Sermon: “Why Y’all lookin’ up?”

           I remember one of my first days at the University of Oregon. We all crowded into Mac Court, home of the Duck’s Basketball Team—but we weren’t there to play or watch basketball, we were there to hear Poet Maya Angelou speak at our Commencement Address.

            I don’t remember much of what she said, though I do remember the deep feeling that her words caused to welled up in my heart, a feeling of possibility, a feeling of fully leaving Wyoming behind and entering into a different world.

            And I remember later reading a poem of hers written to an anonymous preacher.

            And, in memory of her and as a way to think about today’s reading from the book of Acts, I would like to read that poem to you all:

Preacher, Don't Send Me



Preacher, don't send me


when I die


to some big ghetto


in the sky


where rats eat cats


of the leopard type


and Sunday brunch


is grits and tripe.


I've known those rats


I've seen them kill


and grits I've had


would make a hill,


or maybe a mountain,

so what I need


from you on Sunday


is a different creed.



Preacher, please don't


promise me


streets of gold


and milk for free.


I stopped all milk


at four years old


and once I'm dead


I won't need gold.



I'd call a place


pure paradise


where families are loyal


and strangers are nice,


where the music is jazz


and the season is fall.


Promise me that


or nothing at all.


            Such words…

she lifts up the false heavens that come so easy from the lips of preachers—of streets of gold and milk for free, images that, when overused or misused, are, to quote Johnny Cash, “so Heavenly Minded They’re No Earthly Good.”

            Such words…

She points us to the hell we sometimes find ourselves in, malnourished monotony and the grim and grimy reality of giant ghetto rats.

            Such words…

she anchors us in the heaven of small decent things—loyal family, the kindness of strangers, good music, and a favorite season.

         What I want to talk to you about briefly today is witnessing to the world—witnessing to the world.

         And to get at what I mean by witness and what I mean by world we’ll have to look at their opposites in today’s reading, a worldly kingdom and a heaven fixation.

         Or to break it down a little more by borrowing from Maya Angelou,

I want to talk to you about the glitter of heaven and power,

and how the small things that give life meaning can speak and save in this gruff world.

             Let us pray.

“Is it the time when you will restore the kingdom?”

         How often we’ve heard such words.

In the wilderness Jesus is tempted by Satan, “just bow down to me and I’ll give you all the Kingdoms of this world.”

         The crowd at one point seizes Jesus to crown him and make him king, and it is all he can do to escape from them.

         Counterwise, he rides into Jerusalem on a decidedly non-regal Donkey and when asked by Pilate if he is a king, Jesus responded mysteriously, “It is you who say I am.”

         In short, Jesus’ Kingdom is of a different type than all expect…

        

         Yet here we are, with the disciples again grasping at a political kingdom,

and not laying hold of one.

         Instead Jesus responds, “It’s not for you to know…” instead of a kingdom in this world Jesus offers them an opportunity—to witness to the ends of the earth about Jesus.

         To tell the whole world that Jesus lived, died, and rose.

         To tell them as well, of the strange enthronement, the strange kind of king, that Jesus is. He’s a king acquainted with sorrow—more than that, acquainted with our sorrow, yes, each and every one of ours.

         Witness has nothing to do with the glitter of kingship and power.

         Witness is a small thing, a weak thing, held together by no army or castle wall, instead an open hand, a simple story shared by word of mouth.         

A weak small thing, but pure paradise,

like a loyal family or jazz, or anticipating fall—dying leaves and cool air—small weak things,

yet powerful, just in a different way.

So too telling that old old story of Jesus and his love.

         And then almost immediately after Jesus tells the disciples to witness, to tell people of their experience of him—to go out to Jerusalem, and Judea, and Samaria, and to all the ends of the earth in the power of the Spirit and the strange weakness of witnessing…

         Immediately after that comes one of my all-time favorite bible verses—Acts Chapter 1 verse 11.

         These men in white, presumably the same ones we first meet at the tomb announcing Christ’s resurrection on Easter Sunday, wander up to these disciples all agape at the Ascension of Jesus, and ask, “Why y’all lookin’ up?”

         These heavenly beings find the disciples’ heavenly-minded-ness to be out of place.

         It’s like they’re following Maya Angelou’s lead, “gold and milk shimmer, but aren’t something to hold onto.”

Don’t look up, but instead look around you—look out—you’ve been empowered to preach to the ends of the earth… You have good news, look around you and see all those who need it.

         Look to the crowded ghettos of Jerusalem,

To the squalor the Hellenist Widows will wallow in.

Look the giant prison rats in Philippi and Caesarea with Paul right in their eyes,

know clearly the hunger of all those people in Asia Minor yearning for the good news you know so well,

yes go even to Rome and to the end of the earth, eyes open to the conditions and situations of the people who Jesus’ Gospel has come to free.

         Word and witness—clear eyed about the world around us, but empowered by the Spirit to act in small, sacred, and significant ways so that Christ may be known.

…         That’s pure paradise.

Amen and Alleluia.

Preaching on the Hill of Ares

          Paul stepped into a very precarious place—one filled with Idols, and idle chatter, and high minded conversation—people trying to get to the root of what it meant to be human in that particular time and that particular place.

          Ideas popped up and were consumed faster than popcorn at a B-movie, it was a low tech version of a twitter, instagram, or facebook feed.

          There, on the Areopogas—the Hill of Ares.

          The Areopogas named for the famous first trial in Greek Myth. Ares, the god of war, murdered the son of Poseidon, the god of the sea, and was put on trial and acquitted…found innocent—right there, on that mountain.

          Yes, the Hill of Ares, the Areopogas, was a place bursting with new ideas both high brow and low,

filled with idols on every corner,

and yearning to lend Paul it’s ear,

 at least for a moment.

          And so, today I would like to preach on the subject, “Preaching on the Hill of Ares.”

Preaching on the Hill of Ares.

Prayer

          Paul, being Paul, had stirred up trouble in Northern Greece, and was whisked away to Athens to lay low for a while…

          But Paul… being Paul… didn’t lay low. He saw the Idols lining the streets of Athens and started arguing with people,

not only with his fellow Jews in the local Synagogue,

but also with the Greek Philosophers of various stripes who lined the streets. And quickly enough they drug him up the Hill of Ares in order to “find out what all these words he is sewing mean.”

          And there, on the Hill of Ares, he begins with a compliment, (perhaps backhanded?)“I see you are a very religious people.”

          He looks at those idols,

and the fast paced flinging around of ideas,

the people grabbing onto anything new,

and he sees it for what it is, people yearning for

and reaching for

and sometimes even finding,

the Creator of all that is, Seen and Unseen.

          He, in fact, talks to them, not with snide words, but in understanding.

He’s observed them,

those who he speaks to,

those gathered on the Hill of Ares as he preaches.

          He knows them, and knows their culture,

he speaks to them with words they understand.

          He alludes to E-pict-etus and Euripides, he quotes the stoic philosopher Aratus—he even compliments their pagan statues and altars!

          If he’d come today he might have talked about Comedian John Stewart’s interview with former Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner, then made sure you knew he’d read the latest James Patterson book and was at a Lady Gaga concert and knew of both Michelle Bachmann and Michel Foucault (fuko).

          Then he’d go among a gaggle of soccer moms and say “I see you care deeply for you children—well you are God’s Children, and he cares about you too.”

          Or he’d burst into an office building and say, “I see you work hard, in fact you give your whole life to your work, well, let me tell you of the righteous works of God in Jesus Christ.”

          Or he’d tackle Richard Dawkins or Sam Harris or some other New Atheist, and say, “I see Religious people bother you

—well you wouldn’t believe what Religious people did when the Son of God dwelt among them,

they crucified him, but he rose again and has brought life to us all.”

         

          You see, when Paul preaches on the Hill of Ares he builds a bridge between his listener and his message, he makes sure they can cross over to hear what he’s staying.

          But not only that, he takes the idols of his age and refashions them…

          Kinda strange when you think of it, he doesn’t smash them like many would, instead he shows them for what they are—he redeems them.

He says, “This value you have, you’ve made into a God,

well it’s just part of God’s creation, and as such is good,

just not The Good, nor The Creator.”

          Think of Luther’s explanation of the 1st Commandment…

          (If I was in my St. Stephen I’d just point over there and Ask MaryLou to recite it from memory, in the German even, for us all.)

          Luther’s explanation is this, “We are to fear, love, and trust God above all things.”

          Because those things we fear, love, and trust are our gods, our idols.

          So Paul today takes those things we’ve deified, we’ve put on a throne somewhere

—he takes them and places them where they belong, as a part of creation.

          To the caffeine saturated stock jockey working 80 hours a week he says, “Hey, work is good, it feeds you and yours and orders your life,

but it’s not a god and it isn’t going to save you, don’t put your trust in it, don’t love it, don’t fear it.”

          To the widow paralyzed by her grief he says, “Hey, honoring your spouse and his memory is good,

but losing sight of your other obligations in life, is not. All your fears of loss, all your love of him, your trusting in your life as it was before he died—that has become misdirected.”

          To the man peaking out his window at neighbors of a different skin pigmentation or ethnic identity, bunkered down, loving his old neighbors who’ve left, trusting in his own kind, fearing those outside

Paul says, “Hey, you’ve made your messed up relationship toward them a god and you’re unable to follow the most basic of commandments, ‘Love God, Love your Neighbor,’”

          Yes, as Paul preaches on the Hill of Ares he changes the Idols of Athens into an affirmation that God is a whisker’s-length away, that in God and God alone “we live and move and have our being.”

         

          Yes there on the Hill of Ares he preaches…

and there, on the Hill of Ares,

          having built a bridge to the yearnings of Athens,

          having relativized the Idols,

          having pointed to the God and Parent of all of Creation,

          After all that he points back to that other god, haunting that hill…

He points to the trial of Ares, Ares was found justified in the killing of Posieden’s son, was judged innocent there.

          And so Paul preaches of another Judge, the one who was innocent and yet was killed.

          Of another judgment, found guilty and among sinners, and yet was holy and died and rose for sinners.

          The Judge who sees all our idols—the Pantheon of false gods we worship—we Athenians, and favors us anyway.

Whose Judgment acquits us of Sin and reconciles us to God and neighbor.

Jesus Christ, our Lord and our God, crucified and risen.

A+A

outside the gate Jesus meets us

          One of the tragedies of the Lectionary, is that it breaks up the Gospel of John to the point where it becomes a puzzle of sorts,

we read a bunch of I AM statements, and statements about Jesus’ connection to we, His Church… but they are just little islands scattered throughout the church year.

          For example, today’s reading from the Gospel of John immediately follows the story of the Blind man we read at the start of Lent.

Do you remember the blind man?

The man healed by Jesus.

He had no name, only a condition.

Once healed his friends abandoned him.

He was healed on the Sabbath… but the religious leaders declared “The Sabbath was made for rest, not liberation… work must not be done… even if it is healing work!”

And his townspeople drove him out—

out of the city gate,

out alone in the wilderness…

There the Religious Leaders follow him… and mock him…

Then Jesus meets him there, and calls the Religious Leaders Blind.

There, outside the gate, Jesus meets him.

Outside the gate…

Let us Pray

          Outside the gate, they meet.

          Yet at the gate Jesus redefines what’s going on.

          He flips the boundaries of the man’s life, and turns everything inside out.

          The gate, which was to keep the blind man out

—out of participation in Sabbath Rest,

out of his family,

out of his city,

even keep him without a name—The gate has dissolved… for there is only one gate—Jesus Christ, and he has entered into the safety found there.

         

          It reminds me of a gag on the TV show Futurama, in it Bender, a robot, and Fry, a human, are rooming together… but apartments for robots are essentially closets, so Fry is squished in there with Bender, who simply turns himself off in order to sleep.

          Well, one day, after Fry is so bent and sore from sleeping in the closet with Bender, Bender says, “I need to put something in my closet,” and opens up a door to a giant apartment!

          It’s like that

—the Blind man is chased out of a gate

—out of a place of protection

—but finds himself entering into a real gate,

a life giving gate,

one that functions as it should.

          And Jesus is not a gate of exclusion, but a shelter in the time of storm and a circle of protection.

When we are driven out, Jesus shelters us in his arms,

calls us by name,

sees us,

liberates us,

and keeps us safe.

          In short, there are those things and people who would come to steal, kill, and destroy. Jesus protects us from them and fosters an abundant life.

          I think of a friend of mine, Dan. He’s working a retail job that’s killing him. It’s a relatively low skill job—he’s easily replaceable, and his bosses let him know that regularly. He sometimes goes weeks without a full day off. His colleagues don’t particularly like him. He’s constantly asked to do more and more with less and less, and because of his credit card debts he doesn’t say anything in protest.

          I imagine he feels kind of like the blind man did, without Sabbath rest, a nameless cog, perhaps he even feels like he’s assailed by thieves and bandits.

          But it’s a different story when Dan makes it to Church. He’s on his Vestry, he’s respected and enjoys his responsibility.

          He knows he’s a beloved Child of God there and the work he does with his church is meaningful.

          He has ongoing relationships there, both with his extended family and with people who are like family.

          And at our best, church can be that—the very body of Christ. We can be like the earliest church

—breaking bread together,

sharing together,

praying together,

tending the needy,

devoting ourselves to the word and even doing wonders and signs for one another…

          In other words, at our best, we are the place where people find some of that abundant life Jesus offers.

          You know, with all this talk of abundant life and death dealing powers, I’m hyper aware of the deaths of Milton, Velma, and my seminary friend Rodney.

          Rodney died of an aneurism,

completely unexpected

—he left behind a wife and two young daughters

…it felt like a thief came and took away our beloved friend. That the aneurism came to kill, steal, and destroy.

          But, then, last Monday, we all gathered together—it was like Lutheranism invaded Jamaica Queens.

And we all went into New Hope Lutheran:

The Eulogies lasted for over an hour and a half,

the Seminary’s rock band—of whom he had been the drummer—played,

and Bishop Rimbo preached,

and we all got together around a meal in the basement…

and we were all gathered there.

          Gathered within the living gate of Christ’s community—consoling one another, we entered in and we found pasture.

          We entered into New Hope Lutheran,

coming from up and down the East Coast, entering that church alone…

 but upon entering we found one another and the whole thing opened up

—Christ showed up there.

          The closet was a giant apartment,

the city gate we were driven from led into a safe field of abundant life.

There, outside the gate, Jesus meets us.

Amen.

Rebranding 2014: Anti-Christian Republicanism? OR Some thoughts on the week the Republican Party decided to take a tire iron to Christianity

Last week Republican figurehead and professed upholder of Christianity, Sarah Palin, said the following throw away line while addressing the NRA Stand and Fight rally:

“Well, if I were in charge, they would know that waterboarding is how we’d baptize terrorists.”

Just to be clear for those of you unfamiliar with Baptism, it is the initiation rite for most Christians. In my own tradition it is one of two sacraments, an action involving a command of Christ and a physical thing that brings about forgiveness. In the case of Baptism we die with Christ and are reborn with him too; we are adopted into God’s family and become part of his body active in the world in the sacrament of Baptism.

All that to get you thinking about how unholy it sounds to compare simulated drowning, a form of torture, to receiving God’s forgiveness, even as a punch-line…. especially as a punch-line! To be fair the comparison does kind of remind us of the death and life aspect of Baptism, but that wasn’t the intention behind Palin’s words.

And, after a whole bunch of Christians called on her to take back her comment, she responded with the following:

"Perhaps hypocritical folks who only want Freedom of Speech to apply to those who agree with their liberal agenda might want to consider that the evil terrorists who were the brunt of my one-liner would be the first to strip away ALL our rights if given the chance. That’s why we do whatever we can to prevent them from killing innocent people. And for that, we should NEVER apologize."

To review, those of us offended by her crass comparison of the Sacrament of Holy Baptism to a violent interrogation technique used on terrorists are hypocrites because terrorists kill innocent people... the logic of her umbrage is non-existent. Any concerns about what she said being religiously offensive are swept away… which is weird. I read her first book when it came out, because I wanted to figure out why people liked her. One of the things she constantly pointed out was ways liberals ignore and disrespect people of faith and go out of their way to offend us… that Democrats (I think she called them Demon-crats at one point) are Anti-Christian.

Yet, by her labeling people who were offended by her statement anti-free speech and pro-terrorists, she shows the same disrespect for the faithful that she made her career claiming to defend against.

And that’s not all, Republican Representative Mike Christian, in defending capital punishment even when it goes gruesomely wrong, and in defending his position that the Supreme Court Justices who halted the botched execution of Clayton Lockett should be impeached, called for death row inmates to be “thrown to the lions.”

Thrown to the lions… like the early Christians in the colosseum… what the Roman Catholic Church calls, “The Baptism of Blood.” Someone who is killed for their faith in Christ, martyred, before they can receive the sacrament of Baptism are seen as receiving Baptism based on their martyrdom.

So, in a one-week period two Republican politicians have referenced Christian Martyrdom and the Sacrament of Baptism as throwaway jokes as they justify torture and inhumane execution... of course you could argue justifying execution and torture are even more anti-Christian than making light of the saving acts of God.

Maybe this, insulting people of faith, is the Republican re-branding they talk about—how they’re trying to be a less faith-based party and focus more fully on non-culture war issues?

Worship as Practice

Pastor Chris’ Paschal Homily: Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia.

All you Lovers of God, enjoy this Easter Celebration, this delightful feast of God’s love.

All you wearied from your Lenten spiritual practices and journey, now is your reward.

All you grateful and tired servants, rejoice and enter into Christ’s joy.

All you crucified ones, martyrs, and the dead, rest and reside in the Resurrection.

All you vigil holders and early risers, Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia.

All of you, fearful, in awe, filled with joy, on your journey, going to tell, and to see.

Christ is risen. (Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia.)

We celebrate amongst the fear of death,

And the awe of the Resurrection,

And the Joy of Easter Morning.

We celebrate by going out from the grave,

to tell of Jesus

and to see Jesus.

Alleluia in the midst of the fears of this age.

          In the midst of threats of war in Eastern Europe.

          In the midst of a Neo-Nazi shooting up a Jewish retirement home.

          In the midst of missing planes and capsized boats.

Alleluia closer to home too

          Alleluia in the face of an unnaturally early death.

          Alleluia all the while in heartbreak.

          Alleluia in the loneliness of old age.

          Alleluia peeking out at an unsure future and unsettling next steps.

          Alleluia despite your mother’s ongoing ill health.

          Alleluia raising your kids right even as you struggle to discern right for yourself.

          Alleluia with those women as they go to the tomb of Jesus.

Praise the LORD in the midst of the fright that Resurrection causes.

          Praise the LORD from whom descended the Angel, with his alarming appearance.

          Praise the LORD when we are awestruck by the words, “We’ve died… our life is hidden in Christ.”

          Praise the LORD when the Gospel challenges us and changes us.

          Praise the LORD for planting within us the seeds of growth and yearnings of what could be.

          Alleluia—Praise the LORD— at that first Easter, in the fear and darkness, to the stone of death, at the earthquake and lightning and snow and stupefying death-like paralysis all adjoined to Resurrection.

Thank God that Joy comes in the morning.

          Thank God that darkness recedes with the dawn.

          Thank God that the Earthquake removed the stone.

          Thank God that the stone, symbolizing death, became the angel’s resting spot.

          Thank God that in all of this we are assured, “Do not be afraid.”

          Thank God that Christ is our life.

          That we find our glory, as he himself is glorified.

          That we will once again shake our tambourines and make merry with instrument and song.

          That God has loved you with an everlasting love.

          That God continues to be faithful to you.

“Dear Women, don’t tarry here too long.

          Go to the grave and look, but then, go on to the one who is not there.

          Go on and enter into Christ for he is the gate open to us

          Enter into the Gates of righteousness.

          Enter through them and give thanks to the LORD.

Go forward Maries,

Go from the tomb to tell your brothers

          Open your lips and give thanks for God’s goodness

          Give thanks that God’s steadfast love endures forever.

          Hear this truly

          Listen

          “You shall not die, but you shall live.”

          Open too your lips and your ears congregation.

          Fellow disciples,

          Tell one another of God’s wondrous acts:

          Christ is risen.    (Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia.)

Go also, that you might be unexpectedly met by him

Go so that you will see the Lord.

          Go out of this place

          The resurrection is ahead of you

          Be propelled forward by the fear and joy—the sheer surprise of that first Easter morning

          Propelled to go to Galilee

          Go out through the night toward the dawn

          Go with me Brothers and Sisters,

          Let us go up to Zion, to the LORD our God.

          Let us go and see that the stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone.

         

See that he has become our salvation.

See that Christ Jesus, is the Risen One

See sin brought him low

          But, He accepted His own death as an offering for Sin.

See we no longer need to fear death

          For the Savior’s death has set us free

          His resurrection has brought the Joy of Life.

See Hell has no victory

          It snatched up a human, and came upon God.

          It took from the earth, and was drug up to Heaven.

          It bit into the flesh, and was absorbed by the Spirit.

All of you,
You fearful ones

You over-awed folk

You who are filled with joy

You on your journey

You going to tell

You going to see

All of you.

Christ is risen. (Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia.) 3x

A+A