Your faith in God has become known

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 45: 1-7 and 1 Thessalonians 1: 1-10 Sermon Title: Your faith in God has become known Preached on 10/22/17 I’ve just read the opening to a letter. That’s what 1st Thessalonians is, a letter, and letters are interesting things. I remember running out to the mailbox after elementary school, going through all the letters only to be disappointed because everything was addressed to my Dad. I didn’t know anything about bills back then, so only now do I see the benefit of mail that’s addressed to someone else, however, I wish this letter that I’ve just read were addressed to us. In a sense, it is. We believe that Paul wrote this letter that we call 1st Thessalonians to a church in Greece, in the city of Thessalonica, and like we often do when the letter is particularly meaningful, this church saved his letter. We know they did because we have it now and can read it as they once did. I think it would have been an honor to receive this letter, because Paul’s words here in the first chapter are so encouraging. It would have been extremely encouraging to read: “We always give thanks to God for all of you and mention you in our prayers,” and it would have been a matter of great pride to read “in every place your faith in God has become known, so that we have no need to speak about it.” Think about that. Paul wrote these words to the church in Thessalonica because the neighboring Christian communities would brag on them to Paul. We read there in verse 9: “The people of those regions report about us what kind of welcome we had among you, and how you turned to God from idols, to serve a living, and true God.” Two things then – hospitality, and idolatry. We can do that. But that requires knowing what idolatry is. What is idolatry? On the one hand, it’s obvious. It’s number one on the 10 Commandments, a copy of which is displayed right by our front doors that once hung in the Cobb County Court House: “You shalt have no other gods before me.” What’s idolatry then? It’s worshiping something else, somebody else, giving anything the kind of priority in your life that only God should have. A good example of idolatry from the Old Testament is the golden calf from the book of Exodus. You know the story well. Moses went up on a mountain to get the 10 Commandments and when he came back down, these people who had been without his supervision while he was up on Mount Horeb, had melted down their gold to make a calf that they worshiped. They shouldn’t have done that. That’s idolatry, and on the one had we don’t do that now. Paul might as well be proud of us just as he was of those members of the Thessalonian Church who had “turned to God from idols, to serve a living, and true God.” We don’t have any Golden Calves around. The closest thing to a golden calf around here that I could think of is that statue of Alexander Stephens Clay on Glover Square, which doesn’t count because a statue isn’t the same thing as an idol. We don’t worship Alexander Stephens Clay, but this statue, which I take a moment to look at every time I walk through the Square so I can check on this hornets’ nest that’s found shelter right under the front of his overcoat, does help to describe what idolatry is, because while I was checking on the hornets last Wednesday I finally read the inscription at the base of the statue: It reads “Alexander Stephens Clay – his life was largely given to the service of his people.” Idolatry. What is idolatry? One form of idolatry is selfishness, because the devotion that should only be given to God is given instead to self. The great preacher and theologian Fredrick Buechner describes idolatry as “the practice of ascribing absolute value to things of relative worth,” and in saying that selfishness is a form of idolatry I don’t mean that the self is worthless, but that plenty of people go around trying to make themselves happy by thinking only of themselves, and when that’s the case what happens is they make themselves miserable. I have this friend. His father spent all his money on this beautiful house in Montana. The scenery is absolutely magnificent, but his wife divorced him, his children never come to visit, so this friend of mine told me that his father’s home is basically a prison cell with the most beautiful view you’ve ever seen. Idolatry. Selfish idolatry, will leave you empty and alone. So, when Paul applauds the church at Thessalonica for turning away from idolatry, what we must see is that they turned from death to life. From giving devotion to the created to giving devotion to the creator. They turned away from chasing after all that will never lead to true fulfilment and towards the only thing that ever will. What they did was they turned away from idolatry, and we must do the same because we worship idols as well, and I know it not because we have graven images all over our houses that we need to get rid of, but because if you looked at our credit card statements you’d be able to tell what it is that we think is going to lead to abundant life. We live in a culture of idolatry I believe. We worship fun and entertainment. We spend our money on toys that we think will make us happy, but you know what they say, the two happiest days for a boat owner are the day that he bought it and the day that he sold it. Why would we spend our money on what won’t make us happy? Why would we go into debt for things that won’t make us happy? I don’t know, but I’m good at doing it. Before I checked on the hornets’ nest I spent $20.00 on a salad. And I was hungry again about 15 minutes later. What will fill us up? What will lead to fulfilment, satisfaction, and joy? It’s there on the statue: A life largely given to the service of his people. A life largely given to the service of his God. To some degree I learned that a long time ago. My parents taught Sunday School here. They modeled for my brother, sister, and me what it means to give yourself to something larger than yourself, so it seemed only natural to go with the group on the Mexico Mission Trip following my Freshman year of High School. I remember being intimidated by the days of travel, in an old bus, that was reported to have air conditioning. My shirt would stick to the red vinyl seats. We’d spend the night in cheap hotels. And then when we finally made it to the border we’d get stuck for hours because Rev. Robert Hay refused to bribe the customs officials. All this we’d go through, and why? Because there were families down there who needed houses, and back home I would have spent that week sleeping late and watching TV but down there we were stacking cinderblocks and mixing cement and nothing could have made me happier. Selfishness is idolatry you see, because the cult of selfishness tells you to treat yourself, to buy your way to happiness, but devotion to such an idol will only lead to the same emptiness you felt before – only this time you’ll be surrounded by a bunch of stuff you don’t need. You want to talk about joy. You want to talk about abundant life. Then you have to talk about living your life for a higher purpose. Turning away from the cult of self-centered idolatry that permeates everything in our culture from the merchandise at Target to the Storage Unit where that merchandise will eventually be stored. We must turn from idolagry so that we can live the kind of abundant life that Jesus talked about, of loving your neighbor as yourself. Of living a life largely given to the service of our people. Of being a part of the good that our God is doing in the world. And when we turn away from all the false gods of our 21st century culture – the gods of war who promise peace but only give more violence – the gods of greed that keep our eyes searching for pleasure around every corner while keeping satisfaction ever out of reach – the gods of self-interest, self-love, and self consumption who worship at the temple of narcissism and whose priests deliver their message on your televisions, phones, and computers calling you to fame and fortune – when we turn to God from these idols, to serve a living and true God, then we are a part of the great act of salvation that our creator is enacting in our world. We read there in Isaiah: I am the Lord, and there is no one besides me; I am the Lord, and there is no other. I form light and create darkness, I make weal and create woe; I the Lord do all these things – and is his presence not among us now? Like the vibrations of the train, does God’s presence not resonate through these walls? Resound from our roof top? So why would we worship in the temple of self-interest, bowing before the American Idols, chasing after the dreams of the soulless, when we have been invited to proclaim the Gospel of the Living God? Stewardship Season begins today, and as a guiding phrase this year’s committee adopted 2nd Corinthians 9: 8, “Share abundantly in every good work.” It’s not just that we want you to share what you have, and we do, it’s that we want you to share in the work that the God of Creation is doing here in this place. We have been invited participate in the redeeming work of our lord Jesus Christ. We have been invited to serve the living and true God. We have been invited to give our time, our treasure, our pigs, and our hearts so that the Kingdom would be advanced and so our joy would be complete. Yesterday at a Presbytery Meeting they took up an offering. I didn’t have any cash, and I was embarrassed. Martie Moore could tell, so she gave me a dollar. Denise Lobadinski did the same. It felt good to put money in the plate. Mike Velardi told me that a chicken brought a basket of eggs to the farmhouse, proud of her contribution, until she saw the pig, who stood before the smokehouse prepared to make a real commitment and while we want real commitments, let me say this – Stewardship isn’t about giving until it hurts. Stewardship is about giving until it feels so good you can’t imagine not doing it. Share abundantly in every good work. Share abundantly in all the good work that we are already doing. Share abundantly in all the good that we will be doing with your help. Amen.

Not having a righteousness of my own

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 5: 1-7 and Philippians 3: 4b-14 Sermon title: Not having a righteousness of my own Preached on 10.8.17 A Monday morning can put things in harsh perspective. Last Monday morning Kelly Dewar’s 8-year-old daughter Linley asked her, on the way to elementary school drop off, before Kelly had even had her first cup of coffee, about the difference between irony and sarcasm. Think about that. This is obviously a question that displays Linley’s intelligence, but how did it make Kelly feel? A question like that is a hard way to start your week as a mom. Instead of starting your week with a feeling of “everything is under control and I’m fully equipped for the days ahead,” a question like that is sure to make you wonder if maybe it might be better to crawl back into bed. And this is what happened to me. Sara had been quizzing Lily for a quiz on air pollution. “What are three things we can do to fight air pollution Lily?” she asked, and having just dropped the girls off at school on their bikes, I was riding from the school to the church, while proudly thinking about how we’re setting the example for our kids here. We’re reducing exhaust because we ride our bikes to school. This is great. “In fact,” I say to myself, “really, we’re setting an example for a whole community. People in their cars are probably thinking – look at that nice family, all fighting air pollution on their daily commute.” It was as this self-satisfied thought was passing through my consciousness that I missed a turn, hit a holy bush, and flipped over my handle bars. It was a good thing someone suggested that I start wearing a helmet, so the only real damage done was to my ego. As soon as I got up I scanned the sidewalks to see if there were any witnesses. There was only one, but that was one too many. What would Paul say? Romans 12:3 – “For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you out to think.” Or to quote our 2nd Scripture Lesson for this morning: “Yet whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ.” What does that mean? “Yet whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ.” In this passage from Philippians Paul may sound like he’s boasting. This morning’s 2nd Scripture Lesson begins with him giving us his resume of accomplishments: -Circumcised on the eighth day -A member of the people of Israel -Of the tribe of Benjamin -A Hebrew born of Hebrews -As to the law a Pharisee -As to zeal, a persecutor of the church -As to righteousness under the law, blameless But he only lists these accomplishments so that we can see them as he does, in the perspective cast by the next to last – he had done everything that would have rendered him blameless and righteous but where did that lead him – to persecute Christ’s church – to hold the coats as the disciple Stephen was stoned. His intent in sharing his testimony is the same as the intent of that great hymn that we sang just last Sunday: When I survey the wondrous cross On which the Prince of glory died, My richest gain I count but loss, And pour contempt on all my pride. You can see the point he’s making, and he makes this point hoping that we’ll hear it, because like that great church in Philippi that this letter is addressed to, we are like runners who, rather than doing as Paul admonishes us to do, “forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead,” even while we run this race in faith, we are busy looking back to see who we’re ahead of. We’re like a certain self-satisfied bike rider, busy judging the minivans that pass by for contributing to air pollution not realizing that there’s a holy bush up ahead. There’s a sense in which competition can be good. We all know that. We want to win, but think of the lady in the restaurant moving her arm back and forth, trying to trick her fit bit into thinking that she really did get all her steps in. Think of the athlete so set on winning that he sacrifices his body to drugs. Consider the football player who sees himself, not as a boy in high school, but as a god among boys, walking the hall with an air of self-importance because he can throw a football further than anyone else. Is he not also a vineyard of wild grapes? That image of the wild grapes growing in the tended vineyard comes both from our Call to Worship (based on Psalm 80) and on Isaiah’s point in the 5th chapter that we read as our First Scripture Lesson. The claim is that while we were created by God, redeemed from slavery in Egypt and from slavery to sin, were planted in this fertile valley by a God who removed the stones and tilled the land, despite all this preparation, all these blessings, rather than yield a bountiful harvest, we are a vineyard of wild grapes. But we think of ourselves as Chardonnay. A man named Roy Brown told me a story once. He played on the Presbyterian College tennis team after serving in World War 2, and after that he always sent in a contribution through the alumni association to the tennis program at Presbyterian College. In his 80’s he received a special invitation to the ribbon cutting of the new tennis courts, and as we sometimes do, he began wondering why he received this invitation to this particular event, “What if they’ve named the courts after me?” he imagined. I would have encouraged him to think this way. After all, he was a veteran, a member of the tennis team, and a long-time contributor, but when they called him down on the court during the ceremony it was to present him with a coffee mug. “Most expensive coffee mug I’ve ever had,” he told me. Why is it that rather than run this race in faith, we want to be first in line? Why is it that rather than confess our struggles to our neighbors, we’re more interested in bragging to them about our European vacations? Why is it that while we are all in this life together, all imperfect people just doing the best that we can – that while not a single one of us has righteousness within her enough to save herself from sin – that while we are all sinners, redeemed, not by our own work, but only by the grace of God, we all still love to imagine that we are winning all on our won while looking back and to see who’s doing worse? Back in Tennessee, the Methodist Church across the street had this pastor who would fall asleep during the choir anthem. Everybody was talking about him and I was enjoying it, egging this on really, until Sara says, “You be careful Joe, because you know how this will hurt when it’s you they’re talking about.” Sara was right. She nearly always is. There’s a log in this eye, and for too long preachers and Christians alike have been walking around, one-upping each other, when really, if Paul says that he has no righteousness of his own I don’t know who we think we are. No matter how much time I spend in prayer. No matter how much more mature I am now than when I was in High School. No matter how low my emissions thanks to my bicycle, I’m still just a vineyard of wild grapes, who by the grace of God has been given the honor of running this race with you. That’s the difference between a Monday and a Sunday morning. On a Monday we feel like we are supposed to have it all together, but on a Sunday we don’t have to pretend. We don’t have to look back. Because again, we’ve all done it together – publically said it out loud: “You taught us peace, but we wage war. You forgive us, while we withhold forgiveness from our neighbor. You seek us out, while we hide our face from you. Forgive us Lord – for when you expected grapes, we yielded while grapes – but by the Grace of God – there is something wonderful happening in here. When I think of this church and all that we’ve been through in the past few years I think of that Psalm that made up our Call to Worship. We are a vine, brought out of Egypt. Planted in fertile soil. God cleared the ground, and the mountains were covered by our shade. You remember it all as I do – there were so many of us at the Montreat Youth Conference that we nearly took the whole thing over. We were one of the largest Presbyterian Churches in the South. But then our walls were broken down, so that those who passed along could just pluck our fruit, and I was up in Tennessee wondering why, as I know all of you were. I don’t know exactly why God would permit such a thing to happen. Some have called it pruning, and I like that. But regardless, I know that God has heard our cry. That our God looked down from heaven to see, and has renewed His regard for this vine, and now I can’t walk in our doors without feeling that the Holy Spirit fills this place, but here’s what we all must remember - that’s why the Holy Spirit fills this place. That’s why there is joy and laughter within these walls. It’s not me, and I know that. Listen – I’m still just the kid who skipped out of Sunday School to run the halls and steal cookies out of the preschool cupboards. Like Paul and like you, “It’s not that I have already obtained [anything] or have already reached the goal; but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own.” That’s what we must always be about. Sometimes we are so desperate to see something good in ourselves that we only look for bad in our neighbor, and sometimes we are so practiced in celebrating ourselves that we take credit for what only God can do. And what has God done – revived us again. Let us forget what lies behind, staring forward to what lies ahead – the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus. Amen.

God at Work in You

Scripture Lessons: Ezekiel 18: 1-4 and 25-32, and Philippians 2: 1-13 Sermon Title: God at Work in You Preached on October 1, 2017 One of the great Christian thinkers of history is a Danish philosopher named Soren Kierkegaard. He famously compared the sanctuary and the theater, saying that these two places look the same – both are big rooms with seats in lines turned toward something like a stage, but the difference is this – in the theater the actors are on the stage and you are in the audience, but in here, we are all the actors and it is God who is in the audience. This description makes sense to me, and I am confident that God, in the audience, loves to hear our choir sing. That our God rejoices as Cal plays the organ. That God listens as we pray, and smiles as children fidget in the pews. During this hour of worship, we don’t come to be entertained as we do in a theater, but to direct our attention away from ourselves and towards our Redeemer, for in this hour we are mindful that God draws near, is in the audience watching and listening as we worship God together. We gather here to offer our praises to God, that’s what worship is, and so we try to offer our very best. We don’t dress to veg-out on the couch. On Sunday mornings at a church like ours, we dress to bow our heads before our creator. So, mothers force daughters into dresses, slick down the rebellious hair of 9-year-old boys, and even if they were in the middle of an epic argument for the whole ride over here, families pull it together so they’d look like a Norman Rockwell painting before they walked in here. What we do is aspire to some version of perfection. We rise above the stress and conflict to put on a pretty face. Even when we know we’re not perfect, don’t some of us walk into this room pretending to be? But, in many ways, this is a bad habit. We humans are in the bad habit of masking despair and conflict, telling everyone around us that everything fine when it’s not, living a Spiritual life of false piety, as though Christianity were one long Stairway to Heaven that we have to climb just like the corporate ladder. But it is in this room that we remember how our God comes near to hear us sing. We read in our first Scripture Lesson of the God who came near, taking human form: Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, Who, though he was in the form of God, Did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, But emptied himself, Taking the form of a slave, Being born in human likeness. These are words of the great Christ Hymn that the church in Philippi sang to remember that while we who worship comb our hair, put on our Sunday best, and try to rise to a standard of perfection, God does not call on use to rise up to him for he has come down to us. That matters, because that changes how we think. That changes how we live. Knowing that God descended to us changes how we lead. That’s really what Paul is writing about here. He writes this letter to address a crisis in leadership. Two leaders in this congregation – Euodia and Syntyche are working against each other, jockeying for control. You’ve seen this kind of thing before, because conflict is as natural to we humans as sleeping and breathing. Even if we can pull it together to walk into the sanctuary, we are prone to conflict. A mother used to say that if her children were awake, they were fighting. That’s just us, but, if we are Christians, how will we fight? How will we argue? When God looked down on us and our depravity God didn’t look down in disappointment from the security of heaven, fire off a few tweets and go back to life as usual. No, God came down from heaven to see first-hand what was really going on. That’s what parents do – we hear siblings arguing down in the basement – “don’t make me come down there!” we say. So, I’ve been interested in professional football lately, because while protesting during the National Anthem, failing to stand to honor the flag, is a complicated and emotional issue, there are those team owners who have remained up in the owner’s box, far above the field, and there have been others, who descended to the field to lock arms with their players. This is a radical thing to do. But that’s what Paul urges: “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited.” When God heard the shouting of his children, God could have just brushed some clouds away, looked down, “eh, they’ll sort it out eventually.” Or maybe the Son could have said to the Holy Spirit: “What do you think about sending another flood? Wait, we said we wouldn’t do that, didn’t we?” No – when God heard our distress, God came down to us, “taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross.” What then is this bread and this cup? The reminder that God could have stayed up there. Christ could have kept his distance from all our quarreling – but instead, he came right down and offered us his very body and blood. In his life then, is the reminder that love thrives on proximity. That like a mother who holds her baby to her chest, God holds us close. With that example in mind, Paul’s admonishes us: “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,” remembering that when it comes to love, physical distance can be bad. I once officiated a funeral of a woman whose family rarely visited. She planned her funeral with me years before she died, and chose two Proverbs for the occasion. One was Proverbs 18: 24 – “Some friends play at friendship, but a true friend sticks closer than one’s nearest kin.” After the service, a friend told me “that was an interesting way for her to tell her relatives that they’d be left out of the will”, but in this Proverb, is a truth that we all know already – we long for closeness and we pity the nursing home resident who no one goes to visit. Setting the example, what does God do? God shows up, bridges the gap, takes human form. “And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross.” This word, “Humble” is significant. Because just as physical distance can harm relationships, so can arrogance. Failing to be honest with yourself and others can as well. And acting like you’re more holy than everybody is just about the worst. There’s a story about John Calvin. His friends said that he was probably the most brilliant man of his generation, but what made it so hard to spend time with him, was that he knew it. In this story about the theologian who founded our tradition is a warning to every Christian so good at pretending that he’s perfect and so are his children, for if Jesus humbled himself, taking the form of a slave, then what sermon is our life preaching? The Prophet spoke to the people on the Lord’s behalf saying, “the house of Israel says, “The way of the Lord is unfair.” [But] house of Israel, are my ways unfair? Is it not your ways that are unfair?” God comes close, but we keep our distance. God moves into the neighborhood, dwelling among us in Jesus Christ, but we keep our doors locked to our neighbor. And God humbles himself, taking the form of a slave, but how many of us take the time to learn the names of the people who clean our homes? This is what happens with distance and arrogance – we lose touch with our neighbors, because we’ve lost touch with ourselves. To live the Gospel, we have to be real. We have to be honest. We have to be human – crying in weakness, listening until we understand, while standing together. And we have to sing, not because we’re good at it, but because God likes it. Ours is a God who has come near – setting the table before us, as though He were the servant, to offer us his very body and blood. And this God is at work in you. Just as Paul said it of the congregation in Philippi, so it is true here of you. You – who don’t all think the same, who don’t all live the same lives, but who worship together. You who break bread together, and join in mission together – delivering meals to neighborhoods that few like to drive through. You, who have already given up on the illusion of perfection, to accept each other as you really are. The God who comes near to us, is at work in you. Amen.