Sermon, "From Charity to Justice: What Is Justice?" Isaiah 58:1-12

Sermon 6/11/17

Isaiah 58:1-12

From Charity to Justice: What Is Justice?

           

            Last week, we gathered in the evening to hear from some of our church family who had been involved in mission and outreach trips over the past several months. Don and Glenda shared about their trip to Cambodia on a medical mission. We looked at pictures from the group that traveled for an overnight to Syracuse to serve lunches to people on the street, and we heard from Marthalyn Sweet, who went on a trip with some other young adults in our Conference to visit the General Board of Church and Society and learn about poverty issues.

The General Board of Church and Society holds a special place in my heart. It is one of our denominations General Agencies, and this one focuses on public policy advocacy and education. It is located in Washington, DC, right on Capitol Hill. When I was starting seminary, I was elected to serve on the board of directors for Church and Society. I didn’t really know much about what the agency did before I was elected, to be honest, and I quickly learned a lot as part of my role on the board. The work of Church and Society is to educate, advocate, and help implement our Social Principles, our denomination’s statement of beliefs about a number of social issues. I’ll be talking a little bit more about that next week. But at the core of this work of Church and Society is a general aim: to help people of faith connect mercy with justice. During my time with Church and Society, I grew passionate about working for a more just world.

I struggled, though, once I became a pastor, with how to help my congregations be part of working for justice. I found that many congregations’ outreach work was mostly focused on mercy ministries, charitable giving projects like gathering supplies to send to people in need, collecting food for the local pantry, raising funds to respond to a natural disaster. Being merciful is certainly a biblical call and a desirable, compassionate quality. But I wanted us to think about questions of justice too: why are people hungry and poor, and what can we do to change the system, addresses the causes of poverty, instead of just addressing the results? Eventually, this very question turned into the driving question of my doctoral work and the follow up research I completed: How can a congregation shift its focus from doing charity to working for justice? This is the question we’ll be thinking about together in worship for the next few weeks.

I believe that the work of justice is actually part of our very mission as followers of Jesus Christ. Our mission is our purpose, our reason for existing. As United Methodists, our purpose is actually laid out in the Book of Discipline, which is our rule book, our organizational guide. In the Discipline, we find this statement of purpose: “The mission of The United Methodist Church is to make disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world by proclaiming the good news of God’s grace and by exemplifying Jesus’ command to love God and neighbor, thus seeking the fulfillment of God’s reign and realm in the world. The fulfillment of God’s reign and realm in the world is the vision Scripture holds before us.” The statement continues to say that our mission is carried out by “send[ing] persons into the world to live lovingly and justly as servants of Christ by healing the sick, feeding the hungry, caring for the stranger, freeing the oppressed, being and becoming a compassionate, caring presence, and working to develop social structures that are consistent with the gospel.” Phew! Our mission is to be and make disciples, to change the world, to share the good news, and to love God and neighbor believing that when we do so, we’ll experience the reign of God, God’s kin-dom, right here, right now, on earth as in heaven! That probably sounds like a big mission – and it is! But I hope it also sounds like a mission that is worth our heart and soul.

So how does the work of justice fit in to this mission we have? Our scripture focus today from Isaiah is from the third part of the book, which biblical scholars think was written after the Israelites returned home from exile. The Israelites had been through a long, tumultuous period of war and upheaval that resulted in many being forced to live in exile in Babylon, but finally, they’re allowed to come home. The last chapters of Isaiah reflect this period of homecoming. Despite the blessings of coming home, God is still calling the people to accountability.

            Our passage opens with God commanding Isaiah to announce the sin of the house of Jacob, the Israelites. God says that the Israelites have been behaving as if they practiced righteousness and followed God’s ordinances, God’s commands. They’ve been calling on God, saying, “God, we are fasting and humbling ourselves – don’t you see how good and holy we’re being?” But, God says, “you serve your own interest … and oppress all your workers.” You quarrel and fight. Fasting and acting holy, putting on sackcloth and ashes and acting devout on the Sabbath is not going to make me hear your voice.

            Instead, says God, “Is this not that fast I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice … to let the oppressed go free…? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?” When we devote ourselves to God in that way, fasting from injustice and oppression, then says God, then our light will shine, we experience healing, God will be with us, God will hear us when we cry for help and answer “Here I am.” When we “remove the yoke” of oppression we place on others and start serving the hungry and afflicted, then our light will conquer the darkness. Then Israel, broken and brought low for so long, will be rebuilt. We will be “repairers of the breach” and “restorers of streets.” I love those images – they seem so timely to me. In a world that is so broken, imagine if we lived out our call to be repairers of the breach, repairers of the brokenness of the world!

            But what exactly does Isaiah mean when he talks about justice and righteousness? Pastor and Old Testament scholar Tim Keller writes, “The Hebrew word for “justice,” mishpat, [in] its most basic meaning is to treat people equitably … Mishpat … is giving people what they are due, whether punishment or protection or care.” Throughout the scriptures, we find certain groups of people being lifted up again and again as needing particular care, and being a particular focus of God’s loving attention: widows, orphans, immigrants, and the poor.” These groups have sometimes been called together “the quartet of the vulnerable,” which we’ve talked about before. These groups of people – widows, orphans, immigrants, and poor people, would have had very little power in ancient times, and have been incredibly susceptible to mistreatment by others. These people would have been one catastrophe, one famine, one war, one crisis away from death most of the time. And again and again, the law, the writings of the prophets, and the words of God in the scriptures call for justice, for mishpat, for these groups of people. These are the “oppressed” of whom God speaks in our reading from Isaiah – the hungry, the homeless, the naked, the poor. Are these still the most vulnerable groups in our society today? I suspect that with some adjustments, we’d find that this quartet still represents some of the most at-risk people in our communities. “The mishpat, or justness, of a society, according to the Bible,” Keller writes, “is evaluated by how it treats [the quartet of the vulnerable.]” If that’s the case, how are we doing as a society? How just are we as a people? A nation? A community? A congregation?

A second word in the Bible is often translated as righteousness, which might have even less personal meaning for us than the word justice. After all, we’re most likely to use the phrase “self-righteous,” by which we mean that someone is pretty boastful about themselves, patting themselves on the back. We don’t mean it as a compliment. So what does it mean to be righteous? The Hebrew word is tzadeqah, meaning justice or righteousness. Mishpat, which we’ve talked about already, is sometimes called “rectifying justice.” That means it is justice that works to right wrongs. But tzadeqah, righteousness, is actually primary justice. Righteousness is when we are in right relationship with God and one another. In fact, if we were all righteous, if we all were living in right relationship with God and one another, we wouldn’t need rectifying justice, because everything would be right already. Primary justice, righteousness, tzadeqah, when we are in right relationship with God and one another is God’s hope and vision for the world. And, it is part of what we talk about as the very purpose of The United Methodist Church. Remember, we said that the mission of the church was to making disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world as our way of “seeking the fulfillment of God’s reign and realm in the world,” loving God and neighbor. That’s a vision of righteousness, of primary justice realized in the world. The work of justice and carrying out our very purpose as disciples of Jesus are inseparable. To fulfill our purpose, we must be seek justice and righteousness.

So how do we do it? How will we seek after justice and righteousness? How will we be repairers of the breach and restorers of the street? I hope that we, as a congregation, and in our own lives, can think very concretely about those questions. They aren’t rhetorical; they are calls to action! What will we do? I believe that our work begins by imagining how we might restore right relationships with God and neighbor. Here’s the thing though: to be in a right relationship with someone you have to have a relationship with them to begin with. Too often, I think that I make it too easy for myself to feel “right” in my relationships by overlooking some people altogether. I spend so much of my time with people who are already part of this community of faith, or people who are in my family, or are also pastors, people who are in my same socio-economic class, people who already share my values. How hard is it to be in right relationship with people just like me? One of our tasks it to challenge ourselves to build relationships – real relationships, where we really know, care about, and share in the lives of all of our neighbors.

So, we work on building our relationships. And we also look out for those places where we need to rectify harm, repair the breach, restore the streets. I’m sure most of us could point out places where our community is hurting. But what will we do about it? What will we do that moves beyond acts of mercy to the work of justice? Since moving to Gouverneur, I’ve talked to so many families who are struggling with the impact of drug and alcohol addiction on their lives. This week, a few of us will meet for an initial conversation about what we can do, how we can be a small part of repairing the breach. If that’s a ministry in which you’re interested, please let me know. But there may be something else that God has put in your heart, something else crying out for justice. I want to hear about that too. I think we together, we can learn to do the holy, worshipful work of justice. Of all the ways we could honor God, God asks us for justice and righteousness. Friends, as we take up this work, may our light break forth like the dawn, as God goes before us and behind us, reminding us: Here I Am. Amen.      

Sermon for Pentecost Sunday, Year A, "Feet on the Ground," Acts 2:1-12

Sermon 6/4/17

Acts 2:1-21

Pentecost Sunday: Feet on the Ground

           

Just about 50 days ago, we celebrated the resurrection together, as we gathered on Easter Sunday, and shared together the gospel story. We heard about the women coming to the tomb and finding it empty, and we heard the repeated words from throughout the next, from messengers, from Jesus: Do not be afraid. Last week we left the apostles looking up at the sky, as we celebrated Ascension Sunday, and talked about hearing God’s messengers tell and disciples-becoming-apostles to tear their gazes from heaven, leaving them instead to get to work on earth. They’d been promised the gift of the Holy Spirit – a gift that literally means Holy Breath, a gift that Jesus describes as Comforter and Advocate, literally one called to your side. The Holy Spirit isn’t something new, isn’t something that just shows up in the New Testament, on Pentecost. But certainly, Jesus speaks of the Holy Spirit in a different way than we hear elsewhere in the scriptures, and he encourages the twelve to trust that they will have strength and help from God, God’s Spirit dwelling within them, working within and through them in a way that seems new.

So the disciples-becoming-apostles, students-becoming-“sent ones” are waiting for this Holy Spirit to fill them up in some way that’s going to be more tangible than anything they’ve heard about before, and that’s going to help them do the work of Jesus in the world. What do they do while they’re waiting? According to the passage of scripture between last week’s text and today’s, the apostles return to Jerusalem and devote themselves to constant prayer, along with some women, and Jesus’ mother and brothers. Between the apostles, women, Jesus’s family, and others who have been following Jesus all along, they’ve got about 120 people gathered, praying and waiting for the Spirit. I forget that there were so many. From this group, the disciples also use this time to name a twelfth disciple, to replace Judas Iscariot. It would be easy for them to sit and do nothing until the Holy Spirit showed up as promised. But, perhaps inspired to action by the messengers at the Ascension, they wait actively instead of passively, praying and preparing to carrying out God’s plans. 

If our message from Easter was Do Not Fear, and our message from Ascension Sunday was to tear our eyes from the sky, our message for Pentecost is to get moving, get our feet on the ground, get ready to take action. We can take on the work of Jesus and carry it out into the world. Pentecost is a festival that is part of Judaism. The disciples in our text today are gathered together to celebrate Pentecost as they wait for the gift of the Spirit. Pentecost as also known as Shavuot or The Feast of Weeks. The festival celebrates the “first fruits” of the harvest and the giving of the Torah, the books we know as the first five books of our Bible. The disciples were gathered together during this traditional celebration, as are many other faithful Jews who have come to observe the holy days. While they are gathered, suddenly, a sound like the rush of a violent wind comes and fills the gathering place and the apostles are filled with the promised Holy Spirit. And they begin to speak the gospel message to all who are gathered in such a way that everyone in the city could understand them. Many people from many places were gathered in Jerusalem for the Feast of Weeks, and it seemed that everyone could understand the apostles. Some were amazed at this, but others were a bit cynical. But Peter stands and raises his voice to the crowds saying: we are speaking as the prophets spoke. Visions and power from, God will come to all people – young and old, men and women, slaves and free. He quotes the prophet Joel, saying, “I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young shall see visions, and your old shall dream dreams. Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit; and they shall prophesy.” After Peter is done preaching, Acts tells us that thousands respond to the message he shares about Jesus. And from this point on, now equipped with the Spirit Jesus promised, the apostles are out, everywhere they can get to, telling people about Jesus and carrying out his work.

            How can we think about the Holy Spirit in meaningful ways? When I was in junior high, I accidentally pinned my leg under our minivan. Some of you might have heard me tell this long story before, and doesn’t make me look very brilliant, but suffice it to say, I was laying on the ground outside a small market in Rome in the parking lot, with my leg pinned underneath our Dodge Caravan. My mother was in the store, and when my friend, who was with me, conveyed to her what happened, and my mother came out and saw me under the van, she didn’t look for help. What she did was push the van off me. Now, maybe she could have done this on a normal day, but I suspect that the level of adrenaline coursing through her body in an emergency situation made it suddenly easy for her to get me, her child, out of such a dangerous situation.

            I think the Holy Spirit is a little like that – like adrenaline that enables you to do something you couldn’t imagine doing under normal circumstances. Only, we have this Holy Spirit with us always. Did you ever sing the Sunday School song, Give Me Oil for My Lamp? Give Me Oil for My Lamp, keep it burning, burning, burning, Give me oil for my lamp, I pray! Hallelujah! Give me oil for my lamp, keep it burning, burning, burning, keep it burning til the break of day! The song continues in more verses, and some of my favorites were: Give me wax for my board, keep me surfing for the Lord, and Give me gas for my Ford, keep me truckin’ for the Lord. All the verses suggest that there is something we need, something God can give us, that can inspire us, move us, help us to act with faith and boldness. That’s what the Holy Spirit can do with us – give us boldness to speak and act in the name of Jesus.

            Friends, sometimes we need to be actively waiting for God’s direction, praying and preparing as we trust in God’s promises. And sometimes, we’ve got to realize that the promise is fulfilled, the Spirit is ours, a fire has been lit, and we need to be burning, shining forth with the light of Christ in the world. I spent the last several days at Annual Conference, our annual business meeting of the Upper New York Conference. Our study leader during the conference was Rev. Dr. Kenda Creasy Dean, a professor at Princeton Theological School of Youth, Church, and Culture. She was fantastic. I kind of wish I could just play a video of her whole study for you as my sermon today – she was so inspiring. Dr. Dean shared with us the story of Maggie, a woman whose life was upheaved by ethnic genocide in Burundi, but who has lived a life of love and light nonetheless, transforming her community, providing love and support for thousands of orphaned children. Maggie said, “Every day I improvise new life because love makes us inventors.” Dr. Dean asked us: Who has God given us to love as our own? And how is God calling us to be inventors? How can our church surprise young people with hope this year? There’s something about that description – that we are called to be inventors, carrying hope, new life, and new direction because of the love we have for one another that says “Holy Spirit” to me. 

            The gift of the Holy Spirit is a gift for us, a promise kept not just to those first apostles, but for us too. It’s a gift we claim at our baptism, that we renew as we receive new members even today, that we call to fill our hearts every time we celebrate Holy Communion together. It’s the gift that turned a group of disciples into a church, a community, the body of Christ in the world. And it’s the gift that can turn us into dreamers, visionaries, inventors for the sake of hope and love. Come, Holy Spirit, come. Amen.  

 

    

Sermon for Ascension Sunday, "Head in the Clouds," Acts 1:1-11

Sermon 5/28/17

Acts 1:1-11

Finding Easter: Looking Up

            If you read the May newsletter, you might know that today we’re going to talk a bit more about what the difference is between a disciple and an apostle, and that we’re also going to be celebrating this weird thing called Ascension Sunday. Ascension Sunday isn’t exactly one of our highest holy days. It probably isn’t anyone’s favorite day in the liturgical calendar. There aren’t a lot of well-known Ascension hymns. We don’t have special Ascension decorations, and no one exchanges Ascension-day presents. Many years, if I have been in the middle of a sermon series on Ascension Sunday, I’ve not even bothered to focus on the Ascension during worship. It’s easy to skip right past.

            But it’s an important part of our liturgical season. Right now, we’re still in the midst of the feast of Easter, the great fifty days of Easter. Although many of us could talk a lot about the last days of Jesus’ life - the Last Supper, the foot washing, the trial and crucifixion, and I hope most of us could describe the events of Easter day - Jesus’ resurrection, I don’t think we spend a lot of time thinking about the sort of ambiguous time after Easter. Maybe we know about Pentecost - which we’ll celebrate next Sunday - when God sends the gift of the Holy Spirit on the disciples, that violent rushing wind that rests on them like tongues of fire and sets them speaking in many languages. But I don’t think we give much thought to the time Jesus spends with the disciples after the resurrection, and perhaps even less to how that particular time draws to a close. The Ascension is the celebration of the day Jesus leaves earth, after the resurrection, returning to God’s realm, leaving the disciples behind to wait for the coming of the Holy Spirit. This happens forty days after the resurrection, and in worship we celebrate it on the closest Sunday to that count.

I think another part of our holding the Ascension of Jesus at arm’s length in our hearts and minds come from the fact that the scriptures depict Jesus literally rising up into the air, into the clouds, to return to God. This makes sense for a first century audience, for whom the realm of God would have been literally up. The heavens were where God dwelt, in the sky, above the earth, hovering over all creation. But most of us don’t tend to think of heaven as a physical place that you could get to if you got in, say, a space shuttle. We know about the planet and the universe and the stars, at least enough to know that God isn’t just floating around on the other side of the clouds. So this image of Jesus ascending isn’t particularly compelling, I think. Or at least, it might be more confusing than compelling. Here it is, though, ready for us to study, interpret, and decide how it impacts us - or not. 

We find the story of Jesus’ ascension both at the end of the gospel of Luke and at the beginning of the book of Acts. Luke is the other of both of those works, and Acts is a sequel of sorts to Luke – the story of what happens to the disciples after Jesus is no longer physically with them. And even though the very same author tells us more or less the very same story in both Luke and Acts, the impact of the Ascension at the end of Jesus’s years of preaching and teaching the disciples is different than the Ascension as told at the beginning of the years of the apostles being sent out in the power of the Holy Spirit to build the church of Jesus. Disciples, apostles. As I said in my newsletter article, disciple literally means “student.” We are students of Jesus Christ. We try to learn from him, follow in his ways, be as much like him as we can. We are definitely meant to be disciples! And we always have more we can learn, as we seek to mold ourselves more and more into Christ-like ways of being in the world. And yet, we are also called to be apostles, which means literally, “ones who are sent.” We are sent-ones. We don’t become disciples just for our own benefit, but so that we are equipped to serve those who are lost, on the fringes, desperate, and unaware or unconvinced of God’s abiding love for them. How will the good news be shared if we, disciples, never are “sent out”? If the gospels, then, are about our journey as disciples, students of Jesus, the book of Acts is about our call to be sent-ones, people sent out in the name and with the mission of Jesus.

Acts opens with the author addressing someone named Theophilus, saying, “In the first book, [which we know is the Gospel of Luke] Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus did and taught from the beginning until the day when he was taken up to heaven.” We don’t know anything about Theophilus. The name means literally Lover of God, and so Theophilus might be a person who was interested in becoming a follower of Jesus, or really just a broad name addressing all who claim to love God. The author recounts that forty days pass after the resurrection, during which time Jesus continued to appear to disciples, teaching about the kingdom of God, and directing them to stay in Jerusalem until they received God’s promise of the Holy Spirit. On the fortieth day, they’ve gathered together with Jesus, and they ask him: “Is this the time when you will restore the kingdom of Israel?” Essentially, they are asking if Jesus is going to rid Israel of Roman occupation, return it to its glory, and rule over it as king. They have been asking him this throughout his entire ministry, and throughout his entire ministry, Jesus has been teaching them that that is exactly that kind of ruler and lord Jesus is not. The kingdom of God is not this rule of power and might that will come in and conquer the occupying Romans by violent force, and further, Jesus certainly isn’t interested in talking about dates and times that things will happen. And so I can only imagine that here, even now after the resurrection, even after another forty days of teaching about the kingdom, how very exasperated Jesus must be to have to tell them yet again that that is not what’s all about, or what he’s ever been all about. Still, Jesus moves on quickly, and reminds them one last time that the power they will be getting is the power of the Holy Spirit. What the disciples will be, Jesus says, are his witnesses to the ends of the earth.

While Jesus is saying this, we read, the disciples realize that he’s being lifted up, and taken out of their sight. They stand, a bit frozen, staring into the sky, gazing up towards heaven. But while they’re still looking up, two men in white robes suddenly appear, standing with them. They say to the disciples, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up towards heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.” And that’s where this scene and our text for the day conclude.

There are some parallels here between this account of the Ascension and Luke’s account of the Resurrection. On Easter Sunday, Luke records that the women came to the tomb and found it empty. But as they were wondering over the empty tomb, two men in white appeared, even as the women were gazing at the emptiness, to ask: “Why are you looking for the living among the dead? He is not here; he is risen.” At Easter, the messengers of God help to direct the attention of the Jesus-followers away from wherever they gotten stuck at, and instead to redirect it to getting moving, getting the message out, getting the news announced - Jesus is on the move, not stuck in a tomb of death! Jesus is on the move, and the women have to get going to help tell the story. I think the same thing is happening a bit here at the Ascension. The disciples are gazing up at heaven, because the only thing they can focus on is that Jesus has left them. Yes, he’s resurrected. Yes, he’s conquered death. But in that moment, when he’s leaving earth, not going to be with them physically any longer, I can only imagine that they are overwhelmed with anxiety and fear and loneliness. And so they gaze up at the sky, hoping perhaps to catch one last glimpse. The messengers of God appear to pull their gazes from where they are stuck, on the sky, and pull them back into their present reality. Why are they gazing up at heaven? Jesus’ work on earth - at least in that way - is done. Now the work of the disciples is about to begin, and it’s time for them to get moving, get to it.

A good group of us have recently been participating in a study called animate Faith. During our first session, we talked about two fancy church words – kataphatic, and apophatic – two ways of thinking about God. Kataphatic means that we can find meaningful ways of talking about God, like through the images of God we find throughout the scripture – God as rock, God as a mother hen, God as a shepherd, God as love. Apophatic means that we can’t grasp the fullness of God with our words – God is beyond our description. We talked about finding a balance between these ways of understanding. And as we talked about the apophatic tradition, we talked about whether or not we are people who are comfortable with not knowing things. I can tell you that I have always liked to know the answers. When I got to seminary, and was suddenly confronted with reading and learning a lot about faith and following Jesus that was totally new to me, for a while I was overwhelmed to the point of inaction with all that I didn’t know. It was, frankly, a pretty new feeling for me – not knowing – and I did not like it. Eventually, though, I found not that I could simply study enough to be able to know everything I wanted to about God and my task of discipleship, but rather that I could grow in my faith even in the midst of all that I didn’t know, that perhaps coming to terms with how much more God was than I could comprehend was a sign of my maturing faith, rather than of my ignorance. God is so much bigger than any box I can make to keep God in. And even still, we’re called to trust in what we do know, and follow God, even when we don’t know where God is leading, what will happen when we risk it all, and let ourselves be sent out to do the work of Jesus in the world.  

This is the truly amazing message of the Ascension: Even with the disciples asking - let’s face it - last minute stupid questions, Jesus has entrusted into their very imperfect hands his whole work, the purpose of his whole life, his whole vision for the realization of God’s reign on earth, everything that he hopes and dreams for us to be: Jesus has handed it over and left it completely in the hands of the disciples. Essentially, the Ascension represents Jesus saying that he doesn’t have any tasks left that are only his to complete. Everything else that needs doing - it is for those who are left to do it. And certainly, as the messengers note, this can’t be done by gazing up into the sky, but instead, by getting started. 

We are the ones who are here, who are left, who remain to carry out the work of Jesus. He’s made us his body, his hands and feet in the world. To us, to you, to me, Jesus has entrusted the carrying out of all of his hopes for the world. I wonder if we always get the weight and significance of that - how much faith Jesus puts in us, to believe that we can carry out the work of God in the world. Are we doing it? Are we embodying the good news of God’s love and grace in the world? Are we the hands and feet, the body of Christ in the world? We are disciples, students, always. But sometimes, the lesson we need to learn is that we can’t keep waiting until we know everything before we’re willing to go where God wants to send us. If we waited until we felt ready, we’d still be standing with the disciples, gazing up at the clouds, waiting for more information. We’re called to be apostles, too, sent out, witnesses of the work of Jesus to the ends of the earth. So why stand gazing up at heaven? After all, the body of Christ is right here, in this very room in fact, ready to be sent out. Amen.

Sermon, "Of Sheep and Shepherds," John 10:1-10

Sermon 5/14/17

John 10:1-10

Of Sheep and Shepherds

Theologian C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia are some of my very favorite books. You might be most familiar with The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, the first book in the series, but the whole series of seven stories is really wonderful. In the sixth book in the series, The Magician’s Nephew, you learn about the creation of the land of Narnia by Aslan, the lion, the Christ-figure in the books. As a result of a complicated series of events, Aslan sends a little boy named Diggory on a mission to retrieve a fruit from a special tree in a gated garden. The fruit will become a tree which will protect Narnia. But an evil witch is also in the new land of Narnia. When Diggory arrives at the garden, which is surrounded by a wall, he sees the witch climbing over the walls to steal and eat the fruit of the tree Aslan has sent him to find. Only, the gate to the garden isn’t locked – Diggory can walk right in. The witch could have too, but she chose to enter instead in the way of a thief. When Diggory enters the garden himself, he sees a sign at the entrance that reads, “Come in by the gold gates or not at all, Take of my fruit for others or forebear, for those who steal or those who climb my wall shall find their heart’s desire and find despair.”

Diggory can take fruit because he came in through the gate, and because the fruit is not for himself, but to bring back to Aslan. The witch doesn’t drop dead or become physically ill, or anything like that. In fact, the fruit she eats gives her unnaturally long life. But her greed and longing for power corrupts her life until she destroys it entirely. If her motives had been selfless instead of self-serving, if she had just gone in through the gate…

            Our gospel lesson today brings us another story about gates and who enters by the gate, and who chooses to climb over walls. Our text from John takes place after Jesus had healed the man born blind. We talked about this passage very briefly during Lent. Jesus healed a man who was blind from birth. But rather than being happy about this turn of events, the religious leaders call the man in for questioning, and want to find someone to blame, rather than someone to celebrate. The passage ends with Jesus saying that it is the religious leaders, not the man who was healed, who are truly blind.

            We move straight from those words from Jesus to this passage, John 10, where Jesus describes a sheepfold in some detail. At focus in this long metaphor is who is in charge of the sheep, who really has the best interest of the flock at heart. Jesus says, “Anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate, but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit.” In contrast, the shepherd is known to the sheep, known to the gatekeeper. The shepherd knows the sheep, calls them by name, and the sheep recognize the voice of the shepherd, and follow where the shepherd leads. Jesus says that the sheep won’t follow the voice of a stranger.

            We read that Jesus’s audience doesn’t get what he’s saying, and so he continues, describing himself as the gate for the sheep. Again, Jesus says, others who try to call to the sheep are thieves and bandits, but through Jesus, through his voice, there is salvation, pasture. Jesus lays out a clear contrast: The thief comes to steal and kill and destroy. “I came,” Jesus says, “that they might have life, and have it abundantly.” That’s my favorite verse in the Bible: “I came that they might have life, and have it abundantly.” The text continues on after the close of our passage, with Jesus mixing his metaphors a bit, describing himself as the Good Shepherd, one willing to lay down his life for the sheep in the flock, one who knows his sheep, and is known by the sheep, but the themes are similar. When he’s done speaking, we read that his audience was “divided” because of his words, and eventually, some try to stone Jesus before he makes an escape.

            One helpful book in my ministry has been a book by Tom Berling and Lovett Weems called Bearing Fruit: Ministry with Real Results. Your purpose, they argue, should answer the “so that” question. Anything you do in the life of the church or in your own individual life should have a corresponding so that purpose to it. Here’s what they mean: think of something you spend your time doing, and then think about why you do it. You might say, “I go running regularly so that I keep my heart healthy and strong.” Everything after the words so that is your purpose. Although other things might happen when you run, the so that is the fruit you are seeking after. And if your running isn’t helping to keep your heart healthy and strong, and that’s the main purpose of why you were running, you need to come up with another plan of action. Berlin and Weems want churches to be clear about their so that statements. They want us to know why we’re doing what we’re doing, and how what we’re doing helps to support our true purpose. In The United Methodist Church, for example, our official mission statement states that our purpose is “to make disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world.” So we might be doing a lot of great things as a congregation, but if those things aren’t helping us to grow as disciples, and they aren’t helping others to become disciples, we might start to ask questions about why we’re doing what we’re doing.

            Our gospel lesson today contains an implied so that statement. Jesus is pretty clear throughout the scriptures about what his purpose is, and we have a great example here: I came so that people might have life, and have it abundantly. Jesus’s desire for us is to be full up of life, overflowing with life, experience wholeness, salvation, abundance. Jesus wants for us to experience deep joy, deep love, abundant life. Are we? I wonder, if a primary purpose and mission of Jesus is for us to experience abundant life, how is it that so many people, and in fact so many of us, seem empty, rather than full?

            I think back to the story of Diggory, the witch, and the garden. I wonder: why does anyone climb in over the walls, instead of coming in through the gate? And how is it that the sheep, who know the voice of the shepherd, end up in the arms of the thief, the bandit, instead of following the Good Shepherd? How do we end up consumed by things that are taking our lives, rather than giving us life?

David Lose writes, “I think that as stark as that contrast seems [between the thief who comes to kill and Jesus who comes to give life], it gets really blurry really fast. Do you know what I mean? Take email as a rather small example: I still remember when email was hailed as a time-saver – “we won’t have to play phone-tag anymore!” And, indeed, email is incredibly convenient and helpful. But it also sucks more of my week than I want to admit even to myself. So is it giving life or taking it?

“Or consider work. I’ve been blessed to have been given several jobs over the course of my life that I absolutely love. Yet from time to time, I lose myself in my work and suddenly find myself so tired and haggard that it’s hard to remember what I was working at or why…and notice the toll it’s taken on those around me. So, life giving or life taking?

“Or our kids. There is absolutely nothing in the world I love more than my children and have for that reason happily sacrificed time, energy, and money to give them many things I did not have. But as they approach adulthood I sometimes wonder if they’ve always been as well-served as I would like to think by these good intentions and so wonder whether I’ve spent too much time worshiping at the altar of “giving our children as much as we can.” … Life giving or life taking?

“Money. So many great things money can do…for us, our families, congregations, neighbors, all those in need. But goodness how easy it is for money to shift from a means to an end, from a gift to be used to a god to be worshiped. Life giving or life taking?

“Church ... So many wonderful, incredibly wonderful things about our congregations and our life together in the church, and yet I’ve also seen congregations do awful things to each other and fall far short of being the body of Christ in the world … So…life giving or life taking?” (1) I ask again, how do we end up consumed by things that are taking our lives, rather than giving us life? And how do we fix it?

            Repeatedly in the text, Jesus talks about how the sheep listen to his voice. Are we listening to Jesus’ voice? Amid the cacophony of other voices clamoring for our attention, how do we hear Jesus calling to us? “And the sheep follow him because they know his voice.” As I was reading over our text, my mind kept flashing back to a favorite movie from my childhood, Annie. In the movie, orphan Annie rescues a stray dog from a group of bullying boys, and gets ready to sneak it back to the orphanage with her. A dogcatcher from the pound wants to take Sandy in, but    gives Annie a chance to convince him that the dog should belong to her. He’ll let Annie take the dog if Annie can get Sandy to come when she calls. Annie and another passerby both try to call to the dog, but Sandy is smart enough to know the voice of the one who has protected him already, and he goes with Annie.

            How will we know Jesus’ voice? Thankfully, we already belong to Jesus, and Jesus knows our name. In the midst of many voices, listen for the voice of the one who really knows you. We can follow some of the advice I gave to the children today: we can study, learn about Jesus, learn about what he teaches us, so that it is even easier to hear what he has to say, because we know his teachings so well. We can be as smart as Sandy was with Annie: Sandy only knew Annie for a few minutes, but already Sandy knew to go with the one who was protecting him. The good shepherd is willing to lay down his life for the sheep. A thief won’t do that. Notice who is willing to lay down their life for you, contrasted with all the voices who are looking, instead, to take life from you. Ask yourself: which voice is drawing me closer to God, and which voice is leading me farther away? Which voice is setting my heart on fire, and which voices are leaving me burned up and burned out? And whose voice is calling us to live our lives with purpose, rather than leaving us wondering why we’re bothering to do what we do?

            Friends, Jesus wants us – all of us – to experience abundant life. And thankfully, we just have to follow the voice of this good shepherd who knows us by name, who calls out for us, whose voice we know. “The thief comes to steal and kill and destroy. I came that you might have life, and have it abundantly.” Let’s follow that voice. Amen.    

  

(1) http://www.davidlose.net/2017/05/easter-4-a-life-giving-or-life-taking/

Sermon, "Finding God at Camp/Holy Ground," Exodus 3:1-15

Sermon 5/7/17

Exodus 3:1-15

Finding God at Camp/Holy Ground

“Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” Today we’re celebrating Camp Sunday. We’ve heard from some folks in our congregation about the impact of camp on their lives, spanning through the generations. I want to tell you about some of my experiences at camp too. I suspect, in fact, that if you surveyed pastors, you’d find that a lot of us could point to an experience at church camp as part of our call story, part of how we came to understand that God was calling us into pastoral ministry. But I want us to start today with our scripture text, and reflecting together on this phrase that comes up in our reading from Exodus: holy ground.

Through a series of events that unfolds in the Book of Genesis, the Israelites ended up living as slaves in Egypt. And, for a variety of reasons that would make another good sermon series, God chooses Moses to be the person who will lead the Israelites to freedom, into their own home, their own land, promised by God. But before Moses can lead the Israelites, he has to meet God and be convinced of God’s plans. That’s where we enter the story today.

            Moses is minding his own business, doing the everyday duty of keeping the flock of sheep for his father-in-law. And then, God breaks into the scene, and Moses sees a bush that is burning with fire, but the bush doesn’t seem to be consumed or burned up. Moses decides to take a closer look, wanting to investigate the strange sight. And as he draws closer, God’s voice is heard in the bush coming from a messenger. God speaks to Moses, calling him by name. Moses answers, “Here I am.” God says, “Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” God proceeds to remind Moses of the relationship that has gone on for generations between God and Moses’ forbearers. God has heard the cry of the Israelites and now God is sending Moses to lead the Israelites out of Egypt. Moses questions God’s plan. “Me?” he says. “Who am I that the ruler of Egypt, the Pharaoh, would listen to me?” God responds, “I will be with you. Isn’t that enough? I’ll give you signs, you’ll know for sure.” But still Moses raises objections. “Who shall I say sent me? Telling them that it is our ancestors’ God won’t be enough.” God, perhaps, has had enough. “I AM WHO I AM. Tell them I AM has sent you.” Apparently Moses does not find this answer helpful or impressive, because he continues to complain and doubt and ask questions for another chapter and a half. But our passage today closes here, leaving us to dwell in this mystery of God, I am who I am.

With some regularity, people ask me a question that’s a variation of this: why doesn’t God speak to us today the way God spoke to people in the Bible? In the Bible, God seems to show up in the presence of angels, messengers from God, or speaking in a voice that seems clear and conversational, or in a pillar of cloud and fire, or seen in miracles like the Red Sea parting, or water changed into wine. Why doesn’t God talk to us that way, people will ask? Today’s text is another good example. Moses sees a bush that seems to be on fire and yet is not consumed. This happens while he’s just out doing his regular everyday thing – he’s a shepherd, and he’s out leading his sheep. And I think many of us think, “Well sure, we’d know God was talking to us if God showed up to us like that!”

I wonder, though, if this is really true of us. Maybe some people would respond well to a vision of God that came in this way, but I’m pretty sure if someone came up to me claiming to be a messenger from God, or if someone told me they could change water into wine, or if I saw a bush that was on fire, but not being burned up, and I started hearing voices coming from it, well… I think God has an amazing way of speaking to us in ways that will get our attention, make us stop and listen, rather than make us think we need to get a checkup. I think God is speaking to us, calling us all the time, but I think sometimes when we’re a bit more open, a bit more vulnerable, in the right place, at the right time perhaps, we’re a little more aware that we’re in God’s presence, a little more receptive to God’s voice than we might be normally. That’s what I think of when I think of holy ground – I think of places we encounter in our lives – literally and metaphorically – where we’re a bit more open, a bit more responsive to God speaking to us.   

For me, camp has long been a holy ground place in my life. I think I’ve told you before that one of the things that really shaped me growing up was that my mom really emphasized to me and my brothers that God calls all of us, and that our task is to figure out what God’s call is for us in particular. We’re all called to some kind of ministry – be it what we do for a living or the passion that we work on outside of our working hours. Our job is to listen for God’s voice as we figure out what that is. So I grew up with an expectation that God would be calling me for something. The first time I felt like I was hearing God calling to me was at Camp Aldersgate.

When I was little, too young to go to camp, when you had to be going into 4^th grade to go to any of the camps, I would go with my parents to take my brother and cousin to camp. I remember how long the hour drive seemed to get there, I remember knowing we were close when the trees changed and the air started to smell, well, like camp. I couldn’t explain it more clearly than that. I couldn’t wait for my turn to go to camp. To my dismay, the year I was finally old enough to go, they actually lowered the age by a year – suddenly, kids going into 3^rd grade could go to camp too, which was obviously very unfair. Also, my mother was nervous that I wouldn’t like being away for a whole week, and she made me go to mini-camp, shorter than the full week that was possible. Despite these injustices, finally, I was able to go to camp myself, and I loved it even more than I had always dreamed and known I would. Sometimes things we build up in our mind don’t live up to our expectations, but fortunately, camp wasn’t like that. I loved camp so much I would anxiously await the arrival of the camp brochure in the mail, which was better than when the Sears Christmas catalog came out, and I would imagine scenarios in which I could afford to go to three or four weeks of camp, instead of just one, and I would start packing more than a month in advance of my departure date, even if it meant I constantly had to unpack again to get things that it turned out I still needed in the meantime.

For me, camp was a place I could be myself. In the midst of the angst of my tween and teen years, I never felt much pressure to be someone I wasn’t at camp. Sure, there were still “cool kids” at camp, but even the cool kids were friendly. It was a place where it was ok, even expected that you would hug each other, care for each other, do kind things for each other. It was ok to talk about God, to learn about Jesus together at camp. I adored everything about camp. I couldn’t wait to be on staff myself. And I was pretty sure, by the time I was in junior high, that I wanted to run my own camp someday.

See, I had never felt the presence of God so clearly as when I was at camp. I found God in the hikes and canoe trips we took, in early morning devotions at the cross by the lake, as we sang a quiet song by the campfire before bedtime, as we heard the scriptures come to life in the form of stories and skits, as we formed tightknit communities in just 6 or 7 days – l felt God so deeply, and I wanted that all the time. It took me a long time to realize that God wasn’t calling me to run a camp. I got a bit confused, because camp was one of the holy ground places where I could hear God calling me in ways I couldn’t in the business of the rest of my life. And so for a while, I mistook the place I heard God calling me for the work God was calling me to do.

Eventually, I heard God’s call more clearly, but camp has remained for me a holy ground place. I did eventually work on summer staff, and I volunteered as a counselor and office worker and chaplain once I became a pastor. I still choose one of our conference camps as the location for my spiritual renewal time each year, and I think I wrote the majority of my doctoral project while on retreat at camp. I know it is place I can go when I needed to be grounded in God’s presence, in the presence of the holy, when I need to let myself be a bit more vulnerable, listening for God. What are your holy ground places? Where do you go, physically, or mentally, when you’re trying to tune in to God’s voice?

Of course, our reading today doesn’t end with holy ground. The “holy ground” part of the text only gets us to verse 5, and then we’ve got 10 more verses still to consider. So what about the rest of the passage? What happens, then, when we find ourselves on holy ground? When we’re vulnerable enough to hear God speaking to us, then what? Well, I think Moses would have liked for his experience to end at verse 5 as well. Sure, it was his fault. He’d been curious and come closer to that burning bush. He’d gotten to see God, which was great, but now I think he wished very much that he could just get back to his flock and go home. God has other ideas, though, and soon it seems that Moses has somehow been selected for a very big important mission, even though he’s ready to make it clear to God why this is a bad idea, even though he has a brother who is better suited to what God is asking, even though what God is asking will put Moses in a most dangerous position. Moses must, for the moment, regret that he’d ever happened upon this place of holy ground, that he’d answered God, “Here I am!” Still, though his task was tough, demanding his all, I doubt Moses would have done anything differently, since he journeyed through life with a deeply personal, intimate relationship with God.

I think we are like Moses sometimes. We’ve stepped onto holy ground – maybe we were seeking a holy ground place where we could hear God, or maybe we sort of stumbled upon it. Either way, we’ve been drawn into places that are holy in our lives, holy settings, and holy situations, only to find God there, wanting to ask something of us. And suddenly we have excuses on our lips, and wonder if we can just leave God there in that holy place, on the mountain, at camp, and head back to our homes. I think sometimes we treat holy ground like a place that we happen upon, and happen to find God there, or a place that we must retreat to, go to in order to find God. Like God was just waiting for me to come to Camp Aldersgate, but couldn’t get to me until I came arrived in the summer. But, as it turns out, God is a lot more talented than that. I think God is always trying to speak to us, call to us. When we recognize God’s presence, we recognize the holy ground upon which we are in fact always standing. Holy ground is just waiting for us to recognize its presence, just as God is waiting for us to answer when God calls. So God will speak to us at church if we’ll listen while we’re here, but God will also show us holy ground in the supermarket or on vacation or when we’re just feeling open and vulnerable, if that’s what it takes. So the truth is, Moses wasn’t able to say no to God – how can you ‘un-see’ holy ground once you’ve found it? Even if you try, God will just break onto the scene in some other way, and suddenly Moses would have found himself to be on holy ground in his house, or in the fields, until Moses was able to understand what God was saying.

Holy ground asks for a response from us. Holy ground wants us to have something to show for having been there. For me and camp, I can say that my experiences led me to become a pastor, even if indirectly. I can’t imagine that I’d have ended up as a pastor had I not spent all that time at Aldersgate, getting to know God, learning to hear God’s voice. When you think about the holy ground you’ve been on, what do you have to show for your journey? How did you let God change you? If you can’t think of an answer, I’d start watching out for the shrubs around your home, because they just might start bursting into flame, trying to get your attention. Our God is the creator of all we see and know, of everyone we meet – and that means that we have a lot of potential holy ground that surrounds us. Our aim is to start recognizing God’s holy ground when we see it. And when God calls, we can be ready to respond, “Here I am.” So take off your shoes – this place is holy ground, and I AM WHO I AM has a message for you. Amen.  

Sermon for Easter Sunday, Year, "With Fear and Great Joy," Matthew 28:1-10

Sermon 4/16/17

Matthew 28:1-10

With Fear and Great Joy

Each one of the four gospels gives a slightly different account of the first Easter morning. Each author wants to draw our attention to something slightly different. Luke talks about remembering and the words of Jesus throughout his final gospel chapter. Mark is, as usual, the most abrupt, telling us the bare minimum he thinks we need to know, and in the fewest number of words he can manage it. John brings us into more intimate encounters, showing Jesus and Mary Magdalene in a one-on-one encounter, and then Jesus in a meaningful encounter with Thomas, then Peter. And in each gospel, these nuances are what draws my attention, because in those unique qualities of each resurrection account, we can find the message the gospel-writer is trying to convey to us. So what shows up in Matthew’s gospel that doesn’t show up in other resurrection accounts?

Let’s look at Matthew’s account. We find Mary Magdalene and “the other Mary” heading to the tomb. This other Mary could be Mary the mother of Jesus, or another woman so named, as it was a common name. As they arrive at the tomb, there is a great earthquake, mirroring the earthquake Matthew describes taking place at Jesus’ crucifixion. An angel, a messenger from God, whose appearance is “like lightning” rolls back the stone of the tomb, and sits down. There are guards posted at the tomb, and they are so overwhelmed with fear at the sight of God’s messenger that they shake and become “like dead men” – I’m assuming Matthew means they’ve fainted, since they don’t contribute to the rest of the conversation. To the women, though, the messenger speaks. “Do not be afraid,” he says, “I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. But he isn’t here. He’s been raised. Come and look, see for yourselves. And then go, quickly, and tell the disciples: Jesus has been raised, and he’s going on ahead of you, and you’ll see him in Galilee.” The women don’t respond – at least not that Matthew tells us – but they do what the messenger instructed. They head to find the disciples, and Matthew tells us that they go “with fear and great joy.” Somewhere along the way – where is not quite clear – Jesus suddenly meets them, saying, “Greetings!” At the sight of him, the women fall at his feet, holding on to them, worshiping him, clearly overwhelmed. And Jesus repeats to them the words of the messenger: “Do not be afraid – go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee and there they will see me.” After our text ends, we find the guards and the chief priests conspiring to undermine any story about Jesus being raised, and Matthew’s account closes with a brief meeting of Jesus with his disciples, and Jesus promising to be with them always, even as he sends them out into the world to call others to become his followers.

So what stands out in Matthew’s gospel? What’s unique about his telling? I’m struck that “fear” is mentioned four times in these short ten verses. In Matthew’s account, the women witness an earthquake, an angel appearing, and the stone being rolled away, all before the messenger even speaks to them. I don’t blame them for being frightened. We can read about these events calmly, but I can only imagine that fear was the natural response. The guards, in fact, are so frightened by what’s happening that they faint away. The first words out of the mouth of both the messenger, and of Jesus himself are this: “Do not be afraid.” The women, well – the text tells us they are still afraid, at least still afraid by before they encounter Jesus himself. But Matthew says that they leave the tomb quickly, “with fear and great joy.” I love that phrase. Maybe they don’t quite reach the “not afraid” that the messenger and Jesus are leading them toward – but they seem to take strength and comfort in the fact that what’s happening is meant to fill them with joy, not fear, and so while they’re still afraid, they lean into and take action on the joy. And the joy keeps them moving, ready to share this amazing news: Jesus is not dead. The tomb was not the final word after all. Death has not won. Death did not end this story. Jesus is alive, and he’s going to meet you again, soon. 

“Do not be afraid.” “So they left … quickly, with fear and great joy.” I’ve been thinking about fear this week, about the things that make us afraid. This week, the United States dropped something literally named “The Mother of All Bombs” in Afghanistan. This week, as North Korea celebrated with an annual military parade, the country showed off several missiles that appeared to be capable of striking nations far away – like in Europe, or the US. Bombs and missiles, and our human tendency to try to problem solve with weapons – that makes me afraid.

What are you afraid of? Some of you know that I have a real phobia of flying. You can share with me any number of statistics about how it is safer to fly in an airplane than it is to drive in a car, but in my experience, logic and rational thinking isn’t often able to touch on our fears. I used to be able to fly without a problem, but overtime, I found myself getting more and more anxious every time I was on a plane. Now, I’ll drive almost any distance to avoid getting on an airplane. I’ve flown when I had to, but I will admit there are some opportunities I’ve let pass me by so that I didn’t have to get on an airplane.

What are you afraid of? Sometimes, I’m afraid of conflict, and of people getting mad at me. I’d prefer – who wouldn’t? – if everyone thought I was great, and got along with me, and liked all of my plans. Being afraid of conflict and anger isn’t always a helpful quality when you’re a pastor of a congregation with a lot of wonderfully unique people, and when you want to forge ahead with the vision God has, even when not everyone is on board though. I’ve had to work hard over the years of my ministry to face conflict head on, to stay fixed on my purpose, on God’s purpose. Otherwise, what paths that God is leading me to will I bypass, in my striving to make sure everyone likes me? What are you afraid of? And what are the consequences of your fears?  

Earlier during Lent I was meeting with our worship team to talk about our plans for Holy Week and the Season of Easter. I started with a devotional time, and usually I pick a scripture text that’s related to worship, music, and praise. But I’ve been using a devotional book by Walter Brueggemann called A Way other than Our Own this Lent, and the passage for the day really spoke to me, and so I shared it with our team. Brueggemann reflects on Isaiah 43:1, my mother’s favorite Bible verse, which says, “Thus says the Lord, the one who created you, O Jacob, the one who formed you, O Israel, ‘Do not be afraid, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name. You are mine.’” Brueggemann writes,    “Being unafraid is an odd vocation; but it is the vocation of all those who have been baptized. We are different when baptized. The Acts account of the early church says that the Spirit of God came upon Jesus in baptism …. What the Spirit does is visit our lives … with the freedom of God, so that we are unafraid in the world, able to live differently, not needing to control, not needing to dominate, not needing to accumulate, not driven by anxiety.” The disciples, he says, were “known, named, and unafraid people,” who “turned the world upside down.” “Or better to say, they turned the world right side up.” He continues: “The truth is that frightened people will never turn the world, because they use too much energy on protection of self. It is the vocation of the baptized, the known and named and unafraid, to make the world whole:

            The unafraid are open to the neighbor, while the frightened are defending themselves from the neighbor.

            The unafraid, are generous in the community, while the frightened, in their anxiety, must keep and store and accumulate, to make themselves safe.

            The unafraid commit acts of compassion and mercy, while the frightened do not notice those in need.

            The unafraid pray in the morning, care through the day, and rejoice at the night in thanks and praise, while the frightened are endlessly restless and dissatisfied.” (60-61)

            I don’t know about you, but I want to be unafraid. I don’t want to live in fear. I don’t want fear to be the guiding force in my life. And I can tell you this: that’s not what God wants for us either. From one end of the scriptures to the other, the Bible is filled with this repeated message: “Do not be afraid.” Well over one hundred times. From the voice of God. From God’s prophets and messengers. From Jesus himself: Do not be afraid. What would your life be like if you weren’t afraid? What would you be doing differently than you are right now? “Do not be afraid!”

            The women, these Marys are still afraid. The scripture is honest with us – even though the messenger tells them not to be, even though Jesus tells them not to be, they are afraid. But it isn’t all they are. They are joyful. Something so wonderful has happened, so wonderful that their fear wasn’t the most important thing anymore. Their fear wasn’t making the decisions. “With fear and great joy.” David Lose writes, “I think it’s striking that the announcement of resurrection doesn’t take away all their fear. Rather, it enables them to keep faith amid their fears, to do their duty and share their good news in spite of their anxiety. This is the very definition of courage. And, I would argue, courage is precisely what Easter is about … There is, indeed, much to fear in our mortal lives. And yet the resurrection of Christ creates the possibility for joy and hope and courage and so much more. Why? Because it changes everything. In the resurrection, you see, we have God’s promise that life is stronger than death, that love is greater than hate, that mercy overcomes judgment, and that all the sufferings and difficulties of this life are transient -- real and palpable and sometimes painful, for sure, but they do not have the last word and do not represent the final reality.” (1)

            Mercy overcomes judgment. Love is greater than hate. Life is stronger than death. These women, and the disciples with whom they’ll share the news don’t snap from fear to no fear in an instant. But they make room for the joy, and they commit to a journey of learning to be unafraid in the world, and day by day, the joy of living the abundant life that Jesus gives them overwhelms the fear that once drove them. And so Easter doesn’t end for us at the empty tomb. After all, we, like the women, are looking for Jesus, and he isn’t in the tomb anymore. He’s not in this place where death has the last word and fear will knock you off your feet. He’s going on ahead. And he’s inviting us to come with him. Let’s go: maybe with some fear. But with great joy that’s transforming fear into courage.

            Amen.  

Benediction:

“Do Not Be Afraid”

We should be afraid, of course,

to be so near to God.

We should be startled by the glory of God

and the disruption of angels.

We should be freaked. out. that God even blinks

in our direction, let alone that God dares us

to walk a new path just to see what

God can do with life.

“Do not be afraid; have a child.”

“Do not be afraid; leave your home.”

“Do not be afraid; give up your reputation.”

“Do not be afraid; press on through hardship.”

“Do not be afraid; face a powerful enemy.”

Or,

be afraid.

Be totally overwhelmed.

Be stunned and terrified, in fact,

but here’s the critical part:

be near to God

anyway.

(1) Lose, David, Working Preacher, http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=3174

(2) Rachel Hackenberg, Rachel G Hackenberg. http://rachelhackenberg.com/blog/

Sermon for Fifth Sunday of Lent, Year A, "Encounter with Jesus: Jesus and Martha," John 11:1-45

Sermon 4/2/17

John 11:1-45

Encounter with Jesus: Jesus and Martha

Today, on our last Sunday in Lent before Holy Week begins, we encounter a strange scripture text. I call it strange not because of the story itself so much – after all, Jesus is always doing incredible things in the gospels – but strange, at least at first glance, because this text shows up for us as a Lenten reading. In two weeks, we’ll celebrate Easter Sunday, Resurrection Sunday. We’ll celebrate Jesus’s victory over death with irrepressible life. And yet, in our text for today, we seem to get an early start on resurrection, with Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. Even some of the musical suggestions for the day in worship planning guides seem confused, with lists of hymns that fit with the text choosing some traditional Easter favorites that we won’t be singing for another two weeks. What’s with this resurrection before The Resurrection?

As with some of our other Lenten texts, there’s a lot to think about in these 45 verses. But it is Jesus’s encounter with Martha that catches my attention in this text. Our text from the gospel of John is another story that appears only in John’s gospel, although the players, the main figures, are somewhat known to us. John starts by telling us that a man named Lazarus, who lives in Bethany, is ill. His sisters are Martha and Mary. Mary had once anointed Jesus’ feet with perfume, and wiped them with her hair. We talked about Mary and Martha way back over the summer, when Jesus was having dinner at their home, and Martha was upset because she seemed to be doing all the work of the household, while Mary was sitting at the feet of Jesus, a phrase used to describe a disciple.

            Now, their brother Lazarus is ill, and since Jesus seems to be friends with their family, they contact him to let him know. They tell Jesus via message, “Lord, the one you love is ill.” Their words reflect the closeness Jesus shares with this family. When Jesus gets the message, he says, “This illness doesn’t lead to death. In fact, it is going to be a way that God’s glory can be revealed.” So, John tells us, even though Jesus loves the siblings, he stays where he is for two more days. The word gives a sense of “lingering.” There is a decided lack of haste in Jesus’ actions.

            Finally, Jesus sets out to see Lazarus. He tells his disciples that Lazarus has fallen asleep, and they take him literally, but Jesus explains that no, Lazarus has in fact died. Jesus says he’s glad he wasn’t there, so that through Lazarus’ death, the disciples will come to believe. Thomas says, “Let us go too – that we may die with him.” We usually think of Thomas only for his moments of doubt later in John’s gospel, but here, he shows himself a faithful friend.

            By the time Jesus arrives in Bethany, Lazarus has been in the tomb for four days. Martha hears that Jesus has arrived, and immediately comes to greet Jesus, but Mary stays at home. Once again, Martha has a chance to tell Jesus what’s on her mind. But where last time, Martha was filled with hostility toward her sister, this time, in this encounter, even in the midst of her grief, things are different. Martha confronts Jesus right away, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Ouch. She doesn’t pull any punches. But she doesn’t stop there. Instead, she says, “But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” It’s hard to say exactly what Martha means by this. Although we know what happens next, Martha certainly doesn’t suspect or think she can ask Jesus to raise her brother from the dead. In some ways, then, her statement is all the more remarkable. She’s in the midst of grief, in those first days of loss that are a blur of pain and sadness. She wishes Jesus had come sooner, to heal Lazarus. But even though he didn’t, she trusts him, and knows that God can do anything through Jesus that God wants to do. She may not have seen clearly before, but she’s changed.

            Jesus says to Martha, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha response, “Yes, I know he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” Jesus’ words aren’t particularly comforting to Martha in the moment. It’s all very well that she might see her brother again someday at the end of the world, but that doesn’t dull her grief right now. But that’s not what Jesus means. He says, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” And though Martha might not know why Jesus is saying these things now, Martha again shows that her faith is deep, that she’s changed, that she has learned who Jesus is. “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.” I love that last part – “the one coming into the world.” The way Martha phrases it, it isn’t a one-time event, Jesus arriving in the world. It is ongoing – Jesus is continually breaking into the world, continually arriving among us.

            After this encounter between Jesus and Martha, Martha goes to get her sister Mary. When Mary comes to Jesus, she shares the same words as her sister: “Jesus, if you had been here, Lazarus wouldn’t be dead.” Unlike Martha, though, Mary doesn’t move beyond those words. Jesus sees her crying, and sees all the others who are weeping for Lazarus, and he’s deeply troubled. He too begins to weep. He knows what he intends to do, but he’s not untouched by the suffering he sees. He comes to Lazarus’s tomb, a cave with a stone in front of it. He orders the stone rolled away. Martha warns that Lazarus has been dead for four days – this will not be pleasant. But Jesus says, “I told you – if you believe, you will witness the glory of God.” Jesus offers a prayer to God, and then cries in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” And Lazarus, still bound up in the burial cloths covering his body and face, emerges from the tomb. Jesus orders some bystanders, “Unbind him, and let him go.” After this, many who were present come to believe in Jesus. After our passage concludes, others, like the religious leaders, find Jesus’ raising of Lazarus to be so troubling that they determine Jesus must be put to death. We don’t hear from Mary, or Martha, or Lazarus though. How must they have reacted to this incredible miracle? We can only imagine. How about us? How do we react?

            I think of these three siblings, Mary, Lazarus, Martha, and I wonder if we can learn something in the way each of them responds to the events that unfold in this passage. Mary is so mired in grief, it doesn’t even occur to her to try to see anything else, to wonder about Jesus’ presence, to look for God at work even in her pain. I don’t blame her – her reaction is pretty natural! But I’m surprised too – Mary has sat at the feet of Jesus. She seemed to “get” it. But here, she hits a wall in her faith journey. Has that happened to you? Have you come to God saying, “God, if you had intervened, this bad thing wouldn't have happened to me!” Mary’s anger blinds her from hope for new life, at least at first.

            For once, for a change from the typical pattern of the scriptures, we hear from the two women in this story, but not a word from their brother. We don’t hear from him in his illness, and of course not in his death, but we hear nothing from him after he is raised from death either. What we do get are some pretty vivid mental pictures. Jesus calls out to Lazarus who has been lying dead in a tomb for days, and when he emerges, he doesn’t just spring back to it. No, he’s still bound up in grave clothes, wrapped in the linens that prepared him for the tomb. He’s been resurrected, but he still needs to be unbound. I think I find myself even more likely to end up in Lazarus’ shoes than Mary’s. The promise of new life and resurrection put right into my hands, but I’m getting too caught up in the things I’ve wrapped myself up in to take hold of it. Out of what caves do you need Jesus to call you? What still needs to happen for you to claim the gift of new life Jesus offers? Have you been resurrected, but you’re still bound up in grave clothes, not yet living the new life God has given you?

            Or maybe, maybe, we can be like Martha, who clearly listened to Jesus when he urged her to choose a better way the last time we saw them interact. She, like Mary, is immersed in her grief – but she trusts in God, trusts in Jesus, even if he didn’t do what she had hoped he would do. When Jesus says he is resurrection and life right now, Martha responds, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.” Jesus is offering new life, and Martha says Yes as emphatically as she can.

            As strange as it is for us to encounter this new life story right in the midst of Lent, it is also exactly right that we do so. Because the amazing news is this: We don’t even have to wait until Easter to experience resurrection and life, because Jesus just is those things – is resurrection and life all the time. And so even as we journey through the darkness and pain of Holy Week, we have the gift of resurrection already. Even as we grieve at the cross, we have the gift of resurrection already. Even as we wait for the light of Easter Day to shine, we are already Easter people, resurrection people, new life people. Jesus was already, is already, will already be at work raising us from death to new life. He’s already transforming us, so that our lives become like nothing we could recognize from before. That is resurrection, isn't it? It’s ours, now, from the one who is coming into the world, always. Jesus is resurrection. He is life. He is continually coming into the world to encounter us. Let our mourning be turned to gladness. Let’s tear away the bindings, discard the grave clothes. Let’s step out of the cave into the light. Jesus is ever-coming into the world, offering life. Amen.