Mark 15: 1-15, page 721
Very early in the morning, the chief priests, with the elders, the teachers of the law and the whole Sanhedrin, reached a decision. They bound Jesus, led him away and handed him over to Pilate.
“Are you the king of the Jews?” asked Pilate.
“Yes, it is as you say,” Jesus replied.
The chief priests accused him of many things. So again Pilate asked him, “Aren’t you going to answer? See how many things they are accusing you of.”
But Jesus still made no reply, and Pilate was amazed.
Now it was the custom at the Feast to release a prisoner whom the people requested. A man called Barabbas was in prison with the insurrectionists who had committed murder in the uprising. The crowd came up and asked Pilate to do for them what he usually did.
“Do you want me to release to you the king of the Jews?” asked Pilate, knowing it was out of envy that the chief priests had handed Jesus over to him. But the chief priests stirred up the crowd to have Pilate release Barabbas instead.
“What shall I do, then, with the one you call the king of the Jews?” Pilate asked them.
“Crucify him!” they shouted.
“Why? What crime has he committed?” asked Pilate.
But they shouted all the louder, “Crucify him!”
Wanting to satisfy the crowd, Pilate released Barabbas to them. He had Jesus flogged, and handed him over to be crucified.
Sermon
Where were you on September 11, 2001?
I remember where I was, and this week I was reminded where John Walker Lindh was by a magazine article.[1]
John Walker Lindh was captured just months after the September 11th attacks fighting alongside Taliban forces in Afghanistan. While the nation united against the Taliban, this young white man from California was on the other side, a bearded convert to a fundamentalist version of Islam, and so became one of the most despised men in America. For siding with our nation’s enemy, for fighting for, and not against the people known to be responsible for attacking the United States on 9/11, he was beaten, vilified, and sentenced to twenty years in a Federal Prison.
How his mother felt when he took his first steps, how his father’s face lit up the first time his son smiled, his grades in school, his devotion to a foreign culture, and his quest for religious fulfillment are all wiped away, replaced by the words of Hilary Clinton who called him a traitor, or Ann Coulter, who called for his execution.
For any person tied to the United States, it is natural to think of smoke rising from the Twin Towers, airplanes flying where they shouldn’t, fear, death, and worry whenever John Walker Lindh is mentioned.
Like Pontius Pilate his identity is inextricably tied to one event – nothing else in his life could ever define him so completely.
Those buildings that he built, all other criminals who he attempted to try fairly, the justice that he sought, and the fairness that he asked of an unruly crowd are all forgotten – only the words: “Suffered under Pontius Pilate, he was crucified, dead, and buried” remain.
That was his defining moment.
Just as there are defining moments in all of our lives, those moments that change everything – categorize our lives into before and after - Pilate stood before the roaring crowd, Jesus, a huddled mass, silent and seemingly indifferent behind him, was living the moment that would define him forever; forever associating him with Christ’s crucifixion.
But the great theologian, Tertullian, gave verse two of our scripture passage an interesting reading – he saw something substantial in the conversation between Pilate and Jesus: “Are you the king of the Jews?’ asked Pilate. ‘Yes, it is as you say,’ Jesus replied.”
Tertullian saw a confession of faith in this verse – as though Jesus were saying to Pilate – you have already said it, you know who I am and have confessed that truth so why are you asking? Tertullian saw a “quiet faith that lived in [Pilate’s] heart.” Unfortunately, we modern readers say, that quiet faith never turned into loud words or strong actions – instead his faith was small, insubstantial, and quiet compared to the shouts of the crowd.
He won’t be remembered for this quiet faith – it’s his lack of action that matters – it’s his lack of action that makes his legacy the suffering represented by this symbol.
We look to the cross and blame him. We say the words of the Apostle’s Creed and let Christ’s suffering rest on his shoulders.
But he only played his small part in this tragedy.
He is judged more harshly, maybe because of where he was, but what about Peter, James and John; Mary and Martha, where were they?
We focus our aggression on Pilate, but here in Mark we know that at least he tried to defend Christ before the Crowd while the disciples hid – we know of Pilate’s quiet faith, but isn’t the disciple’s silent, absent, non-existent faith all the more appalling.
The truth of the crucifixion is that Christ suffered, not only under Pontius Pilate, but also by the cowardice of the disciples who feared for their own life.
And the crowd who had celebrated his entry into Jerusalem only days before, now so persuadable that they call for this same man’s death – we remember Pilate’s role in Christ’s crucifixion, but Christ suffered under a crowd of men and women of loose convictions, too easily swayed by the whims of religious authority.
The truth is that Christ suffered, not only under Pontius Pilate, but also under the jealously of the religious men who could not comprehend how this untrained man could outsmart the most educated, doing the miracles they weren’t able to do, healing the people they weren’t able to heal – to them he was a sign of what they should be - so they called for his death.
We know where Pilate was when they crucified my Lord, but where were his friends who knew who he was, where was the crowd who celebrated his entrance into the city only days before, and where were the educated who should have recognized him for his fulfillment of the scripture.
It’s easier to gravitate towards one figure, to let him bear the guilt that we all carry – so, we humans point our fingers in judgment, speak harsh words to the obvious targets so we can evade the question that really matters.
We know where Pilate was, but the question that really counts has nothing to do with Pilate. The question that really matters is: “Where were you when they crucified my Lord?”
Where were you when the crowds called for one thing and the quiet faith of your heart demanded another – did the quiet faith of your heart turn into words from your mouth, actions, or were you too afraid?
Where were you when worry surrounded you, bills pilled up, but your children needed you at home – did you obey the quiet faith that called you to your family, or did you stay at work giving up on the faith that told you all is in God’s hands?
Where were you when vengeance boiled up, fear trumped justice, and the call to war drowned out everything but the quiet faith of your heart calling you to patience and peace?
Where were you?
Here is the sign that reminds us all of the result of our sin – like a scar to remind us – we look to the cross as the sign of our condition, it is the result of our actions – but; if we are not afraid to see it now, to die to our ways of sin and death – we will be raised to new life.
-Amen.
[1] John Rico, “Can John Walker Lindh Go Home Now?” (GQ April, 2009) 126.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
For God so Loved the World
John 3: 14-21, page 752
Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the desert, so the Son of Man must be lifted up, that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.
For God so loved the world that he gave the one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already because he or she has not believed in the name of God’s one and only Son.
This is the verdict: Light has come into the world, but people loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil. Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that his or her deeds will be exposed. But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what has been done has been done through God.”
Sermon
John 3: 16 may be the most familiar verse of the Bible – and In a society of increasing Biblical illiteracy, I think it’s important to take notice of one verse that most people actually know.
In many ways that familiarity is a good thing – this is the verse that Martin Luther, the man who laid the foundation for the Protestant reformation, a movement of which our Presbyterian tradition is an important part, called John 3: 16 the gospel in miniature; and a few hundred years later, Soren Kierkegaard, the Danish thinker who has influenced the modern church as much as anyone else would write that this passage actually tells you everything you need to know, and that it would be to the church’s benefit to save money by printing only this. All you need to know he said is that – Christ is God – he came into the world to save you – but we put him on the cross – that’s something that had to happen, and after three days he rose again.
These great minds inspired many people to take John 3: 16 out into the street, the baseball field, the football stadium, showing some very big audiences that the key to salvation is actually here in one simple verse: “For God so loved the world.”
Hear these words, and be saved, they say.
But what if someone doesn’t only read John 3: 16, what if they decide to start reading in verse 14 – “Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the desert, so the Son of Man must be lifted up.” Now here is a verse that I had to look up in a couple of books because I had no idea what it was talking about.
I think it’s amazing that the most familiar verse in the whole Bible, John 3: 16 comes right after a verse that virtually no one understands: Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the desert, so the Son of Man must be lifted up.”
Here the author of John’s gospel takes you back to the book of Numbers – one of those books we all know is there but we never take the time to read – the snake is not Moses’ staff that he turned into a snake to amaze the Pharaoh, that story is in the book of Exodus, this one is a bronze snake God told Moses to make and to lift up before the people to heal them from the venomous serpents that God sent on them after they complained about leaving Egypt for the hundredth time.
There is a way of thinking now – that we shouldn’t really get into the hard questions with people who are just getting into Christianity, that we should take it slow and stick to “For God so loved the world” before we get into, God sent venomous snakes on the Israelites, but that’s obviously not how the author of John’s mind worked because right before we read the most simplified version of our religion, we come face to face with one of the most challenging concepts of our religion.
The passage in Numbers is one of those passages where we don’t really understand this God who we worship – as we don’t really worship a God who sends venomous snakes do we? We worship the God who saves us – right?
Don’t we worship the God who brings salvation – who answers our prayers by sparing us hardship, by delivering us from oppression, by saving us from those venomous snakes of life – and not the force that puts that suffering into our lives?
It is a strange thing to realize that in Numbers our God is both in the same – the God who saves the Israelites from the snakes is also the God who sent the snakes there in the first place.
If we think about this Numbers passage for too long then the next thing you know you start to wonder if you really know what on earth John 3: 16 means, as in light of John 3: 14 it doesn’t quite mean what we thought it did – thinking about God from the perspective of Numbers makes God different – and next thing I know I start to wonder if salvation means what I think it does.
I think that is how my father-in-law must have felt walking down the street in Knoxville, TN back when he was in graduate school. He moved to Knoxville from Colombia, South America to study architecture at the University of Tennessee. He’s a brilliant guy really, so he hit the English books hard before he went, and certainly had a book knowledge of English; but a book knowledge of English is not the same thing as a street knowledge of English, especially in Knoxville, TN.
As he was walking down the street a couple of women walked up to him. They asked him, very plainly and right off the bat, “Have you been saved?” Like I said, he had a book knowledge of English and not a street knowledge of English, so after considering the word “saved” he responded, “Yes, I have a checking, and a savings account at the bank.”
This story is funny because we think of “being saved” as an issue completely different from our savings accounts, especially when our savings accounts may be having a particularly hard time. We separate our lives out, looking for God in church and in the miracles of life, but our eyes have to be open to the fullness of God, the fullness of salvation that is a work in progress encompassing our entire existence.
We see God in good things, but isn’t our God at work in all things?
Following John 3: 16 we read the words, “For God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.”
In light of the passage from Numbers we might well read, “For God did not send the snakes on the Israelites to kill them there in the desert, but to save them from turning around and going back to Egypt.”
And today, we might examine our own lives and hear the words, “For God did not send the United States into a financial melt-down to condemn the United States, but to save us all from a way of life that is unsustainable.”
We want to know how God could let it happen, or where God went: How could God have sent those snakes, where was God when the stock market fell – we ask these kinds of questions all the time – where was God on 9/11, where was God when Pearl Harbor was attacked – we ask these questions whenever tragedy strikes and the God who is supposed to watch out for us seems no where to be seen - but these questions also bring us right to the central symbol of our faith – where was God when Jesus was lifted up on the cross?
The ones who don’t believe see punishment, suffering, or condemnation. The ones who believe in a cosmic struggle between the god of good and the god of evil see one battle lost in the war for eternity, but those of us who believe hear familiar words and know that even in the worst of times their deliverer is working – for God so loved the world.
These are the words that make us different. These are the words that count, they say it all, and they make all the difference – John 3: 16, for God so loved the world, God took the greatest tragedy of human history and made it the sign of our salvation.
We are a the children of the God who works for good in all things – and whether we are rich or we are poor – you can take heart in the truth that God is at work in your life that you might be saved through him.
-Amen.
Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the desert, so the Son of Man must be lifted up, that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.
For God so loved the world that he gave the one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already because he or she has not believed in the name of God’s one and only Son.
This is the verdict: Light has come into the world, but people loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil. Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that his or her deeds will be exposed. But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what has been done has been done through God.”
Sermon
John 3: 16 may be the most familiar verse of the Bible – and In a society of increasing Biblical illiteracy, I think it’s important to take notice of one verse that most people actually know.
In many ways that familiarity is a good thing – this is the verse that Martin Luther, the man who laid the foundation for the Protestant reformation, a movement of which our Presbyterian tradition is an important part, called John 3: 16 the gospel in miniature; and a few hundred years later, Soren Kierkegaard, the Danish thinker who has influenced the modern church as much as anyone else would write that this passage actually tells you everything you need to know, and that it would be to the church’s benefit to save money by printing only this. All you need to know he said is that – Christ is God – he came into the world to save you – but we put him on the cross – that’s something that had to happen, and after three days he rose again.
These great minds inspired many people to take John 3: 16 out into the street, the baseball field, the football stadium, showing some very big audiences that the key to salvation is actually here in one simple verse: “For God so loved the world.”
Hear these words, and be saved, they say.
But what if someone doesn’t only read John 3: 16, what if they decide to start reading in verse 14 – “Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the desert, so the Son of Man must be lifted up.” Now here is a verse that I had to look up in a couple of books because I had no idea what it was talking about.
I think it’s amazing that the most familiar verse in the whole Bible, John 3: 16 comes right after a verse that virtually no one understands: Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the desert, so the Son of Man must be lifted up.”
Here the author of John’s gospel takes you back to the book of Numbers – one of those books we all know is there but we never take the time to read – the snake is not Moses’ staff that he turned into a snake to amaze the Pharaoh, that story is in the book of Exodus, this one is a bronze snake God told Moses to make and to lift up before the people to heal them from the venomous serpents that God sent on them after they complained about leaving Egypt for the hundredth time.
There is a way of thinking now – that we shouldn’t really get into the hard questions with people who are just getting into Christianity, that we should take it slow and stick to “For God so loved the world” before we get into, God sent venomous snakes on the Israelites, but that’s obviously not how the author of John’s mind worked because right before we read the most simplified version of our religion, we come face to face with one of the most challenging concepts of our religion.
The passage in Numbers is one of those passages where we don’t really understand this God who we worship – as we don’t really worship a God who sends venomous snakes do we? We worship the God who saves us – right?
Don’t we worship the God who brings salvation – who answers our prayers by sparing us hardship, by delivering us from oppression, by saving us from those venomous snakes of life – and not the force that puts that suffering into our lives?
It is a strange thing to realize that in Numbers our God is both in the same – the God who saves the Israelites from the snakes is also the God who sent the snakes there in the first place.
If we think about this Numbers passage for too long then the next thing you know you start to wonder if you really know what on earth John 3: 16 means, as in light of John 3: 14 it doesn’t quite mean what we thought it did – thinking about God from the perspective of Numbers makes God different – and next thing I know I start to wonder if salvation means what I think it does.
I think that is how my father-in-law must have felt walking down the street in Knoxville, TN back when he was in graduate school. He moved to Knoxville from Colombia, South America to study architecture at the University of Tennessee. He’s a brilliant guy really, so he hit the English books hard before he went, and certainly had a book knowledge of English; but a book knowledge of English is not the same thing as a street knowledge of English, especially in Knoxville, TN.
As he was walking down the street a couple of women walked up to him. They asked him, very plainly and right off the bat, “Have you been saved?” Like I said, he had a book knowledge of English and not a street knowledge of English, so after considering the word “saved” he responded, “Yes, I have a checking, and a savings account at the bank.”
This story is funny because we think of “being saved” as an issue completely different from our savings accounts, especially when our savings accounts may be having a particularly hard time. We separate our lives out, looking for God in church and in the miracles of life, but our eyes have to be open to the fullness of God, the fullness of salvation that is a work in progress encompassing our entire existence.
We see God in good things, but isn’t our God at work in all things?
Following John 3: 16 we read the words, “For God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.”
In light of the passage from Numbers we might well read, “For God did not send the snakes on the Israelites to kill them there in the desert, but to save them from turning around and going back to Egypt.”
And today, we might examine our own lives and hear the words, “For God did not send the United States into a financial melt-down to condemn the United States, but to save us all from a way of life that is unsustainable.”
We want to know how God could let it happen, or where God went: How could God have sent those snakes, where was God when the stock market fell – we ask these kinds of questions all the time – where was God on 9/11, where was God when Pearl Harbor was attacked – we ask these questions whenever tragedy strikes and the God who is supposed to watch out for us seems no where to be seen - but these questions also bring us right to the central symbol of our faith – where was God when Jesus was lifted up on the cross?
The ones who don’t believe see punishment, suffering, or condemnation. The ones who believe in a cosmic struggle between the god of good and the god of evil see one battle lost in the war for eternity, but those of us who believe hear familiar words and know that even in the worst of times their deliverer is working – for God so loved the world.
These are the words that make us different. These are the words that count, they say it all, and they make all the difference – John 3: 16, for God so loved the world, God took the greatest tragedy of human history and made it the sign of our salvation.
We are a the children of the God who works for good in all things – and whether we are rich or we are poor – you can take heart in the truth that God is at work in your life that you might be saved through him.
-Amen.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Abraham's Faith
Genesis 12: 10-20, page 8
Now there was a famine in the land, and Abram went down to Egypt to live there for a while because the famine was severe. As he was about to enter Egypt, he said to his wife Sarai, “I know what a beautiful woman you are. When the Egyptians see you, they will say, ‘This is his wife.’ Then they will kill me but will let you live. Say you are my sister, so that I will be treated well for your sake and my life will be spared because of you.”
When Abram came to Egypt, the Egyptians saw that she was a very beautiful woman. And when Pharaoh’s officials saw her they praised her to Pharaoh, and she was taken into his palace. He treated Abram well for her sake, and Abram acquired sheep, cattle, male and female donkeys, menservants and maidservants, and camels.
But the Lord inflicted serious diseases on Pharaoh and his household because of Abram’s wife Sarai. So Pharaoh summoned Abram. “What have you done to me?” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me she was your wife? Why did you say, “She is my sister,’ so that I took her to be my wife? Now then, here is your wife. Take her and go!” Then Pharaoh gave orders about Abram to his men, and they sent him on his way, with his wife and everything he had.
Sermon
Sara and I have been talking about names a lot lately. We’ve settled on Lily, after my grandmother, and Susana, after Sara’s mom and sister. Susana will be spelled with one “n”, the Spanish way, because Sara’s father is from Colombia, South America.
As a Spanish speaker, he pointed out that Susana is the Spanish word for Lily; so our daughter’s name is really Lily in English, Lily in Spanish, Evans.
That’s something we didn’t even think about. But a lot of names are words for things in other languages, and being English speakers we don’t always pick it up.
One of my favorite examples is Peter. When Jesus renames Simon, changing his name to Peter, in English it looks like Jesus just trades him one name for another, but the name he picks, Peter, is a strange one. What Jesus was really doing, while we English speakers can’t tell, was renaming Simon “Rock” because he is the rock that the church would be built on.
Abram and Sarai’s names also change to Abraham and Sarah, but the name choice that is the most important when considering this passage is the name of their promised son yet to be conceived – he would be named Isaac – Laughter.
But Laughter must have been the farthest thing from Abram and Sarai’s mind here in Egypt. Considering the cruelty of their situation – being torn apart from each other – how could they ever think about laughter again?
Rather than laughter, our passage for today is one where fear spilled out of Abram’s mouth and into Sarai’s ears, “Say that you are my sister, so that I will be treated well for your sake and my life will be spared because of you.”
Sarai heard these words as a woman of the ancient world, probably accustomed to making hopeless choices. She was powerless, condemned whether Abram lived or died, but she did have the power to save this man who she loved – and she consented.
Sarai walked into Pharaoh’s brothels; and we wonder if Abram’s heart went with her, or if it broke right there on the Egyptian border.
Their cruel reality must have sucked up everything else – if they had dreamed about their future while they walked through the desert – smiled thinking of those promises from God – that “I will make you into a great nation and I will bless you; I will make your name great and you will be a blessing,” we would understand if the Egyptian desert sucked the hope from these words, making faith in such words seem like a long-ago memory.
We question Abram’s faithfulness in this moment. Could he have kept on believing God’s promise was real? Or would a truly faithful person have made the choice he did – to survive rather than face death? Ours is a tradition of martyrs, so why wouldn’t our greatest model of faithful living choose martyrdom over survival in this time of trial.
What lesson on faithfulness is there to learn here; if faithful living means making the right choices what does this passage have to offer? Sarai was left with a choice that wasn’t really even a choice, to see her husband die and face Pharaoh’s brothels, or see her husband live and face Pharaoh’s brothels, her fate was already sealed. And Abram – choose martyrdom or survival – is that really a choice either?
They were virtually powerless – at the mercy of the will of someone bigger and stronger.
As Glenda Kanner pointed out in a Bible study this past Tuesday at the IHOP, The Kite Runner is a book that tells a similar story.[1] Written from the perspective of a young Afghani boy, this book tells the story of Amir and his best friend Hassan. Amir lived a privileged life during the last peaceful days of the monarchy, in those last few years before Afghanistan was invaded by Russia, the last peaceful days before the country was engulfed by war that still continues today.
Amir and his best-friend Hassan win their city’s kite flying competition by cutting their final opponents kite free from its owner to fly off down the streets of Kabul. Hassan runs off to get the kite back for his friend, but in the process he meets a gang of older boys who want to keep the kite for themselves. A cruel situation unfolds before Amir. He runs down the alley to see his friend Hassan at the mercy of this gang, and like Abram survival permeates his mind as fear takes hold. Will he continue down the street to stand by his friend?
Sarai spares Abram, and in that moment I wonder what Abram felt.
“When Abram came to Egypt, the Egyptians saw that she was a very beautiful woman. And when Pharaoh’s officials saw her they praised her to Pharaoh, and she was taken into his palace. He treated Abram well for her sake, and Abram acquired sheep and cattle, male and female donkeys, menservants and maidservants, and camels.”
He didn’t die, but because of Sarai’s willingness to hide the fact that he was her husband he became rich, and it was as though part of the promise God gave him just before he went into Egypt that “I will make you a great nation and I will bless you; I will make your name great, and you will be a blessing,” were coming true.
But what about the cost of all that livestock; in the face of all that stuff I think we know what kind of guilt occupied his mind, knowing that the wife he loved was suffering while he stayed alive.
Amir watched from around the corner as his friend Hassan stood, “fists curled, legs slightly apart,” facing three older boys head-on as though he was cornered like “some kind of wild animal.” Standing there, sheltered by a corner, making a choice not to suffer alongside, but to be spared as Abram was. And Hassan never had to know what Amir had done. He never had to know that Amir watched from around the corner not doing anything. But Amir knew, and no amount of safety, no gift, and no busyness could get that memory out of his mind of watching his best friend being abused and not doing anything about it.
I fear facing the same choice, because you lose either way if these are your options. Suffer, or have the one you love suffer for you while you tend your flocks or take shelter around a corner. What kind of choice is that?
How can faith survive in such situations?
But it’s not Abram’s decision to survive that sets our example today. It’s his faith, and I believe that it is a faith that should set our example today. Because the Bible could very well have ended right where today’s scripture passage ends – our story, our song could have ended before it really even got started – ending with Abram there with his flock, living a long and tortured existence where his wealth increased though his heart turned cold, never recovering from the cruelty of life that took his wife away, never escaping the guilt he carried for surviving, looking forward to the fate he wished he had met that day long ago.
But the story of faith doesn’t end.
God doesn’t give up on the promise, and some how, neither do Abram and Sarai.
Faced with the cruelty of life; the devastating effects of the abuse of power and the futility of our own ability to do anything about it, giving up on the promise is no small temptation. And while Egypt tried to break them of their love for each other by tearing them apart, while Abram’s desire to live, to choose life over martyrdom, might have robbed him of his faith in himself, faith in God made a new day possible.
I believe Abram and Sarai could have gone the rest of their lives never forgiving, never forgetting, with their lives filled up with tears and sadness.
But laughter came again – that is faith, believing that by the power of God, tears can give way to laughter.
[1] Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner, (New York: Riverhead Books, 2003).
Now there was a famine in the land, and Abram went down to Egypt to live there for a while because the famine was severe. As he was about to enter Egypt, he said to his wife Sarai, “I know what a beautiful woman you are. When the Egyptians see you, they will say, ‘This is his wife.’ Then they will kill me but will let you live. Say you are my sister, so that I will be treated well for your sake and my life will be spared because of you.”
When Abram came to Egypt, the Egyptians saw that she was a very beautiful woman. And when Pharaoh’s officials saw her they praised her to Pharaoh, and she was taken into his palace. He treated Abram well for her sake, and Abram acquired sheep, cattle, male and female donkeys, menservants and maidservants, and camels.
But the Lord inflicted serious diseases on Pharaoh and his household because of Abram’s wife Sarai. So Pharaoh summoned Abram. “What have you done to me?” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me she was your wife? Why did you say, “She is my sister,’ so that I took her to be my wife? Now then, here is your wife. Take her and go!” Then Pharaoh gave orders about Abram to his men, and they sent him on his way, with his wife and everything he had.
Sermon
Sara and I have been talking about names a lot lately. We’ve settled on Lily, after my grandmother, and Susana, after Sara’s mom and sister. Susana will be spelled with one “n”, the Spanish way, because Sara’s father is from Colombia, South America.
As a Spanish speaker, he pointed out that Susana is the Spanish word for Lily; so our daughter’s name is really Lily in English, Lily in Spanish, Evans.
That’s something we didn’t even think about. But a lot of names are words for things in other languages, and being English speakers we don’t always pick it up.
One of my favorite examples is Peter. When Jesus renames Simon, changing his name to Peter, in English it looks like Jesus just trades him one name for another, but the name he picks, Peter, is a strange one. What Jesus was really doing, while we English speakers can’t tell, was renaming Simon “Rock” because he is the rock that the church would be built on.
Abram and Sarai’s names also change to Abraham and Sarah, but the name choice that is the most important when considering this passage is the name of their promised son yet to be conceived – he would be named Isaac – Laughter.
But Laughter must have been the farthest thing from Abram and Sarai’s mind here in Egypt. Considering the cruelty of their situation – being torn apart from each other – how could they ever think about laughter again?
Rather than laughter, our passage for today is one where fear spilled out of Abram’s mouth and into Sarai’s ears, “Say that you are my sister, so that I will be treated well for your sake and my life will be spared because of you.”
Sarai heard these words as a woman of the ancient world, probably accustomed to making hopeless choices. She was powerless, condemned whether Abram lived or died, but she did have the power to save this man who she loved – and she consented.
Sarai walked into Pharaoh’s brothels; and we wonder if Abram’s heart went with her, or if it broke right there on the Egyptian border.
Their cruel reality must have sucked up everything else – if they had dreamed about their future while they walked through the desert – smiled thinking of those promises from God – that “I will make you into a great nation and I will bless you; I will make your name great and you will be a blessing,” we would understand if the Egyptian desert sucked the hope from these words, making faith in such words seem like a long-ago memory.
We question Abram’s faithfulness in this moment. Could he have kept on believing God’s promise was real? Or would a truly faithful person have made the choice he did – to survive rather than face death? Ours is a tradition of martyrs, so why wouldn’t our greatest model of faithful living choose martyrdom over survival in this time of trial.
What lesson on faithfulness is there to learn here; if faithful living means making the right choices what does this passage have to offer? Sarai was left with a choice that wasn’t really even a choice, to see her husband die and face Pharaoh’s brothels, or see her husband live and face Pharaoh’s brothels, her fate was already sealed. And Abram – choose martyrdom or survival – is that really a choice either?
They were virtually powerless – at the mercy of the will of someone bigger and stronger.
As Glenda Kanner pointed out in a Bible study this past Tuesday at the IHOP, The Kite Runner is a book that tells a similar story.[1] Written from the perspective of a young Afghani boy, this book tells the story of Amir and his best friend Hassan. Amir lived a privileged life during the last peaceful days of the monarchy, in those last few years before Afghanistan was invaded by Russia, the last peaceful days before the country was engulfed by war that still continues today.
Amir and his best-friend Hassan win their city’s kite flying competition by cutting their final opponents kite free from its owner to fly off down the streets of Kabul. Hassan runs off to get the kite back for his friend, but in the process he meets a gang of older boys who want to keep the kite for themselves. A cruel situation unfolds before Amir. He runs down the alley to see his friend Hassan at the mercy of this gang, and like Abram survival permeates his mind as fear takes hold. Will he continue down the street to stand by his friend?
Sarai spares Abram, and in that moment I wonder what Abram felt.
“When Abram came to Egypt, the Egyptians saw that she was a very beautiful woman. And when Pharaoh’s officials saw her they praised her to Pharaoh, and she was taken into his palace. He treated Abram well for her sake, and Abram acquired sheep and cattle, male and female donkeys, menservants and maidservants, and camels.”
He didn’t die, but because of Sarai’s willingness to hide the fact that he was her husband he became rich, and it was as though part of the promise God gave him just before he went into Egypt that “I will make you a great nation and I will bless you; I will make your name great, and you will be a blessing,” were coming true.
But what about the cost of all that livestock; in the face of all that stuff I think we know what kind of guilt occupied his mind, knowing that the wife he loved was suffering while he stayed alive.
Amir watched from around the corner as his friend Hassan stood, “fists curled, legs slightly apart,” facing three older boys head-on as though he was cornered like “some kind of wild animal.” Standing there, sheltered by a corner, making a choice not to suffer alongside, but to be spared as Abram was. And Hassan never had to know what Amir had done. He never had to know that Amir watched from around the corner not doing anything. But Amir knew, and no amount of safety, no gift, and no busyness could get that memory out of his mind of watching his best friend being abused and not doing anything about it.
I fear facing the same choice, because you lose either way if these are your options. Suffer, or have the one you love suffer for you while you tend your flocks or take shelter around a corner. What kind of choice is that?
How can faith survive in such situations?
But it’s not Abram’s decision to survive that sets our example today. It’s his faith, and I believe that it is a faith that should set our example today. Because the Bible could very well have ended right where today’s scripture passage ends – our story, our song could have ended before it really even got started – ending with Abram there with his flock, living a long and tortured existence where his wealth increased though his heart turned cold, never recovering from the cruelty of life that took his wife away, never escaping the guilt he carried for surviving, looking forward to the fate he wished he had met that day long ago.
But the story of faith doesn’t end.
God doesn’t give up on the promise, and some how, neither do Abram and Sarai.
Faced with the cruelty of life; the devastating effects of the abuse of power and the futility of our own ability to do anything about it, giving up on the promise is no small temptation. And while Egypt tried to break them of their love for each other by tearing them apart, while Abram’s desire to live, to choose life over martyrdom, might have robbed him of his faith in himself, faith in God made a new day possible.
I believe Abram and Sarai could have gone the rest of their lives never forgiving, never forgetting, with their lives filled up with tears and sadness.
But laughter came again – that is faith, believing that by the power of God, tears can give way to laughter.
[1] Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner, (New York: Riverhead Books, 2003).
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Sermon for Ash Wednesday
Matthew 6: 1-6 and 16-21, page 684
“Be careful not to do your ‘acts of righteousness’ before people, to be seen by them. If you do you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.
So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by people. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.
And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.
And continuing in verse 16:
When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show they are fasting. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to people that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.
Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
Sermon
The first time I came forward in an alter call, it didn’t take. So I tried it again, and that time I thought would do it, but it didn’t seem to, so I tried it again.
All in all I think I must have been saved six times.
I would get so caught up in the moment sitting in a pew not unlike the one you are sitting in, and I would force myself to come forward to give my life to Christ, but inevitably something would happen and I would begin to wonder again if I had been completely honest, if I had given my life completely over to Christ.
I tried my best to be the Christian I was told I should be, but no matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t cut it going up to strangers and talking to them about what I believed in my heart, I felt funny lifting my hands during hymns. I always felt like a phony making a public display of the faith that I hold so dear.
Each time I would try harder, I would end back up at the front during the alter call, but each time it didn’t seem to work, and then one day I realized something – God had created me to be a Presbyterian.
So this passage for me became very good news. That faith can be personal and doesn’t have to be public and out in the open, that praying behind a closed door is just as good as praying around a flag poll outside school that committing myself to Christ wasn’t something I had to go back and do again every time I felt like I had slipped up.
This passage, at least during that time in my life when I was struggling to figure out how to best live out my faith, was very comforting for this Presbyterian.
But today I wonder, “doesn’t Christ call us beyond what is comfortable?”
In our time of religious phobias, where saying Merry Christmas has become controversial, does Christ not call us to stand up for what we believe, to come forward, to let it be known that Christ has died, Christ has risen, and Christ will come again?
Instead here in chapter 6 its as though he’s asking us to tuck our crosses into our shirts, keep our belief to our cubicles, and our dogmas off our car bumpers.
And on the one day of the year when Presbyterians are out in the open about who they are and what they believe, on the one day of the year when we don’t just put our belief out in the open but here on our foreheads. Presbyterians, notoriously uncomfortable with evangelism, with public displays of faith, walking through supermarkets with foreheads marked with ashes.
Based on this passage, what would Jesus say to us tonight? Would Jesus agree with someone like Ted Turner, who, back in 2001 at a meeting held on Ash Wednesday with CNN staff members, many of who’s foreheads still bore an ashen cross in observance of the day, remarked, ''I realize you're just Jesus freaks.''
Would Jesus tell us to wash off our foreheads before we go out into the world?
In his time what Jesus was proposing in Matthew 6, not wearing your faith on your sleeve, was equally radical to wearing your faith on your sleeve today in our culture of religious secrecy. In the time Matthew was written a secularized society where people were more comfortable keeping their beliefs to themselves would have been unheard of. Everyone had a religion, they weren’t all the same, but everyone subscribed to some set of belief, either the pagan religious system of the Roman state, the religion of the Jews, or something else. And to broadcast your belief was common practice. To show everyone how close you were to your God was exactly what was expected. To show the world how special you were through your alms giving, through your prayers, through your fasting was a vital means to gain respect and social status.
So for Christ to suggest giving alms in secret, praying behind closed doors, and fasting, but not letting anyone know about it, was radical.
To suggest that people miss out on an opportunity to broadcast their greatness was a foreign concept, it would be like asking the celebrities on the red carpet of Oscar Night to tone it down, to not try to out-dress each other, to not worry about how they look before crowds of adoring fans – to not worry about how you look before people, but how you look before God.
Today, just as in Matthew’s day, we want to look our best, for people to think well of us. So often it’s for this reason that we don’t broadcast our religion, but keep it quiet.
But what we don’t keep quiet are those things that do help us to look good in other’s people’s eyes.
We don’t pray on the street corner for the world to see, but don’t we do our best to drive the nicest car, to buy the nicest house. We are not so good at storing up our treasure in heaven, “where moth and dust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal”? If we were we wouldn’t be in the economic mess we are in today.
Today, the richest nation in the world, the nation that should have more than enough, is in debt up to her eyeballs. In an effort to make a good showing to our friends and neighbors we have bought houses we can’t afford, and things we don’t need. We haven’t disfigured our faces to show that we are fasting, but we have been more concerned with what people think than what God thinks.
And the God who sees us as we are, writes the psalmist, doesn’t ask for much, but welcomes the side of ourselves that we are afraid for anyone to see: “a troubled spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”
This side of ourselves, the side that we are as afraid to show anyone as our religion, is the part of ourselves that we show the world today. Unlike the one who gives to the needy, not so God sees but so that people will see; unlike the one who prays, not so God hears, but so that people will hear; unlike the one who fasts, not so God knows, but so that people will know; unlike the actor or actress who dresses, not to celebrate his or her humanity but celebrity; unlike us, who live, not within our means but beyond them to be honored by people – today, we bear the sign of the cross, showing the world that we are in need of repentance – that we are not whole but broken, that we are not so close to God, but that our sins have made us distant, that we are not so good, but that we are in relationship with a God who is.
The problem with the hypocrites that Jesus preaches about in Matthew 6 is that they do not seek to glorify their God but themselves, and this is our temptation too. We worry what people will think, so we try our best to fit in and look good.
But today, thank God for today, we can stop pretending that it’s up to us, we can stop pretending that we have it all together to our friends and neighbors to celebrate the God who can do, who has done, what we can’t.
This lent we are offered the opportunity to come forward, just as I have many times before. But tonight it’s different – tonight it’s not about you getting it right this time, it’s about confessing that you will never get it right, but you know someone who has – it’s about confessing that you are broken, but you know someone who’s brokenness has put you back together again – it’s about confessing that I was lost but now I’m found – that I pushed away, but God has brought me home – that I am a sinner, but God calls me son.
This is the Good News of the Gospel. In Jesus Christ we are forgiven. Thanks be to God.
-Amen.
“Be careful not to do your ‘acts of righteousness’ before people, to be seen by them. If you do you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.
So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by people. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.
And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.
And continuing in verse 16:
When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show they are fasting. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to people that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.
Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
Sermon
The first time I came forward in an alter call, it didn’t take. So I tried it again, and that time I thought would do it, but it didn’t seem to, so I tried it again.
All in all I think I must have been saved six times.
I would get so caught up in the moment sitting in a pew not unlike the one you are sitting in, and I would force myself to come forward to give my life to Christ, but inevitably something would happen and I would begin to wonder again if I had been completely honest, if I had given my life completely over to Christ.
I tried my best to be the Christian I was told I should be, but no matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t cut it going up to strangers and talking to them about what I believed in my heart, I felt funny lifting my hands during hymns. I always felt like a phony making a public display of the faith that I hold so dear.
Each time I would try harder, I would end back up at the front during the alter call, but each time it didn’t seem to work, and then one day I realized something – God had created me to be a Presbyterian.
So this passage for me became very good news. That faith can be personal and doesn’t have to be public and out in the open, that praying behind a closed door is just as good as praying around a flag poll outside school that committing myself to Christ wasn’t something I had to go back and do again every time I felt like I had slipped up.
This passage, at least during that time in my life when I was struggling to figure out how to best live out my faith, was very comforting for this Presbyterian.
But today I wonder, “doesn’t Christ call us beyond what is comfortable?”
In our time of religious phobias, where saying Merry Christmas has become controversial, does Christ not call us to stand up for what we believe, to come forward, to let it be known that Christ has died, Christ has risen, and Christ will come again?
Instead here in chapter 6 its as though he’s asking us to tuck our crosses into our shirts, keep our belief to our cubicles, and our dogmas off our car bumpers.
And on the one day of the year when Presbyterians are out in the open about who they are and what they believe, on the one day of the year when we don’t just put our belief out in the open but here on our foreheads. Presbyterians, notoriously uncomfortable with evangelism, with public displays of faith, walking through supermarkets with foreheads marked with ashes.
Based on this passage, what would Jesus say to us tonight? Would Jesus agree with someone like Ted Turner, who, back in 2001 at a meeting held on Ash Wednesday with CNN staff members, many of who’s foreheads still bore an ashen cross in observance of the day, remarked, ''I realize you're just Jesus freaks.''
Would Jesus tell us to wash off our foreheads before we go out into the world?
In his time what Jesus was proposing in Matthew 6, not wearing your faith on your sleeve, was equally radical to wearing your faith on your sleeve today in our culture of religious secrecy. In the time Matthew was written a secularized society where people were more comfortable keeping their beliefs to themselves would have been unheard of. Everyone had a religion, they weren’t all the same, but everyone subscribed to some set of belief, either the pagan religious system of the Roman state, the religion of the Jews, or something else. And to broadcast your belief was common practice. To show everyone how close you were to your God was exactly what was expected. To show the world how special you were through your alms giving, through your prayers, through your fasting was a vital means to gain respect and social status.
So for Christ to suggest giving alms in secret, praying behind closed doors, and fasting, but not letting anyone know about it, was radical.
To suggest that people miss out on an opportunity to broadcast their greatness was a foreign concept, it would be like asking the celebrities on the red carpet of Oscar Night to tone it down, to not try to out-dress each other, to not worry about how they look before crowds of adoring fans – to not worry about how you look before people, but how you look before God.
Today, just as in Matthew’s day, we want to look our best, for people to think well of us. So often it’s for this reason that we don’t broadcast our religion, but keep it quiet.
But what we don’t keep quiet are those things that do help us to look good in other’s people’s eyes.
We don’t pray on the street corner for the world to see, but don’t we do our best to drive the nicest car, to buy the nicest house. We are not so good at storing up our treasure in heaven, “where moth and dust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal”? If we were we wouldn’t be in the economic mess we are in today.
Today, the richest nation in the world, the nation that should have more than enough, is in debt up to her eyeballs. In an effort to make a good showing to our friends and neighbors we have bought houses we can’t afford, and things we don’t need. We haven’t disfigured our faces to show that we are fasting, but we have been more concerned with what people think than what God thinks.
And the God who sees us as we are, writes the psalmist, doesn’t ask for much, but welcomes the side of ourselves that we are afraid for anyone to see: “a troubled spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”
This side of ourselves, the side that we are as afraid to show anyone as our religion, is the part of ourselves that we show the world today. Unlike the one who gives to the needy, not so God sees but so that people will see; unlike the one who prays, not so God hears, but so that people will hear; unlike the one who fasts, not so God knows, but so that people will know; unlike the actor or actress who dresses, not to celebrate his or her humanity but celebrity; unlike us, who live, not within our means but beyond them to be honored by people – today, we bear the sign of the cross, showing the world that we are in need of repentance – that we are not whole but broken, that we are not so close to God, but that our sins have made us distant, that we are not so good, but that we are in relationship with a God who is.
The problem with the hypocrites that Jesus preaches about in Matthew 6 is that they do not seek to glorify their God but themselves, and this is our temptation too. We worry what people will think, so we try our best to fit in and look good.
But today, thank God for today, we can stop pretending that it’s up to us, we can stop pretending that we have it all together to our friends and neighbors to celebrate the God who can do, who has done, what we can’t.
This lent we are offered the opportunity to come forward, just as I have many times before. But tonight it’s different – tonight it’s not about you getting it right this time, it’s about confessing that you will never get it right, but you know someone who has – it’s about confessing that you are broken, but you know someone who’s brokenness has put you back together again – it’s about confessing that I was lost but now I’m found – that I pushed away, but God has brought me home – that I am a sinner, but God calls me son.
This is the Good News of the Gospel. In Jesus Christ we are forgiven. Thanks be to God.
-Amen.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Things Will Never Be the Same
Mark 9: 2-9, page 714
After six days Jesus took Peter, James and John with him and led them up a high mountain, where they were all alone. There he was transfigured before them. His clothes became dazzling white, whiter than anyone in the world could bleach them. And there appeared before them Elijah and Moses, who were talking with Jesus.
Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here. Let us put up three shelters – one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.” He did not know what to say, they were so frightened.
Then a cloud appeared and enveloped them, and a voice came from the cloud: “This is my Son, whom I love. Listen to him!”
Suddenly, when they looked around, they no longer saw anyone with them except Jesus.
As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus gave them orders not to tell anyone what they had seen until the Son of Man had risen from the dead.
Sermon
This wasn’t the first time Peter noticed Jesus wasn’t just a normal teacher. He had seen Jesus cast out daemons, heal his own mother in law as well as many others, and even calm a storm. Mark includes two miraculous feedings, in chapter 6 Jesus feeds five thousand, and in case Peter didn’t get the message, that Jesus can fill crowds of hungry people, he feeds four thousand in chapter eight. Jesus shows Peter who he is and Peter is convinced that he did the right thing in leaving home to follow this man, and is able to confess the reality of Jesus’ divinity before we even get to chapter 9. Jesus asks, “Who do people say I am?” They replied, “Some say John the Baptist; others say Elijah; still others, one of the prophets.” “But what about you?” he asked. “Who do you say I am?”
Peter answered, “You are the Christ.”
Peter speaks this truth to Jesus, Peter gets it, but after seeing Jesus in those clothes whiter than anyone could ever bleach them and standing there with Moses and Elijah he is so afraid he doesn’t know what to do, and like so many of us when we are afraid or worried, he wants nothing more than something to occupy his hands, to anchor his emotions which are flying around out of control, and so he says, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here. Let us put up three shelters – one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.”
Peter knows, and has known for a long time, that Jesus is special. His relationship to him has already so changed his reality, but it is one thing to know Jesus and it is quite another to know Jesus.
That difference seems something like the relationship I have with the new person who will be changing my life completely due to be born this April. I know that she is coming, I have felt her kick and I have seen her fuzzy little picture on the ultra-sound monitor, but it is one thing to know that she is coming and it is another thing to put together her crib in the living room, to touch that place where she will sleep… and then to bump up against the door way, trying to get that assembled crib out of the living room and into the nursery.
Sometimes the awesome takes a while to really sink in. For me it was seeing that crib, touching that place where she’ll sleep, and for Peter it was seeing Jesus standing there with Moses and Elijah in clothes of dazzling white, whiter than anyone in the world could bleach them.
Here in Mark chapter 9 the full reality of Jesus sinks in for Peter, and for the one who seemed to know him the best this full realization is terrifying.
Jesus for Peter has already been hard to categorize. He has had glimpses of Jesus throughout the gospel, and each time Peter thought he had Jesus figured out, Jesus breaks the box that Peter had tried to put him in, defied his expectations.
Peter got to know Jesus the healer, and he was amazed by those healings, but when Jesus walked off to pray in a solitary place Peter frustratedly went looking for Jesus saying “everyone is looking for you!” There are people for you to heal Jesus, that’s what you are supposed to do, Peter thought. So Peter had to learn that Jesus didn’t come to earth to heal everyone who needed it, as Jesus pushed on to the next town.
Peter has also seen Jesus cast out daemons, and so knows that Jesus has power over them, an authority that not even the religious authorities have. But Peter has also seen Jesus silence them, demanding that they don’t betray his identity.
Peter knows Jesus, in a way he has him figured out more than anyone else, but when Jesus predicts his own death Peter tries to talk him out of it, and Jesus turns to him saying, “Get behind me Satan! You do not have in mind the things of God, but the things of men.”
It is one thing for Peter to know who Jesus is, to say, “You are the Christ,” but it is another thing altogether to know and to see him there with Moses and Elijah, because Moses and Elijah are dead.
The truth – the complete picture of Jesus – the fullness of what it means sinks in: following Jesus the Christ means going to the cross.
Peter isn’t alone in his discomfort with Jesus the Christ – like all those who are more interested in Jesus the healer or Jesus the feeder of thousands, Peter is inclined to emphasize a part of Jesus he’s more comfortable with, saying, “teacher, it is good for us to be here.”
You can teach us whatever you want right here.
But to stay awhile would have been like never letting a little baby be born, to never let a child grow into an adult, to never grow beyond what is right now into the possibility of what might be.
Holding tight to what we have, not knowing what we stand to gain, like Peter we want to stay up on that mountaintop, because we are afraid.
Why do we have to go now?
A good question, and a question to which Dr. Martin Luther King responded in his I Have A Dream Speech:
“We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.”
King was prepared to embark on a radical change, and it was one that scared a lot of people. It would have been easier for them if King had just stayed up on that mountaintop a little bit longer, delayed change for just a little while – because the change he was proposing meant the death of one thing in the name of the birth of another.
Peter fears where Jesus leads; he fears the loss of all that he has, and he doesn’t see yet what he stands to gain. All he sees is death, assuming the end of what he has known is truly the end, and not understanding that on the other side of death is new life.
That on the other side of segregation – is a whole new world of equality.
That on the other side of racism – is a whole world of possibility.
That on the other side of divorce – could be love and independence.
That on the other side of alcoholism – is freedom.
That on the other side of financial meltdown could be a culture where people have enough and not way more than they need.
That on the other side of death – that cruel, unavoidable mystery – is new life.
This is the place we always stand – change is always kicking like an unborn child in a mother’s womb.
And to get to know this new person I have to go down the mountain to a place I haven’t been before. We stand on the brink of possibility, and only fear can stop us now. Follow Christ, not occupying your mind with what you stand to loose, but with all you stand to gain.
-Amen.
After six days Jesus took Peter, James and John with him and led them up a high mountain, where they were all alone. There he was transfigured before them. His clothes became dazzling white, whiter than anyone in the world could bleach them. And there appeared before them Elijah and Moses, who were talking with Jesus.
Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here. Let us put up three shelters – one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.” He did not know what to say, they were so frightened.
Then a cloud appeared and enveloped them, and a voice came from the cloud: “This is my Son, whom I love. Listen to him!”
Suddenly, when they looked around, they no longer saw anyone with them except Jesus.
As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus gave them orders not to tell anyone what they had seen until the Son of Man had risen from the dead.
Sermon
This wasn’t the first time Peter noticed Jesus wasn’t just a normal teacher. He had seen Jesus cast out daemons, heal his own mother in law as well as many others, and even calm a storm. Mark includes two miraculous feedings, in chapter 6 Jesus feeds five thousand, and in case Peter didn’t get the message, that Jesus can fill crowds of hungry people, he feeds four thousand in chapter eight. Jesus shows Peter who he is and Peter is convinced that he did the right thing in leaving home to follow this man, and is able to confess the reality of Jesus’ divinity before we even get to chapter 9. Jesus asks, “Who do people say I am?” They replied, “Some say John the Baptist; others say Elijah; still others, one of the prophets.” “But what about you?” he asked. “Who do you say I am?”
Peter answered, “You are the Christ.”
Peter speaks this truth to Jesus, Peter gets it, but after seeing Jesus in those clothes whiter than anyone could ever bleach them and standing there with Moses and Elijah he is so afraid he doesn’t know what to do, and like so many of us when we are afraid or worried, he wants nothing more than something to occupy his hands, to anchor his emotions which are flying around out of control, and so he says, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here. Let us put up three shelters – one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.”
Peter knows, and has known for a long time, that Jesus is special. His relationship to him has already so changed his reality, but it is one thing to know Jesus and it is quite another to know Jesus.
That difference seems something like the relationship I have with the new person who will be changing my life completely due to be born this April. I know that she is coming, I have felt her kick and I have seen her fuzzy little picture on the ultra-sound monitor, but it is one thing to know that she is coming and it is another thing to put together her crib in the living room, to touch that place where she will sleep… and then to bump up against the door way, trying to get that assembled crib out of the living room and into the nursery.
Sometimes the awesome takes a while to really sink in. For me it was seeing that crib, touching that place where she’ll sleep, and for Peter it was seeing Jesus standing there with Moses and Elijah in clothes of dazzling white, whiter than anyone in the world could bleach them.
Here in Mark chapter 9 the full reality of Jesus sinks in for Peter, and for the one who seemed to know him the best this full realization is terrifying.
Jesus for Peter has already been hard to categorize. He has had glimpses of Jesus throughout the gospel, and each time Peter thought he had Jesus figured out, Jesus breaks the box that Peter had tried to put him in, defied his expectations.
Peter got to know Jesus the healer, and he was amazed by those healings, but when Jesus walked off to pray in a solitary place Peter frustratedly went looking for Jesus saying “everyone is looking for you!” There are people for you to heal Jesus, that’s what you are supposed to do, Peter thought. So Peter had to learn that Jesus didn’t come to earth to heal everyone who needed it, as Jesus pushed on to the next town.
Peter has also seen Jesus cast out daemons, and so knows that Jesus has power over them, an authority that not even the religious authorities have. But Peter has also seen Jesus silence them, demanding that they don’t betray his identity.
Peter knows Jesus, in a way he has him figured out more than anyone else, but when Jesus predicts his own death Peter tries to talk him out of it, and Jesus turns to him saying, “Get behind me Satan! You do not have in mind the things of God, but the things of men.”
It is one thing for Peter to know who Jesus is, to say, “You are the Christ,” but it is another thing altogether to know and to see him there with Moses and Elijah, because Moses and Elijah are dead.
The truth – the complete picture of Jesus – the fullness of what it means sinks in: following Jesus the Christ means going to the cross.
Peter isn’t alone in his discomfort with Jesus the Christ – like all those who are more interested in Jesus the healer or Jesus the feeder of thousands, Peter is inclined to emphasize a part of Jesus he’s more comfortable with, saying, “teacher, it is good for us to be here.”
You can teach us whatever you want right here.
But to stay awhile would have been like never letting a little baby be born, to never let a child grow into an adult, to never grow beyond what is right now into the possibility of what might be.
Holding tight to what we have, not knowing what we stand to gain, like Peter we want to stay up on that mountaintop, because we are afraid.
Why do we have to go now?
A good question, and a question to which Dr. Martin Luther King responded in his I Have A Dream Speech:
“We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.”
King was prepared to embark on a radical change, and it was one that scared a lot of people. It would have been easier for them if King had just stayed up on that mountaintop a little bit longer, delayed change for just a little while – because the change he was proposing meant the death of one thing in the name of the birth of another.
Peter fears where Jesus leads; he fears the loss of all that he has, and he doesn’t see yet what he stands to gain. All he sees is death, assuming the end of what he has known is truly the end, and not understanding that on the other side of death is new life.
That on the other side of segregation – is a whole new world of equality.
That on the other side of racism – is a whole world of possibility.
That on the other side of divorce – could be love and independence.
That on the other side of alcoholism – is freedom.
That on the other side of financial meltdown could be a culture where people have enough and not way more than they need.
That on the other side of death – that cruel, unavoidable mystery – is new life.
This is the place we always stand – change is always kicking like an unborn child in a mother’s womb.
And to get to know this new person I have to go down the mountain to a place I haven’t been before. We stand on the brink of possibility, and only fear can stop us now. Follow Christ, not occupying your mind with what you stand to loose, but with all you stand to gain.
-Amen.
Monday, January 12, 2009
With you I am well pleased
Mark 1: 4-11, page 707
And so John came, baptizing in the desert region and preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. The whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem went out to him. Confessing their sins, they were baptized by him in the Jordon River. John wore clothing made of camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. And this was his message: “After me will come one more powerful than I, the thongs of whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and untie. I baptize you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”
At that time Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordon. As Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw heaven being torn open and the Spirit descending on him like a dove. And a voice came from heaven: “you are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.”
Sermon
There are a whole lot of ways to feel inadequate, but if you are looking for one I invite you to read some baby books of mine.
Most recently I have felt most inadequate when confronted with what all Sara and I should be doing to properly care for the little girl who will be born sometime in April.
Based on my experience of inadequacy I have decided that if I were going to write a book for moms and dads expecting their first child I think it would start with some basic things right at the beginning – don’t smoke, don’t drink, don’t do drugs, eat healthy. Then, instead of continuing on with what the experts think the new mother should or should not be doing, I would just write, “you are doing great and the baby is fine” over and over again, week after week, page after page.
That’s not the way these baby books work though – they fill you up with so much information you can’t help but feel inadequate – and I thought that wouldn’t start until the baby is born at least. Over the past few months I have read chapters on water quality, paint, air, fabric, vegetables, exercise, on and on and on. The teacher of our birthing class told us last Wednesday, that if you ate everything those books say you are supposed to eat you would never get your head out of the refrigerator. When requirements are set so high the feeling you get from those tiny little kicks can be replaced by the feeling that fills us up everyday – there is more I should be doing and I haven’t done enough.
I know that you are supposed to want to know everything you can, but in our world of seemingly limitless knowledge and ever rising standards, I want a book that will say the thing that I really need to hear and nothing more.
So it has been nice to be reading in the gospel of Mark, as in this book there’s not a whole lot, so what is there takes on a new meaning when you consider what isn’t.
So notice what isn’t there. We started in chapter 1, and before this there is no Christmas story – Mary isn’t even mentioned much less Joseph, traveling kings, or shepherds. We don’t know what Jesus has been doing up until this point. There’s not that cute story about him slipping away from his parents as a young child to be found at the Temple sitting with all the great teachers, “listening to them and asking them questions.”
But what there is, is John. From Mark we know what John looked like, that he was wearing clothing made of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist. We know what he ate even, that depending only on what the wilderness could provide he kept alive eating locusts and wild honey. And we know that he could preach and that people wanted to know what he had to say.
Mark doesn’t take the time to hold our hand through this story, doesn’t fill space with adjectives, adverbs, or side plots, but from these first sentences we know why John was such a compelling and controversial figure, we know why John the Baptist is beheaded in chapter 6 by King Herod, as some thing else that is missing from Mark’s gospel are the crowds at the Temple. “The whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem went out to him.”
It’s easy to believe these days that what people are looking to get out of church is a great show. That without screens, lights or even a sanctuary John would have only been preaching to trees and birds our there in the wilderness, but the Gospel of Mark cuts that misunderstanding off early, claiming that “the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem went out to him.”
I have heard plenty of preachers preach outside of church, and on the surface their message was like John’s, a message of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, but as they threatened crowds with the fires of hell on their piece of sidewalk downtown, everyone kept walking. And these preachers didn’t expect the city to come to them, they came to the city to preach their message but no one wanted to hear it. John on the other hand preached a message so compelling that the city of Jerusalem was rendered empty. Schools must have closed, marketplaces vacant, and pews went unfilled – everyone had gone out to hear what this John had to say.
But the synagogue – it easy to think that John couldn’t have been preaching something so different from what was heard in the synagogue, after all, John practically is living out the same book the priests and scribes were reading out of – he’s not someone so different, maybe not different at all from Elijah and Isaiah who he dresses just like. But if what John had to say was the same as what the priests at the Temple or the local synagogue had to say, if what John had to say was the same as what teachers in schools, storeowners on the street or managers in the work place had to say then why would the people travel so far into a desert wasteland to hear him if they could stay home and hear the same thing?
We know that John preached repentance for the forgiveness of sins – and I bet that everyone who went out there went to hear the same thing that we want to hear – something different from the voices we hear in the school telling us we could study harder and do better – something different from the voices we hear in the marketplace telling us that we should look better or dress better – something different from the voices we hear in the church – telling us that we aren’t quite good enough, that we are sinners, or we are inadequate and that we have fallen short.
So like Jesus, we go out to hear what John has to say.
In this passage from Mark, there’s nothing that makes us really different from him. Remember, the author of Mark doesn’t include Mary or Joseph, there’s no virgin birth here, there’s nothing here to tell us that Jesus is any different from you or me, and in fact, if he has gone out to the desert like everyone else he must be just as hungry to hear the same thing that we are – that you can repent – you can start again – God has not given up on you – your sins can be washed away.
Hearing these words Jesus was baptized by John in the Jordan. And as he was coming up out of the water, he saw heaven being torn open and the Spirit descending on him like a dove. And a voice came from heaven: “You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.”
I think it’s easy to believe that these words are only for Jesus, only meant for his ears, but Mark, by virtue of what he leaves out, doesn’t give us any reason to make that conclusion.
It’s almost as though Mark knows there are already a million ways to feel inadequate. That there’s no reason to replicate that feeling of knowing that a baby is coming and that I will never be as ready as those books say I should be; that there’s no reason to replicate that feeling of watching bills piling up and not having a job to pay for them – or of seeing all the groups at school and not feeling like your cool enough or smart enough – or of looking through magazines and not feeling beautiful – or of having a Mom who is never satisfied or a Dad who isn’t verbal enough to say he loves you – or of hearing from the church that you are all wrong and soon the wrath of a vengeful God will rip open the sky to crush you like a tin can because you aren’t good enough.
So Mark doesn’t spend time with the Virgin Birth, doesn’t tell the story about Jesus running off to the Temple at an early age entertaining the wise teachers there, we weren’t visited by kings or shepherds during our stay in the hospital – so Mark doesn’t dwell on such things.
What makes Jesus special in Mark is the same thing that makes you and I special today.
So when God rips open the heavens you can put yourself in Jesus’ shoes and hear the words that he heard.
The standards that Jesus sets in Mark’s gospel are standards we are living up to right now – we wanted to hear some good news, so like Jesus we have come to a place where we might hear it. From Mark, that’s all that Jesus has done to deserve what he gets, so Mark won’t let us explain it away when we get the same thing.
You were baptized, and God has called you by name, saying, “You are mine, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.”
I think there are plenty of us who have been waiting our whole lives to hear words like these, and not hearing them makes just as much a difference as hearing them does.
So hear these words from God now – don’t wait until you feel like you’ve earned them because you never will, and don’t wait until you feel like your good enough because you already are. Words from God to you: “You are mine, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.”
-Amen.
And so John came, baptizing in the desert region and preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. The whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem went out to him. Confessing their sins, they were baptized by him in the Jordon River. John wore clothing made of camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. And this was his message: “After me will come one more powerful than I, the thongs of whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and untie. I baptize you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”
At that time Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordon. As Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw heaven being torn open and the Spirit descending on him like a dove. And a voice came from heaven: “you are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.”
Sermon
There are a whole lot of ways to feel inadequate, but if you are looking for one I invite you to read some baby books of mine.
Most recently I have felt most inadequate when confronted with what all Sara and I should be doing to properly care for the little girl who will be born sometime in April.
Based on my experience of inadequacy I have decided that if I were going to write a book for moms and dads expecting their first child I think it would start with some basic things right at the beginning – don’t smoke, don’t drink, don’t do drugs, eat healthy. Then, instead of continuing on with what the experts think the new mother should or should not be doing, I would just write, “you are doing great and the baby is fine” over and over again, week after week, page after page.
That’s not the way these baby books work though – they fill you up with so much information you can’t help but feel inadequate – and I thought that wouldn’t start until the baby is born at least. Over the past few months I have read chapters on water quality, paint, air, fabric, vegetables, exercise, on and on and on. The teacher of our birthing class told us last Wednesday, that if you ate everything those books say you are supposed to eat you would never get your head out of the refrigerator. When requirements are set so high the feeling you get from those tiny little kicks can be replaced by the feeling that fills us up everyday – there is more I should be doing and I haven’t done enough.
I know that you are supposed to want to know everything you can, but in our world of seemingly limitless knowledge and ever rising standards, I want a book that will say the thing that I really need to hear and nothing more.
So it has been nice to be reading in the gospel of Mark, as in this book there’s not a whole lot, so what is there takes on a new meaning when you consider what isn’t.
So notice what isn’t there. We started in chapter 1, and before this there is no Christmas story – Mary isn’t even mentioned much less Joseph, traveling kings, or shepherds. We don’t know what Jesus has been doing up until this point. There’s not that cute story about him slipping away from his parents as a young child to be found at the Temple sitting with all the great teachers, “listening to them and asking them questions.”
But what there is, is John. From Mark we know what John looked like, that he was wearing clothing made of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist. We know what he ate even, that depending only on what the wilderness could provide he kept alive eating locusts and wild honey. And we know that he could preach and that people wanted to know what he had to say.
Mark doesn’t take the time to hold our hand through this story, doesn’t fill space with adjectives, adverbs, or side plots, but from these first sentences we know why John was such a compelling and controversial figure, we know why John the Baptist is beheaded in chapter 6 by King Herod, as some thing else that is missing from Mark’s gospel are the crowds at the Temple. “The whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem went out to him.”
It’s easy to believe these days that what people are looking to get out of church is a great show. That without screens, lights or even a sanctuary John would have only been preaching to trees and birds our there in the wilderness, but the Gospel of Mark cuts that misunderstanding off early, claiming that “the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem went out to him.”
I have heard plenty of preachers preach outside of church, and on the surface their message was like John’s, a message of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, but as they threatened crowds with the fires of hell on their piece of sidewalk downtown, everyone kept walking. And these preachers didn’t expect the city to come to them, they came to the city to preach their message but no one wanted to hear it. John on the other hand preached a message so compelling that the city of Jerusalem was rendered empty. Schools must have closed, marketplaces vacant, and pews went unfilled – everyone had gone out to hear what this John had to say.
But the synagogue – it easy to think that John couldn’t have been preaching something so different from what was heard in the synagogue, after all, John practically is living out the same book the priests and scribes were reading out of – he’s not someone so different, maybe not different at all from Elijah and Isaiah who he dresses just like. But if what John had to say was the same as what the priests at the Temple or the local synagogue had to say, if what John had to say was the same as what teachers in schools, storeowners on the street or managers in the work place had to say then why would the people travel so far into a desert wasteland to hear him if they could stay home and hear the same thing?
We know that John preached repentance for the forgiveness of sins – and I bet that everyone who went out there went to hear the same thing that we want to hear – something different from the voices we hear in the school telling us we could study harder and do better – something different from the voices we hear in the marketplace telling us that we should look better or dress better – something different from the voices we hear in the church – telling us that we aren’t quite good enough, that we are sinners, or we are inadequate and that we have fallen short.
So like Jesus, we go out to hear what John has to say.
In this passage from Mark, there’s nothing that makes us really different from him. Remember, the author of Mark doesn’t include Mary or Joseph, there’s no virgin birth here, there’s nothing here to tell us that Jesus is any different from you or me, and in fact, if he has gone out to the desert like everyone else he must be just as hungry to hear the same thing that we are – that you can repent – you can start again – God has not given up on you – your sins can be washed away.
Hearing these words Jesus was baptized by John in the Jordan. And as he was coming up out of the water, he saw heaven being torn open and the Spirit descending on him like a dove. And a voice came from heaven: “You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.”
I think it’s easy to believe that these words are only for Jesus, only meant for his ears, but Mark, by virtue of what he leaves out, doesn’t give us any reason to make that conclusion.
It’s almost as though Mark knows there are already a million ways to feel inadequate. That there’s no reason to replicate that feeling of knowing that a baby is coming and that I will never be as ready as those books say I should be; that there’s no reason to replicate that feeling of watching bills piling up and not having a job to pay for them – or of seeing all the groups at school and not feeling like your cool enough or smart enough – or of looking through magazines and not feeling beautiful – or of having a Mom who is never satisfied or a Dad who isn’t verbal enough to say he loves you – or of hearing from the church that you are all wrong and soon the wrath of a vengeful God will rip open the sky to crush you like a tin can because you aren’t good enough.
So Mark doesn’t spend time with the Virgin Birth, doesn’t tell the story about Jesus running off to the Temple at an early age entertaining the wise teachers there, we weren’t visited by kings or shepherds during our stay in the hospital – so Mark doesn’t dwell on such things.
What makes Jesus special in Mark is the same thing that makes you and I special today.
So when God rips open the heavens you can put yourself in Jesus’ shoes and hear the words that he heard.
The standards that Jesus sets in Mark’s gospel are standards we are living up to right now – we wanted to hear some good news, so like Jesus we have come to a place where we might hear it. From Mark, that’s all that Jesus has done to deserve what he gets, so Mark won’t let us explain it away when we get the same thing.
You were baptized, and God has called you by name, saying, “You are mine, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.”
I think there are plenty of us who have been waiting our whole lives to hear words like these, and not hearing them makes just as much a difference as hearing them does.
So hear these words from God now – don’t wait until you feel like you’ve earned them because you never will, and don’t wait until you feel like your good enough because you already are. Words from God to you: “You are mine, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.”
-Amen.
All God's Critters Have a Place in the Choir
Psalm 148, page 448
Praise the Lord. Praise the Lord from the heavens; praise him in the heights above.
Praise him, all his angels; praise him, all his heavenly hosts.
Praise him sun and moon; praise him, all you shining stars.
Praise him you highest heavens and you waters above the skies.
Let them praise the name of the Lord, for he commanded and they were created.
He set them in place forever and ever; he gave a decree that will never pass away.
Praise the Lord from the earth, you great sea creatures and all ocean depths, lightening and hail, snow and clouds, stormy winds that do his bidding, you mountains and all hills, fruit trees and all cedars, wild animals and all cattle, small creatures and flying birds, kings of the earth and all nations, you princes and all rulers on earth, young men and maidens, old men and children.
Let them praise the name of the Lord, for his name alone is exalted; his splendor is above the earth and the heavens.
He has raised up for his people a horn, the praise of all his saints of Israel, the people close to his heart.
Praise the Lord.
Sermon
Jay Bookman, opinion writer for the AJC began his Christmas day column with, “Tis the day we call Christmas, yet gloom fills the land, things haven’t been going exactly as planned. The news pages are full of jobs disappearing, CEO profiteering Illinois racketeering. Detroit is collapsing, the Earth overheating, and our 401(k)s are taking a beating.”[1]
In a way, it was refreshing to hear such an honest assessment, better than some commercials I saw in the days leading up to Christmas that had been pulling out all the stops to make a go of a weak economy.
The worst one starts with a flashback to Christmas morning: a sweet little girl in her nightgown has gotten a pony. She looks at the camera explaining how excited she is, how that excitement multiplies because the cute little girl from next door is exceedingly jealous to the point that she drops her toy pony in disgust. Then the little girl, as she pats her real pony on the head, exclaims: “The best present ever.” The commercial then flashes forward to that same little girl, now all grown up. It’s Christmas morning again and she walks outside to see the brand new Lexus her husband has bought her. Then the words that she never thought she would repeat again cross her lips, “The best present ever.”
This commercial seems so out of place, almost mean, considering how hard some people have been hit this Christmas season. All kinds of people – from the waitress at the IHOP, worried over her grandchildren, as their father is on disability, to the guy who put a new battery in my car at the Advanced Auto parts, worried about disappointed kids looking under the tree to see a whole lot less than last year. Certainly, given the current economic situation, those who could afford a Lexus last year can’t this year, so who could this commercial even be addressing? Bookman writes to those of us, who I think are in the majority these days, those of us, who, according to the standards set by the Lexus commercial will not be having the best Christmas ever. He writes “to those who are threatened with pending foreclosure, to those having trouble just keeping composure.”
And it’s not just Bookman of the AJC who writes to and for the economically hard pressed. Jack Haberer of The Presbyterian Outlook writes about signs of the season. “Tis a sign of the season: Brunswick, Ohio, cancelled its holiday lights display due to a lack of money. Snowflakes normally hung from the downtown light poles stayed in storage for possible use next year. Other signs: more people standing in unemployment lines than in cash register lines; a news headline: “Anxiety: the New Normal…”[2]
I think what would have seemed normal last year would have been the Lexus commercial. A big girl or boy gets just that super expensive toy that they wanted for Christmas. But today this commercial seems strikingly out of place.
This has been a hard year for many people, and hard years tend to inspire hard questions and dismal outlooks. I read an article recently about a New Yorker, observing the aftermath of a plummeting Dow. He was ridding the subway and saw a man in a suit with a rolled-up issue of the Economist in his fist saying to the woman next to him, “Look at me. I’m the definition of dispensable.”[3]
He wrote about what it means to have your whole identity wrapped up in making money; that when making money is a part of who you are, losing money affects your entire being. One day you have it all, a great job, great stocks, a great office, but then, because of the moving of the market, because of changes nearly completely out of your control, you feel the ground underneath you shake as you begin to question everything. This Christmas, the wealthy and poor faced a common uncertainty, as a market we were used to seeing rise and rise is falling lower and lower.
So the words of Simeon from the Gospel of Luke take on new meaning – “This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.”
These fearsome words from a righteous old man who finally got the present he had been hoping for, signal a great and mighty change. But because we know the end of the story, these changes, the falling and rising of many, and even the sword that will pierce your own soul, are good news. Many will fall and many will rise, but not so we may be condemned, so that the world will be rectified and redeemed.
In sure hope that rectifying and redeeming creation is exactly Christ’s work these days, Jack Haberer ends his article in The Presbyterian Outlook with the words, “Tis time for the church to herald some different signs of the season.”
This Christmas those old modes for achieving happiness, those old traditions of celebrating Christ’s birth through buying extravagant gifts, were not nearly so possible. We are faced with a choice then: shall we lament our inability to buy and buy, despair over how this Christmas there was not a Lexus to surprise us in our driveway, or should we take a long look at how we celebrate the birth of what is truly the best Christmas present ever?
“Praise the Lord!” directs the Psalmist. “Praise the Lord from the heavens; praise him in the heights above. “Praise him, all his angels, praise him all his heavenly hosts.”
Then, as though the psalmist were our own Emily Moon, she calls directions to the sky above, saying, “Praise him sun and moon, praise him, all you shining stars. Praise him, you highest heavens and you waters above the skies. Let them praise the name of the Lord, for he commanded and they were created. He set them in place for ever and ever; he gave a decree that will never pass away.”
Far from consumerism or lamenting what you can’t afford, this psalm calls you to direct the heavens, the earth, and the creatures of the land and sea as all God’s critters truly have a place in this choir of praise to the Lord our creator.
The businessman who fears unemployment with worry and fear says to the woman next to him on the subway train, “Look at me. I’m the definition of dispensable,” but Psalm 148 calls this man to a most important task: to direct choirs of angels, to call on the sun and the moon to sing praises, calls on lightening and hail, snow and clouds, mountains and hills, fruit trees and cedars to lift their voices in praise to the King.
This psalm shows us exactly what we were created to do. We are called to take up our music, to lift our hands, and to keep time as we lead all of creation in singing praise to the Lord.
The great danger of our culture, and the great travesty of our culture’s celebration of Christmas, is that it takes us away from what would really give us pleasure, would really bring us joy, would really fulfill us as we were meant to be fulfilled – by being joyful, by singing praises to God who created, who redeemed, and who sustains us now – by giving thanks for these great gifts that we have.
So the psalmist calls us to direct creation in singing, not like a mother forcefully suggesting to her children that they write a thank-you note to aunts and uncles who sent presents[4], but like a director, who knows the words, who feels the words, who believes these words of thanksgiving to God in a way that makes this spirit of praise contagious.
If only it were Emily Moon in the commercial and not that Lexus – then we would know that with “mind, soul, spirit, and voice, it takes the whole body to sing and rejoice.”
This is the thing that we were created to do – not to count our losses, but to count our blessings – to lead all of creation in thanking God for the glorious gifts that have been given – especially the gift of a savior, born, not to provide us all with a Lexus, but born in a manger, to show us the error of our ways. He is our example – the one who lived to show us how we are meant to live.
We were not created to concentrate on what gifts we wish we would have gotten. We were not redeemed to dwell on what money we wish we would have made. We were born for thanking God for the gift that has come, the gift that matters more than anything else.
Therefore, let us stand and sing; that with joy in our hearts we might conduct the heavenly choirs in praise of our God.
Amen.
[1] Jay Bookman, “Tis the day we call Christmas” (Atlanta Journal Constitution, December 25, 2008).
[2] Jack Haberer, “Editor’s Outlook: Signs of the Season” (The Presbyterian Outlook, December 22, 2008) 5.
[3] Joel Lovell, “Men + Money; Your Loss is Your Gain” (GQ, 12/2008) 183.
[4] Stephen Farris, Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008) 155.
Praise the Lord. Praise the Lord from the heavens; praise him in the heights above.
Praise him, all his angels; praise him, all his heavenly hosts.
Praise him sun and moon; praise him, all you shining stars.
Praise him you highest heavens and you waters above the skies.
Let them praise the name of the Lord, for he commanded and they were created.
He set them in place forever and ever; he gave a decree that will never pass away.
Praise the Lord from the earth, you great sea creatures and all ocean depths, lightening and hail, snow and clouds, stormy winds that do his bidding, you mountains and all hills, fruit trees and all cedars, wild animals and all cattle, small creatures and flying birds, kings of the earth and all nations, you princes and all rulers on earth, young men and maidens, old men and children.
Let them praise the name of the Lord, for his name alone is exalted; his splendor is above the earth and the heavens.
He has raised up for his people a horn, the praise of all his saints of Israel, the people close to his heart.
Praise the Lord.
Sermon
Jay Bookman, opinion writer for the AJC began his Christmas day column with, “Tis the day we call Christmas, yet gloom fills the land, things haven’t been going exactly as planned. The news pages are full of jobs disappearing, CEO profiteering Illinois racketeering. Detroit is collapsing, the Earth overheating, and our 401(k)s are taking a beating.”[1]
In a way, it was refreshing to hear such an honest assessment, better than some commercials I saw in the days leading up to Christmas that had been pulling out all the stops to make a go of a weak economy.
The worst one starts with a flashback to Christmas morning: a sweet little girl in her nightgown has gotten a pony. She looks at the camera explaining how excited she is, how that excitement multiplies because the cute little girl from next door is exceedingly jealous to the point that she drops her toy pony in disgust. Then the little girl, as she pats her real pony on the head, exclaims: “The best present ever.” The commercial then flashes forward to that same little girl, now all grown up. It’s Christmas morning again and she walks outside to see the brand new Lexus her husband has bought her. Then the words that she never thought she would repeat again cross her lips, “The best present ever.”
This commercial seems so out of place, almost mean, considering how hard some people have been hit this Christmas season. All kinds of people – from the waitress at the IHOP, worried over her grandchildren, as their father is on disability, to the guy who put a new battery in my car at the Advanced Auto parts, worried about disappointed kids looking under the tree to see a whole lot less than last year. Certainly, given the current economic situation, those who could afford a Lexus last year can’t this year, so who could this commercial even be addressing? Bookman writes to those of us, who I think are in the majority these days, those of us, who, according to the standards set by the Lexus commercial will not be having the best Christmas ever. He writes “to those who are threatened with pending foreclosure, to those having trouble just keeping composure.”
And it’s not just Bookman of the AJC who writes to and for the economically hard pressed. Jack Haberer of The Presbyterian Outlook writes about signs of the season. “Tis a sign of the season: Brunswick, Ohio, cancelled its holiday lights display due to a lack of money. Snowflakes normally hung from the downtown light poles stayed in storage for possible use next year. Other signs: more people standing in unemployment lines than in cash register lines; a news headline: “Anxiety: the New Normal…”[2]
I think what would have seemed normal last year would have been the Lexus commercial. A big girl or boy gets just that super expensive toy that they wanted for Christmas. But today this commercial seems strikingly out of place.
This has been a hard year for many people, and hard years tend to inspire hard questions and dismal outlooks. I read an article recently about a New Yorker, observing the aftermath of a plummeting Dow. He was ridding the subway and saw a man in a suit with a rolled-up issue of the Economist in his fist saying to the woman next to him, “Look at me. I’m the definition of dispensable.”[3]
He wrote about what it means to have your whole identity wrapped up in making money; that when making money is a part of who you are, losing money affects your entire being. One day you have it all, a great job, great stocks, a great office, but then, because of the moving of the market, because of changes nearly completely out of your control, you feel the ground underneath you shake as you begin to question everything. This Christmas, the wealthy and poor faced a common uncertainty, as a market we were used to seeing rise and rise is falling lower and lower.
So the words of Simeon from the Gospel of Luke take on new meaning – “This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.”
These fearsome words from a righteous old man who finally got the present he had been hoping for, signal a great and mighty change. But because we know the end of the story, these changes, the falling and rising of many, and even the sword that will pierce your own soul, are good news. Many will fall and many will rise, but not so we may be condemned, so that the world will be rectified and redeemed.
In sure hope that rectifying and redeeming creation is exactly Christ’s work these days, Jack Haberer ends his article in The Presbyterian Outlook with the words, “Tis time for the church to herald some different signs of the season.”
This Christmas those old modes for achieving happiness, those old traditions of celebrating Christ’s birth through buying extravagant gifts, were not nearly so possible. We are faced with a choice then: shall we lament our inability to buy and buy, despair over how this Christmas there was not a Lexus to surprise us in our driveway, or should we take a long look at how we celebrate the birth of what is truly the best Christmas present ever?
“Praise the Lord!” directs the Psalmist. “Praise the Lord from the heavens; praise him in the heights above. “Praise him, all his angels, praise him all his heavenly hosts.”
Then, as though the psalmist were our own Emily Moon, she calls directions to the sky above, saying, “Praise him sun and moon, praise him, all you shining stars. Praise him, you highest heavens and you waters above the skies. Let them praise the name of the Lord, for he commanded and they were created. He set them in place for ever and ever; he gave a decree that will never pass away.”
Far from consumerism or lamenting what you can’t afford, this psalm calls you to direct the heavens, the earth, and the creatures of the land and sea as all God’s critters truly have a place in this choir of praise to the Lord our creator.
The businessman who fears unemployment with worry and fear says to the woman next to him on the subway train, “Look at me. I’m the definition of dispensable,” but Psalm 148 calls this man to a most important task: to direct choirs of angels, to call on the sun and the moon to sing praises, calls on lightening and hail, snow and clouds, mountains and hills, fruit trees and cedars to lift their voices in praise to the King.
This psalm shows us exactly what we were created to do. We are called to take up our music, to lift our hands, and to keep time as we lead all of creation in singing praise to the Lord.
The great danger of our culture, and the great travesty of our culture’s celebration of Christmas, is that it takes us away from what would really give us pleasure, would really bring us joy, would really fulfill us as we were meant to be fulfilled – by being joyful, by singing praises to God who created, who redeemed, and who sustains us now – by giving thanks for these great gifts that we have.
So the psalmist calls us to direct creation in singing, not like a mother forcefully suggesting to her children that they write a thank-you note to aunts and uncles who sent presents[4], but like a director, who knows the words, who feels the words, who believes these words of thanksgiving to God in a way that makes this spirit of praise contagious.
If only it were Emily Moon in the commercial and not that Lexus – then we would know that with “mind, soul, spirit, and voice, it takes the whole body to sing and rejoice.”
This is the thing that we were created to do – not to count our losses, but to count our blessings – to lead all of creation in thanking God for the glorious gifts that have been given – especially the gift of a savior, born, not to provide us all with a Lexus, but born in a manger, to show us the error of our ways. He is our example – the one who lived to show us how we are meant to live.
We were not created to concentrate on what gifts we wish we would have gotten. We were not redeemed to dwell on what money we wish we would have made. We were born for thanking God for the gift that has come, the gift that matters more than anything else.
Therefore, let us stand and sing; that with joy in our hearts we might conduct the heavenly choirs in praise of our God.
Amen.
[1] Jay Bookman, “Tis the day we call Christmas” (Atlanta Journal Constitution, December 25, 2008).
[2] Jack Haberer, “Editor’s Outlook: Signs of the Season” (The Presbyterian Outlook, December 22, 2008) 5.
[3] Joel Lovell, “Men + Money; Your Loss is Your Gain” (GQ, 12/2008) 183.
[4] Stephen Farris, Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008) 155.
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