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).
Sunday, March 8, 2009
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.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Remembering Joanne
1 Corinthians 13, page 813
If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
And now these three remain; faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.
Sermon
The city of Corinth where the Church that Paul’s letter to the Corinthians was addressed lies on the Anatolian Fault – the meeting of the Eurasian and Anatolian Plates. These plates have been going against and away from each other for as long as humans have been paying attention.
“Nowhere have civilization and nature waged more persistent war than in this part of the world,” writes Rick Gore of National Geographic.
It was near this fault line that the Colossus of Rhodes was constructed in the 3rd Century, BC, only to fall 50 years later. This region was the home of the Greek island of Thera, buried under two stories of ash and debris, to seemingly disappear and give birth to the story of the lost continent of Atlantis. It was also along this fault line that Antiochus the 1st built his tomb and monument to himself. “There he proclaimed, his mausoleum would be “unravaged by the outrages of time,” as though even the inevitable earthquakes would leave this monument to his life unscathed.[1]
Today the monument that he built for himself is cracked and toppled – his tomb nearly covered by rocks that have tumbled down due to the shaking of the earth.
Along this fault line – even the work of the most audacious human beings cannot last. Unlike the Pyramids of Egypt, the Aqueducts of Rome, the Sky-Scrapers of Dubai, the monuments built by human hands along the Anatolian Fault cannot stand the test of time.
Stone will crack by the forces of collision, the greatest of shipping vessels laid waste by the forces of subduction and extension on the sea floor, homes, stores, temples, and tombs have all been laid waste by the movements of the plates.
What can last then – Paul asks the Corinthians who know to well the earthquakes and volcanoes that can take away their life work. What will truly last the test of time?
Paul writes: “But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.”
As though he knew that even the work of the ancients could not stand the test of time along the Anatolian Fault, Paul writes of something that can truly last the test of time: “and now these three remain: faith, hope and love.”
Beyond the moving of the plates these three remain.
Beyond the eruption of the volcano, these three remain.
Beyond death, beyond time, beyond the grave, these three remain.
Not far from Corinth, along the same fault line that they knew too well, Antiochus the 1st built himself a monument that he might be remembered as a great ruler throughout the ages. Out of stone he made a name for himself, but by the shaking of time his monument will soon turn to nothing more than a pile of rock – hardly a reflection of a great life lived, more a reflection of time wasted on something that could not last.
So you see – so you already know – Antiochus the 1st wasn’t like Joanne, for while the monument to Antiochus the 1st’s life will soon pass away to nothing, the monument of Joanne’s life isn’t built of stone, not carved out of rock, but built up by the love that radiated from her eyes to the hearts of a husband, daughter, and son who she loved so well. The work of her hands is a family who will never forget her name, her faith, her hope, and especially not her love; because she didn’t build up with stone – she built us up with her words – she built us up a monument to herself with love.
Today we gather here to remember a woman who will be missed, a life that was fully lived, and a heart unlike any we have ever known.
Today we must mourn exactly the gift of God that we no longer have with us – unlike the monument of Antiochus the 1st that fell, the monuments to the life of Joanne Hicks will stand forever.
Her faith in people and her faith in God that gave her peace.
Her hope in the future that enabled her to continue fighting till the end.
And the love she had for us – the love that she built with her hands, spread with her voice, and poured into her family – these things will never leave, will never be shaken, can never die.
But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away; where there was suffering, it has ceased; where cancer crippled, it has been stilled; where there was worry, it has passed away.
While this time of mourning will certainly last far beyond today, remember, that now these three remain, and these three will remain with us forever: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest – the one that Joanne dedicated her life to – the one that will never die – the one that will bind us together forever – that will never be shake, that will never die, the one that still stands - is love.
-Amen.
[1] Rick Gore, “A History Forged by Disaster.” National Geographic, July 2000. 54.
If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
And now these three remain; faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.
Sermon
The city of Corinth where the Church that Paul’s letter to the Corinthians was addressed lies on the Anatolian Fault – the meeting of the Eurasian and Anatolian Plates. These plates have been going against and away from each other for as long as humans have been paying attention.
“Nowhere have civilization and nature waged more persistent war than in this part of the world,” writes Rick Gore of National Geographic.
It was near this fault line that the Colossus of Rhodes was constructed in the 3rd Century, BC, only to fall 50 years later. This region was the home of the Greek island of Thera, buried under two stories of ash and debris, to seemingly disappear and give birth to the story of the lost continent of Atlantis. It was also along this fault line that Antiochus the 1st built his tomb and monument to himself. “There he proclaimed, his mausoleum would be “unravaged by the outrages of time,” as though even the inevitable earthquakes would leave this monument to his life unscathed.[1]
Today the monument that he built for himself is cracked and toppled – his tomb nearly covered by rocks that have tumbled down due to the shaking of the earth.
Along this fault line – even the work of the most audacious human beings cannot last. Unlike the Pyramids of Egypt, the Aqueducts of Rome, the Sky-Scrapers of Dubai, the monuments built by human hands along the Anatolian Fault cannot stand the test of time.
Stone will crack by the forces of collision, the greatest of shipping vessels laid waste by the forces of subduction and extension on the sea floor, homes, stores, temples, and tombs have all been laid waste by the movements of the plates.
What can last then – Paul asks the Corinthians who know to well the earthquakes and volcanoes that can take away their life work. What will truly last the test of time?
Paul writes: “But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.”
As though he knew that even the work of the ancients could not stand the test of time along the Anatolian Fault, Paul writes of something that can truly last the test of time: “and now these three remain: faith, hope and love.”
Beyond the moving of the plates these three remain.
Beyond the eruption of the volcano, these three remain.
Beyond death, beyond time, beyond the grave, these three remain.
Not far from Corinth, along the same fault line that they knew too well, Antiochus the 1st built himself a monument that he might be remembered as a great ruler throughout the ages. Out of stone he made a name for himself, but by the shaking of time his monument will soon turn to nothing more than a pile of rock – hardly a reflection of a great life lived, more a reflection of time wasted on something that could not last.
So you see – so you already know – Antiochus the 1st wasn’t like Joanne, for while the monument to Antiochus the 1st’s life will soon pass away to nothing, the monument of Joanne’s life isn’t built of stone, not carved out of rock, but built up by the love that radiated from her eyes to the hearts of a husband, daughter, and son who she loved so well. The work of her hands is a family who will never forget her name, her faith, her hope, and especially not her love; because she didn’t build up with stone – she built us up with her words – she built us up a monument to herself with love.
Today we gather here to remember a woman who will be missed, a life that was fully lived, and a heart unlike any we have ever known.
Today we must mourn exactly the gift of God that we no longer have with us – unlike the monument of Antiochus the 1st that fell, the monuments to the life of Joanne Hicks will stand forever.
Her faith in people and her faith in God that gave her peace.
Her hope in the future that enabled her to continue fighting till the end.
And the love she had for us – the love that she built with her hands, spread with her voice, and poured into her family – these things will never leave, will never be shaken, can never die.
But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away; where there was suffering, it has ceased; where cancer crippled, it has been stilled; where there was worry, it has passed away.
While this time of mourning will certainly last far beyond today, remember, that now these three remain, and these three will remain with us forever: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest – the one that Joanne dedicated her life to – the one that will never die – the one that will bind us together forever – that will never be shake, that will never die, the one that still stands - is love.
-Amen.
[1] Rick Gore, “A History Forged by Disaster.” National Geographic, July 2000. 54.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Wake Up!
Mark 13: 24-37, page 719
“But in those days, following that distress, “’the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light; the stars will fall from the sky, and the heavenly bodies will be shaken.’
“And at that time people will see the Son of Man coming in clouds with great power and glory. And he will send his angels and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of the heavens.
“Now learn this lesson from the fig tree: As soon as its twigs get tender and its leaves come out, you know that summer is near. Even so, when you see these things happening, you know that it is near, right at the door. I tell you the truth, this generation will certainly not pass away until all these things have happened. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away.
“No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Be on guard! Be alert! You do not know when that time will come. It’s like a man going away: He leaves his house and puts his servants in charge, each with his assigned task, and tells the one at the door to keep watch.
“Therefore keep watch because you do not know when the owner of the house will come back – whether in the evening, or at midnight, or when the rooster crows, or at dawn. If he comes suddenly, do not let him find you sleeping. What I say to you, I say to everyone: ‘Watch!’”
Sermon
There is a joke I just heard this past week, which was especially funny when I read it after reading this scripture passage on staying ever ready and awake for Christ’s return. A Sunday school teacher asked a class why it was important to be quiet in the sanctuary during the sermon – and a wise little girl perked up to answer – because people are sleeping.
Realizing how tempting it is to sleep during one of the busiest times of the year – the Sunday after Thanksgiving and two record setting shopping days – and during what must be one of the most worrisome economic climates of your lifetime – bringing with it worries over jobs, stocks, and paying the mortgage – though all your kids can think about is bigger and better toys that aren’t going to pay for themselves – the temptation to doze off is understandable.
Recognizing the many challenges we all face during these trying times, I would like to keep you awake this morning with a sermon full of exciting twists and turns – one that will keep you on the edge of your seat with an ever changing plot that keeps you wondering what will happen next. I would love to preach a sermon that is like a good book that you stay up all night to read – one that keeps you turning its pages, not even noticing how tired you are or how soon the sun will rise.
That’s what I would love to preach this morning.
However – our scripture passage today isn’t necessarily suspenseful, though it is mysteriously odd. Its meaning isn’t a mystery, though apocalyptic passages like this one have been made out to be clues laid out for the faithful by modern fiction authors.
Jesus, in this 13th chapter of Mark, doesn’t seem concerned with keeping the reader’s attention. This passage does not employ a tricky plot twist to surprise you or compel you to tune in for the next installment or episode - if anything Mark chapter 13 is the spoiler that gives the ending away 3 chapters early. Here, Jesus tells the disciples what is going to happen in the end. So, as the preacher, I guess I’ll go and do the same thing. The point of this sermon is – Christ is coming.
It feels weird to give the point away like that – but that’s it – Christ is coming. That’s what I have to say – Christ is coming.
I hope I haven’t ruined the sermon or given you permission to catch up on your sleep – but giving the end away is exactly what Jesus does in this 13th chapter.
It’s a lot like the way my wife Sara reads suspenseful books – if things get to be too nerve racking she’ll skip to the last page and read the end before continuing on wherever she left off.
And maybe that’s exactly what Jesus is doing here for the disciples. To relieve their worried minds he skips to the very end, and gives them the last line of the book – Christ is coming.
He had just told them some very bad news – he had just told Peter, James, John, and Andrew that they must be on their guard – for before to long “you will be handed over to the local councils and flogged in the synagogues. On account of me you will stand before governors and kings as witnesses to them… brother will betray brother to death, and a father his child. Children will rebel against their parents and have them put to death. All people will hate you because of me, but the one who stands firm to the end will be saved.”
For the disciples, that is just what happened. After having their palm read by Jesus it’s a wonder they didn’t ask for their money back – truly a wonder they didn’t leave right then and go back to their day jobs. Their futures didn’t hold wealth, prestige, or even health, but according to the Historian, Hippolytus of Rome, Andrew eventually reached his end when he was crucified on an olive tree. James was stoned to death. John died in exile, and Peter was crucified upside down.[1]
Jesus warns them of the hardship that lays ahead, saying, sorry guys, but things are going to get pretty bad.
But then he goes even further here in chapter 13 – drawing them past a sobering, if cruel look at their end – beyond - to the real end – that in the end the owner of the house will return.
Jesus is clear, telling the disciples that hard times are ahead – hard times that may in fact get even harder – but the fig tree that Jesus withered up to nothing back in chapter 11 will soon have tender twigs blossoming with summer’s leaves. That the signs of rebirth – that the signs of Jesus arrival will be all around.
My good friend George takes Jesus’ arrival seriously with a bumper sticker on his car that says, “Jesus is coming – look busy”. The sticker is a warning that seems based on this passage here – “keep watch because you do not know when the owner of the house will come back.”
But this passage is not a warning for disobedient teenagers throwing a party, fearful of our parents’ return. This passage is for the children of God – who – after enduring hard times - times of worry, death, sadness, trepidation, facing a future that is at best unknown – and at worst, a future almost certainly worse than the present – that we, the children of God can look forward to the arrival of the one who will put things right.
To the poor and oppressed – your days of want and struggle are numbered – for your liberator is coming.
To the sick – to the heart broken – to the hurting – Jesus is coming – your healer is coming.
To the worried minds left awake at night, searching for some sign that bills will be paid and children provided for – take heart – Jesus is coming.
To the mourning – know that heaven and earth will pass away, but the words of the Lord will never pass away.
And to the given up – to the people of lost hope – Jesus is coming, Jesus is coming, Jesus is coming.
Do not give up.
For the words of Daniel quoted here in Mark are there for us – “the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light; the starts will fall from the sky, and the heavenly bodies will be shaken.” But these sights are only signs that the Son of Man is coming in clouds with great power and glory. And he will send his angels and gather his elect from the four winds, “from the ends of the earth to the ends of the heavens.”
This Sunday is the first Sunday of Advent, and it may look like winter out there – but look to the tender branches of the fig tree – Jesus is coming.
The leaves of this tree spring forth in a world that seems to be increasingly selfish, increasingly cold, but where, in a community where homelessness is rising, jobs harder and harder to come by, here we are - members of a church who has opened her doors to the world – a church whose members gave up their Thanksgiving to spend it with the needy in our Fellowship Hall – a church whose members took the time to bake pies and turkeys for people who they don’t even know.
Barb Kell wrote me an email last Friday with her reflections from Thursday’s Thanksgiving dinner for the community in our Fellowship Hall. She said that “I am pretty sure that everyone who came to eat went home feeling the love of Christ shining through all those who served them today.” “That the light was shining and lighting the path, and while we may not know exactly where it leads – I know that the light is shining to show us the way during uncertain times.”
Today we are a people who know suspense – but it may well be the kind of suspense that burns holes in our stomachs rather than the kind of suspense that keeps us turning the pages of a good book. For that reason Jesus gives us the end of the story. He shows us where our path is leading.
Tomorrow may seem uncertain, but in case you didn’t here it before I’ll tell you the end of the story again – Jesus is coming – Jesus is coming – Jesus is coming.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
[1] www.ichthus.info/disciples/intro.html
“But in those days, following that distress, “’the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light; the stars will fall from the sky, and the heavenly bodies will be shaken.’
“And at that time people will see the Son of Man coming in clouds with great power and glory. And he will send his angels and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of the heavens.
“Now learn this lesson from the fig tree: As soon as its twigs get tender and its leaves come out, you know that summer is near. Even so, when you see these things happening, you know that it is near, right at the door. I tell you the truth, this generation will certainly not pass away until all these things have happened. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away.
“No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Be on guard! Be alert! You do not know when that time will come. It’s like a man going away: He leaves his house and puts his servants in charge, each with his assigned task, and tells the one at the door to keep watch.
“Therefore keep watch because you do not know when the owner of the house will come back – whether in the evening, or at midnight, or when the rooster crows, or at dawn. If he comes suddenly, do not let him find you sleeping. What I say to you, I say to everyone: ‘Watch!’”
Sermon
There is a joke I just heard this past week, which was especially funny when I read it after reading this scripture passage on staying ever ready and awake for Christ’s return. A Sunday school teacher asked a class why it was important to be quiet in the sanctuary during the sermon – and a wise little girl perked up to answer – because people are sleeping.
Realizing how tempting it is to sleep during one of the busiest times of the year – the Sunday after Thanksgiving and two record setting shopping days – and during what must be one of the most worrisome economic climates of your lifetime – bringing with it worries over jobs, stocks, and paying the mortgage – though all your kids can think about is bigger and better toys that aren’t going to pay for themselves – the temptation to doze off is understandable.
Recognizing the many challenges we all face during these trying times, I would like to keep you awake this morning with a sermon full of exciting twists and turns – one that will keep you on the edge of your seat with an ever changing plot that keeps you wondering what will happen next. I would love to preach a sermon that is like a good book that you stay up all night to read – one that keeps you turning its pages, not even noticing how tired you are or how soon the sun will rise.
That’s what I would love to preach this morning.
However – our scripture passage today isn’t necessarily suspenseful, though it is mysteriously odd. Its meaning isn’t a mystery, though apocalyptic passages like this one have been made out to be clues laid out for the faithful by modern fiction authors.
Jesus, in this 13th chapter of Mark, doesn’t seem concerned with keeping the reader’s attention. This passage does not employ a tricky plot twist to surprise you or compel you to tune in for the next installment or episode - if anything Mark chapter 13 is the spoiler that gives the ending away 3 chapters early. Here, Jesus tells the disciples what is going to happen in the end. So, as the preacher, I guess I’ll go and do the same thing. The point of this sermon is – Christ is coming.
It feels weird to give the point away like that – but that’s it – Christ is coming. That’s what I have to say – Christ is coming.
I hope I haven’t ruined the sermon or given you permission to catch up on your sleep – but giving the end away is exactly what Jesus does in this 13th chapter.
It’s a lot like the way my wife Sara reads suspenseful books – if things get to be too nerve racking she’ll skip to the last page and read the end before continuing on wherever she left off.
And maybe that’s exactly what Jesus is doing here for the disciples. To relieve their worried minds he skips to the very end, and gives them the last line of the book – Christ is coming.
He had just told them some very bad news – he had just told Peter, James, John, and Andrew that they must be on their guard – for before to long “you will be handed over to the local councils and flogged in the synagogues. On account of me you will stand before governors and kings as witnesses to them… brother will betray brother to death, and a father his child. Children will rebel against their parents and have them put to death. All people will hate you because of me, but the one who stands firm to the end will be saved.”
For the disciples, that is just what happened. After having their palm read by Jesus it’s a wonder they didn’t ask for their money back – truly a wonder they didn’t leave right then and go back to their day jobs. Their futures didn’t hold wealth, prestige, or even health, but according to the Historian, Hippolytus of Rome, Andrew eventually reached his end when he was crucified on an olive tree. James was stoned to death. John died in exile, and Peter was crucified upside down.[1]
Jesus warns them of the hardship that lays ahead, saying, sorry guys, but things are going to get pretty bad.
But then he goes even further here in chapter 13 – drawing them past a sobering, if cruel look at their end – beyond - to the real end – that in the end the owner of the house will return.
Jesus is clear, telling the disciples that hard times are ahead – hard times that may in fact get even harder – but the fig tree that Jesus withered up to nothing back in chapter 11 will soon have tender twigs blossoming with summer’s leaves. That the signs of rebirth – that the signs of Jesus arrival will be all around.
My good friend George takes Jesus’ arrival seriously with a bumper sticker on his car that says, “Jesus is coming – look busy”. The sticker is a warning that seems based on this passage here – “keep watch because you do not know when the owner of the house will come back.”
But this passage is not a warning for disobedient teenagers throwing a party, fearful of our parents’ return. This passage is for the children of God – who – after enduring hard times - times of worry, death, sadness, trepidation, facing a future that is at best unknown – and at worst, a future almost certainly worse than the present – that we, the children of God can look forward to the arrival of the one who will put things right.
To the poor and oppressed – your days of want and struggle are numbered – for your liberator is coming.
To the sick – to the heart broken – to the hurting – Jesus is coming – your healer is coming.
To the worried minds left awake at night, searching for some sign that bills will be paid and children provided for – take heart – Jesus is coming.
To the mourning – know that heaven and earth will pass away, but the words of the Lord will never pass away.
And to the given up – to the people of lost hope – Jesus is coming, Jesus is coming, Jesus is coming.
Do not give up.
For the words of Daniel quoted here in Mark are there for us – “the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light; the starts will fall from the sky, and the heavenly bodies will be shaken.” But these sights are only signs that the Son of Man is coming in clouds with great power and glory. And he will send his angels and gather his elect from the four winds, “from the ends of the earth to the ends of the heavens.”
This Sunday is the first Sunday of Advent, and it may look like winter out there – but look to the tender branches of the fig tree – Jesus is coming.
The leaves of this tree spring forth in a world that seems to be increasingly selfish, increasingly cold, but where, in a community where homelessness is rising, jobs harder and harder to come by, here we are - members of a church who has opened her doors to the world – a church whose members gave up their Thanksgiving to spend it with the needy in our Fellowship Hall – a church whose members took the time to bake pies and turkeys for people who they don’t even know.
Barb Kell wrote me an email last Friday with her reflections from Thursday’s Thanksgiving dinner for the community in our Fellowship Hall. She said that “I am pretty sure that everyone who came to eat went home feeling the love of Christ shining through all those who served them today.” “That the light was shining and lighting the path, and while we may not know exactly where it leads – I know that the light is shining to show us the way during uncertain times.”
Today we are a people who know suspense – but it may well be the kind of suspense that burns holes in our stomachs rather than the kind of suspense that keeps us turning the pages of a good book. For that reason Jesus gives us the end of the story. He shows us where our path is leading.
Tomorrow may seem uncertain, but in case you didn’t here it before I’ll tell you the end of the story again – Jesus is coming – Jesus is coming – Jesus is coming.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
[1] www.ichthus.info/disciples/intro.html
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