Sermon: Unmanageable God

Genesis 1:1-2:3; Matthew 28:16-20

Unmanageable God

James Sledge                                                               June 7, 2020, Trinity Sunday

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, ²the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind(or perhaps Spirit) from God swept over the face of the waters. ³Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. So opens Genesis and the Bible. So opens a lot of religious silliness as well.

For some people, the literal account found here becomes a critical item of faith, one that prohibits them for believing in things such as evolution. Other Christians, some in reaction to the first group, insist the story is merely symbolic, describing a well ordered cosmos. Or they dismiss it entirely, a primitive tale with no real bearing on the modern world.

I think all these views miss the mark, in part because religion, both conservative and progressive, has a tendency to become utilitarian. Religion becomes about getting something that I want. Perhaps its a certainty that I’ll go to heaven when I die. Perhaps it’s a sense of spiritual well-being that has eluded me despite buying into the competitive, success oriented, consumerist version of life that our culture peddles.

When religion is utilitarian, it’s a resource to be used, a way to get those things I want. That’s true if I’m a conservative who needs a list of things I must believe in and affirm so I get to heaven. And it’s true if I’m a progressive looking for spiritual purpose and meaning. In either case I decide what I need from religion, from the Bible, from God. In essence, I determine what God’s purpose is.

We all witnessed one of the most crass examples of utilitarian religion this past week when President Trump stood in front of St. John’s Church and waved a borrowed bible. It was brazen and shameless in enlisting religion, enlisting God to the president’s cause. But most all of us engage in more subtle, nuanced forms of enlisting God to our causes.

But back to our story from Genesis. When this story was written, it was, in part, meant to undermine utilitarian notions of God. The ancient Middle East was filled with gods; every kingdom had at least one of their own. These deities ensured that the crops produced and the herds grew. And when conflicts between kingdom erupted, they were viewed as power contests between gods, holy war in the truest sense of the term.

And Israel’s God had lost. The Babylonians had conquered them and carried all the important citizens into exile. Never mind prophecies promising an endless throne of David. Never mind assurances that Jerusalem would stand forever. Now there was nothing; the great city, the palace, Solomon’s magnificent Temple, all lay in ruins. Their God had failed them.

Sermon: Every One of Us Afire

1 Corinthians 12:1-13

Every One of Us Afire

James Sledge                                                                           May 31, 2020 – Pentecost

Some years ago, I had the chance to visit Corinth, Greece. Corinth sits on the Isthmus of Corinth which connects the Peloponnese peninsula with the rest of mainland Greece. This location made it a thriving seaport in ancient times. A canal has allowed ships to traverse the isthmus since the late 1800s, but in ancient time the Greeks and then Romans devised various methods to create on overland shortcut such as rolling ships across on logs.

As often happens with seaports, Corinth was a cosmopolitan city with people from all over, many of them hoping to make it big there. It had reputation as a place where upward mobility was easier than in much of the Roman Empire. In that sense, Corinth was not totally unlike America. It was a land of opportunity, a place where even former slaves might become respected figures in the community. There was a sense of freedom and possibility.

No doubt the cosmopolitan, Gentile populace of Corinth posed challenges for the Apostle Paul when he first arrived and began a Christian congregation there. His converts often weren’t familiar with Hebrew ideas of a covenant community that cared for the least of these, notions which permeated the teachings of Jesus. Jesus doesn’t fit easily into a worldview of advancement and upward mobility, a world view that often sees those left behind as failures.

Most all we know about the congregation in Corinth comes from the letters Paul wrote. When Paul founded a church, he didn’t stay on as pastor. He was a missionary, always looking to spread the gospel, but he still tried to care for his congregations, visiting them occasionally, getting reports from travelers whenever he could, and communicating by letter.

Based on Paul’s letters, the Corinthian church was an exuberant, energetic place. People were excited about their new faith and the experience of the Spirit. But, as often happens with religion, they tended to view their faith through the lens of culture. American Christianity has become so individualized that might well be unrecognizable to Jesus, and the Corinthians saw their faith as another aspect of competitive, upward mobility.

Sermon video: Faithful Witnesses (from the early "informal" service)

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Sermon: Faithful Witnesses

Acts 1:6-14

Faithful Witnesses

James Sledge                                                                                                   May 26,2020

“Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” It seems like it would be a good time. Jesus had been raised from the dead a little over a month earlier. He’d been hanging out with the disciples, talking more with them about the kingdom of God, and telling them to stay in Jerusalem awaiting the promise of the Father… waiting to be baptized with the Holy Spirit.

Something big was about to happen. Maybe now God was going to straighten things out, set the world right. And by the time the two volume set of Luke-Acts gets written, likely over fifty years later, the world looked like it needed even more straightening out. The Romans had completely destroyed the city of Jerusalem, its magnificent temple totally obliterated. Jews and Christians alike had fled to various parts of the Mediterranean world.

By that time, the break between Judaism and Christianity was pretty much complete. Christians were no longer a sect within Judaism, and so they no longer enjoyed the special religious exemption that Rome gave to the Jews for being an ancient religion. And then there was the problem with that basic faith statement, “Jesus is Lord.” Rome said Caesar was Lord, that the emperor was a god. Christians were clearly trouble makers, a threat to the social fabric that held the empire together.

Lord, this would be a really good time to restore the kingdom, to straighten things out, to make life easier for the faithful. It’s a mess, God. Do something! But Jesus answers, “It is not for you to know the times and periods that the Father has set… But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses…”

Fast forward nearly two thousand years, and it’s not hard to sympathize with those early disciples. Lord, this would be a really good time to do something. Many scientists are worried that we are perilously close to a tipping point on climate change, if it isn’t already too late. COVID-19 is decimating communities, sending countless people into poverty, and exposing our broken healthcare system. The partisan divide in our country has become so extreme that even the pandemic cannot overcome it, and wearing a mask in public, a simple act of loving one’s neighbor, has somehow been politicized.

Sermon video: Learning to Love Back

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Sermon video: Easter Life

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Sermon: Learning to Love Back

John 14:15-21

Learning to Love Back

James Sledge                                                                                                   May 17, 2020

Occasionally, when I first read a scripture passage I might preach on, thoughts just pop into my head. As I read today’s gospel, I thought of the “new commandment” Jesus had given to his followers moments earlier, “that you love one another.” Somewhat less obviously, I recalled a quote from Anne Lamott. about learning to love back.

For those who’ve never read her, Lamott is a novelist who may be better known for her bestselling writings on faith. These contain a mixture of her often strange personal story, wry wit and humor, and sometimes irreverent thoughts on how faith has helped her navigate it all.

With a little effort I found the quote I had recalled in one of her books. She was discussing her then fourteen year-old son, Sam, and the struggles of raising a teenager as a single mom who is a recovering addict. She spoke of Sam’s religious sensibilities, how he believes that Jesus is true, how he prays, even prays with his mom at bedtime on occasions. But he hates church, even the quirky little Presbyterian congregation Lamott belongs to. She writes:

Then why do I make him go? Because I want him to. We live in bewildering, drastic times, and a little spiritual guidance never killed anyone. I think it’s a fair compromise that every other week he has to come to the place that has been the tap for me: I want him to see the people who loved me when I felt most unlovable, who have loved him since I first told them that I was pregnant, even though he might not want to be with them. I want him to see their faces. He gets the most valuable things I know through osmosis.

Also, he has no job, no car, no income. He needs to stay in my good graces.

While he lives in my house, he has to do things my way. And there are worse things for kids than to have to spend time with people who love God. Teenagers who do not go to church are adored by God, but they don’t get to meet people who love God back. Learning to love back is the hardest part of being alive.[1]

I think she’s right. We’re all born needing to be loved. The desire for it is innate. Infants and young children who do not receive love struggle to thrive. But we are not born knowing how to love in return, to love back, and many of us never learn to do it all that well. The world is full of people who always take a lot more love than they give. Countless marriages and relationships fall apart because the balance of giving and receiving love gets so badly out of whack, because so many of us have not learned well that hardest part of being alive.

Sermon: Easter Life

Acts 2:42-47; John 10:1-10

Easter Life

James Sledge                                                                                                               May 3, 2020

Most of you have likely seen news reports about churches that insist on having in-person worship during this time of stay at home. I saw a newscast where a reporter interviewed members as they drove away from one such worship service. A woman said that she wasn’t worried about catching the virus because, “I’m covered in the blood of Jesus.”

The reporter asked her several more questions, and she seemed happy to talk with him. But her answer to nearly every question ended, “I’m covered in the blood of Jesus.”

If you’re like me and didn’t grow up singing hymns such as “Nothing but the Blood of Jesus” or “Precious, Precious Blood of Jesus,” you may not be familiar with this graphic, formulaic notion of how Jesus’ death saves and protects people.  But our own hymnal can also be formulaic, if not so graphic. On Easter Sunday we sang, “But the pains which he endured… our salvation have procured.”

I’m not sure why religious formulas are so popular. A friend remarked about the “tendency for faith to degrade into magic” when he shared a Washington Post article about a Virginia pastor who died from COVID-19 despite his certainty that God would protect him. I suppose that magic has a certain appeal over the difficulties, nuances, and messiness of biblical faith. Believe this and you are saved. Say this and all will be well. Abracadabra.

But if Christian faith were formulas and magic, the Bible would be a pamphlet, not over a thousand pages of stories, poems, letters, teachings, sayings, etc. Jesus wouldn’t have spoken in parables and vivid metaphors. He would have just given us the magic words. Abracadabra.

Sermon video: On Our Way to Emmaus

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Sermon: On Our Way to Emmaus

Luke 24:13-35

On Our Way to Emmaus

James Sledge                                                                                                   April 26, 2020

On the day of that very first Easter, two disciples headed to the village of Emmaus. No one knows exactly where that is. Various places have been suggested, but none is certain. Maybe it’s just as well.

In our day, Emmaus has become a metaphorical destination, one associated with spiritual awakenings. You can find spiritual retreats described as Emmaus walks, and there is an intense, three day retreat for spiritual renewal and formation called Walk to Emmaus, a Protestant adaptation of the Catholic Cursillo movement.

But in Luke’s gospel, I don’t know that Emmaus is really a destination at all. It may simply be a place to spend the night on the way somewhere else. A stop on the way to some place that isn’t Jerusalem, that isn’t about pain and betrayal and loss.

Those disciples aren’t on a spiritual journey. They’re on a journey away from the cross and the grave. Their hopes have been dashed. They’re shocked and stunned, still  grieving their loss. They don’t know what they need but they know it isn’t in Jerusalem.

Some of you know that I’m one of many mourning the death from COVID-19 of singer-songwriter John Prine. A line from one of his songs that I’ve played a lot lately could easily have been uttered by these two disciples headed for anywhere but Jerusalem. “Just give me one thing that I can hold on to. To believe in this living is just a hard way to go.”[1]

Curiously, these two disciples have already heard the report from women who visited the graveyard early that morning. They heard of an empty tomb and angels who said Jesus was alive, but it had not mattered. I don’t know if that was simply about men not believing women or if their sense of grief and loss was so overwhelming nothing could break through. Whatever it was, they were headed to Emmaus, to anywhere but Jerusalem.

Love Your Neighbor. Wear Your Mask

I went for a run this morning along one of the many trails we are blessed to have in the DC area. I was far from alone. There were a good many people out walking, running, biking, roller blading, etc. I was not surprised by the numbers, but I was a little surprised at how few of them were wearing masks.

I’m sure the reasons for this were varied. They are a little inconvenient. I find them especially annoying for running. They interfere with my breathing (though perhaps this simulates altitude training?). But I’ve read of one study showing how the slipstream effect causes runners to leave a trail of droplets floating 30 feet in their wake. For cyclists, it’s 60 feet. So I wear the mask. I would hate to unknowingly infect someone else.

I imagine there are still those who don’t yet understand that masks are not for protecting you but for protecting others. However I see people online proudly broadcasting their refusal to wear a mask, couching it in terms of personal freedom that won’t be taken from them. Curiously, some of these same people claim to be conservative Christians, yet there is something profoundly un-Christlike about elevating one’s personal freedom above the good of the other.

Jesus is clear that following him involves self denial. He is just as clear that loving God is inseparable from loving your neighbor as yourself. To declare, “My neighbor be damned; I’m not wearing any mask,” seems fundamentally at odds with the core of the Christian life.

If anything, wearing a mask in these days of pandemic is a relatively easy and painless way to embody love of neighbor, to enflesh Jesus’ call to faithful discipleship. Do good. Love your neighbor. Wear your mask.

Sermon video: Unfinished Business

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