Sermon for the Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, Year B, "Measuring God's Love," Ephesians 3:14-21

 Sermon 7/25/21

Ephesians 3:14-21

Measuring God’s Love

Our scripture lesson for today is from the letter to the church at Ephesus. Some scholars think Paul wrote this letter, and others think it was written latter by a follower of Paul’s in Paul’s name. Who is right on that doesn’t really matter for us today though. What matters is the content of this letter, and what it means for us as disciples today. The author is writing to Christians at Ephesus. The Ephesians are one of a number of new faith communities planted by the apostle Paul and other apostles of Jesus, and many of the communities Paul was connected with were unique because they were made up primarily of Gentiles - that is, folks who weren’t Jewish, and didn’t convert to Judaism upon becoming followers of Jesus. That second part - not converting - was a matter of debate among Paul, Peter, James, and the other early leaders of the church, with Peter and James first believing that following Jesus required being part of the Jewish faith - like Jesus was - and Paul believing that Jesus-followers had freedom from the law in Christ, and therefore didn’t need to be converted - they just needed to be made new in Christ. Eventually Paul and the other leaders sort of agree to disagree and be about ministry in their own ways in their own places. But tensions remain, and there’s a strain for a long time as the early church figures out who it is, how it will be structured, what the rules will be. In the leadup to our text for today, the author is arguing that the Gentiles have become “fellow-heirs” alongside the Jewish community to all of God’s promises. Frequently throughout the epistles, the imagery used is that of adoption - if Israelites are God’s children, then Gentiles are like God’s adopted children. 

Hopefully, you can understand that the image of adoption is meant to convey not some sort of second-class status for Gentile Christians - rather, it is meant to convey the very purposeful extension of the covenant and promises of God to Gentiles because of God’s incredible love and God’s desire to always draw more and more into God’s heart. I’ve been blessed to know several families who have gone through the process of adoption. A pastor friend of mine today is celebrating the baptism of her son, a toddler, who has been with her since infancy, after just finally being able to officially adopt him about a month ago. Every part of the long adoption process has been a labor of love and devotion. And that’s what the author wants the Ephesians to understand - they’re “in,” they’re family, they’re part of the church, they are included in the “boundless riches of Christ,” it’s been God’s plan and hope and passion to have them be part of the body of Christ alongside the Israelites, and they are just as much heirs to God’s promises as anyone else. 

Our author, in fact, gets so worked up about wanting to communicate this all clearly to the Ephesians that by the time we get to our text today, the author is actually kind of interrupting himself with this prayer that focuses on two things: How much God loves them, and how much love they are capable of in return when they are rooted and grounded in Christ. The author prays that readers of this letter would be “strengthened in their inner being” by the Holy Spirit, that Christ may dwell in them, that they would be “rooted and grounded in love.” He prays that the Ephesians might come to understand “what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.” And he concludes with a benediction, calling God one who can “accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine.” After that, the text moves on to chapter 4, and the author returns to a more teaching-style letter. 

So, do we understand how much God loves us? Are we rooted and grounded in Christ, strengthened in our inner beings so that we can live as followers of Jesus? And do we understand that God keeps on adopting and adopting, loving extravagantly and drawing more people into God’s family? One of my favorite decorations in my room at school is from my 6 year old niece Siggy. It’s a long strip of construction paper, measured to the length of Siggy’s outstretched arms, with construction paper cutouts traced from her hands for hands on each end, that is meant to represent a hug from Siggy. And it says, “I love you “this much.”” The point, of course, is that her love for me is as far as she can reach. Big love. I wonder if we get how much God loves us? The author prays that we might get a glimpse of understanding. Sometimes when we talk about the love of God, it becomes kind of trite - we say “God loves you,” but we miss the power behind it, the strength of it, the potentially-life-changing impact of it. 

When have you felt the most simply overwhelmed with how much you are loved? I’ve been thinking a lot this summer about how much my mom demonstrates love for me and others. There are the big things, of course - my mom’s consistent presence in my life, her affirmations, her support of my goals in life. But what I’ve been noticing lately are so many of the little things. For example, she has two kinds of silverware. She loves her silverware with big chunky colorful handles. I once remarked that I preferred the feel of the thinner, plain silver handles. And now, whenever I’m coming home, she’ll get out a couple of sets of the kind I like, just for me, and if she sets the table for me, she uses the silverware I like. I decided to try my vegan cookie stand at the farmer’s market this summer - and every single week, she’s baked cookies with me and been at the stand with me, and rearranged her entire freezer so that I can store things, and bought a special shelf for the guest bedroom for all my ingredients. She does things like this all the time. But - and here’s the astonishing thing - it isn’t just for me, or for her children and grandchildren even that she does these things. She bakes meals for her neighbors and stops by with them. She sends boxes of fall leaves to my great aunt who lives in Arizona and misses the foliage. She takes treats to the office manager at her apartment complex. She brought gifts for the children of the owners of the Chinese restaurant she frequents. I teased her that I think she spends most of her time just sitting around thinking about things she can do to make other people happy. But it’s not really a joke - I think that’s what she does, for real. Because I think what brings her the most joy in life is showering others with love. And when I reflect on her loving nature, I’m overwhelmed. When have you felt the most simply overwhelmed with how much you are loved? 

As loved as I feel by my mother, I imagine that God, who created me and everything I know, God, in whose image I’ve been created, God, who has formed me and knows me - how much must God love me? Not because I’m so wonderful - but because God is “so love”! That’s not trite - it’s overwhelming, to be loved so completely. And it calls for a response. It calls for us to be strengthened, rooted and grounded in this love, so that what God can accomplish in us is more than we can ask and imagine. 

So, when have you felt the most simply overwhelmed with how much you love someone? God wants us to be grounded in Christ, so that we can love like Christ loves. We draw our strength from Christ, so that when it seems like we can’t love the way Jesus loves on our own, we realize we can because of what Christ gives to us. God wants us to love one another like God loves us. God wants us to be like my mother, imagining all the ways we can shower others with love - not just our favorite others - but all of God’s children. And as we’ve discussed, God has a really big family for us to love with lots and lots of siblings for us. That glimpse of God’s love that I get from my mom? God not only loves me that way, but God loves the people of whom I’m not so fond that way too. God loves the folks who drive us crazy, who’ve caused us pain, with the same extravagant love we can barely comprehend, and asks us to do likewise. Sometimes, it seems impossible. But, as the prayer we heard in this letter reminds us, God can do in us what is abundantly far more than we can imagine. 

Friends, I pray just what our author has prayed - that you might start to understand truly, deeply, in your core, how much God loves you, how much God claims you as part of the family, without which the family just wouldn’t be whole. I want you to understand at least a glimpse of how much God hopes and dreams goodness and joy for your life. And then, rooted and grounded in that love, I want you to make it a life priority to make sure others - all the others - understand this too. Because if we can really start to understand the breadth and length and height and depth of the love of Christ for us, of God’s love for us? Confident in that kind of love, what else could we need to change the world? Amen.  

Grandpa's Garden

This post is adapted from a journal entry for a class I'm taking this fall at Drew Theological School, Christianity and Ecology with Dr. Laurel Kearns, as I start my PhD program.

The Drew Theo Community Garden

I promise all of my journal reflections and other writing for this class won't be about my Grandpa, but he's been on my mind a lot lately. It was just the anniversary of his death, which happened when I was an undergraduate student. I had spent most of the summer visiting him everyday because I managed to get a job just down the street from where my grandparents lived.

My Grandpa was very ill for the last couple of years of his life, so the summer before he died I was gardening in his yard on my own, without his guidance. I felt very inadequate to do it without him there, guiding me. My vegetables did not turn out well that season, but the flowers I planted just bloomed and bloomed and bloomed. Everyday I was able to cut a bouquet of flowers for him and bring it in and set on his bed stand. I felt like the garden was blooming for him.

Summer came to a close, and I had found myself wishing all summer that he would die before I had to go back to school. It sounds like a strange thing to wish for, but by that time it was very evident that he was near the end of his life, and I really wanted to be there along with the rest of my family when he died. But, he's a stubborn thing, and he did not comply with my wishes! Instead, he died in the short interval between when I returned to school to get settled in for the semester and the beginning of classes. This was right at the start of my second year in college. At the time, my family was very strapped financially. I was going to school in Ohio, and it was extremely cost prohibitive for me to come home for the funeral. They would have made it happen if I had pushed it, but I knew how much it would set my whole family back to fly me home and get me back to school again. We decided I would not attend.

Grandpa's Garden, October 1998. 

So, my mourning was a strange "suspended" thing. I came home for the first time in October, and I remember walking through the house where my grandfather had lived for my whole life, for decades, and finding it so strange that he was not there. I took some time to go out to the garden by myself, and I found such a surprise blessing: Flowers were still blooming. Everything was overgrown and looked so unkempt and so ignored, but there were so many flowers. I cut a whole mess of them. I took a "selfie", back in the days when I had to do that with an actual camera. It's not a great picture, but I have kept it all these years because it reminds me of that trip to the garden.

 

October, 1998. 

As I sit here at the Drew Theo Community Garden while I watch it being watered, and I see how it's a bit overgrown and unkempt (since students have been mostly absent because of Covid-19), I can't help but think of that season in my life, and Grandpa's garden, and flowers that bloom sometimes in spite of us and sometimes because of us and sometimes just because that's what flowers do. Bloom. Life and the weeds and tangles and messes. Life in the midst of death.

Sermon, "Everyday Jesus Spirituality: The Discipline of Waking Up to God," Genesis 28:10-17

Sermon 2/9/2020

Genesis 28:10-17

Everyday Jesus Spirituality: The Discipline of Waking Up to God

I don’t know about you, but I grew up singing We Are Climbing Jacob’s Ladder in Sunday School. I’m pretty sure we occasionally incorporated motions, imitating climbing a ladder to heaven. I knew my Bible stories pretty well when I was little, but still I don’t think I really think I knew why we were singing about Jacob’s ladder exactly, or soldiers of the cross, or exactly what would happen if we ever got to the top of the ladder. Jacob’s Ladder is actually an African-American spiritual, first composed and sung by slaves in the fields in the US - and so we don’t know its exact origins. But we know it was sung call-and-response style, and that the imagery suggested that those who persevered in faith would eventually be able to rise up out of slavery - whether in this life or in life eternal. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/We_Are_Climbing_Jacob%27s_Ladder)  

The scriptural foundation for the hymn, of course, comes from our text for today from Genesis, where Jacob - Jacob who is eventually named “Israel” by God, who is the father of the twelve sons that become the twelve tribes of Israel - Jacob has a dream, a vision of what it is sometimes called a ladder, a staircase, or a ramp that goes from earth to heaven, with angels ascending and descending. Although the spiritual is inspiring and hopeful, particularly for the slaves who were oppressed and abused, Jacob’s dream doesn’t actually include Jacob ascending to heaven. Rather, the dream seems to be more about movement in the other direction: It’s a revealing of heaven’s closeness to earth, a reminder that God comes to us where we are, that the divine has left heaven to be with us. We experience that in particular - the divine with us on earth - in the person of Jesus, but for Jacob and his contemporaries, before Christ’s birth, a dream like his was a powerful reminder of God’s closeness. We might picture a regular old giant ladder running up to heaven - in our mind and in artwork of this text. But some biblical scholars suggest that what Jacob sees in his dream might have been more like a ziggurat, a structure found in many ancient cultures that were meant to bring earth as close to heaven as possible. (Haslam, Chris, Comments, http://montreal.anglican.org/comments/archive/apr16m.shtml) Whatever Jacob saw, though, the most important part of his vision is that God speaks to him in his dream. God says to him, “I am the Lord, the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac; the land on which you lie I will give to you and to your offspring; and your offspring shall be like the dust of the earth.” God tells Jacob his descendents will spread in all directions, and because of him, because of and through Jacob, “all the families of the earth” will be blessed.” God says, “Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” That’s a lot of promise and blessing in one dream. So it is no wonder that when he awakens Jacob concludes, “Surely God is in this place and I didn’t even know it.” He’s afraid, overwhelmed by his experience, and after our text ends, Jacob takes the stone that had served as his pillow the night before, and makes it into a marker of the holy place, and names the place Bethel - “House of God.” Jacob says the ladder he saw in his dream is the gate of heaven.  

To fully understand this scene, this vision we call “Jacob’s ladder,” we have to find out who Jacob is, what’s gone on up to this point in the story. And to fully understand Jacob’s story, it’s helpful if you know a little bit about sibling dynamics. I have three brothers, as you know. I’m close with all my brothers, and each relationship is unique. I grew up wanting to be just like my older brother Jim. He’s six years older, and I wanted to do everything he did, even if he always did make me play the “bad guys” whenever we played Star Wars together. Most of you got to know my brother Tim pretty well. We tease and kid, and occasionally drive each other crazy, but we’ve mostly gotten along fairly well. And then there’s my youngest brother Todd, the actor, who has come and performed monologues here at Christmas sometimes. If you’re familiar with the Myers-Briggs personality inventories, I can tell you that Todd and I have the same personality profile, although it comes out in different ways. And Todd and I understand each other pretty well, and we have a long history of dealing with each other through careful negotiations. If I need a favor from one of my brothers, Jim will do it if he can or wants to, otherwise he’ll just tell me no. Tim will almost definitely do it, or he’ll feel guilty for not helping. But Todd - Todd will try to figure out what he can get in exchange for helping me. Todd is always ready to make a deal. It drives my mom crazy that Todd and I will negotiate like this. She doesn’t want any strings attached - family is just supposed to help each other! And of course, if I was truly in need in a significant way, I can depend on all of my brothers. But otherwise, Todd and I have perfected the art of the deal. Yes, he’ll run to the store for me if I buy him a snack or two or three. That’s a simple version of our deals. If I’m asking for a favor, Todd just wants to make sure he can get something out of it too.   

Jacob, who we meet here in Genesis, channels my dynamic with Todd times ten, or twenty. Jacob is at best kind of obnoxious, at worst, a cheat, a scoundrel, kind of a rotten guy. And at the heart of it is his relationship with his sibling. Jacob is a twin. His twin brother Esau was born first, but Jacob was gripping his brother’s heel as he was born, and so Jacob is given his name because it means “grasps by the heel” but also “He supplants.” From birth, Jacob seems to want to take the place of his brother. See, in the law of the Israelites, the firstborn son had special responsibilities and privileges. The firstborn was given a double share of the inheritance of his father’s estate. They were set apart, especially blessed by God. And even though Jacob and Esau are twins, Esau, born just seconds before Jacob, is still the firstborn. When they’re a bit older, Jacob makes a bargain with Esau - Esau wants some of the stew Jacob is making, and Jacob says he’ll give him some - if Esau gives up his birthright. Esau quickly agrees, saying a birthright can’t do much for him right then when he’s about to die from hunger. It’s very over-the-top - think today’s teenagers and their hunger level when needing an after-school snack. This exchange isn’t meant to be binding exactly - Esau can’t really entirely give away his firstborn status in this manner. But we’re meant to understand that Esau doesn’t hold his birthright in particularly high regard. 

Still, though, nothing prepares him for what eventually happens later on. When the twins’ father, Isaac, is near death, Isaac gets ready to bestow blessings on his sons, and especially the blessings for the firstborn, Esau. Esau is Isaac’s favorite, but we’re told that Rebekah, their mother, prefers Jacob. Isaac is nearly blind, so Rebekah plots with Jacob to masquerade as Esau to get the firstborn special blessings from Isaac. He succeeds - he gets blessings from Isaac that set him up as ruler over his brother, as beneficiary of the best of all his father has. Esau is devastated - and enraged. He vows to kill his brother - and now he’s not just saying it in the way of exasperated siblings. He means it. Rebekah encourages Jacob to run away, and try to make a new home for himself with his Uncle Laban. 

It is on the way, on the run, that Jacob has the dream that makes up our text for today. That’s the context. When Jacob sees this ladder or stairway or ramp between earth and heaven, he’s just come from doing a really awful thing to his brother and father, and he’s on the run for the sake of his very life. Jacob eventually comes to have a relationship with God, but this event doesn’t mark a turning point in Jacob’s behavior. He continues to engage in trickery and swindling and eventually the Uncle he’s running to now will be someone he is running from later. The Jacob that has this dream is a schemer and manipulator, someone who is always looking out for himself, looking to get ahead no matter the cost. 

It is no wonder, then, isn’t it, that he seems surprised to encounter God. God has been very present in the life of his father Isaac and his grandfather Abraham. But we mostly read about the righteous acts of faith of someone like Abraham. The only stories we have about Jacob are ones where he’s trying to trick someone. So I don’t think Jacob expected to have an encounter with God. I certainly don’t think he expected to have God pledge to be with him, to bless him and all his descendents, to never leave his side. And I think we don’t expect it either or appreciate it when we think about it too much. Why does God show up for scheming Jacob? How unfair! Why isn’t it Esau who gets to be comforted by God’s presence, regardless of who got the firstborn blessing? 

We have to remember, first, that we don’t really hear Esau’s story. The scripture is telling us one story - the story of God at work in Jacob’s life. That doesn’t mean that God isn’t at work in Esau. It just means that that isn’t the story the scripture wants us to focus on. The other thing we have to remember - the thing we’re always forgetting because it is truly amazing - is that God’s love, God’s promises, God’s presence, God’s blessings - those things aren’t available to us because we deserve them, because we’re good enough to get them. They’re given as gifts to us because of God’s goodness. And God chooses to love saints and sinners, amazing folks, and average folks, and siblings that we vow we’ll never speak to again, and even, like we talked about last week, our outright enemies. 

That’s really hard for us to get our heads around, because we don’t think “bad” people deserve good things, maybe and even especially perhaps good things like God’s presence, love, and blessing. In our cultural climate today, we’re really quick to decide who is good and bad - usually that corresponds with folks who think like us and those who don’t - and we’re really good at writing off people who fall into our “bad” category. We’re done with them. We cancel them from our lives and our hearts. And to know they get God’s blessing? Infuriating! But at least we’re consistent: we also often don’t truly feel worthy of God’s presence and God’s blessing ourselves either.  

In the scene after our text ends, after Jacob acknowledges God’s presence with fear and amazement, after Jacob has received God’s incredible promises, Jacob responds. And in character, Jacob’s return promise to God is conditional. He negotiates a bit, kind of like me and my brother Todd. “Listen, God, if you go with me and keep the way that I go and give me bread to eat and clothes to wear and bring me back to my father’s house in peace someday, then you shall be my God, and I will give a tithe, a tenth to you of all that you have given to me.” God’s promise to Jacob is unconditional, but Jacob can’t seem to help but bargain with God. Jacob’s promises are conditional, and he doesn’t seem sure that he can accept or trust all that God wants to give. Jacob seems to expect that God will act with him just like Jacob acts with others, and Jacob’s promises are never unconditional. He’d never promise something for nothing, and he can’t believe God will either. (Schifferdecker, Kathryn M., “Commentary on Genesis 28:10-19”, The Working Preacher, https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3355.) Eventually, a long eventually later, Jacob’s prayer to God loses the conditional. God keeps showing up for Jacob, and eventually Jacob trusts. But God doesn’t wait until Jacob’s response to God’s love and blessings is perfect to be faithful to Jacob. And God doesn’t wait until we get it all figured out either. We can count on God’s love and presence - even when we don’t deserve it, and even when we can hardly accept it. God is there, unexpectedly, even when we’re on the run from everyone and ourselves, even when we’re in the midst of making the dumbest decisions of our lives, even when we’ve hurt people and broken relationships. Always, we’re in the presence of God. Jacob didn’t find God because he managed to hit just the right spot, the right location. We don’t need some magic place to encounter God. God is here. God is with us. 

So, we’re called to practice a discipline of waking up to God’s presence. We might anticipate finding God at church, or out in nature, or when our hearts are open because we’re serving others or being served by others. But I think we forget to be on the lookout for God when, like Jacob, we’re on the run from our troubles because we’ve screwed up badly. And we forget that God is showing up for the people who are on the run from us because of their bad decisions. And so that means that God loves unconditionally and will be faithful in God’s promises to each one of us: even, say, Nancy Pelosi and Donald Trump - whichever part of that sentence is harder for you to hear! God loves unconditionally and will be faithful in God’s promises to the little brother, the sibling, the family member, the co-worker or classmate that always drives you crazy. God loves unconditionally and will be faithful in God’s promises to your enemies. And God loves unconditionally and will be faithful in God’s promises to you and to me. Always. So the hard work of our discipline of waking up to God is waking up to the ways our response to God is often conditional, like Jacob’s was at first. We want to put conditions on the way we respond. We’ll give God just so much of our hearts. We’ll love God as long as God loves us and not our enemies, as long as we succeed in the end. We’ll love God as long as our way forward is clear. Thankfully, God loves us unconditionally despite all our conditions! But when we wake up to God, we realize that God isn’t going anywhere. And there’s nowhere we can go without God. No negotiations required.

Let’s wake up to God’s presence. For God says to us, “Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and ...  I will not leave you.” Thanks be to God. Amen. 

Sermon for Christmas Eve, "Come and Behold Him," Luke 2:1-20

Sermon 12/24/17

Luke 2:1-20

Come and Behold Him

            Sometime last fall, I told you about a news article from the New York Times that was circulating quite a bit, showing results from a scientific study suggesting that two strangers could fall in love with each other by following a certain set of instructions: the pair answers 36 questions in a conversation with each other. The questions are increasingly more personal, beginning with easy things and moving on to deeper, revealing questions. And then, after that, you and your conversation partner are supposed to stare into each other’s eyes – sustained eye-contact, no talking, for four minutes. The author of the article actually fell in love with the person with whom she tried this exercise.

            I was thinking about this study this week as I was thinking about how significant making eye contact can be in our lives. There are many cultural expectations around eye contact. In some cultures, men and women are discouraged from prolonged eye contact with each other. In some cultures, people who are in subordinate work roles in hierarchical cultures are discouraged from looking into the eyes of their superiors. I think of our own culture, where we emphasize the importance of making eye contact when we’re engaged in public speaking, for example. Or how many have become frustrated with how the rise of smart phones and tablets and other electronics have decreased how frequently we’re making eye contact with each other, even while carrying on conversations. However we interpret it culturally, eye contact is certainly powerful and meaningful.

            I still remember attending an intergenerational retreat weekend at Camp Aldersgate when I was in Junior High. My friend Weston and I decided to go to the adult Bible study since we were very mature, and somewhere along the way during the study, we had to pair up and look into our partners eyes for a few minutes. I don’t remember exactly how long we had to do it for. I can’t remember why we had to do this, what the exact purpose was. I only remember that it seemed like an eternity. It was awkward and uncomfortable. That describes most of my junior high experience, so this was like that in sharp, intense focus. We survived, but I will never forget the experience – it was intense, and something about that time made me feel vulnerable and exposed. Seeing and being seen – it can be powerful, meaningful, vulnerable.

            My brother Tim is mostly blind in one eye. He was born with a scar on the center of his eye, which means he has only peripheral vision in that eye. It’s taken me a long time to figure out what exactly this means for how things look to Tim on a day to day basis. Basically, it’s like if you took a picture and folded it over so the middle section was hidden. You would only see the edges of the picture. That’s what Tim sees with his bad eye – just the edges, not what is directly in front of him. My mom still vividly remembers when the doctor discovered this at one of his appointments when he was about 5. The doctor covered up Tim’s good eye, which compensates and works extra hard to cover up for the other. And with the good eye covered, Tim’s other eye didn’t know what to do. His eye just sort of wandered all over, unable to focus on anything without the anchor of his other eye, because everything left was what was supposed to be peripheral. As I said, Tim has learned to compensate. As difficult, as vulnerable and exposing as it can feel to look someone in the eye, and to be looked in the eye, it’s a gift to be able to do so, not to be taken lightly. To focus on someone, to give them your full attention, to look them in the eye, to try to really see them is an important experience, even if it is sometimes challenging.

Christopher Chabris and Daniel Simons, two psychologists who met at Harvard in the late 1990s, developed an experiment that shows how limited our perception and attention to what is going on around us can be when we’re focused on something else. In the experiment, you are asked to watch a video of people in white shirts and people in black shirts passing basketballs to each other. You are instructed to watch the video and count how many times people in white shirts pass the ball. It is a little confusing, but if you are careful, you can produce the correct number: 15 passes. But then, the video narrator asks: But did you notice the gorilla?

Fifty percent of viewers of the video, including me, when I first saw the video as part of a lecture on preaching years ago, respond, scratching the head, what gorilla? Sure enough, when the video of the two groups passing the basketball is replayed, you, the viewer, now looking for the gorilla, instead of white shirts, can’t miss a woman in a gorilla costume walk directly through the group, beat on her chest, and walk off. The first time I saw this video I really wanted to believe that they were two different videos, that the gorilla was not there the first time. (Looking at these still images from the video, it seems hard to believe that one could possibly miss the gorilla!) But no, it is just how our minds work. When totally focused in on one thing, we can miss other things, no matter how obvious they seem, altogether. This is why my mother always likes to see Todd, my actor-brother’s shows, at least twice. One time, she says, the first time, she can only focus on Todd, no matter what else is happening on stage. But if she actually wants to see the whole show, she needs to see it a second time, so that she can pay attention to everything she missed by watching only Todd the first time through. As long as we are focused on the right thing, the important thing, our inattention to all the other details isn’t so bad. But if we’re paying attention to the wrong thing, we can end up in trouble. Scientists say that our limited attention capacity, our working memory capacity, is why you can walk right by someone you know and not notice them, if you are looking at or thinking about something else, or why you can’t really text and drive as well as you think you can, and people end up in automobile accidents. Sometimes there are big consequences for paying attention to the wrong thing.[1]

It’s Christmas Eve. Are we paying attention to the right things? What is holding our gaze today? What’s got our focus? What’s catching our eye? This year, as I read the Christmas story from Luke again, words I know so well I could practically recite them for you, I noticed how many phrases in the story seek to grab our attention, turn our heads, make us look, really look, at what is going on. Mary and Joseph travel to Bethlehem, and Jesus is born, laid in a manger because there is no room for them in the inn. And a spectacular attention-getting display unfolds to get the attention of some nearby shepherds to make sure that they know to go and see this newborn. A messenger from God stands before them, and we read, “the glory of the Lord shone around them,” and sensibly, they were terrified. But the angel says to them, “Do not be afraid, but SEE! I’m bringing you good news of great joy for all people: Today, a savior is born, a messiah, God-in-the-flesh.” And then, the whole sky is filled with angels, “heavenly host,” and they praise God saying, “Glory to God, and peace on earth!” When the messengers leave, the shepherds say to each other, “Let us go and see this thing that God has made known to us.”

They go and find Jesus, Mary and Joseph, and the text says, “When they saw this,” they let Mary and Joseph know that the angels had sent them. Some who they tell their story to are amazed, but Mary treasures their words, pondering them in her heart. And the shepherds head back to their work, but as they go, they praise God, give glory to God, telling everyone just what they have heard and seen. 

            “Don’t be afraid!” the angel says. “Don’t be afraid, rather look! See! See the sign of good news, the message of great joy! See this one who brings peace. See this one who is a savior. See this one who is God-on-earth with us.” “Let’s go and see,” the shepherds say. “You won’t believe how we ended up here,” they tell Mary and Joseph. “Thank God for what we saw today,” they told anyone who would listen.

            Eventually, Jesus too will invite people to “Come and see.” It’s a phrase he uses more than once in his preaching and teaching, and more than that, it’s a grounding in invitation to us that pervades his ministry. He asks us to look and see: look and see people we don’t usually see, but Jesus is so good at bringing to the center. Look and see God at work in the world in places we usually don’t give a second glance. Look and see God at work in our own lives, as we realize we are precious to God, of sacred worth, created in God’s own image. Jesus asks us to look and see him: living in our hearts, living in our world, living in each person we encounter. Look, see. Pay attention. Let Jesus at work in the world hold your gaze, and hold your attention.

            Tonight we’re being invited, encouraged, charged with the task: “Come and behold him.” We sing the words. We read them in the familiar story. Do not be afraid: Look! See! So let’s do just that. We have made it to the manger. Let’s make sure we’re really seeing what is held there. Let’s look deeper. Let’s give this child in the manger our full attention. Our time. Our focus. All of our eye contact. To us, a child is born. There are so many other places to look, I know. Let’s make sure we’re focusing on the right thing. As the messengers promised the shepherds, so they promise us still. If we’ll look, if we see, we’ll find good news, great joy, peace. We’ll find God, lying in a manger, filling our hearts, changing our world. Amen.  

             

             

           

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[1] This illustration and commentary is adapted from my newsletter article at Liverpool First UMC, September 2013. 

Sermon, "Theology at the Theatre: Fiddler on the Roof," Mark 7:1-15

Sermon 11/12/17

Mark 7:1-15

Theology at the Theatre: Fiddler on the Roof

            What are some of your family’s traditions? With Thanksgiving approaching and Advent and Christmas fast on its heels, we’re entering a season that is often steeped in traditions – cultural traditions, religious traditions, and family traditions. Have you had to create or recreate or bend or break traditions in your family? This year in particular, I’ve been thinking about how our Christmas Eve patterns have changed through the years. When I was little, we’d eat dinner at my grandparents, and then attend worship together. And then, we’d go back to my grandparents’ house to open presents. Eventually, the tradition changed because my family started going to church in Rome, and they had two Christmas Eve services, and it was too hard to go to service, drive to Westernville for worship, and drive back to Rome for the last service, and we were all involved in the choir and bell choir and reading and it was just too much. The tradition had to change, and it was hard to make that change, hard for my grandparents in particular, but it was the right thing to do, to fit our changing lives, and our deepened relationship with our community of faith. Of course, then I became a pastor, and my Christmas Eve traditions have changed again, and remain flexible each year to accommodate my schedule! But I’ve had one constant every year in ministry on Christmas Eve: my brother Todd has performed monologues during worship for me. He’s my brother who is a professional actor and a theatre professor, and every year for the last 14 years he’s been Joseph or a Shepherd or King Herod or Wiseman and helped me bring the Christmas story to life on Christmas Eve. This year, though, Todd is a serving for a year as a professor at the University of Idaho, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to make it home at Christmas time. I’ve been feeling sad, both about not having Todd at home for Christmas, but also for the gap he’ll leave on my Christmas Eve worship experience. This year, my tradition of Christmas Eve will have to change again.

            What are some of your traditions? Ideally, our traditions help us make meaning, help us experience more fully the meaning of whatever event our traditions are attached to, like Todd helps us more fully immerse ourselves in the Christmas story. But sometimes traditions can also keep us from moving forward, from growing in ways we want to, even if the tradition in itself isn’t a bad thing. I loved Christmas Eve at my grandparents – but it wouldn’t have been right for us to hold on to that tradition instead of becoming more involved with our faith community.

Today, we’re talking about Fiddler on the Roof. It’s the musical in our series that I know the best. Although my brother Todd is the professional actor of the family, I love theatre too, and twice I’ve been in community theatre productions of Fiddler, playing small roles like the hat maker, or more recently being typecast as the town gossip in the little village of Anatevka. Fiddler tells its main theme in the very opening monologue and song. In the opening scene, Tevye, the lead character, a poor milk man, asks the question and gives the answer that frames the whole story. He says,

“A fiddler on the roof ... Sounds crazy, no? But here, in our little village of Anatevka, you might say every one of us is a fiddler on the roof. Trying to scratch out a pleasant, simple tune without breaking his neck. It isn't easy. You may ask, why do we stay up there if it's so dangerous? Well, we stay because Anatevka is our home. And how do we keep our balance? That I can tell you in one word! Tradition! Because of our traditions, we've kept our balance for many, many years. Here in Anatevka, we have traditions for everything. How to sleep. How to eat. How to work. How to wear clothes. For instance, we always keep our heads covered, and always wear a little prayer shawl. This shows our constant devotion to God. You may ask, how did this tradition get started? I'll tell you. I don't know. But it's a tradition. And because of our traditions, every one of us knows who he is and what God expects him to do.”[1]

Throughout the musical, three of Tevye’s daughters marry in turn, but each match poses a challenge to Tevye’s sense of tradition and how things are meant to be done. His oldest daughter, Tzeitel, asks her father to be let out of the arranged match for her, so that she can marry the man she truly loves, Motel, the tailor. Tevye groans and complains, but finally agrees that they can marry for love. Then his second daughter, Hodel, wants to marry revolutionary Perchik. When they approach Tevye, they tell him they are not asking for permission, only for his blessing. Again, Tevye refuses at first, but finally gives in. And then finally his youngest daughter Chava falls in love with a Christian man, Fyedka. She, too, seeks to change her father’s heart about her match, but Tevye says “enough” – he has bent enough and let go of too much tradition. Near the end of the story, he does, at least, pray God’s blessing on Chava and Fyedka, even if he cannot fully come to terms with the marriage.

As enjoyable as Fiddler is as a musical, as lighthearted as it is at times, the questions asked are serious ones, important ones. How far should you change traditions to meet the demands of an ever-changing world? How far is too far to bend? When do the traditions hold us to what is good and important, and when do they keep us from moving forward, from growing and changing in healthy ways? What traditions are based on simple habits that have extended over generations, and when to they represent the unchanging truth?

            Today we take up the gospel of Mark, as we look in on a conversation between Jesus and a group of scribes and Pharisees. If you are at all familiar with the Bible, I think it is easy to come to a scripture text and see the Pharisees and think: “Aha! The bad guys!” whenever you encounter these religious leaders. But the Pharisees, of course, didn’t view themselves as bad or faithless or villains. They were, in fact, religious leaders, devout Jews, who tried very hard to follow the law of Moses carefully and interpret it for daily living. They emphasized upholding the rituals, the traditions. They insisted on using oral tradition as well as written tradition, and in that way were viewed as quite liberal by other Jewish sects. For example, they added qualifications to laws like "an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth" so that executions were less frequent. On the other hand, however, their additions to the law through oral code sometimes added many new requirements for people to follow, like around issues of observing Sabbath, for instance. And their learning and education began to set them apart from the rest of the people, making them a kind of aristocracy.[2] These kinds of practices, all these additional rules and looking down on those who didn’t follow them all, these were the practices of the scribes and Pharisees that Jesus most often criticized.

            The Pharisees have noticed that some of the disciples of Jesus are eating without washing their hands. Their concerns weren’t about hygiene, but about ritual cleanness – an act of spiritual purification before eating. Mark notes for us that the Pharisees have elaborate washing rituals that they engage in before eating, traditions handed to them by the elders. They question Jesus: “Why aren’t your disciples following the tradition of the elders?” And Jesus responds with very pointed words: He said to them, ‘Isaiah prophesied rightly about you hypocrites, as it is written, “This people honors me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me; in vain do they worship me, teaching human precepts as doctrines.” You abandon the commandment of God and hold to human tradition.’ And then, to the crowds he says, ‘Listen to me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile.’ For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come.” Jesus indicates that somewhere along the way, the Pharisees stopped being concerned with carefully explaining God’s law, and started being concerned with doing things a certain way because that’s how they’d always been done. Somewhere in there, actually following God’s commandments got lost, in favor of human tradition. But what matters to God is the shape of our hearts, the state of our souls, not the nitty-gritty of these outside practices we adopt to practice our faith.

Jesus says that the Pharisees – and since he’s talking to religious leaders, we can assume he’s speaking to us, too – he says that we add so much stuff to the list of what we have to do to be a good and faithful person, and then get so worried about doing this little stuff, that we miss the main point, the core stuff, that Jesus asked us – commanded us – to do in the first place. And when we start worrying more about the stuff we’ve added on than the stuff Jesus told us to do, all that extra stuff becomes a form of idolatry, which is anything we make more important to us than God. In our Disciple Bible study, we’ve been reading through the writings of Paul, and Paul repeats Jesus’s theme frequently: he warns us very sharply several times against doing anything that puts obstacles in between us and God, or especially between others and God. Jesus is telling the Pharisees that all their traditions have become obstacles between them and God, between those they teach and God. 

            Rev. David Lose writes, “Jesus is challenging [the Pharisees] as to how their traditions contribute to them fulfilling their mission.”  “You’ve probably heard the old joke, “How many Lutherans [substitute your community] does it take to change a light bulb?” “Change? Change? My grandfather donated that lightbulb!” We love our traditions. I love our traditions. They have helped to mediate the faith to us in countless ways. But what if they’re not doing that for the emerging generation? What if we’ve come close to worshiping the traditions instead of the God they were supposed to point to? And what if Jesus is calling us to put our mission – whether to care for our aging parents, feeding the hungry, opening our doors to the homeless, making our building available to after school tutoring, sharing the Gospel with folks much of the church rejects, partnering with the community to care for more of God’s children, whatever – what if Jesus is calling us to put our mission ahead of even our most cherished traditions? What then?”[3] As a community of faith, we have to be continually examining our hearts, our spirits, our practices, and our traditions, and making sure we never lose sight of our mission, never let anything get in the way of our primary task: sharing the good news about Jesus and God’s reign with others.

            At Ohio Wesleyan University, where I went to undergrad, we had a tradition, one that I know other colleges have as well. There was a big rock outside the main dining hall, and different groups on campus would make a bonding activity of painting the rock, a practice allowed by administrators, I might add. Different groups would either sign their names in paint, or paint it in school colors, or do something creative, like make it into a giant ice cream cone. But I’ve always been curious: how big is that rock, really? I’m not sure how long the tradition of painting the rock has been around. But it’s been a long time. And if you peeled away all the layers, chipped away all the paint, would that rock be so small you could actually just carry it with you? Jesus told us what the greatest commandments were: to love God with our whole selves, and to love one another. Have we added so many layers to these tasks that we’ve made them into boulders that no one can carry with them?

            I want to be clear. The way we do things isn’t unimportant. Having traditions isn’t bad. I love some of the traditions, old ones and new ones, that my family shares. Jesus himself participated in the traditions of his time and place and culture. But the methods and practices we use to carry out our mission, following Jesus, can never become more important than actually following Jesus. Jesus reminds us that it is not the things outside ourselves that make us who we are. Who we are is what is inside of us, and God hopes that what is inside of us is a heart that is seeking after the way of Jesus. Amen.

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[1] Bock, Jerry and Sheldon Harnick, Fiddler on the Roof, script located at: http://www.script-o-rama.com/movie_scripts/f/fiddler-on-the-roof-script.html

[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pharisees

[3] Lose, David, “Pentecost 14B – Tradition!,” In the Meantime,

http://www.davidlose.net/2015/08/pentecost-14-b-tradition/

Sermon, "Singing the Story: Lord, You Have Come to the Lakeshore," Luke 5:1-11

Sermon 8/20/17

Luke 5:1-11

Singing the Story: Lord You Have Come to the Lakeshore

            “Lord, you have come to the lakeshore looking neither for wealthy nor wise ones. You only asked me to follow humbly. You know so well my possessions; my boat carries no gold and no weapons; You will find there my nets and labor. You need my hands, full of caring, through my labors to give others rest, and constant love that keeps on loving. You, who have fished other oceans ever longed-for by souls who are waiting, my loving friend, as thus you call me. O Lord, with your eyes you have searched me, and while smiling, have spoken my name. Now my boat's left on the shoreline behind me; by your side I will seek other seas.” Cesáreo Gabaráin

Last month I asked you all to guess at my favorite hymn as part of the “Year 1” quiz I handed out, and I shared with you that Be Thou My Vision is top of my list. It’s long been my favorite hymn. But I have to tell you that another hymn has been creeping up my list and knocking on the door of first place, and that’s the focus of our sermon today: Lord, You Have Come to the Lakeshore. For the last few weeks of summer, we’ll be looking at the stories behind some of our congregation’s favorite songs. About a year ago, I gave you all a congregational survey, and I’ve chosen some of the top hymns from that survey to explore in the next few weeks. Who wrote these hymns and why? What are the messages of faith the authors of these beloved texts are trying to convey?

            “Lord, You Have Come to the Lakeshore” was written by Monseñor Cesáreo Gabaráin, a Spanish priest, born in 1936. Gabaráin studied music as a child in schools that were part of the local seminary, and he continued his studies both in music and theology, and was ordained to the priesthood when he was 23 years old. He served his ministry primarily as a chaplain, both at colleges in nursing homes, but eventually he served as part of a parish ministry as the head of religious education. He became known for his work with young people and with athletes, cyclists especially. He spent his summer vacations ministering to cyclists at the Tour de France, and connecting with well-known Spanish soccer players. (1)

            Some of the changes from the Second Vatican Council in the Catholic church opened the door for more creativity and flexibility in sacred music, and Gabaráin took advantage of that freedom. His hope was to share the good news through music and bring others into a relationship with God. Gabaráin said, “I went to seminary when I was very young – when I was eleven. The seminary was very musical and there I learned music very well. Later, when I was a priest, I was particularly involved with the children of several large schools. Then – out of necessity – I began to compose. I went to meet the children and they began bringing their guitars. I saw that with the old songs and Gregorian chants I would not be able to teach them much. So then I began to compose out of a pastor’s necessity, intending to share the things and ideas that I was trying to convey to the children.” (2)

            His most popular hymn is one of four of his in our United Methodist Hymnals, officially titled, “Pescador de Hombres”, or “Fishers of Men.” The translation of his hymn in our scripture is what we know as “Lord, You Have Come to the Lakeshore.” It was known to be a favorite of the late Pope John Paul II. The hymn is based on the stories in Matthew, Mark, and Luke that recount Jesus calling his first disciples. The melody calls to mind the gentle “rocking boat by the lakeshore.” (1)  Gabaráin said, “[When] you ask me what makes me most satisfied with a song, it is not that the popes like it. What interests me most, and is more important, is that a missionary deep in the jungle can tell me that a song has helped him to evangelize.” (2)

            He died of cancer in 1991 at just 55 years old. Gabaráin’s obituary shared that while he was travelling in the Holy Land, tour guides would sometimes claim that his hymn was composed on the Sea of Galilee, when in fact it was written in Madrid. But Gabaráin would simply smile to himself. (1)

            I think Gabaráin’s beautiful hymn brings our text from the gospel of Luke to life, and evokes in us a deep sense of need to respond to God’s persistent call. In our gospel lesson today, we find Jesus preaching and teaching, the crowd gathered, and the setting, the lake of Gennesaret, also known as the Sea of Galilee, where many fishermen would be busy at work. When the scene opens, we read that Jesus is standing by the lake and the crowds are “pressing in on him to hear the word of God.” What an image! They’re impatient – anxious – hungry to hear God’s word – that’s how excited they are about what Jesus has to say. They want the words that he’s about to speak. Have you ever been so eager to hear the Word of God?

            Now, in the chapter before this one, after his baptism, after spending 40 days in the wilderness, Jesus had just begun his ministry, marked by preaching and healing, including a woman described as the mother-in-law of Simon. But we haven’t yet met Simon, really, until this passage we read today. When Jesus encounters Simon Peter with his boat, he’s already connected with him through the act of healing. So, with the crowds pressing in, Jesus sees fishermen washing their nets and their boats nearby on the shore, and he gets into the boat of Simon Peter and asks him to put out a little way from the shore. This way, Jesus can comfortably teach the crowds from the boat without being smothered by them in their excitement. When he’s done teaching, he turns to Simon, and tells him, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” Not a suggestion – not a question – but a direction, an imperative. Peter responds in a way that I admire, since I think most of us wouldn’t respond so openly. Jesus wasn’t a fisherman; he was a carpenter, and now a teacher; Simon Peter was the fisherman. And Peter knew where to fish. And Peter knew that they had already been fishing all night without catching anything. But Simon Peter didn’t respond that he knew better than Jesus, or that they tried what he said already and it didn’t work, or that this new way wouldn’t work. He said instead, “Master, if you say we should try it, we’ll try it.”

            So they let down their nets, and begin to catch so many fish that their nets are breaking. They signal for help, and another boat comes, and still, there are so many fish that both boats are filled to the point that they can barely stay afloat. Peter, overwhelmed, falls on his knees before Jesus and says, “Go away from me Lord, for I am a sinful man!” But Jesus responds, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.” And with those strange words, Peter, along with James and John, the sons of Zebedee, partners with Simon, leave their boats and nets and everything, and they begin to follow Jesus.

            I think Jesus’ invitation – well, he doesn’t even really ask, does he? – his announcement that these fishermen will now be fishing for people is an invitation, an announcement that extends to us too. In church language, we call the work that we are called to do a vocation. But sometimes I think we do a disservice in the church when we leave people feeling that the only vocation we’re talking about is people becoming pastors. Some of you might have read my brother Tim’s facebook post this week. He’s always so thoughtful in complimenting me and my brothers – I’m a pastor. Todd’s an acting professor. Jim is a manager working with people with disabilities. Tim hasn’t ever felt that same tug toward a particular career. But God calls us in so many different ways. Fishing for people, the life of discipleship, that is simply committing to trying to follow the teachings and practices of Jesus as much as we can – this can take so many different forms. Remember, when we talked about Esther a couple of weeks ago. Was her calling to be a Queen? Maybe, or maybe not. But her calling was definitely speaking out against injustice, using her role as Queen to do so. Fishing for people is helping draw others closer to Jesus, inviting them to walk with Jesus. The ways that we can do that are endless, starting with the witness that we make in our own lives of discipleship.

            Jesus tells us how we do that – practice discipleship, and prepare ourselves for a life fishing for people alongside Jesus. We go to the deep waters, and we put down our nets, expecting a catch. Bishop Robert Wright says, “Some people don't catch fish because they don't expect to catch fish. When Jesus tells Simon, "Let's go to the deep water," he doesn't stop there.  He says, "...prepare for a catch."  What an encouragement. This is a word for us … who go to church regularly,” he says. “Week after week we go to the deep water of worship, but do we go preparing for a catch? Do we go believing that a blessing is just waiting for us?  … Expectations count with God. It's all over the Bible. Expectation is the first-born child of faith, "the substance of things hoped for." No expectation, no real faith. When we say we believe in God, we are not saying I am agreeing with some abstract idea; we're saying we expect the things that God has promised to us.”

Wright continues, “Some people think they know more about fish than God.  It happens to all of us sometimes. It's not that we actually think we know more than God; it's just that we behave that way. We hear God's instructions: Forgive a whole bunch. Bless those who curse you. Give abundantly. Visit the jails. Forget your life and you'll have a ball ... But we ignore God's invitation to abundance. We say to God by our actions: I know more about [life], more about healing, more about forgiveness, more about children, more about money than you do, God … Some people don't catch fish because they don't go to the deep water, and some people don't catch fish because they don't expect to. But some people don't catch fish because they know more about fish than God. People say that the net full of fish is the miracle of this story, but I disagree.  The real miracle of this story is that Simon decided that God was God and that he would live that way beginning immediately … Just look at what Simon says before the miracles begin to happen, "Yet, Lord if you say so...."”

Simon Peter wasn’t called to be a disciple because he was good at catching people, or fish for that matter. Simon was called because that’s what God does! God calls us because God demonstrates grace and love through our lives, because God can use even us, we, who like Simon, feel overwhelmed with how unqualified and worthy we are. We just need to let Jesus into our boat, and commit to going to the deep water again and again, commit to putting down our nets, commit to trusting God so that we’re expecting a catch. What are you doing to get to deep water in your faith life? What are you expecting God to do in your life?   

In Cesáreo Gabaráin’s hymn, we are reminded that God sees the humbleness of our boat, the lack of what we have to offer, and God smiles, and says, “Come, follow me. Let’s seek other seas together. And I will make you fish for people!” “O Lord, with your eyes you have searched me, and while smiling, have spoken my name. Now my boat's left on the shoreline behind me; by your side I will seek other seas.” Amen.

(1) C. Michael Hawn, “History of Hymns: Lord, You Have Come to the Lakeshore,” https://www.umcdiscipleship.org/resources/history-of-hymns-lord-you-have-come-to-the-lakeshore

(2) http://www.singingthefaithplus.org.uk/?p=1736

(3) Rt. Rev. Robert Wright, “Deep water is where we have to go to get what God has for us,” http://day1.org/1712-why_some_people_dont_catch_fish