Thursday, March 18, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
2 Kings 17:24-28 Lions, Samaritans, and Fear! Oh My!
Well, I preached at the Wednesday Evening joint service "Wade in the Water," at All Saints.
What you see here is the sermon as written, not exactly as preached, because you know, you double space these things to leave room for the Holy Spirit.
One of the best part of the nights was when I had people amening right and left--then I got to the line, "I believe this so strongly that at one point it almost made me leave Christianity!" Utter silence... so I asked, "am I not getting an Amen for that?"
Having grown up in Wyoming, it feels funny when people on the East Coast talk about nature.
Frankly, I don’t believe they’ve ever been in it. Their descriptions feel so bloodless, so sapped of power, and I would go so far as to say sapped of meaning, that I don’t believe they’ve ever seen the wild.
It is like they had only seen nature through the eyes of Walt Disney. It is like Bambi and Thumper are their only experience of the wild. It is like they really believed that birds would fetch Snow White’s slippers.
And it has taken me a while to realize why. It is because they’ve never been in the wild. No. Druid Hill Park, or Patterson Park or Park Heights, don’t count as the wild.
Friends, I want you to know that I’ve seen nature. I’ve been in the wild. And the wild can kill you!
I’ve looked into the golden eyes of a mountain lion lounging on a rock. I’ve seen a baby bear and smelled the rot and decay of a momma bear coming up to defend her child.
And I can assure you that being between a mother bear and her cub is not where you want to be!
And you know, while bears are dangerous, there are some precautions you can take to be safer.
For example, it is important to wear bear bells so they can hear you coming. That way you won’t startle them. Because you really don’t want to startle a bear!
And it’s also important to have Bear Mace with you, because Bear Mace it is one of the few things that might stop a bear if it charges you.
Of course, these precautions are only precautions—they don’t necessarily work in every situation.
You see, they say you can tell the difference between a brown bear and grizzly bears by looking at their scat. (explain scat? A predator’s poop)
Brown bear scat is filled with berrys, nuts, and small rodents.
Grizzly Bear scat is filed with bear bells and bear mace!
I say all of this because I must admit when it comes to Lions I could just as well be an East Coaster. I don’t know much about wild lions. I don’t know what it was like for the first generation of Samaritans that we read about in today’s lesson. I don’t know what being terrorized by lions is like.
But I want to make sure we don’t Disney-fy today’s lesson—this isn’t the Lion King.
There will be no: “Look, Simba. Everything the light touches is our Kingdom.” There will be no: “Hakuna Matat.”
Because tonight I want to talk about how our Baptismal vocation is, “to serve all people following the example of Jesus Christ.”
I want to talk about what this vow means for the Samaritans and for all those who fear lions.
What this vow means for the Samaritans and for all those who fear lions.
Let us pray:
Lord God. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable in your sight. May they remind us of your gracious gift to us in Baptism and its fruits of service and comfort for all people. In the name of Jesus, Amen.
Imagine all of these Easterners—Babylonians, Cuthah, Avva, Hamath, and Sepharvaim. They’ve been kidnapped by the Assyrians and transported far from their native land, dropped off, and made to colonize Samaria.
Its sort of like what the British did with their prisoners in the late 18th and early 19th century—they dropped their criminals off in Australia.
The difference of course being that the Assyrians dropped off their Prisoners of War—not their criminals—in parts of the world that they occupied.
I’d imaging things started off fine for these Easterners. They occupy the houses of the original inhabitants—the Israelites—who had themselves been kidnapped and moved elsewhere by the Assyrians.
These Easterners likely start to farm, and re-establish trading routes, and generally get the things done that need to be done for ghost towns to be enlivened again.
But after a time—once a rhythm gets established. Once the unknown becomes known—they get bored. They begin to wander farther afield. They begin to check out the back woods of Samaria.
And maybe that is kind of fun at the start. They feel like genuine woodmen—like Johnny Appleseed before Johnny Appleseed existed.
But then, like some horror film—this new adventure goes sour. People start disappearing.
Perhaps the Assyrian officials begin by trying to cover things up—I mean what’s one more or one less Avva to an Assyrian? But then, I imagine, after a while, there are survivors who tell their story.
They tell of giant golden cats stalking them—playing with men the way house cats place with mice.
So the authorities get wise. They start sending people out wearing Lion Bells and packing Lion Mace.
Imagine it—these folk wandering through the valley of Jezzrel—the jangling of their Lion Bells echoing through the valley as they went. These folk clutching their Lion Mace until they get within the city limits of Meggedo.
But all this does, in the end, is change the content of Lion scat. It begins to contain mace, bells, and bits of Babylonians.
So, in desperation, as a last resort, they find an Israelite priest and bring him back to Samaria. These Easterners convert to some form of what will eventually be called Judaism, in order to protect themselves from lions. They convert because they are afraid of lions.
And you all are looking up at me, and down at your bulletins, and back up at me and wondering, “Isn’t this called “Wade in the Water?”
“What the heck does this have to do with our baptismal calling “to serve all people following the example of Jesus Christ.”?”
You think to yourself, usually—at these things—the preacher at least took the time to find a Biblical passage that involves water!
Well, I’ll tell you what this has to do with our covenant calling found in Baptism! These Babylonians, Cuthah, Avva, Hamath, and Sepharvaim stay in Samaria. They become Samaritans.
And that doesn’t sit will with the rest of the people in the land. The rest of Judaism resent them.
They call them “Lion Jews”—that is L-I-O-N, not L-Y-I-N-apostrophe.
They resent these late comers—these people who are faithful only out of fear.
I would go so far as to say that Samaritans became, for their neighbors, the Eternal Other. They become the Eternal Other—the person you define as not you.
You know, “I may have a drinking problem… but at least I’m not a Samaritan.” “I may be out of a job, but at least I’m not a Samaritan.” “I may be a sinner, but at least I’m not a Samaritan.”
The Samaritans were a continued thorn in the side of Jerusalem—an unnatural addition to the family. The in-law that you really can’t stand—the houseguest that just doesn’t go away.
The person who has slept on your couch for so long there is a sweat stained imprint of them embedded into the upholstery.
Do you remember the most insulting thing ever said to Jesus? “You are possessed.” At least that’s the part we remember—because we read that as blaspheming the Holy Spirit.
But the full quote, found in John 8:48, is, “Aren’t we correct in saying that you are a Samaritan, and are possessed by a demon?”
Oh, yes, these Lion Jews were bad news, they weren’t the kind of people you want to associate with, talk with, or break bread with.
But Jesus has a different spin on these Lion Jews, these descendants of those Easterners who wandered around with Lion bells and Lion mace.
Jesus tells a story—a very famous story—in response to the question, “Who is my neighbor.”
Jesus tells a story about a man in distress—robbed and alone, bypassed by his own people—helped only by a stranger, by a Samaritan. Jesus is saying in no uncertain terms, “The Samaritan, the Lion Jew, is your neighbor.”
When Jesus heals and cleanses ten lepers the only one who thanks him, is the descendants of these Assyrian Prisoners, a Samaritan.
When Jesus stops at a well to drink he gets into an extended conversation—with a woman—scandalous enough—I know—but not with just any woman, with a Samaritan woman!
Not only that! This woman goes to all her Samaritan friends and tells them that the Messiah showed up, and they come and see.
Lets compare that to what happens when the Apostle Peter confesses that Jesus is the Messiah. He then spends the rest of the gospel backtracking from that statement until the cockcrows and the Christ is Crucified—but this Samaritan woman—this Lion Jew!—oh, she goes out right away and tells everyone about her conversation with Jesus!
We are to serve ALL people following the example of Jesus Christ. All people—our neighbors—not just the Priest and the Levite—but also the Samaritan—not just the elderly church lady in the in apartment next to you, or the nice Pentecostal on the 3rd floor, but the young men who get drunk and pump up the bass and play Nas and Street Sweeper Social Club until 3am every Saturday night. Because they’re my neighbors too.
We are to serve ALL people following the example of Jesus Christ. All people—because it is those who we treat as farthest from the gospel that see it most clearly. It is those who don’t expect their leprosy to be cleaned that will rejoice when it happens.
We are to serve ALL people following the example of Jesus Christ. All people—because conversations with Samaritan women keep us honest—sometimes more honest than we can be with our own flesh and blood. And that refreshing honesty is infectious!
You see I believe in my heart of hearts that serving all people is central to Christ’s message and to the very meaning of his existence. I believe that expanding the borders of the kingdom of God. Recognizing the full citizenship of Samaritans—is the gospel of Jesus Christ!
I believe this so strongly that at one point it almost made me leave Christianity! For you see, I was on board with Jesus’ kingdom plan—with trudging through Galilee on the way to Golgotha picking up the neer-do-wells, losers, outcasts, sinners, and Samaritans for the journey.
But, when I looked out at the church I didn’t see any of that. I didn’t feel any Galilean wind rippling the calm tides of our baptismal pools. I felt that Christ had called for the Kingdom of God and the Church showed up.
And you know who I blamed? The Apostle Paul! I did not believe his testimony that Jesus Christ had came to him after the resurrection. I knew Jesus and I knew he didn’t want women to be silent in the church. He didn’t want to strengthen Roman family structures. He didn’t want formalize structures of authority.
But, the more I beat my head against Paul and spilled my heart out to Jesus I realized something. All those things we accuse Paul of—sexual repression, patriarchy, and all sorts of malarkey—were secondary to Christ’s calling on his life.
His calling was to bring Gentiles into the kingdom—to bring us on the journey. Us Lion Jews, holding tight to our Lion Bells and clutching our Lion Mace for all its worth. Us Samaritans stuck in a strange land fearful of lions.
It was finally Paul’s magnificent words, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus,” that shown through as a light in my dark night of the soul.
I finally realized if it is true that this Radical Rabbi from Galilee who supped with sinners and Samaritans was raised from the dead and sits at the right hand of God.
If the cross of Christ filled the whole cosmos and the resurrection revealed God’s risky yes to all people—then Paul’s messy and dangerous ministry to gentiles—his improvisational-free-style form of, “serving all people following the example of Jesus Christ”—while flawed, was still faithful!
We’re all here—all of us who are non-Jews—because Paul served all people following the example of Jesus Christ.
Now I know that “the mind can only comprehend what the seat can endure,” but please come with me a little farther.
If we are to serve all people following the example of Jesus Christ we really need to serve ALL people. Samaritans, as well as all those who clutch Lion Bells and Lion Mace so tight their knuckles crack.
We need to remind them that they don’t need to fear Lions, because we serve the Lion of the Tribe of Judah.
But, more than that, we need to remind them
—and remind ourselves… because I’ll admit it, I sometimes fear lions more than God and want God to be my Lion Bell and Lion Mace—
we need to remind all the world of what John the Revelator found out about the Lion of God as he wrote the book of Revelation on the Island of Patmos.
Do you remember?
Do you remember John’s powerful vision?
John stands with an angel, fearing that the full revelation of God will not happen because there is no one powerful enough to open up the scroll. This so distresses John that he weeps.
But then it is powerfully sung to him, “Do not weep. See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered, so that he can open the scroll and its seven seals.”
And he turns to see this Lion. This powerful character—this king of the beasts—this Lion Bell and Lion Mace guaranteed to succeed against all animals in heaven and on earth.
And John turns!
--And behold, “a Lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered.”--
Conquest, powerful revelation, salvation itself, is effected by a slain lamb that has rose again.
Oh yes, sometimes we spend so much time worrying about lions.
And we spend so much time worrying about who is in and who is out—that we forget that God is not a carnivore! God is not a carnivore!
Our baptism is death with Jesus and resurrection with Jesus. It is an unconditional yes from Jesus. It is the grace of Jesus.
Our Baptism is entering into the messiness of life with Jesus. Serving Samaritans with Jesus. Comforting those who come to God out of fear with Jesus.
Our baptism is stepping out into the wild world—not into Disney world, but into the wild world—with Jesus.
Our baptism is stepping out into the wild world with Jesus amongst lions. Our baptism is stepping out into the wild world with Jesus amongst Samaritans. Our baptism is stepping out into the wild world with Jesus amongst fear!
Lions, Samaritans, and Fear. Oh my! And Amen.
What you see here is the sermon as written, not exactly as preached, because you know, you double space these things to leave room for the Holy Spirit.
One of the best part of the nights was when I had people amening right and left--then I got to the line, "I believe this so strongly that at one point it almost made me leave Christianity!" Utter silence... so I asked, "am I not getting an Amen for that?"
Having grown up in Wyoming, it feels funny when people on the East Coast talk about nature.
Frankly, I don’t believe they’ve ever been in it. Their descriptions feel so bloodless, so sapped of power, and I would go so far as to say sapped of meaning, that I don’t believe they’ve ever seen the wild.
It is like they had only seen nature through the eyes of Walt Disney. It is like Bambi and Thumper are their only experience of the wild. It is like they really believed that birds would fetch Snow White’s slippers.
And it has taken me a while to realize why. It is because they’ve never been in the wild. No. Druid Hill Park, or Patterson Park or Park Heights, don’t count as the wild.
Friends, I want you to know that I’ve seen nature. I’ve been in the wild. And the wild can kill you!
I’ve looked into the golden eyes of a mountain lion lounging on a rock. I’ve seen a baby bear and smelled the rot and decay of a momma bear coming up to defend her child.
And I can assure you that being between a mother bear and her cub is not where you want to be!
And you know, while bears are dangerous, there are some precautions you can take to be safer.
For example, it is important to wear bear bells so they can hear you coming. That way you won’t startle them. Because you really don’t want to startle a bear!
And it’s also important to have Bear Mace with you, because Bear Mace it is one of the few things that might stop a bear if it charges you.
Of course, these precautions are only precautions—they don’t necessarily work in every situation.
You see, they say you can tell the difference between a brown bear and grizzly bears by looking at their scat. (explain scat? A predator’s poop)
Brown bear scat is filled with berrys, nuts, and small rodents.
Grizzly Bear scat is filed with bear bells and bear mace!
I say all of this because I must admit when it comes to Lions I could just as well be an East Coaster. I don’t know much about wild lions. I don’t know what it was like for the first generation of Samaritans that we read about in today’s lesson. I don’t know what being terrorized by lions is like.
But I want to make sure we don’t Disney-fy today’s lesson—this isn’t the Lion King.
There will be no: “Look, Simba. Everything the light touches is our Kingdom.” There will be no: “Hakuna Matat.”
Because tonight I want to talk about how our Baptismal vocation is, “to serve all people following the example of Jesus Christ.”
I want to talk about what this vow means for the Samaritans and for all those who fear lions.
What this vow means for the Samaritans and for all those who fear lions.
Let us pray:
Lord God. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable in your sight. May they remind us of your gracious gift to us in Baptism and its fruits of service and comfort for all people. In the name of Jesus, Amen.
Imagine all of these Easterners—Babylonians, Cuthah, Avva, Hamath, and Sepharvaim. They’ve been kidnapped by the Assyrians and transported far from their native land, dropped off, and made to colonize Samaria.
Its sort of like what the British did with their prisoners in the late 18th and early 19th century—they dropped their criminals off in Australia.
The difference of course being that the Assyrians dropped off their Prisoners of War—not their criminals—in parts of the world that they occupied.
I’d imaging things started off fine for these Easterners. They occupy the houses of the original inhabitants—the Israelites—who had themselves been kidnapped and moved elsewhere by the Assyrians.
These Easterners likely start to farm, and re-establish trading routes, and generally get the things done that need to be done for ghost towns to be enlivened again.
But after a time—once a rhythm gets established. Once the unknown becomes known—they get bored. They begin to wander farther afield. They begin to check out the back woods of Samaria.
And maybe that is kind of fun at the start. They feel like genuine woodmen—like Johnny Appleseed before Johnny Appleseed existed.
But then, like some horror film—this new adventure goes sour. People start disappearing.
Perhaps the Assyrian officials begin by trying to cover things up—I mean what’s one more or one less Avva to an Assyrian? But then, I imagine, after a while, there are survivors who tell their story.
They tell of giant golden cats stalking them—playing with men the way house cats place with mice.
So the authorities get wise. They start sending people out wearing Lion Bells and packing Lion Mace.
Imagine it—these folk wandering through the valley of Jezzrel—the jangling of their Lion Bells echoing through the valley as they went. These folk clutching their Lion Mace until they get within the city limits of Meggedo.
But all this does, in the end, is change the content of Lion scat. It begins to contain mace, bells, and bits of Babylonians.
So, in desperation, as a last resort, they find an Israelite priest and bring him back to Samaria. These Easterners convert to some form of what will eventually be called Judaism, in order to protect themselves from lions. They convert because they are afraid of lions.
And you all are looking up at me, and down at your bulletins, and back up at me and wondering, “Isn’t this called “Wade in the Water?”
“What the heck does this have to do with our baptismal calling “to serve all people following the example of Jesus Christ.”?”
You think to yourself, usually—at these things—the preacher at least took the time to find a Biblical passage that involves water!
Well, I’ll tell you what this has to do with our covenant calling found in Baptism! These Babylonians, Cuthah, Avva, Hamath, and Sepharvaim stay in Samaria. They become Samaritans.
And that doesn’t sit will with the rest of the people in the land. The rest of Judaism resent them.
They call them “Lion Jews”—that is L-I-O-N, not L-Y-I-N-apostrophe.
They resent these late comers—these people who are faithful only out of fear.
I would go so far as to say that Samaritans became, for their neighbors, the Eternal Other. They become the Eternal Other—the person you define as not you.
You know, “I may have a drinking problem… but at least I’m not a Samaritan.” “I may be out of a job, but at least I’m not a Samaritan.” “I may be a sinner, but at least I’m not a Samaritan.”
The Samaritans were a continued thorn in the side of Jerusalem—an unnatural addition to the family. The in-law that you really can’t stand—the houseguest that just doesn’t go away.
The person who has slept on your couch for so long there is a sweat stained imprint of them embedded into the upholstery.
Do you remember the most insulting thing ever said to Jesus? “You are possessed.” At least that’s the part we remember—because we read that as blaspheming the Holy Spirit.
But the full quote, found in John 8:48, is, “Aren’t we correct in saying that you are a Samaritan, and are possessed by a demon?”
Oh, yes, these Lion Jews were bad news, they weren’t the kind of people you want to associate with, talk with, or break bread with.
But Jesus has a different spin on these Lion Jews, these descendants of those Easterners who wandered around with Lion bells and Lion mace.
Jesus tells a story—a very famous story—in response to the question, “Who is my neighbor.”
Jesus tells a story about a man in distress—robbed and alone, bypassed by his own people—helped only by a stranger, by a Samaritan. Jesus is saying in no uncertain terms, “The Samaritan, the Lion Jew, is your neighbor.”
When Jesus heals and cleanses ten lepers the only one who thanks him, is the descendants of these Assyrian Prisoners, a Samaritan.
When Jesus stops at a well to drink he gets into an extended conversation—with a woman—scandalous enough—I know—but not with just any woman, with a Samaritan woman!
Not only that! This woman goes to all her Samaritan friends and tells them that the Messiah showed up, and they come and see.
Lets compare that to what happens when the Apostle Peter confesses that Jesus is the Messiah. He then spends the rest of the gospel backtracking from that statement until the cockcrows and the Christ is Crucified—but this Samaritan woman—this Lion Jew!—oh, she goes out right away and tells everyone about her conversation with Jesus!
We are to serve ALL people following the example of Jesus Christ. All people—our neighbors—not just the Priest and the Levite—but also the Samaritan—not just the elderly church lady in the in apartment next to you, or the nice Pentecostal on the 3rd floor, but the young men who get drunk and pump up the bass and play Nas and Street Sweeper Social Club until 3am every Saturday night. Because they’re my neighbors too.
We are to serve ALL people following the example of Jesus Christ. All people—because it is those who we treat as farthest from the gospel that see it most clearly. It is those who don’t expect their leprosy to be cleaned that will rejoice when it happens.
We are to serve ALL people following the example of Jesus Christ. All people—because conversations with Samaritan women keep us honest—sometimes more honest than we can be with our own flesh and blood. And that refreshing honesty is infectious!
You see I believe in my heart of hearts that serving all people is central to Christ’s message and to the very meaning of his existence. I believe that expanding the borders of the kingdom of God. Recognizing the full citizenship of Samaritans—is the gospel of Jesus Christ!
I believe this so strongly that at one point it almost made me leave Christianity! For you see, I was on board with Jesus’ kingdom plan—with trudging through Galilee on the way to Golgotha picking up the neer-do-wells, losers, outcasts, sinners, and Samaritans for the journey.
But, when I looked out at the church I didn’t see any of that. I didn’t feel any Galilean wind rippling the calm tides of our baptismal pools. I felt that Christ had called for the Kingdom of God and the Church showed up.
And you know who I blamed? The Apostle Paul! I did not believe his testimony that Jesus Christ had came to him after the resurrection. I knew Jesus and I knew he didn’t want women to be silent in the church. He didn’t want to strengthen Roman family structures. He didn’t want formalize structures of authority.
But, the more I beat my head against Paul and spilled my heart out to Jesus I realized something. All those things we accuse Paul of—sexual repression, patriarchy, and all sorts of malarkey—were secondary to Christ’s calling on his life.
His calling was to bring Gentiles into the kingdom—to bring us on the journey. Us Lion Jews, holding tight to our Lion Bells and clutching our Lion Mace for all its worth. Us Samaritans stuck in a strange land fearful of lions.
It was finally Paul’s magnificent words, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus,” that shown through as a light in my dark night of the soul.
I finally realized if it is true that this Radical Rabbi from Galilee who supped with sinners and Samaritans was raised from the dead and sits at the right hand of God.
If the cross of Christ filled the whole cosmos and the resurrection revealed God’s risky yes to all people—then Paul’s messy and dangerous ministry to gentiles—his improvisational-free-style form of, “serving all people following the example of Jesus Christ”—while flawed, was still faithful!
We’re all here—all of us who are non-Jews—because Paul served all people following the example of Jesus Christ.
Now I know that “the mind can only comprehend what the seat can endure,” but please come with me a little farther.
If we are to serve all people following the example of Jesus Christ we really need to serve ALL people. Samaritans, as well as all those who clutch Lion Bells and Lion Mace so tight their knuckles crack.
We need to remind them that they don’t need to fear Lions, because we serve the Lion of the Tribe of Judah.
But, more than that, we need to remind them
—and remind ourselves… because I’ll admit it, I sometimes fear lions more than God and want God to be my Lion Bell and Lion Mace—
we need to remind all the world of what John the Revelator found out about the Lion of God as he wrote the book of Revelation on the Island of Patmos.
Do you remember?
Do you remember John’s powerful vision?
John stands with an angel, fearing that the full revelation of God will not happen because there is no one powerful enough to open up the scroll. This so distresses John that he weeps.
But then it is powerfully sung to him, “Do not weep. See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered, so that he can open the scroll and its seven seals.”
And he turns to see this Lion. This powerful character—this king of the beasts—this Lion Bell and Lion Mace guaranteed to succeed against all animals in heaven and on earth.
And John turns!
--And behold, “a Lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered.”--
Conquest, powerful revelation, salvation itself, is effected by a slain lamb that has rose again.
Oh yes, sometimes we spend so much time worrying about lions.
And we spend so much time worrying about who is in and who is out—that we forget that God is not a carnivore! God is not a carnivore!
Our baptism is death with Jesus and resurrection with Jesus. It is an unconditional yes from Jesus. It is the grace of Jesus.
Our Baptism is entering into the messiness of life with Jesus. Serving Samaritans with Jesus. Comforting those who come to God out of fear with Jesus.
Our baptism is stepping out into the wild world—not into Disney world, but into the wild world—with Jesus.
Our baptism is stepping out into the wild world with Jesus amongst lions. Our baptism is stepping out into the wild world with Jesus amongst Samaritans. Our baptism is stepping out into the wild world with Jesus amongst fear!
Lions, Samaritans, and Fear. Oh my! And Amen.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
How and Who
How and Who
I have to admit that I’ve dreaded preaching this sermon for about a month now. I have dreaded it ever since I was told by pastor Gregg that I would be preaching on the subject, “Blessed are those who weep.”
At first I was just uncomfortable confronting suffering, loss, weeping, mourning, and tears.
It wasn’t that I didn’t have anything to say about these things. I’ve suffered through 4 open-heart surgeries, I’ve felt the loss of leaving loved ones scattered all across the country and the globe as I’ve moved from place to place. I’ve mourned the death of family. I’ve shed my share of tears.
But, I ask, “what can I say from this pulpit that your own tears have not told you?” “What effect can my words have upon your soul that your soul has not already effected in you?”
But that’s not even the whole of it. As Lent came these questions became even more serious.
You see this Lenten season—this season in the church year in which we remember our mortality and our sinfulness, this season in which we talk about being “in the wilderness for 40 days,” has seemed to be just that—a wilderness experience. It seems like everyone I know is “going through some things.” And I had to ask myself, “Can I really say something from this pulpit that is meaningful for people as they weep?”
Still weighed down by these questions I drove back to Philadelphia on Tuesday in order to attend “Preaching with Power.” This is a weeklong event held by my seminary that brings some of the best Black preachers from across the country together to preach.
Dr. Cleophus LaRue—Princeton Theological Seminary’s Professor of Homiletics—that’s the art of preaching—gave a lecture entitled, “Why black preachers still love artful language.”
Being the studious guy that I am I took extensive notes. But there were two things Dr. LaRue said that struck me hard enough that I didn’t need to write them down. These two things seemed important to my struggle to preach on the subject, “Blessed are those who weep.”
The first thing he said that struck me was that “Sermons must take the assembly”—that’s all of you—“more seriously than they take themselves.” “Sermons must take the assembly more seriously than they take themselves.”
The second thing Dr. LaRue said that I found important was, “Preachers call forth a world that doesn’t exist…at least not yet.” “Preachers call forth a world that doesn’t exist…at least not yet.”
And it was because of these two comments on the art of preaching that I chose our lessons from the book of Lamentations and from Paul’s letter to the Romans. Lamentations takes the assembly seriously and Romans calls forth a world that doesn’t exist… at least not yet.
And so let us pray. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts are acceptable in your sight Lord God that they might take seriously these present sufferings and weeping. So too LORD may they point us beyond tears, to joy. In the precious name of Jesus. Amen
The book of Lamentations was written as the first response to devastation. Lamentations was written in response to Babylonians destroying the Holy City of Jerusalem. In response to Babylonians knocking down walls, burning the Temple, and destroying houses. In response to the purposeful depopulation of the city through the means of killing the poor and kidnapping the rich.
It was, in a sense, a man made disaster.
We’ve seen the images from Haiti and Chile. Those were natural disasters…devastation by means of earthquake. What the Babylonians had brought to the city of Jerusalem was the equivalent of a human caused earthquake.
And imagine the author. Tradition says he composed the book in the midst of the ashes, and the rubble, and the grief, and the misery of his city ground to bits. Tradition also has it that he wept while writing and the ink ran wet with his tears even as he wrote.
Think of it. He survived the devastation, he wasn’t rich enough to be kidnapped, but wasn’t poor enough to be slaughtered.
Perhaps he was shaken with survivor’s guilt? Perhaps he was rocked by Post-traumatic stress disorder?
And brothers and sisters—there is one more layer of tragedy embedded in this book. This layer of tragedy has been covered up by time and bad translation.
You see the title “Lamentations” is not the title of this book. Or at least it wasn’t the title given to it by the earliest of scribes, neither, I would claim, was it the title given to it by its original author as he wept in the ruins of his wrecked city.
You see the original title of Lamentations was Akah. Now when the Bible was being translated into the Greek they didn’t know how to convey “Akah,” so they translated it as Lamentations. But that’s not what Akah means! (Ask Matt to translate…how)
You see the horror the author is experiencing is so fresh—so present—so real to him that all he can say his Akah! How!
Note that this isn’t a question. It is a sort of verbal punctuation, a spoken exclamation point!
How! How! How!
This word How! Punctuates our tears just as this book HOW! describes the content of our tears.
How! Our tears are loneliness!
How! Our tears are being downtrodden!
How! Our tears are mockery!
How! Our tears are loss!
How! Our tears are being stripped naked.
How! Our tears are worthlessness.
How! Our tears are physical aching! Fire in our bones, a wrung out heart, a churning stomach!
How! Our tears are deception by a lover, abandonment by the faithful, and even by God!
I’m not being melodramatic here! In the moment of crying it is real! How! is what it feels like when we cry. Our tears are real. They’re serious, they express the trouble we’ve seen. They are an admission that sometimes we don’t even have it in us to say, “God is good, all the time.”
How!
Tears are serious. Tears are also universal.
What do I mean by that? Let me tell you a story:
There was once a woman whose son had died. She mourned him deeply. She wailed and wept, she threw herself onto his grave. She became obsessed with her dearly departed son. She stopped eating and couldn’t get out of bed.
So one day her neighbors came to her and told her of a wise man who lived one town over. “Maybe he can make things better,” they said.
And so the woman caught the next Greyhound bus and went to the next town over and she found the wise man.
“What can I do to bring back my son? What can I do to get over his death?” she asked.
“Here,” he said, handing her a cup, “fill this with wine from a household where no one has cried in sorrow.”
And so she started out right away, going from house to house, asking if they had experienced sorrow.
“We are still mourning our Father,” one said.
“I was left at the altar and live alone,” said another.
“I’ve committed terrible sins,” said still another.
And after she’d went from house to house, town to town, city to city, she finally saw that there is no household empty of tears—no person without pain.
But I would take this story a little farther. Well, actually Paul takes this story a little farther.
In today’s reading from Romans the Apostle Paul describes creation herself groaning-weeping-crying. Creation cries because it knows the way things are supposed to be, and yet they aren’t that way. Creation knows death and war, sin and separation—all the ills of the world—are unnatural and so she weeps. Creation herself exclaims “How!”
Tears are no laughing matter. Nothing to sneeze at. Nothing to just (sign) brush off. Our tears are not ours alone, for all cry with the same passion and pain. For that matter the world itself weeps.
Yet today Jesus says, “Blessed are those who weep now, for you will laugh.”
Creation is crying, humanity is wailing, I am mourning—yet Christ calls this blessed!
How! How?
When we look around at what else Jesus says we can see that, “Blessed are those who weep now, for you will laugh and woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep,” is part of a larger program of Jesus. The Kingdom of God program. The firsting the last and lasting the first program.
Yes, this is what we call theology of the cross. This is finding God in the last place you would look. This is a solid statement that God is with the poor, the hungry, the persecuted, and yes the weeping.
But like the author of the book formerly known as Lamentations—the book of How—I ask How! how! How?
How are those who weep now blessed?
It could be that you need the bad to appreciate the good. You can only see the stars at night, you can only read the letters on a page if there are blank spaces around it.
It could be as simple as “there is a time for weeping and a time for laughing.” Our emotions and our life situations are transient and temporary. If things are going poorly, blessed are you because they will get better. If things are going well, woe to you because the other foot is about to drop.
It could be that the seeds of despair grow into the heights of beauty and greatness. That pressure produces pearls. There are after all plenty of examples of this. Abraham Lincoln wrote the Gettysburg address while mourning the death of his son Willie and Beethoven wrote some of his best music while deaf.
And all of these are blessing to those who weep. But to my ear none of them transform the moment—none of them “call forth a world that does not exist…at least not yet.” None of them transform How!
And that’s why I turn to Romans. It tells us things too deep for us to perceive and too high for us to hear. Paul writes of the inner workings and logic of the universe itself! Paul “calls forth a world that does not exist…at least not yet.”
Paul tells us that we all jointly suffer—that none can see the sensibility of our suffering and so we step out on hope—we look beyond ourselves and what is. We peer forward into the future and into the invisible face of God.
You see Paul shifts the focus of our suffering from how! to who! From how to who!
How is suffering, but the who is God! The who is God!
We are blessed in our weeping because we are grounded in hope that God is for us.
Hope that despite suffering God groans through the Spirit and is birthing out of this messy life a wide and deep family.
And hope in the unseen workings of God gives us joy.
Now Joy is not happiness. It is not a sloppy emotion. Joy is an inner-equilibrium. A sold stone on sinking sand, good suspension system on a slippery road.
You can have joy while weeping and have joy while laughing. You can have joy in the ashes of Jerusalem and Joy this morning at church. Joy in prison, alone. Joy in a crowd of people, at a party. Joy at a wedding and joy at a funeral.
We can have joy because we know who holds tomorrow.
Who can separate us from the love of Christ?
Who Death? Who Life? Who Angels? Who Rulers? Who Things that are? Who Things to come? Who powers? Who heights? Who depths? Who anything in all of creation?
No nothing! Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Many things about tomorrow I don’t seem to understand; but I know WHO holds tomorrow, and I know WHO holds my hand! (415)
I have to admit that I’ve dreaded preaching this sermon for about a month now. I have dreaded it ever since I was told by pastor Gregg that I would be preaching on the subject, “Blessed are those who weep.”
At first I was just uncomfortable confronting suffering, loss, weeping, mourning, and tears.
It wasn’t that I didn’t have anything to say about these things. I’ve suffered through 4 open-heart surgeries, I’ve felt the loss of leaving loved ones scattered all across the country and the globe as I’ve moved from place to place. I’ve mourned the death of family. I’ve shed my share of tears.
But, I ask, “what can I say from this pulpit that your own tears have not told you?” “What effect can my words have upon your soul that your soul has not already effected in you?”
But that’s not even the whole of it. As Lent came these questions became even more serious.
You see this Lenten season—this season in the church year in which we remember our mortality and our sinfulness, this season in which we talk about being “in the wilderness for 40 days,” has seemed to be just that—a wilderness experience. It seems like everyone I know is “going through some things.” And I had to ask myself, “Can I really say something from this pulpit that is meaningful for people as they weep?”
Still weighed down by these questions I drove back to Philadelphia on Tuesday in order to attend “Preaching with Power.” This is a weeklong event held by my seminary that brings some of the best Black preachers from across the country together to preach.
Dr. Cleophus LaRue—Princeton Theological Seminary’s Professor of Homiletics—that’s the art of preaching—gave a lecture entitled, “Why black preachers still love artful language.”
Being the studious guy that I am I took extensive notes. But there were two things Dr. LaRue said that struck me hard enough that I didn’t need to write them down. These two things seemed important to my struggle to preach on the subject, “Blessed are those who weep.”
The first thing he said that struck me was that “Sermons must take the assembly”—that’s all of you—“more seriously than they take themselves.” “Sermons must take the assembly more seriously than they take themselves.”
The second thing Dr. LaRue said that I found important was, “Preachers call forth a world that doesn’t exist…at least not yet.” “Preachers call forth a world that doesn’t exist…at least not yet.”
And it was because of these two comments on the art of preaching that I chose our lessons from the book of Lamentations and from Paul’s letter to the Romans. Lamentations takes the assembly seriously and Romans calls forth a world that doesn’t exist… at least not yet.
And so let us pray. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts are acceptable in your sight Lord God that they might take seriously these present sufferings and weeping. So too LORD may they point us beyond tears, to joy. In the precious name of Jesus. Amen
The book of Lamentations was written as the first response to devastation. Lamentations was written in response to Babylonians destroying the Holy City of Jerusalem. In response to Babylonians knocking down walls, burning the Temple, and destroying houses. In response to the purposeful depopulation of the city through the means of killing the poor and kidnapping the rich.
It was, in a sense, a man made disaster.
We’ve seen the images from Haiti and Chile. Those were natural disasters…devastation by means of earthquake. What the Babylonians had brought to the city of Jerusalem was the equivalent of a human caused earthquake.
And imagine the author. Tradition says he composed the book in the midst of the ashes, and the rubble, and the grief, and the misery of his city ground to bits. Tradition also has it that he wept while writing and the ink ran wet with his tears even as he wrote.
Think of it. He survived the devastation, he wasn’t rich enough to be kidnapped, but wasn’t poor enough to be slaughtered.
Perhaps he was shaken with survivor’s guilt? Perhaps he was rocked by Post-traumatic stress disorder?
And brothers and sisters—there is one more layer of tragedy embedded in this book. This layer of tragedy has been covered up by time and bad translation.
You see the title “Lamentations” is not the title of this book. Or at least it wasn’t the title given to it by the earliest of scribes, neither, I would claim, was it the title given to it by its original author as he wept in the ruins of his wrecked city.
You see the original title of Lamentations was Akah. Now when the Bible was being translated into the Greek they didn’t know how to convey “Akah,” so they translated it as Lamentations. But that’s not what Akah means! (Ask Matt to translate…how)
You see the horror the author is experiencing is so fresh—so present—so real to him that all he can say his Akah! How!
Note that this isn’t a question. It is a sort of verbal punctuation, a spoken exclamation point!
How! How! How!
This word How! Punctuates our tears just as this book HOW! describes the content of our tears.
How! Our tears are loneliness!
How! Our tears are being downtrodden!
How! Our tears are mockery!
How! Our tears are loss!
How! Our tears are being stripped naked.
How! Our tears are worthlessness.
How! Our tears are physical aching! Fire in our bones, a wrung out heart, a churning stomach!
How! Our tears are deception by a lover, abandonment by the faithful, and even by God!
I’m not being melodramatic here! In the moment of crying it is real! How! is what it feels like when we cry. Our tears are real. They’re serious, they express the trouble we’ve seen. They are an admission that sometimes we don’t even have it in us to say, “God is good, all the time.”
How!
Tears are serious. Tears are also universal.
What do I mean by that? Let me tell you a story:
There was once a woman whose son had died. She mourned him deeply. She wailed and wept, she threw herself onto his grave. She became obsessed with her dearly departed son. She stopped eating and couldn’t get out of bed.
So one day her neighbors came to her and told her of a wise man who lived one town over. “Maybe he can make things better,” they said.
And so the woman caught the next Greyhound bus and went to the next town over and she found the wise man.
“What can I do to bring back my son? What can I do to get over his death?” she asked.
“Here,” he said, handing her a cup, “fill this with wine from a household where no one has cried in sorrow.”
And so she started out right away, going from house to house, asking if they had experienced sorrow.
“We are still mourning our Father,” one said.
“I was left at the altar and live alone,” said another.
“I’ve committed terrible sins,” said still another.
And after she’d went from house to house, town to town, city to city, she finally saw that there is no household empty of tears—no person without pain.
But I would take this story a little farther. Well, actually Paul takes this story a little farther.
In today’s reading from Romans the Apostle Paul describes creation herself groaning-weeping-crying. Creation cries because it knows the way things are supposed to be, and yet they aren’t that way. Creation knows death and war, sin and separation—all the ills of the world—are unnatural and so she weeps. Creation herself exclaims “How!”
Tears are no laughing matter. Nothing to sneeze at. Nothing to just (sign) brush off. Our tears are not ours alone, for all cry with the same passion and pain. For that matter the world itself weeps.
Yet today Jesus says, “Blessed are those who weep now, for you will laugh.”
Creation is crying, humanity is wailing, I am mourning—yet Christ calls this blessed!
How! How?
When we look around at what else Jesus says we can see that, “Blessed are those who weep now, for you will laugh and woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep,” is part of a larger program of Jesus. The Kingdom of God program. The firsting the last and lasting the first program.
Yes, this is what we call theology of the cross. This is finding God in the last place you would look. This is a solid statement that God is with the poor, the hungry, the persecuted, and yes the weeping.
But like the author of the book formerly known as Lamentations—the book of How—I ask How! how! How?
How are those who weep now blessed?
It could be that you need the bad to appreciate the good. You can only see the stars at night, you can only read the letters on a page if there are blank spaces around it.
It could be as simple as “there is a time for weeping and a time for laughing.” Our emotions and our life situations are transient and temporary. If things are going poorly, blessed are you because they will get better. If things are going well, woe to you because the other foot is about to drop.
It could be that the seeds of despair grow into the heights of beauty and greatness. That pressure produces pearls. There are after all plenty of examples of this. Abraham Lincoln wrote the Gettysburg address while mourning the death of his son Willie and Beethoven wrote some of his best music while deaf.
And all of these are blessing to those who weep. But to my ear none of them transform the moment—none of them “call forth a world that does not exist…at least not yet.” None of them transform How!
And that’s why I turn to Romans. It tells us things too deep for us to perceive and too high for us to hear. Paul writes of the inner workings and logic of the universe itself! Paul “calls forth a world that does not exist…at least not yet.”
Paul tells us that we all jointly suffer—that none can see the sensibility of our suffering and so we step out on hope—we look beyond ourselves and what is. We peer forward into the future and into the invisible face of God.
You see Paul shifts the focus of our suffering from how! to who! From how to who!
How is suffering, but the who is God! The who is God!
We are blessed in our weeping because we are grounded in hope that God is for us.
Hope that despite suffering God groans through the Spirit and is birthing out of this messy life a wide and deep family.
And hope in the unseen workings of God gives us joy.
Now Joy is not happiness. It is not a sloppy emotion. Joy is an inner-equilibrium. A sold stone on sinking sand, good suspension system on a slippery road.
You can have joy while weeping and have joy while laughing. You can have joy in the ashes of Jerusalem and Joy this morning at church. Joy in prison, alone. Joy in a crowd of people, at a party. Joy at a wedding and joy at a funeral.
We can have joy because we know who holds tomorrow.
Who can separate us from the love of Christ?
Who Death? Who Life? Who Angels? Who Rulers? Who Things that are? Who Things to come? Who powers? Who heights? Who depths? Who anything in all of creation?
No nothing! Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Many things about tomorrow I don’t seem to understand; but I know WHO holds tomorrow, and I know WHO holds my hand! (415)
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Sarah's perfect storm
So, many people think Sarah Palin doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of becoming president… in fact some people compare her and her chances to that of Jesse Jackson’s 1988 run. I’m not so sure, because 2012 isn’t 1988.
Specifically there are two things that are different:
1. The rise of the Tea Party.
2. Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission
The first would provide foot soldiers—the grass-root. The second would provide money—lots of it.
If you have enough people hot and bothered and willing to knock on doors you’ve got a good start. If you’ve got more money than God… you can paint your opponent into corners left right and center. If you’ve got both… you can win.
Specifically there are two things that are different:
1. The rise of the Tea Party.
2. Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission
The first would provide foot soldiers—the grass-root. The second would provide money—lots of it.
If you have enough people hot and bothered and willing to knock on doors you’ve got a good start. If you’ve got more money than God… you can paint your opponent into corners left right and center. If you’ve got both… you can win.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Mortal, repent, prepare for Easter!
Mortal, repent, prepare for Easter!
When I read about Isaiah’s fury against false fasts,
external humility,
ashes without regret,
sackcloth without repentance,
and ritual without justice…
When I read all of this while preparing to put ash crosses on people’s foreheads I get a little nervous.
When Jesus speaks poorly of outward almsgiving, prayer, and fasting—on this Ash Wednesday,
On this start of Lent, when traditionally Christians put a special emphasis on almsgiving, prayer, and fasting—
the imposition of ashes almost feels like dumping hot coals on people’s heads.
Both of these readings tell us of the danger of religious ritual.
Isaiah speaks to the fact that religious ritual can get in the way of justice.
We can say to ourselves, “I heard about being concerned about fellow Children of God at church—that makes me a religious person.”
Or I had ashes rubbed on my forehead—so I don’t need to help my neighbor out of the ash-heap.
For that matter, Jesus speaks of another way religious ritual can be abused. We can use our perceived piety—our public faith—to make us popular and impressive.
We can use our faith to get ahead to make people like and trust us. We can put people at ease by reminding them we’re Christian.
And, Dr. Wangert—the Confessions professor at the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia where I am studying—understands both of these dangers to be part of a much larger tendency of human beings.
We thrive on works righteousness—we want to earn our way into heaven.
So deeply does Dr. Wangert worry about this tendency that—to protect himself from works righteousness—gives up the same things every Lent.
For the 40 days of Lent he refuses to eat Whale Blubber.
He fasts from eating Whale Blubber because he never has ate Whale Blubber—in fact he’s never even seen Whale Blubber.
So this fast is so easy that there is absolutely no way he could make the mistake of thinking his Lenten discipline makes him righteous.
So my question becomes… if Religious Ritual is such a risk
If putting ashes on our head is such a danger
If a forty day fast is so perilous
Why do we do it? Why do we risk Ash Wednesday and Lent?
We risk Ash Wednesday because we need to be reminded that we’re mortal.
We risk Ash Wednesday because we need to be reminded that we’re sinners in need of repentance
And we risk Ash Wednesday because we need to prepare for Easter.
We’re mortals, we’re sinners, and we’re preparing for Easter.
Lets pray:
Lord God, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable in your sight. Amen.
We’re mortal. When we hear the words, “You are dust and to dust shall you return,” we remember our origin is in the earth.
We remember that we are perishable
we remember that we have an expiration date.
We look back to scripture and meditate on how in the earliest chapters of Genesis we are described as dirt with spirit breathed into us.
We are earthlings created from the earth.
Dust to dust.
These words from scripture remind us of our impermanence here on this earth in the same way the death of No-dar Kum-ar-it-ash-vili—the 21-year-old Luger from the country of Georgia—did last Friday in Vancouver when he died practicing for his Olympic event.
Even a young Olympian—a man at the top of his game—one of 8 people representing his country to the world—is still dust.
We are reminded of our mortality this Ash Wednesday the same way as when we drive in the snow
and we can’t quite see over the snow bank
and we go to make a turn and next thing we know we are close enough to an oncoming truck that we can look the driver right in the eyes.
Ash Wednesday is a close call. It gets our hearts beating fast and our adrenaline pumping.
Ash Wednesday reminds us that we—like snow—will melt away.
We like dust will blow away. We are mortal.
Ash Wednesday also reminds us that we are sinners in need of repentance.
When we feel the ash upon our brow—
we are mourning our own failures toward God and toward our neighbors.
We are being reminded of our own fallibility—our own imperfection and our own weakness.
Administering ashes remind us of the life shattering capacity of sin just like the two shootings that broke Baltimore’s eight days of being a murder free city did on Monday.
Ash Wednesday reminds us that we are in bondage to sin and cannot free ourselves.
Ash Wednesday reminds us of how we act without the ability to know the full consequence of those actions,
That we are born into situations with no good solutions.
Ash Wednesday reminds us that even in those rare moments of clarity, when we see the good and the right and we have the ability to do the good and the right, we fail at that too.
Ash Wednesday reminds us that we are sinners in need of repentance.
And sometimes being able to say, “I’m a mortal sinner,” has its effect.
Sometimes saying, “I am mortal” grips me with a realization of how precious life is. Sometimes it shakes the assumptions of my death-denying culture. It moves me out of a frame of mind fixated on quick fixes, instant gratification, and lack of concern for others.
Sometimes saying, “I’m a sinner” is like holding up a mirror to myself. I am faced with my own motives and drives and realize where I am wrong.
I can look at my ritual and my robes and see that it has robbed someone else of justice. I can look at the motives for my almsgiving and see that I just want to be seen.
I can ask myself what do I treasure that is deadly and what do I treasure that is sinful?
Sometimes stating that I’m a sinner works repentance in me.
But sometimes saying, “I’m a mortal sinner,” weighs me down. Sometimes I am so aware of my own inadequacy that my feet of clay all but kill me. Sometimes the shortness of time I have on this earth paralyzes me with fears about my future and regret about my past.
And in those times it is good to look around. It is good to see the ash upon the head of my brothers and my sisters. It is good to see that I am in good company. I am in a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints.
I am reminded that as with it and as on top of things as (Pastor Gregg/Mother Glenna) is (he/she) is still another mortal sinner like me—full of fallibility and fragility. We’re all in the same boat—we’re not alone in our struggles and our fears.
Not only does Ash Wednesday and Lent remind us that we are all mortal, and that we are in need of repentance, but it is our preparation for Easter.
If I look closer still at my sister’s ashen cross I am struck by something
Its something so obvious that you might not think about it unless you stopped and thought about it.
It’s a cross on our forehead!
It’s the Cross of Christ—for He too suffered death, and he who knew no sin became sin for us.
Jesus Christ himself shares this ash with us.
Yet I hasten to add that when Christ shares with us there is something more going on than simply solidarity with us.
There is something more going on than Jesus being in the same boat as us.
There is something transformational going on as well!
When he shared the dust of death with us on Easter morning he enlivened it with breath and spirit.
When he shared the ash of sin with us on Easter morning he made soap out of it—He made it an instrument of our purification.
He has transformed the human condition itself—he transformed every part of being human in this world—into something worthy of God.
And I’m here to tell you I believe in transformation.
I believe out of the ragged stuff of humanity God can patch together a quilt!
I’ve seen with my own eyes a sign of sin and death embedded upon a man’s brow transformed into Easter hope.
Seven years ago I was volunteering at the Comea Shelter a homeless men’s Shelter back home in Cheyenne Wyoming.
Each day I filled the shelter’s old blue mini-van up with bedding and drove it down to the commercial laundermat, picked up any donations around town, picked up the clean bedding, and brought it all back.
Sometimes shelter residents would ride with me and help me load and unload things.
There was one resident in particular who would often ride with me.
He happened to have a swastika prominently tattooed on his forehead.
We worked together for several weeks—and during that time I did my best not to stare at that thing on his head—I did my best not to ask questions about it.
Then one day we were driving along and he said to me, “Chris. I know you look at it.”
“Look at what?” I asked.
“The swastika,” he replied.
I was –this close—to responding, “What Swastika,” but by that time I was staring at his forehead instead of the road, so I replied guiltily, “Yeah, I do.”
“I got it while I was in prison down in Denver,” he explained.
That was of course just the kind of comforting thing you want to hear while alone with a guy twice your size.
All I could reply was, “Oh?”
He then told me how he had hated blacks and Latinos… though he used much stronger language for both.
“Oh,” I against replied, limply.
He continued, “Then I got out. No landlord wanted someone like me as a renter… the only place that would take me was a housing co-operative ran by a black man. It took me a while, but I just couldn’t hate them any more.”
So yes, I trust that mortality and sin can be made into eternity and sanctity.
I trust the Easter promise.
I trust in a light shining in the darkness
I trust the gloom of night to be as bright as the noon sun.
I trust that our needs will be satisfied in parched places.
I trust that ruins will be rebuilt and the breach will be restored.
I even trust that the treasure of Christ has transformed our ritual into justice,
our self-flattery into piety
our works righteousness into works of love,
and I’m willing to stare sin and death in the face in order to prepare to celebrate that!
The reason we risk Ash Wednesday and we risk Lent is because we’re mortal, we’re sinners, and we’re preparing to celebrate Easter. A+A
When I read about Isaiah’s fury against false fasts,
external humility,
ashes without regret,
sackcloth without repentance,
and ritual without justice…
When I read all of this while preparing to put ash crosses on people’s foreheads I get a little nervous.
When Jesus speaks poorly of outward almsgiving, prayer, and fasting—on this Ash Wednesday,
On this start of Lent, when traditionally Christians put a special emphasis on almsgiving, prayer, and fasting—
the imposition of ashes almost feels like dumping hot coals on people’s heads.
Both of these readings tell us of the danger of religious ritual.
Isaiah speaks to the fact that religious ritual can get in the way of justice.
We can say to ourselves, “I heard about being concerned about fellow Children of God at church—that makes me a religious person.”
Or I had ashes rubbed on my forehead—so I don’t need to help my neighbor out of the ash-heap.
For that matter, Jesus speaks of another way religious ritual can be abused. We can use our perceived piety—our public faith—to make us popular and impressive.
We can use our faith to get ahead to make people like and trust us. We can put people at ease by reminding them we’re Christian.
And, Dr. Wangert—the Confessions professor at the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia where I am studying—understands both of these dangers to be part of a much larger tendency of human beings.
We thrive on works righteousness—we want to earn our way into heaven.
So deeply does Dr. Wangert worry about this tendency that—to protect himself from works righteousness—gives up the same things every Lent.
For the 40 days of Lent he refuses to eat Whale Blubber.
He fasts from eating Whale Blubber because he never has ate Whale Blubber—in fact he’s never even seen Whale Blubber.
So this fast is so easy that there is absolutely no way he could make the mistake of thinking his Lenten discipline makes him righteous.
So my question becomes… if Religious Ritual is such a risk
If putting ashes on our head is such a danger
If a forty day fast is so perilous
Why do we do it? Why do we risk Ash Wednesday and Lent?
We risk Ash Wednesday because we need to be reminded that we’re mortal.
We risk Ash Wednesday because we need to be reminded that we’re sinners in need of repentance
And we risk Ash Wednesday because we need to prepare for Easter.
We’re mortals, we’re sinners, and we’re preparing for Easter.
Lets pray:
Lord God, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable in your sight. Amen.
We’re mortal. When we hear the words, “You are dust and to dust shall you return,” we remember our origin is in the earth.
We remember that we are perishable
we remember that we have an expiration date.
We look back to scripture and meditate on how in the earliest chapters of Genesis we are described as dirt with spirit breathed into us.
We are earthlings created from the earth.
Dust to dust.
These words from scripture remind us of our impermanence here on this earth in the same way the death of No-dar Kum-ar-it-ash-vili—the 21-year-old Luger from the country of Georgia—did last Friday in Vancouver when he died practicing for his Olympic event.
Even a young Olympian—a man at the top of his game—one of 8 people representing his country to the world—is still dust.
We are reminded of our mortality this Ash Wednesday the same way as when we drive in the snow
and we can’t quite see over the snow bank
and we go to make a turn and next thing we know we are close enough to an oncoming truck that we can look the driver right in the eyes.
Ash Wednesday is a close call. It gets our hearts beating fast and our adrenaline pumping.
Ash Wednesday reminds us that we—like snow—will melt away.
We like dust will blow away. We are mortal.
Ash Wednesday also reminds us that we are sinners in need of repentance.
When we feel the ash upon our brow—
we are mourning our own failures toward God and toward our neighbors.
We are being reminded of our own fallibility—our own imperfection and our own weakness.
Administering ashes remind us of the life shattering capacity of sin just like the two shootings that broke Baltimore’s eight days of being a murder free city did on Monday.
Ash Wednesday reminds us that we are in bondage to sin and cannot free ourselves.
Ash Wednesday reminds us of how we act without the ability to know the full consequence of those actions,
That we are born into situations with no good solutions.
Ash Wednesday reminds us that even in those rare moments of clarity, when we see the good and the right and we have the ability to do the good and the right, we fail at that too.
Ash Wednesday reminds us that we are sinners in need of repentance.
And sometimes being able to say, “I’m a mortal sinner,” has its effect.
Sometimes saying, “I am mortal” grips me with a realization of how precious life is. Sometimes it shakes the assumptions of my death-denying culture. It moves me out of a frame of mind fixated on quick fixes, instant gratification, and lack of concern for others.
Sometimes saying, “I’m a sinner” is like holding up a mirror to myself. I am faced with my own motives and drives and realize where I am wrong.
I can look at my ritual and my robes and see that it has robbed someone else of justice. I can look at the motives for my almsgiving and see that I just want to be seen.
I can ask myself what do I treasure that is deadly and what do I treasure that is sinful?
Sometimes stating that I’m a sinner works repentance in me.
But sometimes saying, “I’m a mortal sinner,” weighs me down. Sometimes I am so aware of my own inadequacy that my feet of clay all but kill me. Sometimes the shortness of time I have on this earth paralyzes me with fears about my future and regret about my past.
And in those times it is good to look around. It is good to see the ash upon the head of my brothers and my sisters. It is good to see that I am in good company. I am in a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints.
I am reminded that as with it and as on top of things as (Pastor Gregg/Mother Glenna) is (he/she) is still another mortal sinner like me—full of fallibility and fragility. We’re all in the same boat—we’re not alone in our struggles and our fears.
Not only does Ash Wednesday and Lent remind us that we are all mortal, and that we are in need of repentance, but it is our preparation for Easter.
If I look closer still at my sister’s ashen cross I am struck by something
Its something so obvious that you might not think about it unless you stopped and thought about it.
It’s a cross on our forehead!
It’s the Cross of Christ—for He too suffered death, and he who knew no sin became sin for us.
Jesus Christ himself shares this ash with us.
Yet I hasten to add that when Christ shares with us there is something more going on than simply solidarity with us.
There is something more going on than Jesus being in the same boat as us.
There is something transformational going on as well!
When he shared the dust of death with us on Easter morning he enlivened it with breath and spirit.
When he shared the ash of sin with us on Easter morning he made soap out of it—He made it an instrument of our purification.
He has transformed the human condition itself—he transformed every part of being human in this world—into something worthy of God.
And I’m here to tell you I believe in transformation.
I believe out of the ragged stuff of humanity God can patch together a quilt!
I’ve seen with my own eyes a sign of sin and death embedded upon a man’s brow transformed into Easter hope.
Seven years ago I was volunteering at the Comea Shelter a homeless men’s Shelter back home in Cheyenne Wyoming.
Each day I filled the shelter’s old blue mini-van up with bedding and drove it down to the commercial laundermat, picked up any donations around town, picked up the clean bedding, and brought it all back.
Sometimes shelter residents would ride with me and help me load and unload things.
There was one resident in particular who would often ride with me.
He happened to have a swastika prominently tattooed on his forehead.
We worked together for several weeks—and during that time I did my best not to stare at that thing on his head—I did my best not to ask questions about it.
Then one day we were driving along and he said to me, “Chris. I know you look at it.”
“Look at what?” I asked.
“The swastika,” he replied.
I was –this close—to responding, “What Swastika,” but by that time I was staring at his forehead instead of the road, so I replied guiltily, “Yeah, I do.”
“I got it while I was in prison down in Denver,” he explained.
That was of course just the kind of comforting thing you want to hear while alone with a guy twice your size.
All I could reply was, “Oh?”
He then told me how he had hated blacks and Latinos… though he used much stronger language for both.
“Oh,” I against replied, limply.
He continued, “Then I got out. No landlord wanted someone like me as a renter… the only place that would take me was a housing co-operative ran by a black man. It took me a while, but I just couldn’t hate them any more.”
So yes, I trust that mortality and sin can be made into eternity and sanctity.
I trust the Easter promise.
I trust in a light shining in the darkness
I trust the gloom of night to be as bright as the noon sun.
I trust that our needs will be satisfied in parched places.
I trust that ruins will be rebuilt and the breach will be restored.
I even trust that the treasure of Christ has transformed our ritual into justice,
our self-flattery into piety
our works righteousness into works of love,
and I’m willing to stare sin and death in the face in order to prepare to celebrate that!
The reason we risk Ash Wednesday and we risk Lent is because we’re mortal, we’re sinners, and we’re preparing to celebrate Easter. A+A
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
My dream church
I dream of doing a Mission Start for the ELCA.
Specifically, I dream of starting the largest poly-ethnic Lutheran church in the Northwest either in Seattle or Portland. Why the Northwest? 1. Its one of the most unchurched regions of the country 2. For all the PC talk of multi-culturalism in the Northwest its pretty darn mono-cultural.
I dream of a church where our Santa Lucia is an African American girl, where Asian-Americans are shouting "Amen" and "Preach it," where European Americans are singing "Santo Santo Santo," and Mexican Americans "Sekai no tomo to te o tsunagi."
I guess why I mention this now is two fold. Firstly, a friend sent me a link to a purposefully multi-cultural church in Minneapolis Sanctuary Covenant Secondly, my mind, heart, and prayers are with my brothers and sisters back at Seminary who are getting assigned tonight. Thirdly, I should be putting the finishing touches on my Ash Wednesday sermon and blogging is a good way to procrastinate.
Specifically, I dream of starting the largest poly-ethnic Lutheran church in the Northwest either in Seattle or Portland. Why the Northwest? 1. Its one of the most unchurched regions of the country 2. For all the PC talk of multi-culturalism in the Northwest its pretty darn mono-cultural.
I dream of a church where our Santa Lucia is an African American girl, where Asian-Americans are shouting "Amen" and "Preach it," where European Americans are singing "Santo Santo Santo," and Mexican Americans "Sekai no tomo to te o tsunagi."
I guess why I mention this now is two fold. Firstly, a friend sent me a link to a purposefully multi-cultural church in Minneapolis Sanctuary Covenant Secondly, my mind, heart, and prayers are with my brothers and sisters back at Seminary who are getting assigned tonight. Thirdly, I should be putting the finishing touches on my Ash Wednesday sermon and blogging is a good way to procrastinate.
Sermon on the 2nd Sunday after the snowfall
God is with us, let’s follow Him down the mountain!
Its good to be back this 2nd Sunday after the snowfall.
Welcome to all visitors
Welcome back to everyone who was snowed in last Sunday.
Welcome on this end of Epiphany—the season in which we celebrate God being manifest—being disclosed—being revealed—showing up—in Jesus Christ.
Welcome on this Transfiguration Sunday—the Sunday that functions as the capstone of the season of Epiphany and the most overt example of God showing up in Jesus.
And on this day I hear Scripture saying to us “God is with us, lets follow Him down the mountain!” God is with us, lets follow Him down the mountain!”
Let us pray:
Lord God, be with the preacher, be with the assembly, be with all of us here at St. John’s that my words and our meditations may move us to follow you son down the mountain. Amen.
Today both Jacob and Peter have a close call. A close call with God. They both have their own personal powerful Epiphany experience. They both are confronted with the fact that God is with us.
Jacob, escaping from family troubles, heading to far off Haran, finds himself, as it says in Genesis, “at a certain place” when the sun set. And so he takes a stone as a pillow and drifts off to sleep.
And soon enough he finds that he has in fact rested his head upon the escalator of angels.
It is in that place that he finds his father’s God standing beside him.
It is there that his father’s God speaks to him for the first time.
It is there that the magnificent promise of his ancestors—a promise that he has heard about, but never experienced, becomes solidified before his eyes—it became his own promise.
Yes, it is at that place, at Bethel, that Jacob hears loud and clear that “God is with us.”
He didn’t expect to meet God that night—he just wanted to get some shuteye for his long journey north—but God showed up.
And so too with Peter. This faithful disciple climbs a mountain with his teacher and manages to stay awake and see his master manifest
among the likes of Moses—the author of the Law
and among the likes of Elijah—the most famous of prophets
Further, right before his eyes his master was changed and was shown in glory.
In this transfiguration Peter sees the most awe inspiring, most full, biggest, example of “God is with us.”
Scripture doesn’t say what Peter was doing or thinking those eight days before he went up the mountain with his master—but I don’t think he expected the terror of transformation—none the less God showed up.
And St. John’s, I want to tell you the very same thing. God is with us—God shows up.
This Valentines Day God is with us—like a Valentine from a secret admirer, God just shows up. While we may write poems, buy candy and flowers, and make cards to woo our beloved God doesn’t need wooing.
God is wooing us. God is with us.
I’m here to remind you and remind you again that God comes down Jacob’s ladder to us.
God chooses us.
God woos us.
God is with us.
God shows up.
But do you know one of the dangers of God being with us?
Do you know what we, in our human sinfulness, want to do when God shows up?
We want trap God for ourselves.
We want to confine God in the act of Grace.
We want to domesticate God.
We want to tame God.
We want to snow God in!
Look at Jacob—he tries to snow God in. The LORD, hovering over him like a mighty pillar assures him, “I am with you and will keep you wherever you go.”
Yet Jacob responds, “Surely the LORD is in this place… How awesome is this place!”
He gives the place a name, “Beth-el,” that is house of God. He declares the place of this experience of God showing up the house of God and the very “gate of heaven.”
God says I’m with you wherever you go and he respondes, “How awesome is this place.” He has transformed “wherever you go” into “right here.”
Likewise Peter tries to snow God in. Like Jacob he tries to make a beth-el, a house of God, up there on the mountain.
Even as Moses and Elijah are talking about Jesus’ impending departure—Peter overcome by his experience of glory—suggests that they make dwelling places for the three men.
He tries to snow in his present experience of God in Jesus!
(pause) Yet even as I admonish these pillars of the faith I can understand their taste for snowing God in.
We too—like Peter and Jacob try to snow God in.
We too attempt to lock ourselves in with God—fit ourselves in a particular place of faith.
We too try to seal our faith in a box, a building, a place, or a space.
We try to make God comfortable for us.
I think of my time in the Holy Land a few years back. I went to do research at the Albright Institute in East Jerusalem, but I mixed pleasure with business as I went during Easter so I could see the sights and sounds and smells of Holy week in the Holy Land.
I remember all the gilding and gold, all the buildings and bustling surrounding the places where Jesus had done things.
Shrines where Jesus was flogged,
monuments where his body had been laid, churches… everywhere. –I bristled at it—this was an attempt to snow God in.
I also remember this serene church on a Mountain in Galilee.
Its olive green roof blended in with the natural world around it.
Architecturally it was humble yet glorious.
You could look down and see the Sea of Galilee stretching out before you.
It was magnificent, and… and so right!
You could see that this was the kind of place where Jesus would want to hang out.
And in fact it was where Jesus preached the beatitudes—his blessings to the poor, the meek, the mourning, the hungry, the merciful, the pure of heart, the peacemakers, and the persecuted.
I remember saying to myself, “finally a building and a place worthy of my Lord.”
I finally found a comfortable house for my God.
Then I read a pamphlet about the Church of the Beatitudes only to find that it was built at the behest of the fascist Italian dictator Benito Mucilini.
It was then I realized I’d tried to snow God in.
But God won’t let us do that.
You can snow in your Vicar, you can snow in your Pastor. You can snow in your Mayor and your Governor. Heck, you can snow in the whole Federal Government if you try hard enough!
but you can’t snow in God.
No, God is with us.
And when I say that I mean all of us.
God is with us on the mountain and with us at the base of the mountain.
God is with church people and God is with the unchurch.
God works in the life of saint and sinner, holy man and heathen.
God’s with us… and God’s with THOSE PEOPLE
God’s with our household… and with our neighbor.
God’s here…and God’s there.
God’s there in the rapture of religious ecstasy… and in the doldrums of everyday need.
God’s in the church…and in the snowed in apartment.
God’s in the transfiguration…and down the mountain with father and son.
So lets follow him down the mountain.
God says to Jacob, “Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go.”
And boy does Jacob go with God to some strange places, from Cannan to Harran—or to say it another way from Modern day Israel to Modern day Turkey—wrestling at the river Jabbok and amongst messy family squabbles.
God is with Jacob beyond Bethel, and with people other than Jacob.
So lets follow God down the mountain.
And so too Peter with Jesus. After Peter’s suggestion of creating dwelling places for Moses and Elijah clouds rumble in.
A front of epic proportion—more low pressure systems and high pressure systems crashing together than we’ve ever seen—gathers
and from the depths of the storm comes the words, “this is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him.”
Now what does this have to do with following him down the mountain? you might ask.
Two things:
1) The last thing Jesus had said to Peter before the transfiguration was that he was going to be killed and raised. You can’t be killed and raised if you’re stuck on top of a mountain!
2) The next words Jesus speaks, kind of scary words at that, are the words, “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you? Bring your son here.” Jesus isn’t just up in the mountain at the zenith and the heights of faith and power—he is also down with us at the base of the mountain where there is faithlessness and perversity.
On the mountain we get a clear picture of Jesus in his glory. In the riveting and rolling clouds and thunderous voice we witness the greatness of God. We even hear that Jesus is God’s Chosen son.
But we get a clear picture of Jesus and of God down here at the base of the mountain too! In restoring an only son to his father—by healing the boy—we are astonished at the greatness of God.
Lets follow him down the mountain to see that too!
As important as the mountaintop is—as important as the realization that God is with us is, we can’t stay there—God is with us all—so let’s follow him down the mountain.
Two weeks ago Monday I was at the funeral of Mrs. Ezra Cole of Tabernacle Lutheran Church in West Philly where I did my Field Education last year.
Now I didn’t know Mrs. Cole particularly well—I just thought of her as the nice well-dressed lady who sang on the choir.
But when I arrived at Tabernacle it was obvious she was much more than that—she was Lutheran royalty.
Three generations deep of pastors—including St. John’s own Pastor Rosa Key—as well as one of Tabernacle’s Vicars from 1973, were all in attendance to say a few words.
The place was packed!
It turns out Mrs. Cole was quite a woman—that day we heard stories about her faith, her sense of style, and her singing, and on more than one occasion, humorous stories were told at the expense of her husband.
But that’s not what caught my attention.
What caught my attention was that Mrs. Cole was the first African American member of Tabernacle—then an exclusively German church now a mainly African American one…and even more interesting was that she had become a member in the 1950’s.
The Coles had moved into West Philly just as they had their third child. And having three children under the age of 2 can be a hand full—or so I’ve heard.
And one of the Cole’s neighbors—a little old German lady—came up to her one Sunday and said,
“Dear, three children are too many to have without a church family to support you.”
And that very day she drug Mrs. Cole and her three children down Spruce street to Tabernacle.
And two weeks ago—well over half a century and multiple pastors later there she was, surrounded by her three children and so many people who she had touched—and loved—and had loved her—still at Tabernacle.
And I can’t help but think--What if that little German Lady hadn’t been confident that God was with her.
What if that little German Lady had tried to snow God in.
What if that Little German Lady hadn’t realized God was with Mrs. Cole too?
What if that Little German Lady hadn’t followed Jesus down the mountain and next door to her neighbor?
I don’t know the answer—but I fear both Tabernacle and West Philly would be a poorer place for it.
And I’m just so glad she knew God is with us and that she followed God down the mountain. A+A
Its good to be back this 2nd Sunday after the snowfall.
Welcome to all visitors
Welcome back to everyone who was snowed in last Sunday.
Welcome on this end of Epiphany—the season in which we celebrate God being manifest—being disclosed—being revealed—showing up—in Jesus Christ.
Welcome on this Transfiguration Sunday—the Sunday that functions as the capstone of the season of Epiphany and the most overt example of God showing up in Jesus.
And on this day I hear Scripture saying to us “God is with us, lets follow Him down the mountain!” God is with us, lets follow Him down the mountain!”
Let us pray:
Lord God, be with the preacher, be with the assembly, be with all of us here at St. John’s that my words and our meditations may move us to follow you son down the mountain. Amen.
Today both Jacob and Peter have a close call. A close call with God. They both have their own personal powerful Epiphany experience. They both are confronted with the fact that God is with us.
Jacob, escaping from family troubles, heading to far off Haran, finds himself, as it says in Genesis, “at a certain place” when the sun set. And so he takes a stone as a pillow and drifts off to sleep.
And soon enough he finds that he has in fact rested his head upon the escalator of angels.
It is in that place that he finds his father’s God standing beside him.
It is there that his father’s God speaks to him for the first time.
It is there that the magnificent promise of his ancestors—a promise that he has heard about, but never experienced, becomes solidified before his eyes—it became his own promise.
Yes, it is at that place, at Bethel, that Jacob hears loud and clear that “God is with us.”
He didn’t expect to meet God that night—he just wanted to get some shuteye for his long journey north—but God showed up.
And so too with Peter. This faithful disciple climbs a mountain with his teacher and manages to stay awake and see his master manifest
among the likes of Moses—the author of the Law
and among the likes of Elijah—the most famous of prophets
Further, right before his eyes his master was changed and was shown in glory.
In this transfiguration Peter sees the most awe inspiring, most full, biggest, example of “God is with us.”
Scripture doesn’t say what Peter was doing or thinking those eight days before he went up the mountain with his master—but I don’t think he expected the terror of transformation—none the less God showed up.
And St. John’s, I want to tell you the very same thing. God is with us—God shows up.
This Valentines Day God is with us—like a Valentine from a secret admirer, God just shows up. While we may write poems, buy candy and flowers, and make cards to woo our beloved God doesn’t need wooing.
God is wooing us. God is with us.
I’m here to remind you and remind you again that God comes down Jacob’s ladder to us.
God chooses us.
God woos us.
God is with us.
God shows up.
But do you know one of the dangers of God being with us?
Do you know what we, in our human sinfulness, want to do when God shows up?
We want trap God for ourselves.
We want to confine God in the act of Grace.
We want to domesticate God.
We want to tame God.
We want to snow God in!
Look at Jacob—he tries to snow God in. The LORD, hovering over him like a mighty pillar assures him, “I am with you and will keep you wherever you go.”
Yet Jacob responds, “Surely the LORD is in this place… How awesome is this place!”
He gives the place a name, “Beth-el,” that is house of God. He declares the place of this experience of God showing up the house of God and the very “gate of heaven.”
God says I’m with you wherever you go and he respondes, “How awesome is this place.” He has transformed “wherever you go” into “right here.”
Likewise Peter tries to snow God in. Like Jacob he tries to make a beth-el, a house of God, up there on the mountain.
Even as Moses and Elijah are talking about Jesus’ impending departure—Peter overcome by his experience of glory—suggests that they make dwelling places for the three men.
He tries to snow in his present experience of God in Jesus!
(pause) Yet even as I admonish these pillars of the faith I can understand their taste for snowing God in.
We too—like Peter and Jacob try to snow God in.
We too attempt to lock ourselves in with God—fit ourselves in a particular place of faith.
We too try to seal our faith in a box, a building, a place, or a space.
We try to make God comfortable for us.
I think of my time in the Holy Land a few years back. I went to do research at the Albright Institute in East Jerusalem, but I mixed pleasure with business as I went during Easter so I could see the sights and sounds and smells of Holy week in the Holy Land.
I remember all the gilding and gold, all the buildings and bustling surrounding the places where Jesus had done things.
Shrines where Jesus was flogged,
monuments where his body had been laid, churches… everywhere. –I bristled at it—this was an attempt to snow God in.
I also remember this serene church on a Mountain in Galilee.
Its olive green roof blended in with the natural world around it.
Architecturally it was humble yet glorious.
You could look down and see the Sea of Galilee stretching out before you.
It was magnificent, and… and so right!
You could see that this was the kind of place where Jesus would want to hang out.
And in fact it was where Jesus preached the beatitudes—his blessings to the poor, the meek, the mourning, the hungry, the merciful, the pure of heart, the peacemakers, and the persecuted.
I remember saying to myself, “finally a building and a place worthy of my Lord.”
I finally found a comfortable house for my God.
Then I read a pamphlet about the Church of the Beatitudes only to find that it was built at the behest of the fascist Italian dictator Benito Mucilini.
It was then I realized I’d tried to snow God in.
But God won’t let us do that.
You can snow in your Vicar, you can snow in your Pastor. You can snow in your Mayor and your Governor. Heck, you can snow in the whole Federal Government if you try hard enough!
but you can’t snow in God.
No, God is with us.
And when I say that I mean all of us.
God is with us on the mountain and with us at the base of the mountain.
God is with church people and God is with the unchurch.
God works in the life of saint and sinner, holy man and heathen.
God’s with us… and God’s with THOSE PEOPLE
God’s with our household… and with our neighbor.
God’s here…and God’s there.
God’s there in the rapture of religious ecstasy… and in the doldrums of everyday need.
God’s in the church…and in the snowed in apartment.
God’s in the transfiguration…and down the mountain with father and son.
So lets follow him down the mountain.
God says to Jacob, “Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go.”
And boy does Jacob go with God to some strange places, from Cannan to Harran—or to say it another way from Modern day Israel to Modern day Turkey—wrestling at the river Jabbok and amongst messy family squabbles.
God is with Jacob beyond Bethel, and with people other than Jacob.
So lets follow God down the mountain.
And so too Peter with Jesus. After Peter’s suggestion of creating dwelling places for Moses and Elijah clouds rumble in.
A front of epic proportion—more low pressure systems and high pressure systems crashing together than we’ve ever seen—gathers
and from the depths of the storm comes the words, “this is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him.”
Now what does this have to do with following him down the mountain? you might ask.
Two things:
1) The last thing Jesus had said to Peter before the transfiguration was that he was going to be killed and raised. You can’t be killed and raised if you’re stuck on top of a mountain!
2) The next words Jesus speaks, kind of scary words at that, are the words, “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you? Bring your son here.” Jesus isn’t just up in the mountain at the zenith and the heights of faith and power—he is also down with us at the base of the mountain where there is faithlessness and perversity.
On the mountain we get a clear picture of Jesus in his glory. In the riveting and rolling clouds and thunderous voice we witness the greatness of God. We even hear that Jesus is God’s Chosen son.
But we get a clear picture of Jesus and of God down here at the base of the mountain too! In restoring an only son to his father—by healing the boy—we are astonished at the greatness of God.
Lets follow him down the mountain to see that too!
As important as the mountaintop is—as important as the realization that God is with us is, we can’t stay there—God is with us all—so let’s follow him down the mountain.
Two weeks ago Monday I was at the funeral of Mrs. Ezra Cole of Tabernacle Lutheran Church in West Philly where I did my Field Education last year.
Now I didn’t know Mrs. Cole particularly well—I just thought of her as the nice well-dressed lady who sang on the choir.
But when I arrived at Tabernacle it was obvious she was much more than that—she was Lutheran royalty.
Three generations deep of pastors—including St. John’s own Pastor Rosa Key—as well as one of Tabernacle’s Vicars from 1973, were all in attendance to say a few words.
The place was packed!
It turns out Mrs. Cole was quite a woman—that day we heard stories about her faith, her sense of style, and her singing, and on more than one occasion, humorous stories were told at the expense of her husband.
But that’s not what caught my attention.
What caught my attention was that Mrs. Cole was the first African American member of Tabernacle—then an exclusively German church now a mainly African American one…and even more interesting was that she had become a member in the 1950’s.
The Coles had moved into West Philly just as they had their third child. And having three children under the age of 2 can be a hand full—or so I’ve heard.
And one of the Cole’s neighbors—a little old German lady—came up to her one Sunday and said,
“Dear, three children are too many to have without a church family to support you.”
And that very day she drug Mrs. Cole and her three children down Spruce street to Tabernacle.
And two weeks ago—well over half a century and multiple pastors later there she was, surrounded by her three children and so many people who she had touched—and loved—and had loved her—still at Tabernacle.
And I can’t help but think--What if that little German Lady hadn’t been confident that God was with her.
What if that little German Lady had tried to snow God in.
What if that Little German Lady hadn’t realized God was with Mrs. Cole too?
What if that Little German Lady hadn’t followed Jesus down the mountain and next door to her neighbor?
I don’t know the answer—but I fear both Tabernacle and West Philly would be a poorer place for it.
And I’m just so glad she knew God is with us and that she followed God down the mountain. A+A
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Valentine's Day: Make Love not War
So, as legend has it Valentines Day is in fact an anti-war, anti-imperial holiday. During the reign of Claudius an edict went out throughout the land—men were not allowed to marry, because marriage causes a man to think about things other than serving the god-like forces of Empire as a soldier. You see, to the emperor the only worth of a person is as a tool to oppress and conquer others.
But one man stood against the madness of war, tyranny, and death—a priest named Valentine. He would meet young men and women who wish to tie the knot, and in a radical act of civil disobedience marry them!
Soon enough his illicit underground actions caught the attention of the authorities. He was arrested and brought before Claudius himself.
Claudius decided to be magnanimous—he would allow this foolish rebel-priest to convert to emperor worship.
As Claudius began to present the case for worship of the greatest power the world had ever known—the Emperor of Rome—Valentine looked up and said, “Have you heard of a man named Jesus.”
And with that Claudius ordered Valentine to be executed.
The night of the 13th of February, before the execution, the priest threw out one last bomb-shell for love and against war. He wrote a letter to the one he loved and signed it, “From your Valentine.”
So tomorrow—as you woo the one you love remember that love can be a radical act. Love can coincide with Christ’s calling to beat swords into plowshares and tanks into tractors.
But one man stood against the madness of war, tyranny, and death—a priest named Valentine. He would meet young men and women who wish to tie the knot, and in a radical act of civil disobedience marry them!
Soon enough his illicit underground actions caught the attention of the authorities. He was arrested and brought before Claudius himself.
Claudius decided to be magnanimous—he would allow this foolish rebel-priest to convert to emperor worship.
As Claudius began to present the case for worship of the greatest power the world had ever known—the Emperor of Rome—Valentine looked up and said, “Have you heard of a man named Jesus.”
And with that Claudius ordered Valentine to be executed.
The night of the 13th of February, before the execution, the priest threw out one last bomb-shell for love and against war. He wrote a letter to the one he loved and signed it, “From your Valentine.”
So tomorrow—as you woo the one you love remember that love can be a radical act. Love can coincide with Christ’s calling to beat swords into plowshares and tanks into tractors.
Special thanks to Pretty Good Lutherans!
So, Pretty Good Lutherans "An independent news site of veteran religion reporter Susan Hogan," has put up a link to my book An Uncomfortable Bit of Rope and Other Essays on the Binding of Issac
Thanks!
Thanks!
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
The Tea Party isn't what it appears to be
So, apparently Ron Paul isn't "libertarian" enough for Palin's Tea Party. Because, you know what, to the Tea Party folk libertarian means invading other countries and expanding federal governments influence into the day to day lives of Americans.
Seriously, rhetorically challenging Ron Paul for being part of the establishment and for being out of step with small government conservatism while in the same breath promising to govern in a way that would further balloon the federal government is horrible!
I believe the real reason Ron Paul is being targeted is because he's not a low blow kinda guy, because he doesn't buy the "birthers" arguments, because he doesn't traffic in outright and unapologetic racism, because he doesn't talk about murdering political opponents, because he is both respectful and respectable.
"He plans to attend a Tea Party-sponsored candidate forum in Katy this month, but he has distanced himself from the Tea Parties in recent interviews because of the antagonistic tone of some rallies."
Ron, get out now before they take your good name, drag it through the mud, and then throw you away and elect someone who promises to use the federal government to outlaw homosexuality or promises to invade Iran, or promises they will die for America.
Ron, don't ride the tiger! Just don't do it!
Seriously, rhetorically challenging Ron Paul for being part of the establishment and for being out of step with small government conservatism while in the same breath promising to govern in a way that would further balloon the federal government is horrible!
I believe the real reason Ron Paul is being targeted is because he's not a low blow kinda guy, because he doesn't buy the "birthers" arguments, because he doesn't traffic in outright and unapologetic racism, because he doesn't talk about murdering political opponents, because he is both respectful and respectable.
"He plans to attend a Tea Party-sponsored candidate forum in Katy this month, but he has distanced himself from the Tea Parties in recent interviews because of the antagonistic tone of some rallies."
Ron, get out now before they take your good name, drag it through the mud, and then throw you away and elect someone who promises to use the federal government to outlaw homosexuality or promises to invade Iran, or promises they will die for America.
Ron, don't ride the tiger! Just don't do it!
Sunday, February 07, 2010
Priorities
The top story on Al Jazeera is: Ahmadinejad orders nuclear work
The top story on CNN is: Super Bowl XLIV: Dynasty or destiny?
Hmmm... I don't know, maybe I'm just a bad American. I genuinely think the Al Jazeera story is more important.
The top story on CNN is: Super Bowl XLIV: Dynasty or destiny?
Hmmm... I don't know, maybe I'm just a bad American. I genuinely think the Al Jazeera story is more important.
Saturday, February 06, 2010
Something I learned from Game Change
I recently read Game Change by John Heilemann and Mark Halperin. This is an insiders account of the 2008 race. The biggest revelation to me was how narcissistic and messianic John Edwards, a man I supported as VP in 2004, acted. The revelations in this book make me come close to being glad the Democrats lost in 2004. If John Edwards had become anything more than a figurehead VP the country would have been in trouble and the “democratic brand” would have been permanently tarred with the notion that our candidates cheat on their spouses. Instead now in 2008 we got a family-mans family-man a loving father and a humble husband. Thank God!
Other revelations include: how very brutal running a national campaign is, how freely candidates use the F-bomb (this is probably related to the first revelation), and how poor of a job McCain’s team did vetting Sarah Palin.
But that’s not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about Obama for a moment. On two separate occasions then Senator Obama realized his staff was taking too much control of his campaign. In both instances he brought everyone together, brought in some outside voices and eyes, and shook things up. Both times, when Obama’s campaign became Obama’s campaign, things worked out the way he wanted them to.
I wonder if, as president, Obama will be bringing his staff together along with some of his old friends from Chicago and elsewhere outside the beltway and shaking things up? Perhaps we will see a rejuvenation of the executive branch soon. Perhaps we will see a good jobs bill pass quickly and a reconciled health care bill signed soon.
I think Obama's shake up moment may already be in the works. I think the Obama’s question and answer session in which he eviscerated the opposition at their own retreat here in Baltimore is an example of a renewed President taking his position back and doing what presidents do—preside.
Other revelations include: how very brutal running a national campaign is, how freely candidates use the F-bomb (this is probably related to the first revelation), and how poor of a job McCain’s team did vetting Sarah Palin.
But that’s not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about Obama for a moment. On two separate occasions then Senator Obama realized his staff was taking too much control of his campaign. In both instances he brought everyone together, brought in some outside voices and eyes, and shook things up. Both times, when Obama’s campaign became Obama’s campaign, things worked out the way he wanted them to.
I wonder if, as president, Obama will be bringing his staff together along with some of his old friends from Chicago and elsewhere outside the beltway and shaking things up? Perhaps we will see a rejuvenation of the executive branch soon. Perhaps we will see a good jobs bill pass quickly and a reconciled health care bill signed soon.
I think Obama's shake up moment may already be in the works. I think the Obama’s question and answer session in which he eviscerated the opposition at their own retreat here in Baltimore is an example of a renewed President taking his position back and doing what presidents do—preside.
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Bill Watterson' first interview in 15 years
As some of my readers know I've been a Calvin and Hobbes fan since before I knew that Hobbes wrote Leviathan and Calvin wrote Institutes of the Christian Religion. :)
"With almost 15 years of separation and reflection, what do you think it was about "Calvin and Hobbes" that went beyond just capturing readers' attention, but their hearts as well?
The only part I understand is what went into the creation of the strip. What readers take away from it is up to them. Once the strip is published, readers bring their own experiences to it, and the work takes on a life of its own. Everyone responds differently to different parts.
I just tried to write honestly, and I tried to make this little world fun to look at, so people would take the time to read it. That was the full extent of my concern. You mix a bunch of ingredients, and once in a great while, chemistry happens. I can't explain why the strip caught on the way it did, and I don't think I could ever duplicate it. A lot of things have to go right all at once."
"With almost 15 years of separation and reflection, what do you think it was about "Calvin and Hobbes" that went beyond just capturing readers' attention, but their hearts as well?
The only part I understand is what went into the creation of the strip. What readers take away from it is up to them. Once the strip is published, readers bring their own experiences to it, and the work takes on a life of its own. Everyone responds differently to different parts.
I just tried to write honestly, and I tried to make this little world fun to look at, so people would take the time to read it. That was the full extent of my concern. You mix a bunch of ingredients, and once in a great while, chemistry happens. I can't explain why the strip caught on the way it did, and I don't think I could ever duplicate it. A lot of things have to go right all at once."
Thursday, January 21, 2010
I'm on Amazon.com!
So... for the heck of it type in Chris Halverson on Amazon.com. My book shows up!
Peace,
Chris
Peace,
Chris
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Sermon: In Baptism God sees Christ
In Baptism God sees Christ
Greetings in the name of Jesus.
This week Pastor Gregg and I received a letter in the mail not for us. It was addressed to heaven, and I guess the post-man in some confusion, delivered it to St. John’s.
The letter contained a job application and a resume.
For the sake of easy access to this resume you can turn to a copy found as an insert in your bulletin.
Name: Humanity
Permanent Address:
Garden of Eden
Present Address:
Throughout the Earth
Email Address:
HU__man@yahoo.com
Experience:
Several millennia engaged in war.
Regular attempts at Genocide.
Withholding coats and stealing money. (Luke 3:10-14)
Constant judgment of others along with self-justification.
Education:
BA in Sin
MA in Hubris, with an emphasis in Disobedience.
Internship:
Has interned under the likes of Gandhi, Moses, and Jesus, but just as often under the likes of Genghis Khan, Hitler and Pharaoh.
Employment:
Gardner—dismissed after failing to follow the rules.
Murderer—have been successful at this occupation since the time of Cain and Abel.
Skills:
Wrath, Greed, Sloth, Pride, Lust, Envy, and Gluttony
So of course Pastor Gregg—being the conscientious and responsible man that he is—had the Vicar put in a call to Heaven right away to get things straightened out.
I explained to the angel Michael that there had been a mistake, that we had accidently received Humanity’s Resume.
But Michael responded. “Oh, God received Humanity’s resume. It read quite simply, “Jesus Christ. Your Son, the Beloved, with me you are well pleased.”
“But,” I sputtered, not wanting to disappoint my supervisor, “I have it in my hand.”
“Chris,” replied Michael, “Don’t you remember Galatians. Baptism is putting on Christ and being made a child of God. In Baptism God sees Christ.”
Lord God, may the words of my mouth and the meditation of all our hearts me acceptable in your sight. Amen.
Please turn with me to the 18th through 20th verse of Chapter 3 of our Gospel of Luke found on page (_____) in the pew bible.
“So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people. But Herod the ruler, who had been rebuked by him because of Herodias, his brother’s wife, and because of all the evil things that Herod had done, added to them all by shutting up John in prison.”
By the time we get to the Baptism of Jesus, John has been removed from the story. By the time the dove comes down, John has been brought down. By the time Jesus is proclaimed Son of God, his cousin John has been put in jail by Herod.
Now, there is a historical reason for Luke removing John the Baptist from the story of the Baptism of Jesus.
At the time of Jesus John the Baptizer was a potent figure in his own right. In fact, the Jewish historian Josephus, who wrote around the same time as Luke and Matthew, wrote more about John the Baptist than he did about Jesus called the Christ.
You see, when you are proclaiming Jesus the Messiah and the son of God, as Luke was, it doesn’t necessarily help your case that another group of people who are passionate about another man, John, can say, “well, our leader baptized your Messiah and son of God.”
So, historically the reason Luke sticks John in prison before Jesus is baptized is because he wants to focus on Jesus and downplay John.
But my theological imagination has another explanation. John the Baptist disappears at Baptism because in Baptism God sees Christ.
Even John, “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness.” Even the one preparing us for a time when, “Every valley shall be filled and every mountain and hill shall be made low.” Even the one who prepares us for the time when, “all flesh shall see the salvation of God.” Even the Baptizer, in Baptism, fades away, because in Baptism God sees Christ.
And for some this is a scary prospect. Some of us have assumed ourselves to be Abraham’s ancestors by our own merits. Some of us, because of birth or upbringing, class or race, church membership or seminary education, presume we are automatically on God’s good side. But that simply isn’t so, because in Baptism God doesn’t see our self-righteous deeds, God sees Christ.
For others of us this is an unprecedented gift! For some of us have assumed ourselves to be the brood of vipers by our own merit. Some of us, because of birth or upbringing, class or race, church membership or seminary education, presume we are automatically the sons of snakes and not the children of Abraham. We do not see ourselves as worthy of God’s love, let alone God’s parentage.
We shutter as trees in the wind as we await the ax and the winnowing fork,
We are like a piece of pottery precariously placed on a slim window ledge, waiting the iron bar and the unquenchable fire.
But that simply isn’t so, because in Baptism God doesn’t see our sins, God sees Christ.
I remember one constant refrain I heard when I did my Chaplaincy internship at Altru Hospital up in North Dakota two summers ago. I was so often confronted with sick people anxious about the end. No matter their background they would ask the question, in one way or another,
“am I a son of Abraham or a son of a snake?”
Have I done enough to get to heaven? Has my church attendance or born again experience, or good works been enough for God?
And I can say in response that God is able to raise up children from stones.
For in Baptism God sees the very Son the spirit descended upon as a dove.
The very son that in his prayer and in his baptism a voice from heaven called beloved. The very son with whom God was well pleased.
In Baptism God sees Christ.
This is affliction to the comfortable and comfort to the afflicted.
To the proud mountains and haughty hills it is humility,
to the valleys that sag in sorrow this is salvation.
God doesn’t read our resume, he reads Christ’s. In Baptism God sees His son Jesus Christ.
Baptism is God’s unconditional yes to us, for in Baptism God sees Christ.
Baptism is the Holy Spirit coming to us and saying as it was said to Jesus, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” For in Baptism God sees Christ.
Baptism is putting on Christ and being made a child of God, for in Baptism God sees Christ.
Baptism is an event so powerful it kills us and makes us alive again, for in Baptism God sees Christ.
Baptism is the raising of every valley and the lowering of every mountain, so that all flesh is enmeshed in the body of Christ—both Jew and Greek, slave and free, male and female, for in Baptism God sees Christ.
Baptism is a great exchange, our resume is made right, because in Baptism God sees Christ.
And if our resume, our past, becomes that of Christ Jesus, our present and our future shift and become a calling.
Baptism is a continued calling. A calling to die daily to sin. A calling to drown sin every morning, and to remember our baptism every time we step into the shower or wash our face.
When we wipe the condensation off our bathroom mirror and see ourselves we are reminded that in Baptism God sees Christ.
It is also a calling caught up in the question “do my neighbors see Christ in me?”
It is a calling into a life where we are seen by others, and hope, and pray, and strive, that, in seeing us they see Christ. It is a calling to be little Christs to our neighbors.
In Baptism God sees Christ, but do our neighbors see Christ in us?
This is also a question for the Church, the body of Christ, do our neighbors see Christ in us?
For that matter do our fellow church members see Christ in us? Do our actions and words reflect the reality of God seeing Christ in us?
Do we act in order to keep our doors open, in order to maintain lofty and drafty structures?
Or do we act in order to open our doors to all who may take refuge in the Body of Christ—in order to continue the mission of our Master the beloved of God?
And on this Sunday primarily focused on Baptism, but secondarily focused on stewardship, it is relevant to ask “are we giving of our time, talents, and possessions, in a way that reflect our new resume and the fact that in Baptism God sees Christ?”
Do I give even a fraction of my countless hours in front of the TV and on the Internet keeping track of national political gossip and international current events, to furthering God’s kingdom? Can my career or my hobbies translate into acts of love and kindness for the least of these? Of my thousand dollars I make a month do I put 100 dollars of it toward the work of the Church?
There is a connection between Baptism and stewardship. This connection is discipleship, the continued calling to be Christ’s body in the world, to be little Christ’s to our neighbors. It is the realization that in Baptism God sees Christ coupled with the question: do our neighbors see Christ in us?
Now, understand me, these things don’t go on your resume, but flow from Christ’s resume. These things don’t make you children of Abraham, these are things children of Abraham do. Stewardship is not the tree, but one of the fruits.
In Baptism God sees Christ. God doesn’t see our rough and ratty resume, but sees Christ. We strive to live into this gracious truth that, in Baptism God sees Christ. We hope and pray that when our neighbors see us, both individually and collectively, they see Christ. We hope and pray that we are good stewards of this resume given to us, even as we cling to God’s promise.
In Baptism God sees Christ, do our neighbors see Christ in us?
A+A
Greetings in the name of Jesus.
This week Pastor Gregg and I received a letter in the mail not for us. It was addressed to heaven, and I guess the post-man in some confusion, delivered it to St. John’s.
The letter contained a job application and a resume.
For the sake of easy access to this resume you can turn to a copy found as an insert in your bulletin.
Name: Humanity
Permanent Address:
Garden of Eden
Present Address:
Throughout the Earth
Email Address:
HU__man@yahoo.com
Experience:
Several millennia engaged in war.
Regular attempts at Genocide.
Withholding coats and stealing money. (Luke 3:10-14)
Constant judgment of others along with self-justification.
Education:
BA in Sin
MA in Hubris, with an emphasis in Disobedience.
Internship:
Has interned under the likes of Gandhi, Moses, and Jesus, but just as often under the likes of Genghis Khan, Hitler and Pharaoh.
Employment:
Gardner—dismissed after failing to follow the rules.
Murderer—have been successful at this occupation since the time of Cain and Abel.
Skills:
Wrath, Greed, Sloth, Pride, Lust, Envy, and Gluttony
So of course Pastor Gregg—being the conscientious and responsible man that he is—had the Vicar put in a call to Heaven right away to get things straightened out.
I explained to the angel Michael that there had been a mistake, that we had accidently received Humanity’s Resume.
But Michael responded. “Oh, God received Humanity’s resume. It read quite simply, “Jesus Christ. Your Son, the Beloved, with me you are well pleased.”
“But,” I sputtered, not wanting to disappoint my supervisor, “I have it in my hand.”
“Chris,” replied Michael, “Don’t you remember Galatians. Baptism is putting on Christ and being made a child of God. In Baptism God sees Christ.”
Lord God, may the words of my mouth and the meditation of all our hearts me acceptable in your sight. Amen.
Please turn with me to the 18th through 20th verse of Chapter 3 of our Gospel of Luke found on page (_____) in the pew bible.
“So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people. But Herod the ruler, who had been rebuked by him because of Herodias, his brother’s wife, and because of all the evil things that Herod had done, added to them all by shutting up John in prison.”
By the time we get to the Baptism of Jesus, John has been removed from the story. By the time the dove comes down, John has been brought down. By the time Jesus is proclaimed Son of God, his cousin John has been put in jail by Herod.
Now, there is a historical reason for Luke removing John the Baptist from the story of the Baptism of Jesus.
At the time of Jesus John the Baptizer was a potent figure in his own right. In fact, the Jewish historian Josephus, who wrote around the same time as Luke and Matthew, wrote more about John the Baptist than he did about Jesus called the Christ.
You see, when you are proclaiming Jesus the Messiah and the son of God, as Luke was, it doesn’t necessarily help your case that another group of people who are passionate about another man, John, can say, “well, our leader baptized your Messiah and son of God.”
So, historically the reason Luke sticks John in prison before Jesus is baptized is because he wants to focus on Jesus and downplay John.
But my theological imagination has another explanation. John the Baptist disappears at Baptism because in Baptism God sees Christ.
Even John, “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness.” Even the one preparing us for a time when, “Every valley shall be filled and every mountain and hill shall be made low.” Even the one who prepares us for the time when, “all flesh shall see the salvation of God.” Even the Baptizer, in Baptism, fades away, because in Baptism God sees Christ.
And for some this is a scary prospect. Some of us have assumed ourselves to be Abraham’s ancestors by our own merits. Some of us, because of birth or upbringing, class or race, church membership or seminary education, presume we are automatically on God’s good side. But that simply isn’t so, because in Baptism God doesn’t see our self-righteous deeds, God sees Christ.
For others of us this is an unprecedented gift! For some of us have assumed ourselves to be the brood of vipers by our own merit. Some of us, because of birth or upbringing, class or race, church membership or seminary education, presume we are automatically the sons of snakes and not the children of Abraham. We do not see ourselves as worthy of God’s love, let alone God’s parentage.
We shutter as trees in the wind as we await the ax and the winnowing fork,
We are like a piece of pottery precariously placed on a slim window ledge, waiting the iron bar and the unquenchable fire.
But that simply isn’t so, because in Baptism God doesn’t see our sins, God sees Christ.
I remember one constant refrain I heard when I did my Chaplaincy internship at Altru Hospital up in North Dakota two summers ago. I was so often confronted with sick people anxious about the end. No matter their background they would ask the question, in one way or another,
“am I a son of Abraham or a son of a snake?”
Have I done enough to get to heaven? Has my church attendance or born again experience, or good works been enough for God?
And I can say in response that God is able to raise up children from stones.
For in Baptism God sees the very Son the spirit descended upon as a dove.
The very son that in his prayer and in his baptism a voice from heaven called beloved. The very son with whom God was well pleased.
In Baptism God sees Christ.
This is affliction to the comfortable and comfort to the afflicted.
To the proud mountains and haughty hills it is humility,
to the valleys that sag in sorrow this is salvation.
God doesn’t read our resume, he reads Christ’s. In Baptism God sees His son Jesus Christ.
Baptism is God’s unconditional yes to us, for in Baptism God sees Christ.
Baptism is the Holy Spirit coming to us and saying as it was said to Jesus, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” For in Baptism God sees Christ.
Baptism is putting on Christ and being made a child of God, for in Baptism God sees Christ.
Baptism is an event so powerful it kills us and makes us alive again, for in Baptism God sees Christ.
Baptism is the raising of every valley and the lowering of every mountain, so that all flesh is enmeshed in the body of Christ—both Jew and Greek, slave and free, male and female, for in Baptism God sees Christ.
Baptism is a great exchange, our resume is made right, because in Baptism God sees Christ.
And if our resume, our past, becomes that of Christ Jesus, our present and our future shift and become a calling.
Baptism is a continued calling. A calling to die daily to sin. A calling to drown sin every morning, and to remember our baptism every time we step into the shower or wash our face.
When we wipe the condensation off our bathroom mirror and see ourselves we are reminded that in Baptism God sees Christ.
It is also a calling caught up in the question “do my neighbors see Christ in me?”
It is a calling into a life where we are seen by others, and hope, and pray, and strive, that, in seeing us they see Christ. It is a calling to be little Christs to our neighbors.
In Baptism God sees Christ, but do our neighbors see Christ in us?
This is also a question for the Church, the body of Christ, do our neighbors see Christ in us?
For that matter do our fellow church members see Christ in us? Do our actions and words reflect the reality of God seeing Christ in us?
Do we act in order to keep our doors open, in order to maintain lofty and drafty structures?
Or do we act in order to open our doors to all who may take refuge in the Body of Christ—in order to continue the mission of our Master the beloved of God?
And on this Sunday primarily focused on Baptism, but secondarily focused on stewardship, it is relevant to ask “are we giving of our time, talents, and possessions, in a way that reflect our new resume and the fact that in Baptism God sees Christ?”
Do I give even a fraction of my countless hours in front of the TV and on the Internet keeping track of national political gossip and international current events, to furthering God’s kingdom? Can my career or my hobbies translate into acts of love and kindness for the least of these? Of my thousand dollars I make a month do I put 100 dollars of it toward the work of the Church?
There is a connection between Baptism and stewardship. This connection is discipleship, the continued calling to be Christ’s body in the world, to be little Christ’s to our neighbors. It is the realization that in Baptism God sees Christ coupled with the question: do our neighbors see Christ in us?
Now, understand me, these things don’t go on your resume, but flow from Christ’s resume. These things don’t make you children of Abraham, these are things children of Abraham do. Stewardship is not the tree, but one of the fruits.
In Baptism God sees Christ. God doesn’t see our rough and ratty resume, but sees Christ. We strive to live into this gracious truth that, in Baptism God sees Christ. We hope and pray that when our neighbors see us, both individually and collectively, they see Christ. We hope and pray that we are good stewards of this resume given to us, even as we cling to God’s promise.
In Baptism God sees Christ, do our neighbors see Christ in us?
A+A
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