details about the temptation of Jesus. All we know is that he was driven by the Spirit into the wilderness. He was alone, but not – there was Satan, there were wild beasts, there were angels. Jesus was tempted. He engaged in spiritual struggle. Other gospel writers tell a more detailed story. Mark keeps it brief, and that is o.k. We are left to fill in some of the silent spaces.
Jesus was tempted. Temptation comes in different forms and in different ways. We are tempted to lose our way, to miss the mark, by our vulnerabilities. We might let the image of Satan be an image of being tempted by our vulnerabilities. Jesus was hungry. Jesus was perhaps lonely. Maybe Jesus was afraid. Perhaps Jesus was uncertain. All these may have led to temptations. When we are hungry, we might be tempted to make a quick stop to eat something that is not so good for us. When we are lonely, we may reach out to some other in inappropriate ways. When we feel uncertain, we may try and mask our uncertainty by shouting our opinion more loudly. We can be tempted to mask our fears with false bravado.
We can also be tempted by our strengths, the wild beasts. Jesus had extraordinary faith. He had a special relationship with God – you are my son, the beloved. He could have been tempted to trade on these in some inappropriate way. When we have strengths we like to use them, sometimes ignoring the shadow side of such strengths. If we are good with hammers, we treat every problem as if it were a nail.
So there is temptation, Satan and wild beasts, and only in the midst of the struggles do the angels come and wait on Jesus. Sometimes it is only as we struggle, only when we follow the journey of faith into the haunted forests, that we grow. Here is a stark statement of that truth from Ernest Becker. [To change, to grow] is… the going through hell of a lonely and racking rebirth where one throws off the lendings of culture, the costumes that fit us for life’s roles, the masks and panoplies of our standardized heroisms, to stand alone and nude facing the howling elements as oneself (The Birth and Death of Meaning, 146). I think that is a good description of the temptation story of Jesus – Jesus facing the howling elements as himself before moving into ministry.
Christian life is a journey of growth, a journey toward deeper, richer, wider love. It is a journey through some difficult places. It is a journey through some of our own unpleasant stuff. If we are to grow in grace and faith and, most of all, love, we cannot hide our vulnerabilities or the shadow sides of our strengths in a big locked trunk. We have to journey with and through them, giving all that we are to the work of love, the work of Jesus in our lives and in the world.
Like the Gospel of Mark, I cannot fill in for you where you are most tempted, where your vulnerabilities may be leading you astray or where the shadow side of your strengths may be moving you away. I can offer a couple of quick pictures for you to use as you ponder this part of the journey of faith.
Thursday night I attended a lecture given by Martha Nussbaum, a philosopher and legal scholar whose works I have been reading for years. Her lecture was about the importance of education in the arts and humanities for democratic citizens. In part of her lecture she identified the forces in human life which she believes get in the way of humane personal development. We are born helpless as humans and there is a certain shame about our helplessness and incompleteness that can lead to desires to be overbearing, over-controlling. We develop early a sense of disgust and aversion, which while it can be helpful – our disgust at the smell of sour milk prevents us from drinking it – can also be damaging when we project all that we find disgusting onto those who are different from us. We seem to have a high deference to authority and to peer pressure and so give in even when authority and peer pressure work toward evil – as in the Nazi Holocaust. When we can be anonymous, these negative forces in our personalities become more powerful and expressive – people say things anonymously on the internet they may never say in person. Feeling anonymous and egged on by a crowd we might scream out terribly inappropriate things at a hockey game. (see Nussbaum, Not For Profit, 28-44)
Mark Whitlock recently reminded me of the work of Gerald May. In his book Addiction and Grace, May offers an analysis of the human situation. We humans have an inborn desire for God (1). Both repression and addiction turn us away from that desire, with addiction being the more potent force getting in the way of our desire for God. Addiction uses up desire…. Addiction, then, displaces and supplants God’s love as the source and object of our deepest true desire…. Addiction exists wherever persons are internally compelled to give energy o things that are not their true desires. (13-14). For May almost anything can become an addiction in this sense.
So where are your addictions or temptations to addiction? Where are those places in your life where you have projected disgust onto some other or been tempted to do so? Where have you given into authority or peer pressure or been tempted to do so? Where have you been over-controlling instead of trusting? Where do you hear the voice of Satan or the cry of the wild beasts inside? I ask myself these same questions.
The journey with Jesus is sometimes a journey through the haunted forests that such questions create. It is a journey through our own stuff. It is a journey that means opening the trunk of our lives to see all that is there – the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful – our vulnerabilities and the shadow side of our strengths. Here’s the good news. Jesus has been this way before. Jesus walks with us. We have each other. Sometimes the angels who minister to us as we struggle with Satan and wild beasts are the people sitting near us this morning. Amen.
Texts: Mark 1:9-15
Sometimes things come together in worship in wonderfully surprising ways – a hymn chosen weeks before says just what it needs to say, an anthem sung by the choir or by Tapestry fits perfectly the theme of the sermon. It happened last week when one of Tapestry’s songs had a line in it about the journey of faith encouraging questions. Sometimes I get goose bumps when such things happen. All I can do is give thanks to God for that kind of serendipitous grace.
And other times – well…. Take today for instance. Weeks ago Marilew Barnidge came to ask me about UMW Sunday, United Methodist Women. I knew that I was planning the sermon series I finished last week, so I thought it would be good to wait until that was done. Next Sunday is a communion Sunday, so that probably would not work as well, so we chose today. Today is the first Sunday in the season of Lent and what I had not considered is that the traditional reading for the first Sunday in Lent is the temptation story of Jesus. So here we are – women and temptation.
Just for fun, I thought I would type women and temptation into an internet search engine. I did this at home because I was not sure what might come up. It ended up being kind of interesting. There were a number of advice sites – Bible churches and an Islamic site – about avoiding the temptation of women. One site claimed that beautiful women seem more a temptation for men than handsome men are for beautiful women, but another site was claiming that women, too, can be tempted by men. Then there was a link to a film called “Women in Temptation” a Czech romantic comedy about a therapist whose husband leaves her for a younger woman. I watched the trailer, and it looked like it could be a funny and enjoyable film, though I cannot be certain because I don’t understand a word of Czech.
I really did not want to preach on women and temptation anyway. And my sermon title has nothing to do with United Methodist Women. I am grateful for the work of United Methodist Women in this church and in The United Methodist Church. I am honored that as pastor, I am a member of United Methodist Women. My sermon today, however, is focusing on Lent, and on our theme for Lent – “journey to and journey through.”
John Wesley, to whom United Methodist Christians trace their beginnings, was an advocate of the importance of growth in the Christian life – growth in grace, growth in faith, growth in love. To use the theological term, he considered “sanctification” a vital part of Christian life, and believed that Christians should be moving toward “Christian perfection” which Wesley defined this way: By perfection I mean the humble, gentle, patient love of God and our neighbor ruling our tempers, words and actions. (January 27, 1767) By “tempers” Wesley meant something like attitudes and dispositions. Our journey of faith is a journey to that kind of life, and I will be saying more about that in coming weeks.
The journey of faith, however, is not all sweetness and light. It is not all smooth sailing. Sometimes the way is wide and smooth, but sometimes it is narrow, bumpy and potholed. Sometimes the landscape is beautiful, and sometimes we travel through haunted forests. We have the testimony of many that this is the case.
Anthony of Egypt (251-356 CE) was among those early Christians who believed his faith needed to be lived out away from the mainstream society, away from the Roman Empire, which during his life became much more accommodating to the Christian faith under Emperor Constantine. Many took to caves along the Nile River to live out their faith. There were thousands of such hermits by the end of the fourth century and about 5,000 who had established themselves in the desert outside the Egyptian city of Alexandria. Anthony was one of these. Collectively these Christians have come to be known as the Desert Fathers and Mothers, and their writings on the Christian journey of faith have been preserved. Saint Anthony of Egypt once said, “This is the great work of a person: always to take the blame for his or her own sins before God and to expect temptation until the last breath” (The Wisdom of the Desert Fathers and Mothers, Paraclete Press, 88). The journey of faith can be potholed roads and haunted forests.
Another Desert Father, a man known as John the Dwarf had prayed to God to remove his passions. He went and shared with an old man, “I find myself in peace, without an enemy.” The old man told John, “Go, ask God to stir up warfare so that you may regain the affliction and humility that you used to have. For it is by warfare that the soul makes progress.” (The Wisdom of the Desert Fathers and Mothers, 110)
But we can look even earlier in our faith tradition, to our Scriptures for testimony that the journey of faith can be arduous, can take us through difficult places, haunted forests.
Right after Jesus is baptized and hears the remarkable words, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased,” he is driven out into the desert, the wilderness, by the Spirit. “He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.” (Mark 1:11-13)
Mark provides no details about the temptation of Jesus. All we know is that he was driven by the Spirit into the wilderness. He was alone, but not – there was Satan, there were wild beasts, there were angels. Jesus was tempted. He engaged in spiritual struggle. Other gospel writers tell a more detailed story. Mark keeps it brief, and that is o.k. We are left to fill in some of the silent spaces.
Jesus was tempted. Temptation comes in different forms and in different ways. We are tempted to lose our way, to miss the mark, by our vulnerabilities. We might let the image of Satan be an image of being tempted by our vulnerabilities. Jesus was hungry. Jesus was perhaps lonely. Maybe Jesus was afraid. Perhaps Jesus was uncertain. All these may have led to temptations. When we are hungry, we might be tempted to make a quick stop to eat something that is not so good for us. When we are lonely, we may reach out to some other in inappropriate ways. When we feel uncertain, we may try and mask our uncertainty by shouting our opinion more loudly. We can be tempted to mask our fears with false bravado.
We can also be tempted by our strengths, the wild beasts. Jesus had extraordinary faith. He had a special relationship with God – you are my son, the beloved. He could have been tempted to trade on these in some inappropriate way. When we have strengths we like to use them, sometimes ignoring the shadow side of such strengths. If we are good with hammers, we treat every problem as if it were a nail.
So there is temptation, Satan and wild beasts, and only in the midst of the struggles do the angels come and wait on Jesus. Sometimes it is only as we struggle, only when we follow the journey of faith into the haunted forests, that we grow. Here is a stark statement of that truth from Ernest Becker. [To change, to grow] is… the going through hell of a lonely and racking rebirth where one throws off the lendings of culture, the costumes that fit us for life’s roles, the masks and panoplies of our standardized heroisms, to stand alone and nude facing the howling elements as oneself (The Birth and Death of Meaning, 146). I think that is a good description of the temptation story of Jesus – Jesus facing the howling elements as himself before moving into ministry.
Christian life is a journey of growth, a journey toward deeper, richer, wider love. It is a journey through some difficult places. It is a journey through some of our own unpleasant stuff. If we are to grow in grace and faith and, most of all, love, we cannot hide our vulnerabilities or the shadow sides of our strengths in a big locked trunk. We have to journey with and through them, giving all that we are to the work of love, the work of Jesus in our lives and in the world.
Like the Gospel of Mark, I cannot fill in for you where you are most tempted, where your vulnerabilities may be leading you astray or where the shadow side of your strengths may be moving you away. I can offer a couple of quick pictures for you to use as you ponder this part of the journey of faith.
Thursday night I attended a lecture given by Martha Nussbaum, a philosopher and legal scholar whose works I have been reading for years. Her lecture was about the importance of education in the arts and humanities for democratic citizens. In part of her lecture she identified the forces in human life which she believes get in the way of humane personal development. We are born helpless as humans and there is a certain shame about our helplessness and incompleteness that can lead to desires to be overbearing, over-controlling. We develop early a sense of disgust and aversion, which while it can be helpful – our disgust at the smell of sour milk prevents us from drinking it – can also be damaging when we project all that we find disgusting onto those who are different from us. We seem to have a high deference to authority and to peer pressure and so give in even when authority and peer pressure work toward evil – as in the Nazi Holocaust. When we can be anonymous, these negative forces in our personalities become more powerful and expressive – people say things anonymously on the internet they may never say in person. Feeling anonymous and egged on by a crowd we might scream out terribly inappropriate things at a hockey game. (see Nussbaum, Not For Profit, 28-44)
Mark Whitlock recently reminded me of the work of Gerald May. In his book Addiction and Grace, May offers an analysis of the human situation. We humans have an inborn desire for God (1). Both repression and addiction turn us away from that desire, with addiction being the more potent force getting in the way of our desire for God. Addiction uses up desire…. Addiction, then, displaces and supplants God’s love as the source and object of our deepest true desire…. Addiction exists wherever persons are internally compelled to give energy o things that are not their true desires. (13-14). For May almost anything can become an addiction in this sense.
So where are your addictions or temptations to addiction? Where are those places in your life where you have projected disgust onto some other or been tempted to do so? Where have you given into authority or peer pressure or been tempted to do so? Where have you been over-controlling instead of trusting? Where do you hear the voice of Satan or the cry of the wild beasts inside? I ask myself these same questions.
The journey with Jesus is sometimes a journey through the haunted forests that such questions create. It is a journey through our own stuff. It is a journey that means opening the trunk of our lives to see all that is there – the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful – our vulnerabilities and the shadow side of our strengths. Here’s the good news. Jesus has been this way before. Jesus walks with us. We have each other. Sometimes the angels who minister to us as we struggle with Satan and wild beasts are the people sitting near us this morning. Amen.
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