Sermon: Salt, Light, and Hands

            Today’s questioner tackles a tension they see in scripture—a tension between two commands of Christ.

            The question is this: “Explain how one should not “hide your light under a basket” and yet not “let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.”

            As with many passages in scripture, there are contradictions—some real, some imagined.

And this shouldn’t surprise us—the record of God’s actions among God’s people strewn over a dozen centuries and 3 continents is going to contain some tensions.

            But, the questioner might be a little worried, because this seeming contradiction—between revealing light and hiding actions—comes from Jesus’ own lips…

more than that, in one instance it comes from the same speech, the Sermon on the Mount, in the same Gospel, Matthew’s!

            So, in order to answer how we can reveal light and hide hands, we will have to answer a few prior questions.

“What light is supposed to be revealed?”

“What is Jesus getting at with these two commands?”

and finally,

“How do we do both?”

            Prayer

1.         The first thing to note is that Jesus’ command to not “hide your light under a basket” is found in two gospels

—the light not to be hid signifies different things depending on what gospel we are reading.

            In the earliest of the two gospels, Mark

—Jesus is describing what a parable does to a person. It wraps up a truth, but the more we ponder the parable, the story, the more the truths encapsulated in the story come out.

A parable is like fuel to the fire of truth.

Soon enough the whole house is alight with it.

            It’s like I always say about Parables:

 You are meant to chew on them, until they start to chew on you.

            Matthew’s Gospel, in contrast, places Jesus’ admonition about not hiding your light under a basket within his Sermon on the Mount. He starts preaching immediately after healing those who come to him. After that healing, he blesses “poor, mourning, meek, hungry, peaceful, persecuted, people.” Then he states, “You are the salt of the earth, you are the light of the world

—you can’t be hid,

the lamp goes on the lamp stand and gives light to the whole house.”

            Think about that setting…

            “You’re healed now. You were poor, mournful, hungry, etc,” now you’re rich, joyful, and filled… don’t misuse that gift, don’t hide that fact. “Let your light shine before people, so that they can see your good deeds and give honor to your Father in heaven.”

            So, Mark’s account is describing the fiery strangeness of Parables.

        Matthew’s Gospel  describes the proper response to being healed

—the way in which grace

—the gift of God

—is a calling upon our life, it makes us to be people who point to our healing

 and work for the healing of others,

all to honor God.

2.     Let’s go with this second use of do not “Hide your light under a basket,” since it’s the one found in the same speech as do not “Let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.”

       

        Sat next to one another, we quite quickly we see the difference between the two—the point at which the seeming contradiction breaks down.

        Shine forth your light so they can give honor to God.

        Don’t let your right hand know what your left hand is doing—give alms in secret—because otherwise you are “practicing your piety before others in order to be seen.”

        See the difference? Pointing to God, or pointing to yourself.

-The first, is like the Olympic torch, it’s lit by a previous torch and points backward toward an original one—that first Olympic game shrouded in mystery and myth.

-The second, is personal pyrotechnics—blowing something up so everyone turns their attention toward you for a moment.

It’s Humility versus Hubris.

It’s a question of intention

Jesus’ point is that the inner purpose behind our actions shapes shape their meaning

—with our actions, do we intend to point to God our to ourselves?

3.     And that sounds good—but how can you tell the difference? Sure, it’s easy to interpret it in other people—humans are social animals and can usually sniff our hubris pretty well… but how about within ourselves?

How can we tell when we’re lighting a torch instead of blowing something up?

How can we protect ourselves from hubris?

How can we make sure our intention is to point to God?

        Through practice.

        Think of the two examples of this light we have in Matthew and Mark’s Gospels

—as a parable that burns you up inside and eventually appears on the outside pointing to a formerly hidden truth,

—and as thanksgiving to God for the blessed healing they’ve received through Christ Jesus.

        That’s part of the reason we all come to Church

—at least I hope it is…

we’re practicing stories so true that they burn us up inside

and practicing giving thanks for all that is from God.

We do this for many reasons, but one of them is to work on our intentions. To transform our hypocrisies and hubris into humility.

        How can we not practice our piety before others, yet shine forth our light in such a way that it honors God?

        We change our intentions by :

Letting the strange and powerful stories of God shape us

And by seeing what God has given us and giving thanks.

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Sermon: Sacrifice and Self Care

Sacrifice and Self Care

         

          The question asked in this our 2nd of 8 question posed from the pews, is one that everyone struggles with to one degree or another—especially those who have a have a role as a caregiver—either officially or unofficial, in a paid capacity or an unpaid one.

          Today’s question is this: “How do we balance our own happiness with the happiness of others?”

          Now I did talk with the person who put this question in the box—to get a clearer idea of what was meant.

           And this question’s author pointed out something really insightful

—when pastors preach, we frequently preach about self-sacrifice, about serving our neighbor in need, even if, maybe even especially when, that service is costly, when it’s hard and risky.

          At the same time, when the preacher acts pastorally, when we counsel or listen to a parishioner’s problems, so frequently, we recommend self-care, we switch from self-sacrifice to self-preservation.

          And this wasn’t just me as Pastor, but every pastor the questioner had interacted with.

          So, what’s the balance? What’s the faithful way to weight self and other?/ sacrifice and self-care?

          The danger in this question

—is a common danger

—it starts with an assumption of scarcity.

          It’s as if there is only so much…

So much goodness, happiness, joy

Only so much to go around.

That either my cup is full and other people’s cup is empty, or their cup is full and my cup is empty.

It’s as if happiness is a commodity, to be bought and sold with our time and effort and even money.

Down that line of reasoning lies a place where happiness is horded—saved in little boxes to be savored alone…

          But that’s not the nature of happiness.

          Happiness isn’t water to fill a glass with, but an ocean to swim in, as our cup overflows.

          Happiness isn’t an item to be bought or sold, but a gift that is shared.

          Happiness is like a Popsicle, if you try to horde it or hide it, it melts in your pocket and is gone.

          Yes, Happiness is an overflowing thing—it grows when it is shared and shrinks when concealed and hidden away.

          Yet the question remains, “how do we find balance in life, so that we can be in relationship with other people in such a way that the joyful goodness of life may be shared?”

          I would suggest –the place to look is at the Lawyer’s question in today’s Gospel: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”

          The question that Jesus downgrades to simply, “Do this and you will live.”

          The equilibrium between our happiness and that of others, is balanced upon not missing chances to be merciful.

          Self-sacrifice and self-care are balanced upon opportunities to be merciful.

          Let us pray.

          There was a woman going from Jerusalem to Jericho, and she was robbed, stripped of all she had, beaten, and left half dead.

          Then along came a Priest, just by the thick trudge of her footfalls you could tell she was heavy laden

—she was embittered,

she was burnt out.

          --you might say in modern parlance, she had caretakers fatigue.

          --or going the other direction, looking backward, you might say she was a Moses figure.

          Now, on at least two separate occasions in Hebrew Scripture this story of Moses giving up, and then learning to delegate, is told… Perhaps it’s important…

          Well, this Priest, she didn’t take that story to heart. There she was, the walking dead—like Moses saying, “Kill me now.”

          So bedeviled by duty that when she looked at that dying woman, she thought, “Another obligation,” and kept right on moving.

          Perhaps she’d bought her own hype—that she alone could bring home the bacon… well she’s a Jewish woman… so maybe she brought home the goods… maybe she believed that she alone could serve fully and serve well.

          Perhaps she simply couldn’t say no and this moment was the one chance she had, with no one looking over her shoulder, so he passed by.

          So she grit her teeth and kept on keeping on, doing the things she was obliged to do, but not stooping down to do what she ought to do.

          She missed a chance to be merciful because she tried to do it all by herself.

          Then along came a Levite. Her steps were disordered, her movement erratic. She was watching a Youtube Video on her Smartphone in one hand, while also combing her hair with the other, as she slashed from one side of the street to the other.

In fact, she was so distracted that she tripped over the dying woman.

          It didn’t even phase her, she was overscheduled as it was—like Martha she was busy with many things—every moment scheduled… even her unscheduled moments were scheduled—no moment of serendipity allowed.

          Like so many of her day she wore her busyness as a badge of honor.

          But also, she kept busy, because when she didn’t, when the multi-media extravaganza of modern life, the hypnosis of hypersecheduling broken, when it all stopped blaring, when there were quiet moments, she just didn’t know what to do, how to be a person unscheduled and alone—free!

          She missed her chance to be merciful because she was distracted.

          There was a Samaritan too, who traveled on that long winding road from Jericho to Jerusalem.

          She walked with a little skip in her step—she had a secret inside her she was willing to share.

          She was loved—and she knew it.

          She considered that famous phrase of Torah that Samaritans share with the Jews, “Love your neighbor… as yourself.”

          She recognized that life is a little like an airplane ride—in case of emergency an oxygen mask may appear, in which case you need to secure your own mask before helping others.

          So, she didn’t overschedule herself—she didn’t buy the prevailing culture’s assumption that busyness was next to godliness.

She gave herself time to be—little Sabbaths—so that she could be fully with other people in their times of need.

          She also recognized she wasn’t the sole force of good in the world

—that many hands make light work

—that the alternative to delegating responsibility tends to be resentment.

She even said “no” sometimes—and didn’t feel bad about it either!

          She knelt down and administered aid to the woman. She did what she could for her, but knew there were people better equipped than her to heal the woman’s every ill. She took her to an innkeeper who knew about ointments and healing, and together they showed her mercy.

          She did not miss her opportunity to be merciful.

          Upon that moment, self-sacrifice and self-care, sit together.

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Trinity Sermon

          Grace and Peace to you, on this Trinity Sunday.

          And not only that, but Grace and Peace to you on this first Sunday of our 8-week sermon series in which questions from the pews are answered in the pulpit.

          Today’s question is exceedingly relevant to this day in the church year, Trinity Sunday.

          The question is this: “In the Apostles Creed it says Jesus was conceived by the Holy Spirit. In the Nicene Creed it says that the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father AND THE SON. What gives?”

          So essentially, the question becomes, “Jesus comes from the Holy Spirit and the Holy Spirit comes from Jesus, how does that work?”

         

          The first thing we need to consider is that we can talk about the Trinity in multiple ways.

          On one hand we can talk about the inner Being of God.

          On the other hand we can talk about our experience of God, about how God has interacted with God’s people from the beginning.

          An imperfect analogy for these two ways of thinking about the Trinity would be the difference between being part of a Family

versus  

looking at a family from the outside.

Think about the things you can say about your own family dynamics that you really can’t say about those of your neighbor’s family, no matter how much you know about them.

          Simply put, from the outside you can only understand so much. Inner Being and Outward Experience are two very different things. This is true of both family life and the Trinity.

          Yet, in this sermon I’ll try to talk a bit about the Being of God as expressed in the Creeds, and then about the Experience of God for all of us.

Let us pray

          To begin, it is worth noting most Heresies are caused by saying too much—about nailing things down too fully (putting God in a box).

Orthodoxy—saying something right about God, on the other hand, is so often taking the middle ground between two extremes. And so it is with the Trinity.

          The faith, as found in the creeds, threads the needle between two extremes—Modalism and Arianism.

          Modalism was a view of the Trinity that simply said, “1 God is 3 because that one God comes to us in three ways.” (The Ice/Water/Steam analogy) In Modalism it’s as if God put on three different masks—different modes of being. So Modalism’s focus is on the oneness of God above all other concerns.

          As you can imagine this wreaks havoc on what scripture says about God. Think of Gethsemane, “Father take this cup from me.” It’s like Father and Son are a ventriloquist act.

          The response to Modalism in the West was to define God as one in Substance, Essence, and Nature, but three in Person. In the East they defined God as one in Will, but separate in Hierarchy—The Son and Spirit are subordinate to the Father.

         

          This Eastern response to Modalism is where we get Arianism.

          Arianism is an extreme form of this concern over the Hierarchy within the Trinity…  eventually the question arises “How subordinate are Spirit and Son to the Father?” (Where do they fit in the pecking order?)

Are they in fact God, or just exalted creatures?

Are they God at all?

Is Jesus just a good man and the Spirit just the effects of God’s actions?

          Through a few quirks in history the Arian movement moves from the East to West and takes off in Northern Europe. Specifically these Arians deny the full Divinity of Jesus.

To combat this belief, the Western Church, around the 6^th century, adds a line to the Nicene Creed, “The Holy Spirit Proceeds from the Father AND THE SON.”

          That’s what’s going on with these creeds—they are describing the Being of God in a way that doesn’t go off the rails, either denying the uniqueness of Spirit and Son, or obliterating their divinity, claiming they are creatures.

          But let’s step back a bit, let’s move from being to experience, from Creeds to Scripture.

Let’s get closer to an answer to the question!

          Firstly, there is a solid basis for this addition to the Nicene Creed—adding “And the Son.”

          As we read today Christ blows his Holy Spirit upon the Disciples—they receive the Spirit, which gives them peace and the power to forgive and retain sins.

          Throughout John’s Gospel the Holy Spirit is so connected to Jesus that it almost feels like it is a disembodied version of Jesus—Jesus’ ghost if you will. (Though it’s worth nothing that in John, Jesus also calls the Spirit “Another Advocate.”)

          Still, the Apostle Paul talks about the Spirit as “The Spirit of Christ.” And equates being filled with the Holy Spirit with having the “Mind of Christ.”

          Yes, the claim of Nicaea that, “The Spirit Proceeds from the Son,” meshes with our experience as God’s people as expressed in the New Testament.

          At the same time, dear Mary points us to the other side of things. Her child, Jesus, is conceived by the Holy Spirit. His birth is the work of God, and we know that to be true because the Spirit, that “Shy Sovereign,” has made it so, and seal his Sonship to God.

          For that matter, at Jesus’ Baptism the Spirit, like a dove, points to Jesus, declares, and affirms, that Jesus is the Son of God, the beloved of God.

          Yes, the claim of Apostle’s creed that, “Jesus was conceived by the Holy Spirit,” stands in scripture.

         

          Yet this mystery goes back far beyond these Gospels. Within the first three verses of Genesis we find Spirit and Word transforming the “Formless void.”…

          But to give some sort of answer, we might Spring boarding off the start of John’s Gospel—we might say:

          “The Pre-existent Son of God, the Word who was with God and was God, was brought into this world by the Power of the Spirit, and the Spirit affirmed Jesus’ identity at his Baptism.

          After Jesus’ death and resurrection, and in a variety of ways, Jesus gave the Spirit to his disciples. The Spirit continues to point us to the mind-blowing reality that Jesus is God’s Son.

          And for that matter, in our Baptism, the Spirit, comes to us letting us know we are adopted into Jesus’ family—we are made Children of God—connected to the Holy Mystery of the Being of God!

          Through Son and Spirit we experience the Being of God. A+A!”

Five Link 5: The Pew Report

         So, the latest Pew survey on religion came out.

         Douthat is pretty excited, in fact he wrote multiple articles about it.

         In the first he takes three categories he fleshed out in his book Bad Religion--Biblical, Spiritual, and Secular, and looks how those groups fair in the survey. He argues there are a lot fewer “Biblical” folk around, instead they’re bleeding into the Spiritual center, even if they identify as “Biblical.” So, even people who are claiming orthodoxy are doing so while not connecting to orthodox traditions. Similarly, they are evangelical, but not members of an evangelical denomination. So, a self-identified “biblical” population may not change much for reporting purposes, but the denominations connected to them may decline.

         In his second article he takes a slightly different route to say a similar thing. He points out that the Pew study is about identification, not practice. So, someone might go to church the same amount, but no longer identify as Christian. He then goes on to wonder if the whole thing just reflects the atypical maturation process of Millennials—that they’re not getting married so they’ve not boomeranged back to church in order to connect with a community to help them instill values and a sense of the transcendent in their children.

         In some ways, both these articles point to the polarization and atomization of modern America. On one hand, people today are strongly encouraged to pick a side, either atheist or fundamentalist—middle ground is discouraged. On the other hand, it points out non-practicing affiliation is a value for many Americans. 

One might wonder, if a war was called between the two factions, would anyone show up?

         Kevin Vallier of Bleeding HeartLibertarians has a different take away from this poll. He points out to his Atheist friends, who are gloating at the demise of Christianity, that the kind of Christianity that is disappearing is the reasonable kind. Their shadow-self, the Fundamentalists, are going strong. He mourns the disappearance of the reasonable mainline-middle-man (he describes such a person as a father figure) who could bridge the gap between a fundamentalist mother and atheist son.

         Then there is Clint.

         He sees the Pew Report as a product of masochistic mainliners. We, he claims, have a deep seed of self-loathing within us, and therefore these reports (or at least how they are read) are shaped to cater to that impulse. The very categories different denominations are put in are categories only mainliners would use. In short, there is a much richer religious story in America than this report would show, so we should pull our heads out of our belly buttons and take a look around.

         My own take is as it has been for a while; mainline decline has to do with the 3D’s, Demographics, Decentralization, and Disestablishment. Sometime this summer I'll be preaching on this subject, so wait with bated breath!

Sermon: “Lord, may we be weird together.”

          In Matthew and Luke’s Gospel, we have 2 forms of the Lord’s Prayer. In Mark we get a very truncated bit about forgiveness… In John’s Gospel, we get something structurally quite different—imagine for example, if we prayed today’s Gospel lesson every week… woe to the Sunday School and Confirmation Kids who would memorize that Lord’s Prayer.

          But perhaps we could shore things up, summarize this prayer spoke by our Lord:

          “LORD, You have chosen us, we are Yours and You have given us to Your Son.

          We dwell, we abide, with Him who is Word of God.

          You have revealed Him to us, He who comes from You.

          May we faithfully live in this relationship—may we live weirdly for the sake of Your will.

          Leave us not alone O’LORD, but give to us companions upon this journey with You.

          Amen.”

          Or to summarize more starkly “Lord, may we be weird together.”

          Let us pray:

         

          “Lord, may we be weird together.”

          Jesus prays that his sanctity might sanctify us. To sanctify means—to make or recognize a thing or a person as Holy.

          To quote one commentator, “Holy things and people are the same as normal things and people, but kind of different. “Kind of different from normal" sounds like a definition of "weird" to me.”

          Jesus’ followers—we Christians—are a little weird… we live in a different reality.

-        We’re a little weird because we’re people who’ve been chosen by God—we’re people who’ve grasped that God has knelt down and grasped us—grasped up our life and called us by name, and chose us to be freed from all that would oppress us.

We’re a people struck with the question, “What should I do now that I don’t have to do anything.”

We’re a people promised life eternal, and therefore our life is forever changed—our way of being forever altered.

-        We’re a little weird because we’re people who abide—people who are steeped—in God’s Word, Jesus Christ the Lover of our Soul.

We are people too, whom Christ steeps in.

That relationship shapes who and what we are—God’s Word within our hearts and upon our lips, a relationship with God.

-        We’re a little weird because we’re people grappling with Jesus’ origin—that he’s from God and is God.

What does it mean that the Creator of all that is, seen and unseen:

-Stood upon particular ground in Galilee?

-Told particular stories that still work upon our psyche to this day?

-Spent time with the least of these and sinners?

-Sent us forth and Died that we might live?

          Yes, we’re weird because we’re chosen by God, abide in his Word, Jesus, and know that Jesus is from God.

          And I don’t want to sentimentalize this weirdness—Stonings, beatings, persecution and hardship were the consequence of this weirdness for the Early Church who proclaimed Christ as Lord.

          Weirdness weighed heavily on the Saintly Desert Mothers and Fathers, living as hermits out in the wilderness with nothing but Jackals and Jesus as their companions.

          It’s weird to claim “In Christ There Is No East or West, in Him no North or South” in a world riven with Civil and World Wars.

          Weird to claim “The Brotherhood of Man and the Fatherhood of God” in the Jim Crow South, or an Apartheid state, or anywhere fellowship between people is denied.

Sanctity—Weirdness, can wear a person down.

It can turn you inward.

It can weary the soul,

malform it,

 or silo us off,

leaving us alone in our weirdness.

          And that’s why we cry not only “Lord, may we be weird,” but, “Lord, may we be weird together.”

          That’s why we are Church, not for buildings or programs, but that we weird ones,

we holy ones,

we sinner/saints struggling to be faithful in the World as it is,

might bear with one another. So that it’s not me and Jesus, but us and Jesus!

          And think of the witness of that.

          When Jon, the owner of Flannagan’s pub, saw us there together at Pub Theology last Tuesday, it was clear he thought, “What it God’s name brings a group of people like this together.” And that is our answer, “God’s name.”

          Think of the witness our strange fellowship…

          What brings together Jesus’ disciples—A Tax Collector, a gaggle of fishermen, a political assassin, a religious radical, and two hot tempered brothers.

          They’re united only in following Jesus

—in going out together two by two supporting one another

—defending each other’s weirdness from a world seeking sameness.

Feeding one another’s soul,

keeping us looking outside ourselves,

giving one another rest,

and reminding each other we’re never alone.

          “Lord, may we be weird together.”

          We chosen ones, we abiding ones, we knowing ones. We in the world, but not of it. We bound together, in Jesus.

         

          We pray, “Lord, may we be weird together.”

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