Sermon: Tongue Lashing

James 3:1-12

I was rather surprised that the verses from James were the ones that the lectionary used for the Sunday that is the kick-off for the Sunday School year for the majority of mainline denominations. What? Are they trying to scare off the few people we have who still want to teach? Here we are celebrating our teachers and James is giving them a stern lecture, warning them how careful they must be about what comes out of their mouths.

But the more I thought about it, the more it does seem appropriate. After all, Jesus has told us that it is not what goes into our mouths that defiles us, but what comes out. There are all kinds of sayings about watching your mouth so it won’t get you in trouble. And because our teachers are leaders to whom we look for example, surely they must be particularly cautious. James had obviously been having some trouble with the leaders in the congregation to whom he is writing. He is well aware that those people in positions of authority must watch what they say, because others are looking to them and trusting them as leaders.

See, words have incredible power. Pastors more than most have a deep and difficult understanding of this, I think. Yet we all face it, any time we open our mouths and let words spill out. And it’s not just the words we say, but how we say them—inflection, timing, and so on. Admittedly, that’s one reason I’m not much of a texter. Not only do you lose inflection, you even lose the vowels! Without the modulation of voice, I would worry that jests might come across as serious or sympathy as sarcastic or any number of other misunderstandings. And yet it is a powerful way of communicating for an entire generation. One teen I asked about it said that they prefer it because you can hold conversations with many people at once and that there are no awkward silences. I argue that it takes away the personal aspect, though for some I suppose that might be a draw. James knew the tongue was a dangerous body part; I wonder what he would say today about the thumbs?

In this information age, words bombard us constantly—texting, voice mail, email, advertising, radio, podcasts... But we’ve come to expect everyone to have an agenda. We expect misinformation and deceit, even from respectable and reputable sources. In fact, we only consider a source reputable and reliable if we agree with it. That is why teachers especially have to be careful in their words. We have to keep our reputation for wisdom in our words, for truth in our speech. As Paul reminds us, we are to “let no evil talk come out of [our] mouths, but only what is useful for building up.” It is the job of teachers then, to teach others how to think for themselves and discern what is evil and what is useful, what is truth and what is deceitful. It’s not simply a relaying of information to be spat back at the appropriate time. This is a foundational belief of Presbyterianism, and one that has not always been popular with the general public. There are many people who do not want to have to think about their faith. They want it in black and white, rote answers that they can indeed spit at people who do not agree with them. Their tongues become weapons, using proof-texting and verse-citing to provide evidence that they are in the right (and of course, in converse, that others are wrong.)

When we speak aloud, as James so adeptly points out, our tongues, so small in size, can create large-scale disasters. It’s a daunting thought. I can feel the sweat on my brow bead up as I go on. The tongue, so small in size, can be like the tiny spark that sets off huge forest fires in the California wilderness. A slip of the tongue, an illustration misunderstood and many of you might walk out of here with the wrong impression. And as all preachers know and fear, it is always the mistakes that are remembered. We could make the most profound revelation, but one small Freudian slip and that’s what your mind will grasp and take home. And those are the things that we cannot recall, cannot slurp back into our mouths, or call a do-over. How much worse do we make things when we try to over-explain, try to re-cast the mold even after the plaster has hardened? It only makes the mistake that much more obvious in the end.

In the recent movie ‘Doubt,’ starring Meryl Streep and Philip Seymour Hoffman, Streep’s character, the principal of a Catholic parochial school, goes on a crusade to expel the popular parish priest played by Hoffman, based only on the rumors of a young idealistic fellow nun that the priest has taken a special interest in a young boy student. She takes that to mean something more than it perhaps should. Rumors are spread, lives are destroyed and words do irreparable damage. There is a scene at the end, where one of the characters is seen taking a pillowcase of feathers to a rooftop and releasing them into the wind. They represent the words that were spoken and can now never be retrieved, no matter how sorry the speaker is for saying them. At the end of the movie is Streep’s character, dour as ever saying, “I have doubts.”

How often does it seem like our tongues have minds of their own, speaking even if our minds have doubts? I remember, as an impulsive child, being reminded often to think before I spoke. We all have times when we wish we could chase down the feathers that have floated off, out of our control. Growing up in the deep south, I learned quickly that words were never to be taken at face value. So often, what might sound like a compliment, was meant to be the opposite, yet said with a syrupy sweetness that belied the gall underneath. How many of you have ever used the duplicitous phrase, “Well, bless her sweet little heart?” Yeah, you know what it means, what it really means.

James knew well that no matter how much praise you offer a person, the one harsh word spoken, even in a heated moment, will be the one remembered. He knows full well that none of us can control our speech at all times, otherwise, he says, we’d be perfect. But that is why he warns us to constantly be careful of letting our tongues wag, lest we wish we could take back the words spoken. It can both bless and curse, he says. But he also says that this is not the way it should be. Should a spring yield both fresh and brackish water? Of course not! Our language says so much about who we are inside that what comes out of us represents what is in our souls. The same is true of the church. What people hear us say, and even the way we say it, represents who we are when we are inside these walls.

Even today, the most frequent reason cited by those who steer clear of churches is the duplicity of Christians. Hypocrites is the word used most often. “If God’s word does not show up in the flesh of a congregation—if those who hear the word do not also incarnate the word—then the tongue has worked a wicked spell on them.” But we also must be careful not to indulge in glib speech in the church, making what is difficult sound easy, or what is mysterious sound plain.

Whether we mean to or not, we construct worlds with our speech. Describing a world we see, we often mistake it for the whole world. Like the three blind men describing an elephant. It is hard and cool and smooth, said the one feeling the tusk. No, it is warm and wrinkled and tough said the one feeling the leg. No, no, it is rough and hairy and keeps moving, said the one feeling the twitchy tail. Yet we still make meaning of what we see and proceed to conflate this with God’s meaning. Then we behave according to this world we have constructed with our speech, even when that causes us to dismiss or harm those who construe the world differently.

For teachers and others in authority, the danger lies in the perilous combination of authority on the one hand and misused, damaging speech or erroneous claims on the other. The reason James aims this cautionary text at teachers is because teachers and other leaders will be held liable not only for their own follies but also for the errors that their students assimilate and pass on. The more authority the person speaking has, the more likely that people will take their words for truth and also pass them on to others as such. If we as teachers and leaders are not careful in what we say, can we expect that those of whom we teach and lead will be any better?

Our words let people know how we feel, what we think, what we believe—well, at least sometimes. Presbyterians do fairly well at living in a Christian way most of the time, but much less frequently do we do as well talking about our faith and beliefs. We love to tell people that we’re different due to our government or our worship style or how welcoming we are, but rarely do we love to tell them what our confessions say and what our doctrine declares. That’s the hard part about being a teacher, for as powerful as words are, sometimes finding the right ones to articulate the mysteries of God and our faith prove immensely difficult.

We say that we’d rather live our faith than speak of it; we say that actions speak louder than words, but truthfully, not much when it comes to our faith. It is James who says several times that faith divorced from works is useless. But works without faith is just philanthropy. And this isn’t just an internal faith, this is a shared faith, a faith that uses words to communicate with others what we believe and how our lives have been affected by our faith in Christ. See, the tongue, for as much trouble as it can get us in, can also be useful for building up. As far back as the garden of Eden, the tongue was meant for praising God. And as people made in the image of God, I’d go so far as to say it was meant for praising each other as well. But as James points out, in the same breath, we can sing praise to God and demean those made in God’s likeness.

It is easy to see why James has such strong words of warning against the tongue. Forget karate chops and judo kicks, the tongue is the body part that can do more damage more quickly than any other. Yet, “if we dedicate our tongues to the language of God, our actions will follow. Our tongues, which bless and curse, can also ask for forgiveness. Teachers are not perfect, but must choose words carefully, because God has given us authority to build up for the body of Christ.”[i] And make no mistake, we are all teachers in the priesthood of all believers. So let us choose words that are useful for building up, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness. Amen.

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[i] Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4, p. 66

"We Want More!"

A sermon on the gospel lesson for Ordinary 17, Yr.B

John 6:24-35

by rivkah

“There was a name in nineteenth-century China, and perhaps all over Asia, for persons who came to church because they were hungry for material food. They converted, were baptized, joined the church, and remained active members as long as their physical needs were met through the generosity of the congregation. But once their prospects improved and they and their families no longer needed rice, they drifted away from the church. Hence, missionaries called them “rice Christians.”[i]

Obviously this is not a new phenomenon. Ever since Jesus miraculously fed the 5000 seated on the hill, he has had this crowd of people following him around, rather like a pack of stray dogs hoping for some stray crumbs to be dropped. They are fixated only on where their next meal will come from. Rather odd, wouldn’t you say, for people who had just witnessed such a miracle as the one they themselves were part of. “But these were the ones who saw the feeding miracle as an end in itself rather than the sign it was meant to be...”[ii]

They don’t realize that this miracle points to something beyond itself. Upon first witnessing the miracle feeding, they want to haul Jesus off and crown him king. THIS was what they wanted in a Messiah, someone who could feed them, make it so they wouldn’t have to work for their food, make life a little easier. They have been satisfied physically and so their eyes are fixed only on physical things. They have no idea that there is much more at stake.

Jesus and his disciples have finally gotten a much needed break on the other side of the sea when the crowd realizes he’s slipped off. They go searching for him and when they find him, they complain that he has left them. “When did you come here?” In other words, “Why aren’t you where we left you, so we could find you again?” But Jesus knows they have not come to find the one who could fill their souls. They have come to find the one who had filled their bellies.

It is a slavering beast, this crowd. Hunger in their eyes. The hungry crowd wants more. More bread. More to eat. They are worried more about the immediacy of their stomachs than the future of their spiritual lives. But Jesus tries to explain to them that they are merely wasting their time coming after him in this fashion. “You’ve followed me around all over the countryside, hoping for more bread and never realizing you’re going after things that will mold and spoil. Don’t follow me around for barley loaves that merely fill you, follow me for the bread that will fulfill you, not just for a few hours, but for eternity. This is the bread that God has sent to you”

Well, they hear ‘follow,’ and ‘God,’ and thinking they have the right idea, want some clarification, just to be sure. “Ok, how can we follow God?” or as John puts it, “What must we do to perform the works of God?” They are so eager to please their Master that they don’t fully listen and understand what he is saying before jumping in with more questions, entirely missing the point of Jesus’ words. Now, from everything I’ve read, I’m pretty sure that Jesus was a really patient guy, but I think he must be rolling his eyes at these folks about now.

So, he tries to put it as simply as possible. “The work of God is to believe in him whom God has sent.” Couldn’t be easier, just believe, right? Their eyes brighten at this thought. “Oh! We can do that,” they think. “And then maybe he’ll give us more bread.” They want to get it right, I really think they do. They just don’t know how. Their eyes were just not opened to the higher meaning in Jesus’ words. So they eagerly ask him, “What sign will do give us so that we can see and believe?” Then the synapses fire and they remember another time when God had sent food for their people. And wanting to show off their smarty pants, they remind Jesus, “Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness; as it is written, ‘He gave them bread from heaven to eat,’”

I can’t help it, but every time I read about Jesus telling someone, “Very truly I tell you,” I picture him doing a big ol’ forehead smack. It always precedes something that should be painfully obvious, but that the listener in the story just doesn’t seem to get. A lot of Christians today actually miss that the ‘he’ who gave the manna to the people in the wilderness was referring to Moses, not God in that verse. That is why Jesus points out to them that it was not actually Moses who gave them the bread, but God. “It was God who gave the bread that satisfied their hunger for one day only. The same God now gives them bread from heaven that will satisfy forever.”[iii]

Forever. That’s a hard concept to wrap our heads around. And bread that would satisfy forever. There must have been more than a few bemused souls in the crowd that day, hearing about bread that would last forever. Perhaps even many of us are still a bit befuddled at the idea. But this line is just the beginning of John’s exposition on what it means for Jesus to be the bread of life. We’ll hear more about this in the next few coming weeks. But in this passage, Jesus just introduces us to the idea. Plants the seed.

“For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world,” he explains. This isn’t just manna. It’s far more than food we can chew and swallow and eat our fill of. It even goes beyond the miracle of the food that lasts only a day, that no one can hoard. It’s very appropriate that the Israelites reaction the first time they see the bread from heaven called manna is to say, “What is it?” It’s quite a similar reaction to the one people have when first meeting the bread from heaven named Jesus. “Who are you? What are you?” There is a distinct lack of understanding that God is providing for them exactly what they need at that time. The Israelites needed food for their bellies and God provided manna in abundance. The Jews needed food for their souls and God provided Christ in abundance.

We who already know the story understand that Jesus was sent by God to fulfill God’s promise of everlasting life. We know that his body and blood are the food and drink of eternity. Yet in the text for next week we will see the confusion deepen as Jesus tries to explain this to the people and they can not get past the literality of seeming cannibalism—with a couple more, “very truly” forehead smacks from Jesus thrown in.

Miracles, in the Fourth Gospel, do not easily bring faith to those who witness them, but more often confusion, division, and hostility. These ‘rice Christians’ following Jesus that day are more than a little confused. They want the free food, the handouts. They think they understand about the manna when Jesus brings up bread from heaven. Ah, now we get it. Miracle food, or dare I say it, “wonder bread.” He’s got their interest. But they’re so sure they’ve got his number that they don’t really listen to the rest of what he says. “It is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”

Yes, yes, they think. Bread coming down from heaven—that’s manna, we know about that, we get it. That’s what we want. Never have to plant or harvest or knead or bake again. But they miss the essential word, the last word of that phrase. This bread gives life to the world—not just a few, not just Israelites and their descendants—the world. Yet, thinking they’ve got this mystery sewn up, they get a little ahead of themselves. “Sir,” they say, “give us this bread always.”

What we know that they don’t know is the cost of eating this bread. This crowd that is so enthusiastic about following Jesus around when they think he will feed them with barley loaves and fish, quickly disperses when thing heat up with the Pharisees. Fair weather friends, indeed. And as we know, even Peter will deny Jesus three times when the going really gets tough. Yes, eating the bread of heaven is harder than it sounds. Towards the end of chapter six, even Christ’s closest disciples admit that these teachings about the eating the body and blood are difficult. Many more people turn away from following him at this point, shaking their heads as if to release these difficult and perhaps dangerous teachings they’ve heard.

But today, this crowd is still eager, wanting this bread that they think Jesus is offering to them. But he has one more curve ball to throw at them. A crux so important that the lectionary pulls it back in as the first line in next week’s text. He tells them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” Now whoever chose to stop the lectionary here must have a flair for the dramatic. It just stops right there at one of the most well known verses in John or even in all the gospels. Can’t you just hear the collective intake of breath as what he’s just said sinks into the minds of the crowd? We’re left at this cliff hanger, not knowing what the reaction of the crowd is to such an astonishing statement. It’s an outrageous claim.

And of course, they still don’t really understand. Perhaps they think they misheard him. “I am the bread of life? No, he must have said, I have the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry. That makes much more sense.” Their misunderstandings will be clarified next week, when we find out just, in fact, how difficult they begin to realize his teachings are.

So difficult that even John does not attempt to explain them in full. He lets us linger in the mystery of the body and blood for about half of this long chapter. John knows that to endeavor to explain this mystery would be to do it a great injustice. As John Calvin once said when asked to explain the Eucharist, “I would rather experience it than to understand it.” And indeed, “to feed upon the truth who is Jesus Christ, to find primary sustenance in him, is better even than to understand him.”[iv]

So we are left at this climax. The crowd who has been seeking out bread for their bellies, believing that they have witnessed the same sort of manna miracle as their ancestors, now get the shock of discovering that Jesus himself is the bread that they seek. Will they be ‘rice Christians?” Or perhaps “barley Christians” would be more apt. Will they simply drift away as so many of us do when the good feelings aren’t there anymore, when our own wants and desires aren’t being fulfilled, never mind what it is that we truly need.

Or will they stay, will we stay, and learn more about what it means for Christ to be the bread of life? Will we stay to hear more about how we can be fulfilled, rather than just filled, never to hunger or thirst again? Will we stay and feast on this bread of life? I invite you now, come to the table, come and feast! Amen.

[i] Sparks, O. Benjamin. "John 6:24-35, Pastoral Perspective" Feasting on the Word. Year B, Vol. 3. Westminster John Knox Press. Louisville, KY, 2009.

[ii] ibid.

[iii] ibid.

[iv]Willimon, William H. "John 6:24-35, Homiletical Perspective " Feasting on the Word. Year B, Vol. 3. Westminster John Knox Press. Louisville, KY, 2009.

"God in Between"

I thought is was about time that I got back into the habit of posting my sermons. I don't mind if you borrow them, though I'd like credit even though I admit that these words are not strictly mine, but rather my own interpretation of words given to me by the Spirit.

Disclosure: This title is shamelessly borrowed from a children's story written by Sandi Eisenburg Sasso

Scriptures: 1 Samuel 15:34-16:13, 2 Cor. 5:6-17, Mark 4:26-34

"God in Between"

Have any of you ever grown mint? From seed? The mint seed is the tiniest seed that I’ve ever come across. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a mustard seed to compare it to, but mint seeds are very, very tiny. Now if you’ve ever planted mint, even from an already started plant from the store, you know how invasive it can be, taking over everything if not kept in check. It becomes a wild, untamed mass of fragrant green leaves, invading spots you had saved for other plants. All from a seed about the size of one of the periods in your bulletin. Or think about a baby. My pediatrician said that babies M’s age gain half to one ounce every day! It is certainly a miracle to watch her grow and change. You all here in -- don’t seem to have much kudzu, but in --, we couldn’t get away from it. Someone once told me that in the heat of summer, kudzu can grow up to 18 inches in one day. You could almost sit and watch that kind of growth take place right in front of you!

This unbelievable, miraculous kind of growth is what Jesus is talking about when he references the mustard seed. This tiny seed, growing into a shrub almost tree-size. Birds can build nests in it and animals can find shade under its leaves. And this, he says, is like the kingdom of heaven. The evidence starts small, but with God’s care, it grows into a huge, sheltering, nurturing tree. One that provides nourishment and security. God takes the smallest seed and transforms it into a great plant that provides sustenance for all.

I’ve heard plenty of pastors use this parable to encourage evangelism and growth in their churches. “Go out, make this seed grow,” they exhort. But I actually think they’ve missed the point. Jesus isn’t talking about earthly things here. He’s talking about the kingdom of heaven—that part, at least, he says plainly. But if we look at the mustard seed parable up next to the parable of the farmer that Jesus tells in conjunction with it, we see that the farmer doesn’t even know how the seed grows. The farmer has so little to do with making the seed grow that in the parable the farmer sleeps through the process of sprouting and maturation.

But truthfully, we don’t need to know how. We just have to trust that God is doing what God promised (and God always does!). While in Matthew, we are admonished to have faith the size of a mustard seed, Mark makes no such admonition. In Mark, the parable is, plain and simple, about the kingdom that provides saving space way beyond our imagining. The parable is not about us, but about the grace of God. “We are freed from the burden of determining the harvest, of assuming that our successes or failures hasten or deter God’s plans.” We plant the seed and reap the harvest, but God does the ‘in between’ work. No matter our efforts, the harvest will come. We have to depend on God for germination, water, sun, etc.

As with the mustard seed, the smallest seed becomes the greatest shrub. In order to be fulfilling its mission, the church must produce some sort of growth, though that doesn’t have to be measured in numbers. Some people think the only way to measure a church’s growth (hear ‘success’) is by new members. I disagree. It can be measured by the church’s outreach, if they are adopting new programs, if they are increasing pledge gifts, if they are getting out more in their community, if they are finding new ways to spread the word about God’s coming kingdom. All of these are ways to measure church growth and success. We start these programs and trust that God will bring them to fulfillment in making new disciples.

The initial evidence of the kingdom may seem small, but the ultimate results are great. If we believe that this is how God does things, then what do we do? We will begin to look for the mustard seeds. We will look for the first signs of the kingdom with faith and optimism. We will not be too quick to dismiss the small and insignificant. We will not give up on ourselves, on others, on the church, or even on the world just because we see many signs of sin and brokenness. Rather, we will believe in God’s possibilities even if the evidence is as tiny as a mustard seed.

Consider David, youngest of Jesse’s sons, so insignificant that his father didn’t even call him in from the fields when a convening of his sons was requested by Samuel. He wasn’t the eldest, he wasn’t the tallest, or even the fairest, yet he was the chosen. He becomes one of the greatest and most beloved kings of Israel. Even when all the others, including Samuel, were shocked at his anointing, God already sees David’s potential and has great plans for him in the life of his chosen people, Israel.

God sees in us what we cannot see from the outside. Turns out, it’s not a beauty pageant. And we see that displayed in the life of Christ. Jesus always sees the potential in others. Their potential to be healed, to be whole, to be redeemed. Intimacy with Christ grows in us as certainly and effortlessly as seeds grow. We have so little to do with Christ’s nearness to us that we can just go to sleep as the gardener did. This trust, so deep that we can sleep without anxiety is much more useful to us than fussing over the little seed: dousing it with pesticide, repotting it, clucking anxiously over the amount of sun it has. The kingdom is like this sleepy, restful trust.

Trouble is, we like to be busy, productive, to feel like we’re being useful. Being busy and dogmatic makes sense to us. It fits with our normal way of being human. We achieve all sorts of goods by working hard and committing ourselves to our values. These are mostly reasonable things, and certainly nothing useful would happen if we did not work for it or if we remained indifferent to moral and political issues. It’s just that this way of operating is not like the kingdom of God. The harvest will come without us having to work for it, because God adores us and it is this love that is the power of growth.

God will not fail to fulfill the promise of salvation. It is already coming to be in this world—like the seed sown in the earth, or the remarkable growth of the tree from the mustard seed, silently but powerfully coming to be. The harvest will happen in God’s way and in God’s time. Meanwhile, we plant the seeds and wait for them to grow. We watch with patience and marvel at the first sprouts. Then we pray for rain and sun from God’s hand and joyfully reap the fruits of the harvest when they are mature.

As Paul tells the Corinthians, we walk by faith and not by sight. Or at least we try to. It isn’t easy for humans to hand over all control of the outcome. Yet faith demands that we do just that. Once we plant the seed, we can’t see what happens under the ground, we have to wait until we see the first sprouts. But we trust that God is always at work, even inside that tiny seed, planted deep in the dark earth.

It is yet another of God’s mysteries, like that of the Trinity, which we spoke of last week. This parable reminds us that God is full of mysteries and surprises. And in an age when we learn more and more with science and technology, all of the mystery and surprise seems to be getting squeezed out of our collective consciousness. If it isn’t tangible or quantifiable or calculable, it must not Be. But Jesus asks us in this parable not to close our imaginations too quickly.

Think about seeds he says. You don’t know how they grow into grain or fruit or trees or flowers. You just plant them and leave them until harvest time. It’s a mystery, an amazing mystery. Or the tiny mustard seed. How does that teeny, tiny seed grow into such an enormous plant? We can’t understand the kingdom of God any more than we can understand how a seed grows. But we can know that God is up to something in between the time we plant and the time we harvest. We can see the sprouts, the leaves, the fruit. It isn’t until then, though, that we can see the plants potential. God, on the other hand, can see the potential in the smallest of seeds right from the start before it even makes it to the soil.

So pray now that our eyes can be like the eyes of God, that we will be able to see the potential in all of God’s children and welcome them into the corner of the kingdom that we have right here at SPC. The kingdom will come, in God’s time and in God’s way; we believe that God will do the ‘in between’ work, allowing us the planting and the harvest. So get your gloves on, grab your trowel and rake, and… wait. Wait for the miraculous potential to break forth from the power of God. Amen.

"Let's Start at the Very Beginning..."

“Let’s Start at the Very Beginning…”

If you’ve been keeping up with my newsletter articles, you know that we have finally come into the Year of the Steward. The session and I decided to devote the entirety of 2009 to a deepened understanding of stewardship. Each month, or in most cases, a pair of months will be devoted to a way that we are stewards. Had I thought of it sooner, I’d have put in the January newsletter the breakdown of what each topic would be and when. That will come next month, along with a brief description of what the current month’s topic will be.

This month though starts us off with the most basic and fundamental stewardship principles I think, that we are called to be stewards of the gospel. I recognize that stewardship has gotten something of a bad rep in most churches, since just about the only time that word is used is in conjunction with asking for money. Turns out, (and you’ll know this if you’ve read your newsletters) that stewardship actually has absolutely nothing to do with giving anything. For those of you into etymology, that is, the origins of words, ‘steward’ comes from the old English words that meant ‘sty warden.’ That’s right, the pig keeper. Now don’t start thinking this is makes it a dirty word, oh no, this was one of the most responsible positions on the farm. Pigs were valuable sources of meat, manure, and they were easy to keep since they could live on scraps. They were very important. Being the sty warden was very important. But notice that the warden isn’t the one giving anything. He is responsible for the pigs that have been handed over to his care. His master has trusted him with this important position and allowed him to take over the management of the pig keeping.

Over the next year we will examine a number of the things that God has given over to our care and what our responsibilities towards them are. We are stewards—care takers, not just givers. God has already given us everything we need, everything that we have. We are entrusted with its care. Sometimes being responsible caretakers does mean giving away part of what we have. But as we will see, different things are cared for in different ways. Sharing our gifts, no matter what form they take, is often part of this responsibility, but not always. We are caring for what we have already been given. We have the responsibility for the care, management, and utilization of things that do not belong to us. Do recognize that being called to be stewards implies a level of trust and partnership on the part of the owner. That’s right, God trusts us enough to call us into stewardship of all that we have, all that we can see. Kinda makes you wonder what God must have been thinking, yeah?

As I said, this month we are looking at our responsibilities as stewards of the gospel. Being stewards of the gospel is the prologue and presupposition of all of our other practices as God’s stewards. This is where it begins. If we aren’t being faithful stewards of the gospel, we can’t be faithful stewards of any of God’s other gifts to us. It is from the gospel itself that we learn of our call to stewardship, that we learn of God’s generosity to us, learn of the responsibilities of our role. Being a steward of the gospel can be equated with being a disciple, of course. Discipleship is following Christ’s teaching and God’s will for our lives, which, of course, we discern from the gospel. It is also the sharing of the things we learn in the gospel, which is, I think, more of where the stewardship aspect comes in. Discipleship is not only following but sharing. We have been entrusted with the gospel’s message, we care for it by following it and by sharing it with others so they in turn can care for it by following and sharing God’s word.

If I’ve made it this far and you haven’t asked yourself why I’m preaching this sermon on a Sunday when we honor the Lord’s baptism, you’re either not paying attention or you’re very trusting that I’m going in the right direction. And if it’s the latter, so as not to violate that trust, I’ll go ahead and tell you that our call to stewardship begins at the moment of our baptism.

Baptism provides us with our identity, just as it did for Jesus. God’s voice comes to him and declares him God’s beloved son, giving him his identity as such, and it also marks the beginning of his ministry. Our baptisms do the same. They mark us as beloved children of God and it marks the beginning of our ministry as stewards of the Gospel, as disciples, as Christians. This is absolutely crucial to Mark, so much so that we’ve already gotten here within the first eleven verses of his gospel. This is the very first place he takes us, this is what he sees as the beginning of it all. And as Christians, we too see baptism as the beginning. The very start of our lives—at least our lives as they were meant to be led as beloved children of God.

By examining the baptism of Jesus, we can see the perfect example of what our own baptisms are meant to symbolize. The empowering by the Holy Spirit into the ministry of God’s word and as God’s own beloved children. “Jesus did not receive the Spirit in order to enjoy privately its spiritual benefits, but rather in order to pass it on.”[i] This is the beginning. In Mark’s gospel, it is the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, the beginning of his identity as the Son of God, the Messiah. For Mark, there is nothing before this. “In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth, there was nothing,” says Genesis. The earth was formless and void and God’s spirit swept over the waters. Yet from that nothing, God created everything. And here in Mark we begin once again with water and nothingness and from that begins Jesus’ ministry on earth. For it is only when the spirit descends that formation and identity begin, for creation, for Jesus, and for us.

When the Spirit moves over us, we begin to take shape. We begin to take shape as Christians, as disciples of Jesus, and as stewards of the gospel. Before that moment, our lives may as well have been formless and void. For it is in that moment that our identity is confirmed, our identity as God’s beloved. Though Presbyterians believe the water to be symbolic, for it is the Spirit that does the actual baptizing, it is easy with the small bowls and fonts used in most churches to lose the element of danger to be found in large bodies of water. One of the theological reasons for immersion is that in going totally under the water, it is symbolic of dying, and coming up from the water is symbolic of rising again to new life. Presbyterians tend more towards the theology of the water being symbolic of washing away our sins, thus the amount is not significant, especially as I said, since the Spirit is the one doing the actual work.

If that’s all the theology lesson you want for today, let’s have Mark bring us back to the earthy side of baptism. We have John wearing scratchy camel hair clothes, eating bugs, wading into a muddy, mucky river to dunk the poor converts into its cold and murky depths. These images remind us of how human our baptisms really are. Babies crying, drops of cold water running into their eyes, parents tripping over the name of their own child, adults more concerned with not getting their hair wet than with receiving the Holy Spirit, ministers forgetting the words. Yet as human as the ritual is, the Holy Spirit still comes. And of course if there is any doubt that this is truly what God wanted and intended, just remember John’s words that Jesus is indeed “the Word made flesh.” This is indeed the beginning of God creating something new and wonderful in Jesus Christ. At our own baptisms we are made new and wonderful through water and the spirit.

Our call to stewardship is just one aspect of our baptisms of course, but as I said before, being called as stewards of the gospel is the prologue and presupposition to all the rest of our acts as God’s stewards. At the time I needed to have the bulletin ready for printing, I didn’t have a catchy title for it, but as I was working on it later, I decided I’d have given it a title inspired by one of my favorite movie musicals, calling it, “Let’s Start at the Very Beginning, A Very Good Place to Start.” A bit long for a sermon title perhaps, but it conveys exactly where we are. The Very Beginning, a very good place to start indeed. I certainly don’t think it a coincidence that Genesis 1 is chosen to go along with the Baptism of the Lord texts. They both denote the beginning of two of God’s most definitive, most authoritative works in the story of our world. They both denote the forming of an identity, that of the earth and that of God’s Son. They are both the beginnings of important books of the Bible—Genesis, the word itself meaning ‘beginning,’ and Mark, thought by scholars to be the earliest of the gospels. What a good place to start, indeed.

And so it is here that we start our year of the steward as well. With a remembrance of our own baptisms, our own call to be God’s stewards, God’s caretakers of the Word, a responsibility bestowed upon us with trust, for some of us, even from our infancy. Through water and the Holy Spirit we are entrusted with God’s word, to care for it, use it wisely, and share it with others. It is truly a great beginning, to the year and to our lives and to our calling. What a very good place to start.

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[i] Bartlett, Taylor, eds. “Baptism of the Lord (First Sunday After the Epiphany” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 1. p.240. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008.

Maybe I'll post this one... maybe

I had no idea it had been so long since I posted a sermon. What a lazy pants I am! Ok, so some of it is my own insecurity, but a lot of it can be chalked up to laziness since I'm terrible about citing sources when I write sermons. My sermons are recorded, but only for the church library and I'm not one of those nuts (yes, I know some) who insist on verbally citing during their sermons. Now, if it's somebody really famous, I'll mention who said what, but I truly know people who will interrupt the flow of a sermon to say something like, "On page 78 of the Interpreters Bible Dictionary, it says that camels..." you get the idea. Eesh!
I've got a pretty good one in the works right now I think, which I really should be working on instead of posting, but I needed a break. We've made 2009 the Year of the Steward, so at least once a month I'm working on a sermon to go along with different themes of stewardship, like stewardship of the gospel, of the earth, of relationships, of community, of finances, etc. Each month (or often a pair of months) has a different theme, and at least one Sunday each month will have a sermon related to it. I'm trying to make it the second Sunday, so as not to interfere with communion on the first Sundays. We'll see how it goes.
Baby (or as P calls her, "the parasite") is making it quite uncomfortable for me to sit and write. She seems rather riled up at the moment and is kicking my ribs on one end and punching my bladder on the other. The trials of being short-waisted--both this one and her big sister were already up into my ribs by about 6 months. She really likes her space and does NOT like to be squished up at all. She prefers to stretch out and move around as much as she can. L was like that too. She never wanted to be swaddled as a baby either, hated to be confined.
Well, now that both cats are here, lying all over my books and papers, I guess I'm ready to get back to it...

Thoughts on Simeon and Anna

I admit it, I'm excited to preach about Simeon and Anna. For some reason, I just really like these guys. They have quite a lot of depth for just 18 verses. I'm thinking of naming my sermon "Of widows, virgins, and barren ones," and talk about the prominent roles that Anna, Mary, and Elizabeth have in Luke as being the ones to recognize the Messiah, even though they were considered next to nothing by their culture and society. We'll see. That's where I am today. I have all week to change my mind. :)
I might even get around to posting it. I haven't posted a sermon in quite a while. Laziness is some of it, shyness is also a part. I usually get good reviews, but I'm never happy enough with them to actually post them where, (gulp), just anybody could read them. (That's actually really ridiculous of me since I'm pretty sure only about 8 people ever come here to read anything--and I know you all love me!)
I know quite a few people right now who are either pregnant or have just recently given birth, several for the first time. I have to admit that it's the first time mothers (and fathers too) that are so much fun to watch. At least one couple I know has struggled with infertility for many years and only just a couple weeks ago had a beautiful, healthy baby girl. Another couple I know is having fraternal twins without the help of any fertility treatments whatsoever. No matter what, becoming a parent for the first time is rather overwhelming.
Babies bring something with them that we seem to lack in our daily lives--an expectancy of great things to come. We lay our hopes and dreams on them, what we hope they will turn out to be, what sorts of traits will they inherit, what jobs they will get when they are grown, etc. Even most parents I know who intentionally try not to put undue pressure on their children have some sorts of expectations for them, such as getting a good education, taking some sort of extracurricular classes, whether it's dance, gymnastics, martial arts, or music lessons, or even just going to church regularly. With young children, we make those decisions for them, molding them, even ever so slightly, to our own expectations for them.
I wonder just what expectations Mary had for Jesus when she took him to be presented in the temple. Even then, I don't think she could have known what sort of Messiah he could be. Her Jewish heritage expected a warrior Messiah, one who would overthrow the oppressor with a fiery sword and angry redemption. Yet as she carries her newborn in her arms, can she truly envision him as such? I wonder.
And Mary isn't the only one with expectations for him, after all. What do Simeon and Anna expect from him? What do they see his role as Messiah to be? What about his father? His grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, the rest of the Israelites? Sure, we expect great things of our children, but Messianic leadership? That's a tall order for a tiny baby.
What do we expect from a Messiah, even now? What expectations do we place on the one who comes to us in such unexpected ways?

Sermon: "If You Love Me..."

This also happens to be my 100th post. Happy postiversary to me!

"If You Love Me..."
by Rivkah
John 14:15-21

“If You Love Me…”

During my many summers at camp, both as camper and counselor, we often played a game called, “Honey, if you love me, please, please smile.” The object was to get someone to smile, but you could only do it by saying those words. No jokes, no tickling or other touching, just things like making faces or saying the words with a silly accent.

As a shy thirteen year-old, I would melt into the wall at the mere mention of those words. I’d find any excuse to get away. For me, hearing those words brings back a flood of negative emotions, mostly “Oh my God, I might have to talk to a boy, a cute boy, while everyone else is staring at me.” That’s the stuff of nightmares right there folks. I’ve been forced to play it a few times in my life, but I’m not sure I ever got anyone to smile. Of course, I was so petrified, I’m not sure anyone got me to smile either. I still hate that game to this day.

Of course, those words aren’t merely a game. “If you love me…” It’s almost always said in a coercive manner. “If you really loved me, you’d… fill in the blank.” Every father warns his little girl about that line. Teenagers turn it back on their parents to get what they want. Partners hurl it back and forth like stinging darts. The unspoken but under-lying meaning of the statement being, since you’re not doing whatever it was in that blank, you apparently don’t love me, and if you don’t love me, I’ll be angry and I won’t love you. In essence, it’s a lightly veiled threat. The person making the threat is usually trying to gain the upper hand, get something for him- or herself.

So what was Jesus after, throwing out that kind of statement?! Well, let’s go back for a minute. In the passage we read from John, the disciples are scared. They are scared because Jesus has told them that he will soon leave them, that soon he will no longer be among them to lead them, inspire them, guide them, teach them. And the disciples are wondering just what they are going to do without him. They have given up three years of their lives to follow Jesus; they love Jesus, and they know that EVERYTHING is going to change when he is gone.

Jesus is trying to allay their fears, so he says to the disciples, “Just because I am not here in person doesn’t mean that I won’t be with you. You think EVERYTHING is going to change, but I say, NOTHING is going to change. Your goals for life and discipleship should be absolutely the same. Just because you can’t reach out and touch me doesn’t mean that you can’t love me. Even when I am not with you, continue to love me! Love me, show your love for me by following my commandments. Love me by preaching what I have preached. Love me by living as I have lived. You will never be orphans. You are children of God! You will never be alone, the Holy Spirit will always be with you. Keep doing what God wants you to do.”

“If you love me, follow my commandments.” It’s not coercive; it’s simple. Rather than trying to gain something for himself with this statement, he is giving them a gift. The gift of his presence in the Holy Spirit. Keep Jesus’ commandments and the disciples will know his love by loving others.

It might help to remind you what Jesus’ commandments are. He first revealed them when the Pharisees were trying one of their many theological traps on him. They wanted him to reveal which of the ten commandments was the greatest. Of course they intended to trick him so they could make a fool of him and get rid of him in disgrace. But Jesus counters with something totally unexpected. “The greatest commandment is this,” he says, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength.” But he goes on, saying, “And the second is like it, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” The Pharisees are stunned, rather than quoting one of the familiar laws, he has boiled down the entire Torah, the whole of Jewish law, into two rules.

A few months ago I got an e-mail with a very simple joke of the bumper-sticker variety included. “If you love Jesus, tithe. Anyone can honk.” It’s a good joke because it is absolutely true. And it is the crux of what Jesus is saying here: “If you love me, obey. Anyone can honk. If you love me, if you get what I’m talking about, do something special. Believe. Obey.”

I don't use that "O" word lightly. It is a word heavy with all kinds of baggage. But it is, with God, a Good word. We are free to obey. We get the choice. We obey not because we are coerced, not because we are forced, but because we are loved and forgiven and therefore we obey in gratitude. It’s a different kind of freedom than we are used to thinking about. We usually think about freedom in terms of being free from this or that. Free from oppression, free from prison, free from slavery, free from fear. This a certainly a good kind of freedom, but it is not what God has given us. We are given freedom for. For telling the good news, for showing God’s love to others, for being faithful, obedient disciples. And that’s why we obey, because we have been given that freedom.

Obey is one of those unpopular concepts because it has been used to belittle and limit others. I think though, that Jesus is talking about obey in the sense of a sonnet. A sonnet with its fourteen lines of iambic pentameter and rhyme scheme has rules. Within these rules is the greatest freedom imaginable to create image and emotion that can only be created when you commit to the rules. That’s the kind of obey Jesus is talking about here.

Believe it or not, this is Jesus way of saying goodbye to his disciples. This is his farewell speech. It’s a little wordy for what it is. But he’s trying to make sure they’ve gotten the important points of his ministry before he has to leave. Namely, that they won’t be alone once he’s no longer visible to their earthly eyes. They will be united with him in heaven through the Spirit, the one he calls their Advocate. The Spirit will stay with them forever, uniting them to Father and Son for all time.

Keeping Jesus’ commandments will be something of a sign for those who want Jesus to be revealed to them when he comes again. He says to them, “you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me; and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.” Those who keep his commandments will see Jesus revealed.

In John’s time, secret societies were everywhere. In fact, some groups of Christians had to keep themselves in secret in order to remain safe. So if the language here sounds like something from an exclusive club, it’s a product of its time. Remember, John is talking to an audience who has been excluded from the Jewish temple for their beliefs. He is reminding them that they have their own place to be included, in the heavenly kingdom where Jesus will reign with the Father. In order to be a part of the kingdom, John wants them to understand that they have to believe and obey the commandments that Jesus put in place. “Those who keep my commandment are those who love me.”

Love is the order of the day here. Jesus says that only those who love him will be loved by his Father. Those who are loved by the Father will see Jesus revealed and he will live in them through the Spirit. But the secret handshake, the outward sign of this love is to keep Jesus’ commandments. That’s what this love is all about.

Jesus is about to leave and in order for more people to know him and know about him, someone has to continue his works, continue showing his love for others and for God. That’s why he tells them to keep his commandments, so that others may know him and live in him and perpetuate the cycle until Christ has been revealed to all and in all.

If we did not love Christ, we could not obey his commandments. We would be unable to do so. I think that is where the exclusivity comes from. It’s not a shutting out of others, as Christ invites all to his table. But if we do not come to the table with love, we cannot find what we need for fulfillment. So not everyone comes, or they may not come with love. That is why I think Jesus is telling them that keeping his commandments for love are so necessary to be believers.

It is so important that he is even sending the one he calls the Advocate, whom we call the Holy Spirit. He says, “This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you.” John tells his readers that Jesus realizes that not everyone accepts the way they believe; they are not ready for the spirit of truth. But they already have this Spirit within them. The truth has already been revealed to them and so they are asked to carry out Jesus’ commandments so that others might see the truth revealed in them.

Jesus might not be there to lead them in the flesh, but the Spirit will show them the way if they only remember to follow his commandments to love God and love others. We too, have the Spirit with us and within us. We only have to follow the commandments to love God and love others and Christ will be revealed through us and to us.

We may not be a secret society, but we are set apart. Just as we read last week, we are a chosen race, a holy nation, a royal priesthood of believers. God has chosen us to reveal Christ in our love for him. Not just anybody can do that, only the ones who obey the commandments to love. We obey because we know we are loved even when we don’t obey. That is how we show that we are set apart. As the old hymn says, “They will know we are Christians by our love.” When we love with the Spirit that Christ has given us, we reveal his presence with us and in us. And we will not be alone, for Christ has promised that he will be in us, and we will be in him. Glory be to God! Amen.

Sermon, Lent 5: Can These Bones Live?

Can These Bones Live?

by Rivkah

Ezekiel 37:1-14; Romans 8:6-11; John 11:1-45

I don’t know about any of you, but I got a terrible case of spring fever this week. Temperatures soaring into the 70’s, daffodils everywhere, knowing that by the end of this month, I will have a garden to plant in. It made it very hard to sit inside and work on this sermon, I tell you. I wanted to be out soaking up the sunshine, getting my hands in the dirt. I spent quite a lot of time pouring over seed catalogs this week, wondering what I would like to grow this season.

There is nothing more satisfying in spring than to see the tiny heads of seedlings poking their verdant heads out of the black dirt, reaching for the warm sun and knowing that come summer they will delight with the radiant color of flowers or the delicious bite of vegetables. But I admit, I am not a patient or even terribly skilled gardener. What I grow survives mostly by the grace of God. I do try to pick things that aren’t terribly fussy or fragile, but that’s about it. But each year as I pick out new plants to try, I envision with hope a bright and lush garden filled with color and flavor.

These images of spring and bringing forth life out of the seemingly dead ground swirled in my head as I read this week’s scriptures. I hear the dry twigs and grass rattling and rustling and I can hear the dry bones rattling too. The imagery in the Ezekiel text is wonderful. Rattling bones, the sinews and flesh returning to their frames. A little gory maybe, but beautiful in its own way.

When God is preparing to bring life to the bones, he tells the prophet that not only will the bones live, but they will also know that Yahweh is Lord. Those statements inherently belong together. Living and knowing Yahweh are practically synonymous. That is how we live, by knowing who Yahweh is.[i] And it follows that if those bones do indeed know who Yahweh is that they will praise him as well. And how could they not? Knowing Yahweh is to know what wondrous things Yahweh has done, like bringing life to dead, dry bones. Praise God, indeed!

Ezekiel is wandering among those bones, commanding them to get up. “Oh, bones! Hear the word of the Lord!” he tells them. He explains that they will have their sinews and flesh returned, that God will give them breath, spirit, life, but most important, that they will know that Yahweh is Lord. And to know that Yahweh is Lord is to praise him, praise him with the very breath that Yahweh gave to them.

Ezekiel is offering hope to the exiled Israelites with this story of resurrected bones. The prophet makes sure there is no misunderstanding by telling them straight out that the bones represent the people of Israel and that their resurrection represents their homecoming. They will be returned to their former lives, no longer dead in captivity, away from their homeland and their God. God will restore their breath, their spirit and because of this, they will use that very breath and spirit to praise Yahweh and rejoice in his name.

How foolish this must have looked. The Lord's prophet, standing in the middle of a pile of dead bones, is telling them not to give up hope. If I was Ezekiel, I would have gently suggested that the Lord first bring these bones back to life, and then I'll do a little preaching. "See," I'd say, "See what God can do?" But that is not the way of God, who calls us to believe without seeing. That is because the Lord's words always make room for hope. And it is the hope that brings us back to life. Hope rises up from our bones, and chooses to believe in spite of how it is.

Walter Brueggemann has written that hope proclaims that the way things appear is precarious. So we dare not absolutize the present. Don't take it too seriously. Don't bank on today because it will not last. Thus, hope is revolutionary. [ii]

Jesus is commanding the dead to live again too. His aim too, is that by raising the dead, the living might praise God’s name. But before he gets to that point, he has to make his way back to Bethany where his good friend Lazarus has been buried. His disciples are pretty sure that’s not a good idea.

I don’t know if Jesus had spring fever, but his disciples undoubtedly thought he had some kind of illness, wanting to go back to the place where he had just almost been stoned to death. Not only that, but he’s claiming he can raise a man dead already for a few days. Many of them went, I’m sure, out of sheer curiosity, that outweighing their fear of the stoning.

Did you catch the part in the reading where Thomas, always the doubter and cynic, says, “Let’s go too, so we can die with him?” You’ve got to hear it with the extra side of sarcasm that this is delivered with. They’re going back to Judea where some of the local Jews just tried to stone him, and Thomas is pretty sure that they’ll succeed this time if they go back. But Jesus wants to go to Mary and Martha’s so that he can raise his friend and their brother, Lazarus, from the dead and “so that they may believe,” he tells them.

No one really understands what is at stake here. The disciples don’t think it is safe to go back, and Jesus has to spell out that Lazarus is dead after they completely miss his sleeping metaphor. When they do arrive, Martha is baffled and doesn’t grasp the immediacy of what is about to happen. The mourners are miffed that he didn’t prevent the death of Lazarus in the first place. And good old practical Martha again, at the tomb, is a little wary of opening the grave, because of the smell of a body dead for four days.

I’ve always wondered if Jesus wasn’t testing the waters a little here with the raising of Lazarus, seeing how people would react to the idea of reanimating a dead body. Would they believe that such a thing was possible, even after seeing it with their own eyes? Some yes, some no, it would seem. No one understands. No one expects that life can come out of death. No one grasps that Jesus himself is the life-giving power of God.

There is so much protesting before the resurrection of Lazarus that you might think that these people didn’t want Jesus to bring Lazarus back to life. And I daresay that most of them probably did not. That would completely upset the natural way of things. Smelly, decomposing corpses are not supposed to stand up and walk around again. I imagine that the very idea of that sort of upset of reality invoked extreme discomfort and fear.

The lectionary doesn’t actually have us read what happens next, but I’m going to tell you that not all of those Jews believed in Jesus because of what happened. Some of them went off to tell the religious authorities about what he’d done. They were very frightened of this man who had the power even to bring life from death. The authorities respond the only way they know, with violence. Not only do they begin the plotting of Jesus’ own death, but the religious leaders are even plotting to get rid of Lazarus.

There is not much rejoicing at the raising of Lazarus. Even Mary and Martha are a little stunned at this unnatural turn of events. Martha has said that she indeed believes that there will be a resurrection in the end times, but this is absolutely not what she expected. It turns out to be a menace to those who think they control the future. It turns out that this story of the giving of life then leads to a story of death. We know what is coming in the next couple of weeks; we know that this resurrection is just a prelude to the one that is to come.

Now the disciples and the others have seen the power of God to raise the dead. This will give them a glimmer of hope when Jesus himself is in the tomb. Jesus’ resurrection is the ultimate display of this power. Death and sin are defeated once and for all. And that enormity is what so frightened the religious leaders. In the face of God’s power, they saw how powerless they themselves truly were. They who believed themselves to be the ultimate authority in the religious world were brought to their knees by the power of God as displayed through Jesus and his raising of Lazarus from the dead.

We, too, are powerless. Powerless to solve the problems of sin and death, to overcome them on our own. God and only God has power over them. God can bring flesh and bone together. God can bring Lazarus out of the tomb, God can erase the power of sin.

The apostle Paul told the believers in Rome that the one "who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you" (Rom. 8:11). The church has always found its life not in what it sees today but in the Spirit of the God who raises dead hopes. The day we lose our ability to envision a better tomorrow is the day we deny that we really believe in the resurrection.

So we will take our stand beside Ezekiel and proclaim our hope to the dry bones. "Thus, says the Lord, I will cause breath to enter you and you shall live!" You who gave up hope, who gave up dreaming--who have settled for a comfortably routine life of work, bills, and dirty laundry. You who think your best years are behind you. You who think the Lord God has forgotten all about your little life.

To you, we say, "Arise!" Arise from the heap of discarded dreams. Arise to discover that the Holy Spirit is breathing life back into you. Arise to live with magnificent hope! Because the world is dying for you to believe God is not done. Amen![iii]

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[i] Brueggemann, Cousar, Gaventa, Newsome. Texts for Preaching: Year A. Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1995.

[ii] Craig Barnes "Resurrected hopes - Living by the Word - Ezekiel - Brief Article - Excerpt". Christian Century. Feb 27, 2002. FindArticles.com. 08 Mar. 2008. http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1058/is_5_119/ai_84054088

[iii] ibid.

Sermon: Recalculating

Texts: Isaiah 9:1-4; 1 Cor. 1:10-18; Matt. 4:12-23

When I was getting ready to move up here from Atlanta, one of the things I got for myself was a GPS unit. I found a good deal on a nice Garmin and thought it might come in handy for not only getting to know the area, but getting me around to other churches in the presbytery for meetings and such. I call it my magic box, since it seems as if by magic that it knows where I am and how to get me where I’m going.

I knew I was getting brave the day I decided to go a way home that was not what my box suggested. It doesn’t matter really, as it will figure out quickly where I am and design a new route from there. Whenever I take a turn that it has not laid out for me, a voice, a nice alto female, comes over the speaker and tells me, “recalculating.” It may be my imagination, but sometimes she sounds a bit testy that I’m not following her directions and she has to figure out a new way home.

When I first was learning the roads, since none around here are straight, I sort of had to go on faith that my magic box knew where I was going, since I generally had no idea. There were, in fact, a couple of times that it was wrong. See, you can type in street addresses, but it also has a database of gazillions of retail locations. You can tell it you want to find a fast food place and then narrow it down by type of food and further by specific chain. So I only have to push a couple of buttons to find the nearest Chic-fil-A or Starbucks. And it has lots of other types of stores in its memory, though like most people, it apparently isn’t a faultless one.

I had used the location by name finder, typing in ‘Borders’ and it told me where I could find the nearest one. I followed the directions laid out for me by my magic box, peering around intently when it told me “approaching destination” only to find there was not a Borders in sight. It seemed to think that the Borders-owned Waldenbooks inside the mall was an appropriate substitute, which was not at all what I had had in mind. So even with satellite-guided electronics there are still sometimes I just have to go on faith that it’s going to take me where I need to be.

That’s pretty much what the fishermen who went with Jesus had to do too. They had to go on faith that he was the Messiah, they only had John’s word at that point, and that he would indeed take them where they needed to go to be fishers of people. Remember, they hadn’t seen any miracles or heard him preach yet. All they’ve heard is Jesus calling out, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

Pretty strong words for a guy who is still pretty much unknown at this point. Jesus is just beginning his ministry now. He has not, that we are told, performed any miracles yet or even angered any Pharisees. At this point his words sound like most of the other prophets that the Israelites had heard over the centuries. Even rather like his cousin John the Baptist. Unlike John though, Jesus isn’t telling the people about their awful sins and the need for confession and forgiveness. “Repent,” though it has some of those connotations, is a pretty interesting word. When most modern Christians hear it, they do think of asking for forgiveness for their sins. Repent, say you’re sorry. But that’s not really what it means, at least not entirely. The Hebrew root of the word means to turn round, to go a different way. It’s not just a change of heart, it’s a change of life. “Repentance here means more of a change of direction, the gaining of a new set of values, the readiness for life under the reign of God.”[i] Jesus’ isn’t issuing just a blanket call for repentance. It’s a call to repent because the kingdom of God has come near. “It is so radical and powerful, its presence calls men and women from their safety and routine to a life of unheard-of newness.”[ii]

Jesus is really telling these fishermen, “Recalculate, figure out a new way to go. And the way to go is to follow me.” It entails a good deal of trust and allegiance to just drop everything and take a new direction. We have to be willing to let Jesus take the lead, and to follow him, trusting that he knows the way to the kingdom.

It’s difficult for some of us to take directions from others. We like to strike out on our own. It’s often easy to recognize those people. They’re the ones who drive around in circles, or have pieces left over from an IKEA project. They’re people who have a difficult time trusting in someone other than themselves, I think. Not that they can’t, just that it’s hard for them. We might call them self-reliant or independent. And those aren’t bad traits, but they do get a bit in the way when Jesus is asking us to drop our nets and follow him. We want to ask “But why, Jesus, why should I follow you?” But Matthew tells us that the disciples did it “immediately,” with no hesitation, with no backwards glance. And we might ask why, why did they drop everything to follow?

Our family used to go on “get lost rides” when I was a kid. It was our way of adding some adventure, a get away, on an otherwise ordinary day. We’d all pile into the car and head out into the country, sometimes wooded, sometimes fields, depending on where we were living at the time. My sister and I would get to pick the direction we took when we came to an intersection. We’d go places I’d never seen before, my sister and I (and probably Mom, too) thoroughly lost, but always trusting that Dad knew the way home no matter where we were. And you know, he always did.

The disciples remind me of that. They themselves not really knowing where they would be going with Jesus, but somehow trusting that he knew the way to go, so they just left everything and followed. All Jesus says is “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” And like that, (snap), they dropped the nets they were casting and followed him. We aren’t told anything beyond that. Matthew doesn’t elaborate. The difficult thing about this story for me is the fishermen's unflinching, immediate decision to follow this man. Where’s the rational "let’s think this over," or "I’ll get back to you?" We have no indication that they had counted the cost. We’re not even sure that they stopped long enough to say goodbye to family and friends. They just up and leave everything connected to their life. Immediately and with no looking back. To get back to the question of why they did it, the answer is simple. Almost too simple. Because it was Jesus. It was Jesus who told them to follow.

Yesterday at the presbytery meeting, we heard a woman preach on this same Scripture passage. While her sermon went a different direction than mine, I did come away with this thought. When the disciples put down their nets to follow Jesus, the nets they put down, cast aside, were not just fishing nets. They were also safety nets. They represented what was safe and familiar to these men. They were a source of income and stability, a link to their family and their homes. No, they were not just nets to catch fish. But once they were put down the disciples had empty hands. Now they could use those hands to catch people, to heal them, to feed them, to hold them. We have to come with our safety nets put down, cast aside, so that we have empty hands to offer to Christ so he can fill them again with the tools we need to help others.

“Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” Notice though that he doesn’t tell these fishermen, “Follow me and you can be shepherds for my sheep,” or “Follow me and you can be a soldier in God’s army.” No, he meets them where they are, who they are. These fishermen will now fish-for-men. It is right here that we get a glimpse of the way Jesus works in the world. He doesn’t start a conversation with them about farming or shepherding, even though those will be metaphors he later uses. No, because he is speaking with fishermen, he speaks to them in their own terms, not what he knows best, but what they know best.

A professor of mine at Columbia Seminary played around with some of the other calls Jesus might have extended. She offers these.

Follow me, you miners, and I will make you mine for people!

Follow me, you bankers and tellers, and I will make you bank human life!

Follow me, you builders, and I will make you builders of God’s house!

Follow me, you shopkeepers, and I will make you keepers of God’s shop!

Follow me, you clowns and fools, and I will make you fools for God!

Follow me, you landscape workers, and I will make you landscapers of life!

Follow me, you cooks and chefs and butchers and bakers, and I will make you season and leaven and serve and preserve more than food!

Follow me, you instrumentalists, and I will make you instrumental to others!

Follow me, you friends, you parents, you children, you siblings, you neighbors, you strangers, you hosts and guests, and I will make you all these things—to every other human being!

It’s not as hard as you might think. Christ always starts where we already are.

Take a deep breath, put down your nets…and follow, simply because it is Christ who is asking us to do so.

[i] Brueggemann, Cousar, Gaventa, Newsome. Texts for Preaching: A Lectionary Commentary Based on the NRSV-Year A. Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, 1995.

[ii] ibid.