Sermon for Fourth Sunday in Lent, non-lectionary - Point of View: Mary, Mary, Mary

Sermon 3/18/12

Luke 7:36-50, 8:1-3, Luke 10:38-42, John 12:1-7, Matthew 27:45-50, 55-61, 28:1

Mary, Mary, Mary

What do we really know about Mary Magdalene? As usual, not much. But in Mary's case, we probably think we know more than we do. We assume an awful lot about poor, misunderstood Mary Magdalene. She is mentioned only rarely in the gospels; in fact, mentioned only one time outside of accounts of Jesus’ death and resurrection. In one passage in Luke, there is mention of the fact that Mary Magdalene had been cured from possession by demons by Jesus, and that she was traveling with him along with some other women and the Twelve as he was teaching and preaching. Other than that, Mary Magdalene is only mentioned in the context of being at the scene of Jesus’ crucifixion, helping the women with burial rites, and then, of course, most significantly, at Jesus’ resurrection, as the first witness, the first teller of the news. She’s mentioned nowhere else, despite popular beliefs. Even now you are probably wondering, but what about this passage, what about that passage? But we have to set the record straight. Mary Magdalene is not the woman caught in adultery. She is not labeled a sinner. She is not a prostitute. She is not the woman who anoints Jesus’ feet. She is not the Mary who is sister to Martha and Lazarus, not the Mary who is praised for simply sitting at Jesus’ feet. All we know for sure is that she was following Jesus, that she witnessed his crucifixion along with other women who were followers.

I’m not exactly sure how or why these several separate women in the scriptures become merged into one. It happened very early in church history, that these several stories began to be folded into one in the Christian narrative. We see evidence that Jesus was inclusive of women in his ministry – radically inclusive for his day – he has women who follow along with the rest of the disciples, he speaks to women in circumstances that were normally considered inappropriate, and he heals women along with men, commending them for their great faith. But after the church was born, when the disciples were leading and growing congregations, women’s roles in the movement began to be suppressed and minimized. By the 6th century, the Pope, Gregory the First, preached a sermon merging the sinful woman who anointed Jesus’ feet, Mary of Bethany, sister of Martha and Lazarus, and Mary Magdalene, together as one person – three women, as one woman. And it was not until 1969 that the Catholic Church officially stated that the sinful woman, Mary of Bethany, and Mary Magdalene were actually three separate women. That’s well over a thousand years of assuming Mary Magdalene to be not only a sinful woman, but more particularly, a prostitute, when the scriptures simply tell us no such thing! Centuries of paintings show Mary Magdalene with bright red hair, worn long, rather than covered as would have been appropriate. Films and musicals, even my own beloved Superstar, have portrayed Mary as a prostitute. Mary Magdalene has been seen as the example of a life redeemed, a forgiven woman who turned things around. A nice story, just not based on the truth!

But then, in the last several years, the tide seemed to turn – people started to get interested in Mary Magdalene again. And if I had to point to what sparked the interest, I’d point to Dan Brown’s The DaVinci Code that was so popular, now almost a decade ago. The book suggested that through DaVinci’s artwork, you could discover the hidden secret – that Jesus really married Mary Magdalene and had a child with her, and that Mary was really the most devoted disciple, whose image had been smeared by those who were jealous of her and her power and bent on telling a certain version of Jesus’ story. Interest in Mary Magdalene exploded, even though Brown’s book was a work of fiction, and people started reading some of the Gnostic Gospels, writings that were not included in our scriptures, which also pictured Mary Magdalene as a prominent disciple, though never as Jesus’ wife.

So who is Mary Magdalene, really? Personally, though I’ve read and enjoyed both The DaVinci Code, and the Gnostic Gospels, I like to focus on what the biblical scriptures tell us, with what is really in the text before us, and understanding that, before adding other sources. So who are these Marys, exactly, and really, who end up so blurred together? Let’s look at what the scriptures actually say.

First, Mary Magdalene. We see her at the tomb on Easter morning. But we’re not ready for Easter yet. The only other place Mary is mentioned is in the other text we read today: “Soon afterwards Jesus went on through cities and villages, proclaiming and bringing the good news of the kingdom of God. The twelve were with him, as well as some women who had been cured of evil spirits and infirmities: Mary, called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out, and Joanna, the wife of Herod’s steward Chuza, and Susanna, and many others, who provided for them out of their resources.” This is the only mention of Mary Magdalene other than at the cross, burial, and resurrection of Jesus. From these few verses though, we know that Mary and some other women went with Jesus and the twelve on his preaching and teaching tour. For women in his day, that is a huge and risky commitment. We know that Mary was healed by Jesus, even though we might not understand what it means to be possessed by demons. And we know that these women provided for Jesus and disciples, which suggests that they were women with some wealth and resources at their disposal to use to support Jesus’ ministry. And that is simply all the scriptures say about Mary Magdalene.

Then, there’s Mary of Bethany. We know she’s not Mary Magdalene primarily because Magdala and Bethany are two different places! Mary of Bethany is the sister of Lazarus and Martha. We see her in three significant scenes: We see her sitting and listening at Jesus’ feet while he was at her home, and while Martha prepared a meal. Martha was upset with Mary, but Jesus tells her she’s chosen the better part by listening to him. We see Mary upset with Jesus when Lazarus dies because Jesus did not arrive quickly enough to heal him. This time it is Martha who shines in her understanding of resurrection, and Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. And finally, we see Mary of Bethany anointing Jesus’ feet with costly perfume, and Judas, or in other gospels, all the disciples, being upset over her wastefulness. But Jesus commends her for her act of extravagant love.

And finally, the other woman who is often confused with these two Marys is the unnamed woman who anoints Jesus’ feet at the home of Simon the Pharisee. She and Mary of Bethany both anoint Jesus’ feet, and so the two have often been mistaken for one another, but anointing of feet was not a particularly unusual act. It probably happened to Jesus many times that aren’t even recorded. And thinking of Mary Magdalene as a prostitute also probably comes from this passage about an unnamed woman. This unnamed woman is never called a prostitute, just a sinner, but wearing her hair down, and the way Simon speaks of her being known as a sinner suggest that she may have been a prostitute. But there’s no conclusive proof. So this sinful woman anoints Jesus’ feet with ointment and her own tears. Simon is critical of Jesus for letting such a woman perform this act of devotion, but Jesus, with a parable, says that her sins are forgiven, and because her sins are so completely forgiven, the woman reacts with deeply loving behavior.

These are the three woman who have been rolled into one, but their stories are really quite unique. And there are even other Marys in the Bible – a few actually – but just mentioned by their very common name. So with their identities untangled, we then have to ask what we learn for ourselves. I think restoring Mary Magdalene’s reputation is a worthy endeavor on its own – she deserves to be remembered for what the gospels tell us she was – a follower of Jesus and the first witness of the resurrection. But what do we learn from her? As I’ve said, we’re looking, this Lent, at who we say Jesus is, and what that says about us. So who does Mary Magdalene say that he is? And who does Mary of Bethany say that he is? And who, even, does the sinful woman who anointed his feet say that he is? For each, in different ways, Jesus was quite literally their savior. Mary Magdalene is healed from something described as demon-possession. Seven demons, actually. Whatever this meant, it would have made her ritually unclean and shunned from society. Jesus saves her. Jesus forgives the sins of the unnamed woman, and takes a burden of guilt from her, and she responds with such love, such relief, such thankfulness. Mary of Bethany has her brother returned to life, and finds Jesus’ affirming her choices of discipleship in more than one situation. Jesus has saved these women. Who do they say he is? Their savior. And because they see him this way, their lives change dramatically. Their lives after meeting Jesus are almost unrecognizable from the lives they led before they met, knew, and followed him.

Last week, we talked about Pontius Pilate, and his apathy. He recognized Jesus as someone important, but it didn’t matter to him more than his own power and status. Who Pilate was was more important to him than who Jesus was. He isn’t changed by who Jesus is. When we look at Mary Magdalene and these other women, the questions are the same, and Mary, like Pilate, recognizes Jesus. But the difference, the critical difference, is in the response. Who Jesus is changes Mary Magdalene, and the others, because who Jesus is changes how they see themselves. Mary of Bethany is singled out by Jesus more than once for her sincere discipleship, and we hear more about her than most of the twelve, which tells us how significant she was. The ‘sinful’ woman has her sins forgiven and shows Jesus an act of love, ignoring the insults of a prominent Pharisee. Mary Magdalene packs up and literally follows Jesus, even supporting Jesus and the twelve financially, which would enable them to preach and teach without worrying about their resources. They know who Jesus is to them, and because of it, their lives have changed.

The question is still the same for us this week: Who do you say that Jesus is? How does who he is to you change you? Does knowing Jesus change you? Are you changeable? We’re well into our Lenten journey now, a time of preparation for Easter. I believe that Lent is a time to prepare ourselves to be more changeable on Easter morning. On Easter morning, we’ll see Mary Magdalene in her most significant role yet – the very first witness to the resurrection. And on Easter morning, we’ll have to ask ourselves once and for all who Jesus is, and how it changes us.

I have shared with you before a question I have heard churches should ask themselves: “if your church disappeared today, who, besides its members, would miss it? Who would notice it was gone?” Who would miss this church, besides us, if it was gone, because of the difference we make? We can ask the same question on a personal level: How would your discipleship be missed if you weren’t around? Would your life be any different than it is now if you weren’t a follower of Jesus, or would it be basically the same? In other words, what changes are visible in your life because of who you say Jesus is and what that means you are called to do? Are you changeable? Are we changeable?

Jesus saved them. And it changed their lives. Amen.

Sermon for Third Sunday in Lent (non-lectionary) - Point of View: Pontius Pilate

Sermon 3/11/12

Point of View: Pontius Pilate

I think it’s strange that while the twelve disciples spent three years of their lives with Jesus, we know so very little about them, while Pontius Pilate, our point-of-view focus this morning, spent just a short time with Jesus on one day, and yet we hear more from Pilate than we do half the disciples. As seems usual for these biblical figures, we don’t know a lot about Pilate’s background – there are some conflicting stories over where he was born and what family he was part of – and we don’t know much about his life before he appears in the gospels. But we know that he was a prefect in Judea, and that prefects had certain duties – mostly military oversight and collecting taxes, but also judicial responsibility in some local affairs. During big religious festivals like the Passover, Pilate would be expected to be in Jerusalem, to make sure things were kept under control. And we know that he served as prefect in Judea from 26-36 AD, recalled to Rome perhaps just a year or two after Jesus’ trial. It seems that Pilate frequently found himself in conflict with the people he governed, and his superiors were not happy with his performance. (1)

In the gospels, Pontius Pilate appears only in the trial of Jesus and surrounding events. His name is occasionally mentioned in Acts and in the writings of Paul, but only in reference to Jesus being tried before him. And in the gospel accounts of Jesus’ trial, we get the same general story – we see a Pilate who seems to be struggling between a feeling that Jesus is innocent of the crimes he’s accused of, and a Pilate who is concerned about the crowds and potential mob rule, wanting to please the people to keep them under control. Jesus has been arrested, and already been interviewed by the chief priests. But Pilate had authority over certain matters – in fact, even the high priest was named by the Roman government (1) – and the religious leaders wanted Pilate to condemn Jesus. In Matthew’s account, on which we focus today, Pilate interviews Jesus, asking him if he is the King of the Jews, a claim with political overtones that would threaten both the Jewish religious leaders and the Roman authorities. But Jesus keeps silent, despite the questioning.

Pilate then offers to release a prisoner – Jesus Barabbas, or Jesus “who is called the Messiah.” At this point, we read some commentary from Matthew: Pilate thinks Jesus has been handed over to him because the religious leaders are jealous of Jesus' authority and popularity with the people, and also, his wife warned him to have nothing to do with “that innocent man” Jesus, because of a nightmare she had about him. Pilate seems to want to find a way to set Jesus free without having to actually come out and make the decision. The crowds shout for the release of Barabbas and begin to chant for Jesus’ death – “Let him be crucified! Let him be crucified!” We read that Pilate was overwhelmed by the crowd’s response, feeling he had no choice but to give in: “So when Pilate saw that he could do nothing, but rather that a riot was beginning, he took some water and washed his hands before the crowd, saying, ‘I am innocent of this man’s blood; see to it yourselves.’” Then Pilate releases Barabbas, as the people requested, has Jesus flogged – we’re not even sure why – and hands him over to be crucified.

As with Judas, I have a lot of questions about Pilate. What do we make of Pilate and his actions? Did he just get caught up in something that was out of his control? Is it true what he thought? If he hadn’t allowed Jesus to be put to death, would there really have been a riot that the Roman soldiers could not control? Would Jesus have just been put to death another way by the angry crowds? Can you just decide to wash your hands of a situation and really be free from responsibility? Can Pilate simply declare himself innocent? Who, ultimately, is responsible for Jesus’ death? Could Pilate have taken a stronger stand? Wasn’t he in charge?

We are focusing this Lent on points of view: who people say that Jesus is, and how who they say Jesus is changes who they are themselves, or how who they are changes who they say Jesus is! So if we take these somewhat jumbled questions, and apply them to Pilate, what do we come out with? Who does Pilate say that Jesus is? Surely, we don’t have a lot to go on. But we start to gather a sense even from this scene in Matthew that Pilate catches a glimpse of who Jesus is. He has a feeling that Jesus is something different. He can see that the religious leaders are jealous of Jesus. He knows that his wife has had a strange dream about Jesus and pronounced him innocent. He sees that Jesus is unwilling to argue with him over accusations and frantically defend himself. He is reluctant to condemn Jesus, and anxious not to be held responsible for what will happen to Jesus. When we take all these pieces, these clues, and put them together, it seems that Pilate, if not ready to call Jesus the Messiah exactly, knew that there was something about Jesus . . .

But for Pilate, ultimately, who he is is much more important to him than who Jesus is. Pilate is a prefect of the Roman Empire. What Pilate wants most is to escape blame, from Rome, from the Jews, no matter who Jesus turns out to be. He wants to have no responsibility for the situation before him, which is ironic for someone who wants desperately to keep their role of responsibility and authority. Pilate might believe there’s something more to Jesus – but ultimately, it doesn’t make a difference to him, because who he is, what he wants – his power, his control, his position – all of that is more important to him.

As always, what we learn here, what we learn about Pilate is only meaningful if we can see ourselves in his place. So, I have to ask – are there things that you believe, but your believing doesn’t make a difference to you, make a difference in how you live your life? Let me give you some examples of what I mean. You know I am not a follower of sports, but I would have had to crawl under a rock to miss the story of Joe Paterno, Penn State Football Coach, and the scandal he faced late last year. Paterno was criticized not for abuse himself, but for knowing of abuse that was happening and failing to take sufficient action with what he knew. Many professionals, like teachers, medical personnel, doctors, and in many places, clergy, are mandated reporters, who are required, legally, to report suspected child abuse. The law mandates that with knowledge comes a responsibility to act.

Or think of the current election cycle. In the midst of the Republican primaries, one question I think voters have is: Do what candidates say and what they actually have done or will do in office match up? A common accusation is that candidates flip-flop on positions. Mitt Romney, for example, has been trying to appeal to more conservative Republicans, but has also been criticized then for distancing himself with previous actions and statements when he served as governor. Voters want to know: Is this what he really believes? Or is he just saying what he thinks I want to hear?

One more example. You have probably heard this famous poem by Pastor Martin Niemoller, written in the wake of Nazism and the Holocaust. First they came for the communists, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a communist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a Jew. Then they came for me and there was no one left to speak out for me. We say actions speak louder than words, and if that is true, then inaction is a deafening silence.  

What about our faith journeys? What about discipleship? What I want to know is this: What do you believe about Jesus? Who do you think that he is? And what difference has that made in the way that you live? Or, like Pontius Pilate, are there too many things about who we are and what we want for ourselves for us to actually let what we believe about Jesus change our lives?

One of my colleagues posed a question on his blog: “What is the most destructive force in a congregation?” He listed multiple-choice responses, including unresolved conflict, which had the most votes, followed by power struggles, narrow-mindedness, gossip, and keeping secrets. But I selected the ‘other’ option and added in my own response: apathy. The church is at risk when we don’t translate what we believe into how we live as individuals and as a congregation. To me, what is most destructive to churches is just this dilemma that we see in Pontius Pilate. We believe something, but what we believe doesn’t necessarily change anything. Consider what we believe as a congregation: I trust that generally, we believe in God, believe in Jesus, believe that Jesus set an example for us, believe that we’re meant to be disciples, believe that God loves us, and so on. We might come down differently on exactly what those beliefs mean in detail, but at the core, I think we’re on the same page. Where we need to ask ourselves the hard questions, where we need to do some soul-searching is when we ask ourselves: what difference does what we believe make?

Jesus said, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” What is it we are taking up? Taking up the cross means taking a risk to follow Jesus, and what we must risk is different for each one of us. What is holding us back? What is it that you are afraid to risk? I’m guessing, that with a little introspection, it wouldn’t take you long to answer that question. In our discipleship, in our faith journey, we get into trouble when the cost of following Jesus is always more than we are willing to pay, and when what it costs us is always a bigger concern than acting on what we believe. When we believe, but still fail to act, that’s apathy. When we believe, but still fail to act, that’s of more concern than those who don’t know what they believe yet. For Pontius Pilate, the cost to himself was his primary concern. He knew Jesus shouldn’t be condemned to death. But the cost Pilate would bear was too much. What he was willing to risk, willing to ‘spend’ on what he believed was nothing. What are you willing to spend? What will you risk? What is that task to which God is calling you that nags at the back of your mind, the corners of your heart? What do you believe about God? And so what? How has it changed you? Who do you say that Jesus is? And how will your answer change your life?

Amen.

Sermon for Second Sunday in Lent (non-lectionary) - Point of View: Judas

Sermon 3/4/12

Matthew 26:6-50, 27:3-10

Point of View: Judas

            Can we see things from Judas's point of view? Or maybe, we are worried we can see from his point of view too easily? I remember, once in college, we were at a meeting of one of the faith groups I was part of on campus, and the chaplain noted that there were twelve of us, and he mentioned that we were like the twelve disciples. And I couldn’t help but wonder: then which one of us gets to be Judas? Who would want to claim to be Judas? Which disciple would you be willing to claim? Maybe one of the ones that barely gets a mention beyond their original call by Jesus?

            I told you last year a bit about my fascination with Judas. Of course, it started with Jesus Christ Superstar, and the actor I had a crush on, but it went beyond that, as I started to wonder about Judas and his role in the Passion story. I shared with you the nagging questions I had.  As we heard in our gospel reading today, Judas committed suicide, hung himself, out of guilt for his actions, for betraying Jesus and putting him into the hands of his enemies. I had been taught that suicide was a sin that condemned someone to hell. An unforgiveable sin. But it was the way Judas was portrayed in Superstar that made me start to wonder, because Judas was depicted almost as a hero in the story, misguided maybe, but still someone to root for. Right there, in our text today from Matthew, we read this: “When Judas, his betrayer, saw that Jesus was condemned, he repented.” Judas repented. That word, the word used here – it’s the same word for repentance that Jesus and John the Baptist use when the first preach their message: Repent! If Judas repented, how could he be condemned to eternal punishment? And what’s more: In the gospel of John, Jesus talks about Judas’ betrayal being part of the plan. If Judas had to betray Jesus in order for Jesus to go through the suffering and death and resurrection, how can Judas be held accountable for his actions? Was he acting as part of his own free will, making his own choices, or was he predestined to betray Jesus? And if he was predestined, can he be judged for his actions?

            I presented all of these questions to my Sunday School teacher at the time. Her answer to me was simple: Judas committed suicide, so Judas went to hell. I was not satisfied with her answer. I was just sure there had to be more to it. So I wrote a letter to a publication that used to exist called Youth! Magazine. They had a column for questions like mine, and I hoped for an answer. My question never got printed, but the editor of the magazine wrote me back a long, wonderful letter, that I wish I could still find. In it, he said what I have come to believe is true – basically sharing with me a message from Romans 8 – nothing in life or in death can separate us from God’s love. He said God’s grace was so amazing that he was unwilling to put any kind of limits on God’s love, even for, or perhaps especially for – Judas. Needless to say, I found his letter very comforting. My Sunday School teacher, on the other hand, was not so excited to be so contradicted!

            When I was a senior in college, I had to write my capstone paper for my pre-theology major, and I decided to look at Jesus and Judas in literature. I discovered that sometimes Judas was portrayed as the worst person in all of history. Sometimes, like in Superstar, Judas was the misunderstood hero. But sometimes, Judas was portrayed as a mix of good impulses and bad decisions. Even though Superstar remained my favorite portrayal of Judas, I was particularly moved by these pieces of literature – a Judas who you could relate to. A Judas that made you wonder how you would have acted in his shoes.

           My questions haven’t changed much over the years: Who is Judas? Why did he do what he did? The truth is, like many of Jesus’ disciples, we really don’t know very much about Judas at all, even if we see him depicted often enough in fiction, firm, musicals. We don’t know his family background, we don’t know what he did, we don’t know where he came from. I’ve read many different theories, but of course, most are conjecture, imaginings, really, rather than fact-based theories. And since we know so little about Judas, we also don’t know very much about his motivations for betraying Jesus. Only the gospel of John mentions that Judas is treasurer for the group of disciples, and suggests that greed for the payment of silver is the motivation for betrayal. But the other gospels never mention anything like this at all. As in our gospel reading for today, Matthew, Mark, and Luke segue with new interlude into mentioning that Judas was looking for an opportunity to betray Jesus. Things get confusing, for me, to understand logically. Why would the religious leaders even need Judas to betray Jesus? They knew where Jesus was, and showed up to hear him preach and teach all the time. It wasn’t as though Jesus was in hiding and Judas led them to a secret location. We can’t imagine that 30 coins alone would have tempted Judas to betray Jesus – even though it was a hefty sum, it wasn’t enough make him set for life, a year, or even half year actually. What motivates Judas? I wonder, very much. But what we know for sure is that almost every time Judas is mentioned in the scriptures, he is called, “Judas, who later betrayed him.” You never have to wonder how he will turn out. The scriptures say it over and over before the betrayal even unfolds. We know that from Mark, the earliest gospel, to John, the latest written, Judas is increasingly portrayed as villainous and evil. And I can tell you that while Judas was always known for his betrayal, it was a few centuries after the birth of the church that Judas began to be seen as the sole disciple responsible for Jesus’ death. In fact, over time, Judas began to be a symbol for all Jews who didn’t accept Christ, and was a figure used by anti-Semites in their hatred of Jews. Judas, who later betrayed him.

            Imagine if your whole life, you were called by a name that was based on one event, one action, even a bad one. Beth, you know, Beth who preached that awful sermon? Della, who messed up the offertory. Joe, who couldn’t hold down a job. Marge, who really screwed up her kids. Bob, who caused that car accident. What if, your whole life, you had to carry descriptors of your mistakes, even your worst ones, as part of your name? What if, in the telling of your life story, you had to stick with a label of your worst moment before even telling what happened. Judas, who later betrayed him.

What does it mean to betray someone? In the case of Judas, the definition of his actions which I found to best fit was this: "To prove faithless or treacherous to, as to a trust or one who trusts; to be false to; to deceive; as, to betray a person or a cause." (1) That fits, doesn’t it? Whatever Judas’ motives were, I think we can accurately say he proved faithless to Jesus. Why ever it was, whatever caused it, Judas ultimately did not have faith in Jesus.

What does it all mean for us? What difference does Judas’ betrayal mean for us? To me, in some ways, Judas is important in just the same way understanding every other text in the scriptures is important. We draw closer to God through understanding, and we understand by putting ourselves into the text, seeing ourselves in the story. Can we see ourselves in Judas, who later betrayed him? My biggest problem with how we’ve remembered Judas in Christian tradition is that by seeing him as so evil, we fail to see ourselves in him. Vilifying him makes us feel better. At least we’re not Judas, right? At least we’re better than Judas, the greedy traitor, Judas, who later betrayed him.  

And yet, if we think of the definition of betrayal again, we have some hard questions to answer. To betray is to prove faithless to. Have you ever proven yourselves faithless to Jesus? We may find it hard to believe that after spending three years as a disciple following Christ from place to place that we'd then turn Jesus over to men we knew were trying to kill him. On the other hand, we may not find it so hard to think of ways that we betray Jesus, perhaps even on a daily basis. If to betray means to prove faithless, then we are indeed very much like Judas. Judas, for whatever reason, did not have faith enough to believe in the path Jesus was following. Do we have enough faith? Maybe, sometimes, more often than we want to admit, we don't have faith enough to believe that God has called us for plans beyond our imagination. We don't have faith enough to invest ourselves, our money, our time, and our gifts into God's care. We don't have faith enough to believe that God gives us grace, a gift there for the taking, without our needing to do something to earn it. We don’t have enough faith to actually follow Jesus instead of following our own plans for ourselves. And our lack of faith betrays Jesus as surely as Judas did.

But if we can let Judas be redeemed, if we can let Judas be more than the one who later betrayed him, if we can believe, like that magazine editor did, that God’s unconditional love is truly unconditional, than perhaps we can help Judas move beyond, as we move beyond. If we can see ourselves in Judas, if we can admit that our actions often betray the Jesus we claim to follow, then we too, like Judas, can repent. But we can also move beyond. Judas couldn’t move beyond what he’d done and neither could those who would tell his story. I can’t imagine the grief and guilt he must have felt. And I wonder what might have happened, if Judas had chosen another path, if reconciliation might have been possible in his life on earth, as I believe it is always and everywhere possible with God. We are blessed always with the chance – the hope and promise really, that we can move beyond. We aren’t defined by our sins, but by God’s love and forgiveness. Beth, whose sermon made me think. Della, whose music touched my soul. Joe, whose life God changed. Marge, who is really wonderful with young people. Bob, who God loves. You, who proved yourself faithful to God’s love. Amen.

Sermon for First Sunday in Lent (non-lectionary), Point of View: Who Do You Say That I Am?, Mark 8:27-38

Sermon 2/26/12

Mark 8:27-38

Point of View: Who Do You Say That I Am?

Our theme for Lent this year is Point of View. Every story is told from a point of view. I shared with folks on Ash Wednesday this week that I have been reading a book series called A Song of Fire and Ice. In each book, each chapter has a different point of view, focusing in on one of the characters and what they see happening. The series is still being written, and one of the “spoilers” that the author releases first while fans are waiting for the next book to come out is a list of the chapters and which points of view will be featured. Even this bit of information gets people excited because they can start speculating about how the story will unfold, based just on points of view. Because of course, a story unfolds a little differently according to each person's point of view.

It is hard, for example, to even have textbooks that are objective. When humans record history, it is always from a point of view, and even if we try, it is never completely objective, but is subjective, dependent on the point of view of the author. For example, if you read an account of the Revolutionary War, it would read differently written by a British author than by an American author, right? Different points of view aren’t necessarily true or false. Our subjective perception of something isn’t meant to be a malicious mischaracterization of events. It is simply that we all see things differently, interpret what we experience differently. If you and I were both to describe how a certain meal tasted, we would describe it differently, because we are different! No one person can see the whole picture. We can only see from our point of view.

That is a fact we have been trying to keep in mind as we've studied the scriptures together in our Bible 101 class. Whose point of view are we hearing the story from? Whose point of view do we never see from? And what can that help us learn? For example, we read the story of the rape of Dinah in Genesis, and discovered that although we heard from her attacker and his father, Dinah's father, and Dinah's brothers, we never hear from Dinah herself. Of course, this reflects the time period of the Bible – women's voices were often overlooked. But what might Dinah have said about all these events? We can wonder, and try to put ourselves into the story.

You all know already that Jesus Christ Superstar is my favorite musical. I started going to see Superstar when I was in seventh grade, and since then, I have seen Superstar on stage in various settings about 30 times. I love Superstar. And I have asked myself why. I love theatre, I love many musicals. But with Superstar – the main thing is this: Jesus Christ Superstar makes me want to be part of the story. Watching and listening, I just want to be part of it. As a teenager, nothing drew me in to the gospel story quite like Superstar. Holy Week and Easter came alive for me in a totally new way through the musical. I wanted to know what made each character tick – what motivated them and what did they see in Jesus, I wondered? I asked myself where I would be in the story. Would I be a disciple? Would I be on the sideline? Would I be one who wanted Jesus put to death? Superstar simply drew me in, and my fascination with the musical led me to a love of the season of Lent, a curiosity about the passion story, and a deeper faith.

For me, the heart of the story of Superstar is an identity question in two parts. Who is Jesus? And who am I? Superstar focuses on the last week of Jesus’ life on earth, but it is less about the events and more about the people. What were the people closest to Jesus thinking in the week leading up to the crucifixion? Why did some choose to become disciples? Why would some give up everything to follow him? Why would Judas betray Jesus? Why was Mary so devoted? Why did Peter’s faith waver? Why did the priests want him dead? Why did Pilate cede his authority? Why? These are the questions I wonder about when I read the scriptures.

Today, our scripture text is from the gospel of Mark. Jesus has been travelling and teaching and healing, with his disciples accompanying him. And on their way to Caesarea Philippi, he asks them, “Who do people say that I am?” They answer “John the Baptist,” and “Elijah,” and “one of the prophets.” But Jesus asks them, “Who do you say that I am?” And Peter answers boldly, and for the first time, “You are the Messiah.” Then Jesus begins to tell them that the Son of Man will undergo suffering, rejection, and death, before a resurrection three days later. Peter, who has just made such a bold proclamation, rebukes Jesus for saying such things. Jesus responds, “Get behind me Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things, but on human things.” Peter could see who Jesus was – the Messiah. But he hadn’t yet learned what that meant – couldn’t see what being the Messiah would mean for Jesus – or perhaps, more accurately, couldn’t accept it.

Jesus calls the crowds together, along with the disciples, and makes things very clear: “If any want to become my followers, than let them deny themselves, and take up the cross, and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.” Very simply, you can’t claim Jesus is the Messiah without knowing what that means, without consequences. For Jesus, it’s a simple if-then logic statement. If who Jesus is is the Messiah, then it follows that there will be a certain response from us. If we believe he is the Messiah, then we will deny ourselves, take up the cross, and follow him. And in reverse, if we aren’t denying ourselves, taking up the cross, and following Jesus, how can we claim him as the Messiah?

            What is your point of view: Who do you say that Jesus is? And what difference has that made in your life? Who are you? And how is who you are related to who Jesus is, or who you say he is? In the next weeks, we’ll look at the points of view of Mary, Peter, Judas, Pontius Pilate, and more. We’ll find out who they thought they were. Did they change who they were because of who they thought Jesus was? Did who Jesus was change who they were? Some, we’ll see, try to make Jesus into who they wanted him to be. Some knew exactly who Jesus was, and feared him for it. Some were plagued by doubts and questions, and could never figure out who they were without understanding who Jesus was. Some knew who Jesus was, and learned how it had to change their lives, their very identities, knowing who Jesus was.

What is your point of view? Who do you say that Jesus is? How do you see him? As a prophet? A teacher? A healer? A miracle-worker? A work of fiction? A historical figure to admire? The Messiah? And who are you? How do you see yourself? As a student? A skeptic? A believer? A questioner? An enemy? A child of God? A disciple? This Lent, this season, these forty days, the questions before us are the most important we can ask, about our very identity. Every day, we’re asked to define ourselves, to identify ourselves. We give proof in Driver’s Licenses and social security numbers and ID cards. We answer the question: I’m a mother. I’m a doctor. I’m his brother. I’m a banker. But this Lent, this season, these forty days, we only have one person to answer to. Jesus asks, “who do you say that I am?” And who does that make you?

Peter answered him, “You are the Messiah.” Jesus said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves, and take up their cross and follow me.”

Amen.

Sermon - Life Together: Love Builds Up (Based on text for Epiphany 4B)

Sermon 2/19/12

1 Corinthians 8:1-13 (text for Epiphany 4B)

Life Together: Love Builds Up

            Once there was a rich man who entertained himself by collecting things.  One day in an antique store, he was intrigued to discover what appeared to be a large, full-length mirror.  He couldn’t be sure because all he could see was the frame.  A heavy canvas covered what was most likely a mirror.  A faded piece of paper pinned to the canvas read “Do Not Remove.”  He called for the store owner.

“What is this and why is it covered?” he asked.  He was used to getting his way. “You won’t believe me,” came the reply. “Tell me anyway,” he demanded.  Again, he was used to getting his way. “Well,” continued the clerk.  “Under the canvas is a mirror.  The story is that this mirror will only reflect the part of you that is alive in God.  I keep it covered because it’s bad for business.  Too many people don’t see what they expect to see.” “You let people look if they want to?”   “Not usually but some people insist.  Mostly they are the ones who don’t believe me.  Once they take the canvas off and look, they tend to leave in a hurry without buying anything.  As I said, it’s bad for business.” “May I look?” “If you must.”

The wealthy man thought for a moment.  Then, reassured by the knowledge that his accountant kept his church pledge up to date, he peeled the canvas aside and stood full in front of the mirror. “I don’t see anything!” he shouted, wondering immediately if the light was bad. “There’s always been something before,” responded the owner.  “Look again.” He looked up and down the mirror.  Sure enough something was there.  Down in the corner near the bottom, like a lonely radish, was his big toe. “My toe,” he mumbled.  “That’s all there is.” “That’s all for now,” replied the clerk. “You mean it can change?” “So some say.”

“Name your price for the mirror.” The store owner wasn’t all that unhappy to see the mirror go. The collector took the mirror home with him.  Many times each day he stood in front of the mirror, but nothing ever changed.  Only the big toe of his left foot was visible.  He tried everything to alter this one annoying fact.  He stood in front of the mirror in a $2,000 hand-tailored suit.  He stood there with all his bank and stock broker statements.  Nothing.  He stood there with his award from a service club for his help during their last fund raiser.  He paraded in front of the mirror holding a certificate of dismissal from a well-known and highly respected psychotherapist.  He went to church every week - sometimes twice! - and always saved the bulletin to show the mirror.  Zip.  Zero.  No response - nothing but that single big toe.

At last he gave most of his money away.  As he stood before the mirror, he thought he detected a small change in the image of his toe, which gave him some hope.  A closer examination revealed that it was only that his toenail had grown longer.

Finally there was nothing left of him to pursue.  He had no new ideas, nothing more to offer the mirror.  Still he could not stop looking at it and thinking about it.  In his helplessness he broke down in front of the mirror and cried.  He wept for his weakness and his emptiness.  He wept out of frustration, and he wept for reasons he couldn’t begin to explain.

Then in the next moment, he let go.  He let go of his need to be in control of everything.  He let go of his need to figure out how the mirror worked.  His heart opened not to how he desired to know the Mystery of the mirror but to how the Mystery of the mirror desired to be known.  His eyes were so full of tears that he did not notice, dimly at first, and then with greater and greater definition, his other toes, foot, feet, legs, arms, torso, shoulders, neck, and head filling up the mirror. (1)

***

“Knowledge puffs up, but loves builds up. Anyone who claims to know something does not yet have the necessary knowledge; but anyone who loves God is known by [God.]”

Paul writes his letter to the Corinthians as a set of teachings and guides to the congregation he founded. Paul built up the church at Corinth, but then travelled on to plant a new congregation of followers of Jesus in Ephesus. However, Paul heard a lot about what was happening at Corinth, and he writes his letter to them to correct, encourage, and challenge them to become the Body of Christ in that community.

             In this particular passage, Paul is writing about the issue of whether or not Christians should eat meat sacrificed to idols of the local pagan religions. Some Christians, new converts to the faith from these same pagan traditions, believed that since the gods these meats were sacrificed to were not really gods at all, then what did it matter if you ate the meat? It was just good food. Paul agrees with this concept – in theory. But, he says, some new Christians struggle with this idea, and feel they are doing something wrong when they eat this food that was part of another religious ritual. Paul says that it is right for them to abstain from the meat if they feel eating it compromises their faith. And to those who know better, Paul says they are really acting not like mature Christians, but like know-it-alls, who simply end up hurting those who are weaker in faith by their superior attitudes. Paul concludes: “I will never eat meat, so that I may not cause one of them to fall.” No sense of being “right” is worth it to Paul, if it makes it harder for others to follow Jesus in the process. Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up. Throughout his letter, Paul is concerned with the Body of Christ learning how to do, and only do the things that build up the whole community of faith.

            We have been looking at our goals for our life together. Two weeks ago, we talked about moving from a focus on membership to a focus on discipleship, seeking to serve and follow Jesus. Last Sunday, we talked about getting to know the community we serve better, and understanding their needs and how we, First United, can uniquely meet them. My question to challenge us this week is this: What is holding us back from doing and being what we want to be? What gets in our way of being what we want to be? Remember a few weeks ago I suggested to you that if everyone agrees things should be different, should change, but things stay the same, then we have to seriously consider why that is. Why are things staying the same, and how are we benefitting from things remaining just how they are?

            I suspect, like with most things in life, we can be our own worst enemies. When we are not becoming the church we want to be, we can look to the economy, and we can look to changes in society, and we can look at demographics, and so on, but probably, we need to look mostly at ourselves. What are we doing to hold ourselves back? Anne Coughenour said recently something like, and sorry Anne, if I am paraphrasing: We need to be a team. We need to be united in our purpose as a church, and be one team that works together. I think Anne is right. We are not a huge congregation, but we aren’t a tiny congregation either. And among a group of this size, you are likely to have as many opinions and interests as you have people. Just take, for example, the songs we sing on any given Sunday. The very songs that one person loves to sing are the last favorite of another. Which is natural, and good, truly. How boring it would be, otherwise. But if we cannot agree on our basic purposes, and if we can’t agree that we will and are all trying as best we can to carry out our basic purposes, we are sunk before we even start. 

            Our task, before we can serve in the way we have talked about serving, is to build each other up in love in the Body of Christ. Paul wants us to do some serious self-examination as a community. Are we building each other up? Or are we puffed up on how right we are and how much we know what everyone else should do? Of course, I don’t think, and I think Paul did not think, that we start out intending to become puffed up by our own smartness. But sometimes we have to stop and take stock. Are we building up or puffed up? And if we can’t tell, if we aren’t sure, we need to measure ourselves by the impact we seem to have on others: If you set out intending to build someone up, but the other person seems to feel torn down by your actions or words or attitude, perhaps we have not been acting with love. Love builds up. Paul says that when we tear others down, even when we are in the right, when we know the best answer, when we are the stronger believer – and perhaps especially in these cases – when we tear down, we are sinning against members of our family, and against God. Paul says he would rather never act in ways he believes are perfectly ok to act if it meant causing another to stumble in faith. That is how committed he was to building up the community in love. How committed are we?

            I feel like God is calling this congregation to serve, and I feel some movement, some momentum, with people who are trying new things, serving in new ways, asking new questions, hearing anew God's voice, listening and responding in some creative ways. But we cannot respond to God only as individuals and still be the Body of Christ. When we try, we are just a big toe alone in the mirror. We must build each other up, and build each other up in love.

            Building each other up in love means practicing the kind of humility that lays our hearts and souls bare before the Mystery of God. It requires practice and patience, and being honest with one another and honest about ourselves with God. It will require communication – really talking to each other. In the months ahead I have some plans to help us do some of that hard work, including working with a colleague of mine who helps congregations figure out what makes them tick, so to speak. But it will take a commitment from all of us – a commitment to fully engage in the hard work, a commitment to God and one another, and a commitment that we want to be guided by love in all that we do.

 “Knowledge puffs up, but loves builds up. Anyone who claims to know something does not yet have the necessary knowledge; but anyone who loves God is known by [God.]” Friends, let us build each other up in love.

Amen.

(1) from The Carpenter and the Unbuilder: Stories for the Spiritual Quest by David Griebner

Sermon: Life Together: All Things, All People, using Epiphany 4B text

Sermon 2/12/12

2 Corinthians 4:3-6

Life Together: All Things, All People

            One of the best movies I’ve seen, one that is on many people’s lists of best movies, is the film Schindler’s List, the Steven Spielberg film about a man named Oskar Schindler, who worked to rescue Jews from being sent to concentration camps during the Holocaust by employing over a thousand workers in his factory. His motives begin with profit for himself, but eventually his mission becomes one of compassion and urgency. In the end, in one of my favorite scenes from the movie, Schindler expresses his deep despair that he could have done more but did not. He says:

“I could have got more out. I could have got more. I don't know. If I'd just... I could have got more.” Stern, the man to whom he’s speaking, replies: “Oskar, there are eleven hundred people who are alive because of you. Look at them.” But Schindler goes on: “If I'd made more money... I threw away so much money. You have no idea. If I'd just...I didn't do enough! This car. [He] would have bought this car. Why did I keep the car? Ten people right there. Ten people. Ten more people. This pin. Two people. This is gold. Two more people. He would have given me two for it, at least one. One more person. A person, Stern. For this. I could have gotten one more person... and I didn't! And I... I didn't!”

As church leaders, as people of faith, trying to make faithful decisions, I think perhaps we can relate to Schindler’s words. No matter what we try to do, it seems it is never enough, and that we always carry the burden of knowing that we should be doing more. This burden is a tremendous weight to bear, a sometimes immobilizing weight. We know we should be doing more that we aren’t doing, and so somehow we end up doing nothing at all. And then we come across passages of scripture like this reading from Paul, and my first response is to feel even more of a burden placed on my shoulders. “An obligation is laid on me,” Paul says, “and woe to me if I do not proclaim the gospel! . . . I have become all things to all people, so that I might by all means save some.” All things to all people! How can we live up to such a standard? All things to all people? I can’t do it. Trying to be all things to all people seems like the surest way to burn out physically and spiritually that I can think of. Paul may have had the dedication and the drive, but just thinking about trying to be all things to all people makes me feel overwhelmed.

And yet, the sentence is there. Woe to us if we don’t preach the gospel. All things to all people. So what do we do with it? It is finally in reading some of the words in the middle of the passage that I start to get the picture. Paul writes, “To the Jews I became as a Jew, in order to win Jews. To those under the law I became as one under the law (though I myself am not under the law) so that I might win those under the law. To those outside the law I became as one outside the law (though I am not free from God’s love but am under Christ’s law) so that I might win those outside the law. To the weak I became weak, so that I might win the weak. It is then that Paul concludes with his “all things to all people claim.”

I think that when we hear the phrase “all things to all people” we get the idea that we’re meant to be everything to a person: teacher, pastor, servant, leader, parent, friend, confessor, and even savior. If we try to be all these things to people, we are no doubt going to fail. In fact, when we try to do things this way, we end up feeling so inadequate that we end up doing nothing at all. But when Paul talks about being all things to all people, he talks about doing this by becoming one with the people he is trying to reach. Instead of trying to take on a million different roles, Paul’s strategy is to meet people where they are at, to experience life through another’s eyes, and so to share the gospel in the most authentic way possible, by embodying it in community with others. How better to show others the depth of your concern for their souls than by being with them, living with them, working alongside of them? Paul’s plan doesn’t call for us to meet all of people’s needs, but for us to meet the most basic of needs – the need to be loved as whole people, unique and important people. And so to the Jew, Paul is a Jew. To the Gentile, he is a Gentile, and to the weak, he is weak. Paul’s plan of action, though, isn’t an original idea. He’s simply modeling his ministry after that of Jesus Christ. God, to reach us with love, took the most direct approach. God became one of us. To reach us, God became us, lives with us, dwells within us.

We are in the midst of talking about our goals as a congregation, and last week we talked about shifting from a membership model of ministry to a discipleship model, a model that moves ourselves out of the center and brings those we seek to serve into focus. Today that is where we focus our attention: What are the needs of our community and how can we meet them? It is so tempting to just exist as a church and hope that we strike at something that interests others, so that they come here and fit in. It’s the “If we build it they will come” model. But that keeps us firmly at the center, and it doesn’t seem to be what Paul has in mind. He says that he has made himself a slave to all, so that he might win more people to Christ's gospel. If Paul is a slave to all, serving others, it means he puts the other in the role of the master, the other as the center of attention. Paul's message doesn’t change – he wants to share the good news about Jesus, or he wouldn’t be bothering with this all things to all people stuff. But how he connects with people – Paul connects deeply with those he serves in ways that are important to them in order to reach them. He builds deep relationships.

            Our challenge, then, has two parts: What do the people in our community need (here in East Syracuse and in the wider community we connect with) and how can we meet these needs? There are many ways we can answer the first question. I can pull up some demographic data, and share figures and statistics about who we serve, but that doesn’t really help us know people. We can’t know about the needs of the community without knowing the people, building relationships, making connections. In the coming months, I have some ideas about how we can stretch ourselves to get to know our community better, and our Evangelism Committee will engage in some of that work as well. But in the meantime, let me just share with you this information (from slide) about how people end up becoming part of a community of faith. More than double any other reason, people connect with a congregation because of a relationship they have with someone who belongs to that congregation already.

The second part of the challenge is: once we feel like we know what our community needs, how can we meet them? I have heard some church leaders say that a critical question congregations have to ask themselves is: Who would notice, besides church members, if your church closed today? In other words, what measurable impact is your church having on the community? What void would we leave in the community if we weren’t here? If we have a hard time answering that question, it means we need to start doing some serious soul-searching as a congregation. How we answer that question now can help direct us into using the gifts and resources God has given us to reach people in need. For example, if we realize that one way we would be most missed if we weren’t here is because of the physical space we provide to groups in the community, like Meals on Wheels, or Scouts, or the Red Cross, maybe we learn that our physical space is a huge asset in the community and we can challenge ourselves to offer our space in new and different ways too, to meet needs in the community. What do you think? What would people most miss if we weren’t here? And what do you wish they would miss? If you wish the answers were different, then how can we become the place we dream of being? We are the First United Church of East Syracuse. And there is only one of us, uniquely called for this place and this time to serve this community. A blessing, and a challenge.

How do we do it? Like Jesus, we are called to give of ourselves for others. We become one with those we serve, one in the Spirit, one in God. Paul said, “I have become all things to all people, that I might by all means save some. I do it all for the sake of the gospel, so that I may share in its blessings.” Let us go and do likewise. Amen.

            

Sermon: Life Together: Membership or Discipleship? (using Transfiguration Year B text)

Sermon 2/5/12

2 Corinthians 4:3-6

Life Together: Membership or Discipleship?

            Every year, we spend some time reflecting on where we have been together over the previous twelve months, and then we turn our eyes to the path ahead of us, the choices laid out before us, and we wonder where God will lead us and how we will follow. Two weeks ago, as part of our worship and our annual meeting, we talked about what we have done and experienced in this past year, and we answered some challenging questions about where we go from here. I told you that we would spend the next few weeks thinking about our goals for the year ahead. For the past few years, we have had a set of goals that haven’t changed all that much in nature: we have been focusing on growing our youth program, stewardship education, enriching worship experiences, increasing our commitment to mission, especially hands-on mission, and being welcoming and hospitable as a faith community. And as I mentioned last week, I think we have a lot to celebrate in all these areas. We are blessed by our young people. There are an abundance of mission opportunities so that surely everyone can find a way to serve that is meaningful to them. We know our financial struggles, certainly, but we also know exceptional generosity in this congregation. I have found you to be willing to try new things in worship and try new experiences, especially during Advent and Lent as a way to deepen our connection with God. We have newer faces that are already invaluable parts of our church family. We have much to celebrate.

            But I also know we feel challenged, and frustrated, and we know that we struggle. We find ourselves up against some walls, facing barriers to being the kind of church we would like to be.  So, I think if we are meeting the goals that we set for ourselves, but we are still not being the congregation we want to be, it means we need to start thinking differently about our goals. We have outgrown them maybe, or perhaps need to look at even more foundational pieces of who we are. This year, my goals for us are not so concrete. They are goals that come with questions before we can give any answers. But I believe that we are on the cusp, at the tipping point, where we will either move beyond where we are to where God is calling us to be, or not. I hope that these goals will help stretch our minds and spirits in ways that push us in God's direction.

            This year, I want us to wrestle with three challenges. First: How can we move ourselves out of the center of the picture? Jesus was about turning things upside down, and he said that the last would be first, and the first is last. We are called to serve, not to be served. How do we focus not on being members but on being disciples? How do we push ourselves to put our needs second, and the needs of others first? Second: How well do we know the needs of the people of East Syracuse and the surrounding areas? How can we meet the actual needs of our community, instead of doing what best serves us? How can we become better listeners in the community? Third: What is holding us back from being the community of faith we want to be? How are our relationships with one another doing? How can we be united in our purpose, a team, working together to serve?

            Today, we look at our first goal – we want to be disciples of Jesus, not club members. How can we move ourselves from the center of the picture, and put those we serve in the center instead? Sometimes, I think the fact that you can become a member of the church confuses us about what the church is all about. We can be members of the church because we are members of the Body of Christ – literally the limbs – the hands and feet of Jesus – in the world. But somehow, over centuries, our idea of membership in the body of Christ has meant that we are less like the serving hands and feet of Jesus and more like the gatekeepers of the church. We are out of sync with the work of Jesus! Jesus called us, in the Great Commission, to make disciples, not members. We exist not for ourselves, but for others, and the needs we seek to meet are not our own, but the needs of those who have yet to hear the good news of God's boundless love.

            Pastor Michael W. Foss is author of a book that my Bishop when I served in New Jersey had all pastors read, and Fossʹ vision of discipleship rather than membership has stuck with me. He says, “Let’s think of the membership model of the church as similar to the membership model of a modern health club. One becomes a member of a health club by paying dues (in a church, the monthly or weekly offering.) Having paid their dues, the members expect the services of the club to be at their disposal. Exercise equipment, weight room, aerobic classes, an indoor track, swimming pool – there for them, with a trained staff to see that they benefit by them . . . Many people . . . have come to think of church membership in [similar] ways.” (Power Surge, 15) Foss continues, “In that model, ministry focuses on the membership of a particular congregation . . . If the membersʹ perceived need are adequately met, if they are happy with the services provided . . .and if conflict is avoided or minimized, then the membership can be counted on to do their part.” (16) “Membership is about getting; discipleship is about giving. Membership is about dues; discipleship is about stewardship. Membership is about belonging to a select group with its privileges and prerogatives; discipleship is about changing and shaping lives by the grace of God.” (21)

            In an amazingly short amount of time, in just two and a half weeks, Lent will begin, and we will follow Jesus again on the road to the cross. And I am struck that Jesus welcomed and embraced people not by inviting others in, but by pouring himself out. I think that’s what he meant by denying ourselves and taking up the cross if we want to follow. Not waiting for others to come to the safe place we have already found, but stepping out into the risky world where others are already, needing us, needing God. Disciples don’t stay in one place. They are on the move, following Jesus, and moving out of the way so that others, too long pushed to the margins of society, can finally be at the center of the love God offers. The church is this incredible body that exists not for itself, but for those who are not here first. Discipleship, not membership.

            Today and the next couple weeks we will look at scripture from Paul's letters to the Corinthians. The people of the church of Corinth struggled, as a developing faith community, to live out the gospel, and to find ways to be faithful to the message they had and the God they served. Today, we hear Paul reminding the Corinthians of their purpose: “For we do not proclaim ourselves; we proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord and ourselves as your slaves for Jesus' sake.” If what we do together is about us, and meeting our own needs, and making sure we are happy, then we have forgotten who we are proclaiming here, and we are without purpose. But when we get out of the way, when we serve, when we proclaim Jesus, we are disciples. And what's more, I think we will find a faith that is so much richer than we knew before. Are we members, or disciples? Are we at the center? Or on the edges, on the fringes, following the path of Jesus? Amen.