Those Who Wander, Bring Them Back

Scripture Lessons: Esther 7: 1-6 and James 5: 13-20 Sermon Title: Those who Wander, Bring them Back Preached on September 26, 2021 You may know that just a few weeks ago, a former member of our church died, suddenly. His funeral was last Monday. A friend of mine was playing golf with this man’s son when his mother called and told him that his father had died while away on business. I can imagine few more difficult phone calls, so what I give thanks to God for amid tragedy are the little miracles like this one, that when Sam Rapp got the news that his father died, Brian Robinson was standing there with him. Now, Brian didn’t feel prepared for a moment like this one. He’s a dentist, not a grief counselor. So, what I want to preach about today is how much comfort presence brings, how much one simple act of kindness can change things, and how God has put us here on this earth to live our faith, how the book of James calls us to do something, but the world makes too many of us afraid to act. We worry about having the right words, and so sometimes we say nothing. We worry about looking awkward or making someone uncomfortable, so we don’t act or go or pray, although in her sermon two weeks ago, Rev. Cassie Waits proclaimed that a person who calls herself a runner isn’t really a runner and a Christian who doesn’t live her faith can’t call herself a Christian. There’s a great Tony Robbins quote I heard this week. Tony Robbins is one of those self-help speakers, and this is my favorite thing I’ve heard him say, “In life, lots of people know what to do, but few people actually do what they know. Knowing is not enough! You must take action.” And I tell you, churches are just full of people who know what to do, but life changing things happen when disciples have the courage to do what they know, to step out in faith as James implores: Are there any among you suffering? Are any among you sick? They should call for the elders of the church and have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord. That’s what James says, even though the cynics among us would ask: “what’s a little oil going to do in the face of cancer or heart disease?” The self-conscious among us wonder if they should even go. With their voices in our heads let us remember that a simple act of authentic kindness is enough to defy the power of sin and death. It’s true. Listen to this: on a trip to Boston a few years ago we walked the Freedom Trail. Right next to the Freedom Trail is a noteworthy Holocaust memorial. One simple glass tower dedicated to each of the concentration camps, numbers on the outsides etched in the glass of all the people murdered at each one. The numbers reach to the sky, but on the inside of the tower, where you walk through, there are quotes from survivors. This one was especially profound: Ilse, a childhood friend of mine, once found a raspberry in the camp and carried it in her pocket all day to present to me that night on a leaf. Imagine a world in which your entire possession is one raspberry, and you give it to your friend. The world might make us feel small. Like our actions have no meaning. That there’s nothing really to be done. “Who am I to make a difference,” we’ve learned to ask, but don’t forget that you are one who can make a difference, just by doing what you know to do. That’s how it was with Esther. Our first Scripture Lesson comes from that great book which tells the story of a Jewish girl who had somehow lucked out and made it into the palace of the King of Persia while the Jewish people lived there in exile. No one there knew she was a Jew, and they didn’t need to know, for if she hid her identity, she’d be spared from all the hardship her people faced living as an oppressed minority under the most powerful empire on earth. She knew that she could get by if she’d just wake up every morning, put on her makeup, and laugh at the emperor’s jokes. She wasn’t powerful. She didn’t need to be wise. All she had to do was keep the emperor happy and she could keep on living. Maybe doing so doesn’t feel very good, however, it’s better than the alternative she could imagine. She stayed quiet and she survived until the only father she had ever known needed her. She got by until she heard that her people needed her. Then, she spoke out against the evil Haman who was plotting their demise. She said something, and surely to her it seemed to her as though her voice would be nothing more than wind whistling through the reeds. That resistance was futile. Surely, she felt as though her will to make a difference would be like water against the rock. That she was powerless to really change anything, just a pretty face with no means to persuade the emperor. Still, she spoke the words we just read. She spoke and look what happened? She saved her people from genocide. Of course, it must have been hard. Of course, it took courage. What Ester did may sound nearly impossible, and that “nearly” is what she had to remember. That audacious belief that something could be done is what it really took for her to act. She had to believe, at least a little bit, that things could change. That hope was real. That God was alive and not dead. Meanwhile, the powers of sin and death are always trying to persuade us that it’s better to hide, keep silent, over think everything, and be paralyzed by our own anxiety. That’s just where the evil one wants us: thinking that nothing can be done, for within us is the power to comfort a friend in grief, just by reaching out and squeezing his hand. Within us is the power to defy Nazi Germany with a gift of a raspberry. Within us is the means to bring those who are lost back to the land of the living; therefore, James is bold to say: My brothers and sisters, if anyone among you wanders from the truth and is brought back by another, you should know that whoever brings back a sinner from wandering will save the sinner’s soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins. Did you hear that? Within you is the power to bring back the wandering sinner. And I don’t think the author of the book of James means that we should correct, shame, judge, manipulate, or lecture the wandering sinner. If you’ve ever been on the receiving end of a group of Christians who wanted to bring you back into the fold after having been caught dancing, smoking, or listening to rap music then you know that so often judgmental Christians push people further from the church rather than brings them back into it. I don’t like that, and I don’t believe James would either. What I believe James is talking about here is something closer to the South African principle of ubuntu, which I learned about from Katherine Wesselink’s Facebook page. Yesterday, our daughter Lily had five volleyball matches, so in between I had a lot of time to look at facebook. This is what I learned: [In some South African tribes] when someone does something wrong, he is taken to the center of the village and surrounded by his tribe for two days while they speak of all the good he has done. They believe each person is good, yet sometimes makes mistakes, which is really a cry for help. They unite in this ritual to encourage a person to reconnect with his true nature. The belief is that unity and affirmation have more power to change behavior than shame and punishment. This is known as Ubuntu – humanity towards others. Have you ever heard of such a thing? It makes me remember the pastor who preached my great uncle Jim’s funeral. He told the story of being a 9 or 10-year-old boy. His father had just died, and his house was full of people. So full that he couldn’t really make out who all was there. His memory of the day was of a bunch of men and women wanting to say some words that would make this young boy feel better. The only vivid memory this preacher had of that sad day years ago was climbing the steps, and as he did, someone took his hand and squeezed it. That was all, but that was all my Great Uncle Jim needed to do, for despite all the years that had passed between the day of his father’s funeral when he was a child and the day of my Great Uncle Jim’s death, that preacher, now retired, remembered that simple gesture which pulled him back into the land of the living by helping him see that he was not alone on one of the worst days of his life. Does it really take more than that? A simple gesture. A kind word. A raspberry in a leaf. My brothers and sisters, if anyone among you wanders from the truth and is brought back by another, you should know that whoever brings back a sinner from wandering will save the sinner’s soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins. So, bring them back. Those who wander through the valley of the shadow of death, walk with them there awhile. Bring them back to the land of the living by just holding their hand. Bring them back from the shadow. Bring them back into the light by reminding them that they are more than their shame. Bring them back into community, from the pain of isolation. Don’t treat the mourning the way people used to treat leppers. Don’t isolate the sinner. Remember how Jesus was always eating with them. Do what he did: stay close by them. Don’t be afraid of the tears of hurting people. Bring them back into the church. Bring them back into the circle. Do not leave them in the cold. Do not shame them with your words. Do not add on to the oppressed the weight of your judgement. Bring them back. Bring them back. Bring them back. With that James ends his letter, and with that he challenges us to live our lives with faith, hope, and love. Amen.

The Tongue of a Teacher

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 50: 4-9 and James 3: 1-12 Sermon Title: The Tongue of a Teacher Preached on September 12, 2021 Many years ago, in some far-off place, the town gossip was called to the church by the priest. He handed her a feather pillow and asked her to go to the church tower to empty it out, which she did. She stood in the tower and watched as the feathers were caught by the wind and swept through the streets. Then she returned to the priest with the empty pillowcase, and he asked her to go and collect all the feathers. Insisting that it was impossible, the priest then told her that her words are no different. “Once they leave your mouth they are beyond your control,” he said. “Doing good or evil, they are caught by the wind to be swept through the streets and can no more be collected again then the feathers of a pillow, so you must be careful what you say,” the priest said. The book of James reminds us of this same truth. “Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers and sisters, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness.” Why? Because words have power. As a bit guides a horse, As a rudder steers a ship, As a forest is set ablaze by a small fire, So, the tongue, a small member of the body, boasts of great exploits. Think about it. Did you see it in last Sunday’s paper? The Atlanta Journal Constitution told four stories of 9/11 twenty years later. After the planes hit the Twin Towers and we all were so desperately consumed with fear and anger, an Iranian American teenager named Jalal wrote in her Winnie the Pooh journal, “I hate those terrorists.” Only then, she heard the words of her classmates, her friend’s parents, her teachers, who made jokes about bombing the middle east back to the stone age to put an end to all those barbaric people, and she felt lumped in with the very people she hated. You remember. The FBI reported a spike in anti-Muslim hate crimes following 9/11. In Columbia, Tennessee where we lived before coming back here, someone burned the Mosque to the ground. This is the power of words. Words like Muslim or Arab. Spoken by the tongue of a teacher who misuses her words. It’s true. And that was a day that should really make us think about the power of words spoken by a teacher. Yesterday, on the 20th anniversary of September 11th, 2001, when what we thought would never happen did, so many names were read that it took more than two hours to read them all. The Marietta Kiwanis Club put up an American flag for each one at the base of Kennesaw Mountain. Each person who was killed when airplanes were turned to weapons by men who were told by their teachers that we were not humans, but infidels. This is the power of words. Words like infidel. Spoken by the tongue of a teacher. Such a word as that can make a student forget that people are people and that all life is sacred. Yet still today it happens again, for teachers still speak without wisdom or love. So, as hospitals fill up beyond capacity I ask you to remember how many told us that this virus isn’t even real, how the vaccine has microchips in it, or that it will make you vote for democrats. Just think about how someone got the rumors started, first that bleach will cure you, then that horse de-wormer will knock it out, and some people actually tried it. This is the power of words. Words like COVID-19. Spoken by the tongue of a teacher, that end up killing people. Therefore, teachers will be judged with greater strictness because people will do what they say, even when they’re wrong. James is harsh on this point. But James is right. Once the words are out of our mouths there’s no getting them back in, any more than toothpaste can be shoved back inside a toothpaste tube or feathers back into a pillow. Once the words are out of our mouths, they are swept up by the wind and take on a life of their own. And so, “The tongue is a fire,” the book of James says. “Sticks and stones will break your bones but words…” words set the world on fire. And the words we speak, reveal the state of our souls. James says that with the tongue: We bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse those who are made in the likeness of God. From the same mouth come blessing and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this ought not to be so. Does a spring pour forth from the same opening both fresh and brackish water? Can a fig tree, my brothers and sisters, yield olives, or a grapevine figs? No more can saltwater yield fresh. That’s just not how it works, so if your words set the world on fire, what is the state of your soul? If your words tear people down, how broken is your heart? If you don’t speak words of love, does Christ reside there within you? Do you know the expression, “if you don’t have anything nice to say come sit by me?” Sometimes we’re that way, and so James asks us as well as our teachers: Does a spring pour forth from the same opening both fresh and brackish water? Which will it be? Who are you? For if you’re both, expect them to lose trust in the well. This summer I started a family book club. This is a good thing to do if you want your children to hate you, make them read books during summer vacation, but I did it anyway. We all read three books together, just three. I researched good chapter books for 10- and 12-year-olds and came up with the list. Sara got the books from the library, and we read them together. The best was a book called, From the Desk of Zoey Washington, by Janae Marks. I highly recommend it, and I tell you about it now, in this context of how we use our words, because Zoey Washington really needed a friend, but she couldn’t trust the person who was supposed to be her best friend. She had decided to audition for a baking contest called the Kids Bake Challenge, and she wished she could talk to Trever about recipes, but she couldn’t. It’s the summer before seventh grade and she wanted to talk to Trever about what seventh grade would be like, but she couldn’t. Then she received a letter from her biological father who had never been a real presence in her life because he’d been arrested before she was born and was still in prison, but she couldn’t talk to Trever about it, because one day she stayed home sick from school and overheard Trever talking to some of his basketball friends about her, and it wasn’t good. Of course, this is how it is for us sometimes. We want acceptance, we feel pressure, so we yield saltwater. On the other hand, the Prophet Isaiah, in our First Scripture Lesson, testified to one who has been given the tongue of a teacher, “that he may know how to sustain the weary with a word.” How does he do it? Well, listen to what happened to him: He gave his back to those who struck him. His cheeks to those who pulled out his beard. He did not hide his face from insult and spitting. No, his face was set like flint, standing before our adversaries, confronting the evil doers, because you matter more to him than his own comfort. You matter more to him than his own advancement. You and your welling being matter more to him than his own wellbeing. Have you ever had a teacher like that? I told you already that yesterday the Marietta Kiwanis Club organized an event to remember all those who were killed September 11th, 2001. In addition to having a flag at the base of Kennesaw Mountain, each victim’s name was read. So many were the names that they took more than two hours to read them all. In a tragic way, this event testified to the terrible power that the tongue of a teacher wields. One teacher’s words can lead to the death of so many people that all their names can’t be read in two hours. It took two different readers just to get through the A’s. And those whose last name began with A weren’t just Adams or Abernathy, but Abdula and Anchundia. These were names that the Kiwanian’s practiced before they read, and my 5th grade teacher, Debbie McCracken was one of them. She pronounced each name so perfectly that it was as though she had said each one 1,000 times before, and this point is what I want to emphasize: While one teacher lumped them all together and called them all infidel, my teacher so honored each one as to practice saying their names. This wasn’t the first time, either. I wonder how many names she remembered in her years as a teacher. I don’t know, but she looked into my eyes yesterday and I knew that this teacher saw me. She said the 10-year-old boy she knew was still in there. “Maybe there’s less hair on his head, but he’s still in there.” You see, she saw me as a person, and she called me by name. This too is the power of words. Words like your name. Remembered and written on the heart of the teacher, said again and again, so that you know you are more than a number. You are not a tool to advance an agenda. You matter more than a vote, a dollar, or a favor, and your name is written on the heart of the God who chose to suffer for you, because it was better for Him to suffer than to conform to this broken world. Remember that. Remember that there is tremendous power in those words which remind us of each other’s humanity. Words like faith. Words like hope. Words like love. There is power enough in those words to change the world, and to set it on fire with the power of God. May it be so. Amen.