Sunday Sermon - "All God's Children: Invisible Jesus"

Musings on the Daily Lectionary

Today's gospel reading can't be many people's favorite. Jesus says, "If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea. If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off; it is better for you to enter life maimed than to have two hands and to go to hell, to the unquenchable fire."

It helps a little bit to realize how important hyperbole was in Hebrew and Middle Eastern thought and speech. Our culture is much more literal, and we tend not to be as adept at handling metaphor and imagery. Jesus doesn't expect anyone to cut off her hand. Rather, Jesus is talking about prioritizing, about a kind of single-mindedness when it comes to the life of discipleship.

Jesus presumes that there are things in life that get in the way, that distract us from living as we should. This is hardly an earth shattering notion, as anyone trying to lose weight or undertake a workout regimen can attest. The ice cream in the freezer calls and the blankets implore you to stay in bed a little longer rather than getting up for that run. Health and fitness require pushing those distractions aside.

Jesus speaks to two different sorts of distractions or stumbling blocks. (The Greek word for "stumble" is the root of our word "scandalize.") The first is when we trip up someone else, especially "little ones" which is used in the New Testament to refer to people who are new to the faith. Think of all the people who have been "turned off" to Church because of the actions of people in the Church. From general hypocrisy to unfriendliness to strangers, to overbearing moralism, there are a plethora of things that have tripped up little ones along the way. Strange that most folks I've talked to are more offended by the second sort of distraction Jesus talks about.

Perhaps the sound of cutting off one's hand just jars us. Maybe because we're so individualistic in our culture, this second sort of distraction is simply more up our alley. Or maybe it's that we have come to believe that the good life mean having it all, and we're troubled by this notion that we might need to give something up to be a part of what Jesus is up to.

In recent days I've watched news reports about the failure of a local school levy, and the fighting about health care reform. And in much that I've heard, I think I detect an inability by many folks to think communally, about the good of the other. And I've also heard people who obviously want the Medicare that they enjoy, want the goods and services that the government provides them, but rage against health care or other services they don't use. They seem unable to see beyond "how does this affect me?" and they seem completely unwilling to give up anything.

Maybe the reason Jesus' words bother us so has nothing to do with the offensive notion of self mutilation. Maybe we just don't like him telling us that the call to live by the ways of God's coming reign might mean some things we like or want might have to be pared.

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Sunday Sermon - "All God's Children: Invisible Jesus"

After the disciples argue about influence, about who's most important, Jesus plops a child down in their midst. Children in that day were regarded as non-entities, unimportant and invisible. And Jesus says that welcoming the unimportant and invisible is how we welcome him, and so welcome God.

Sermon for August 9.mp3

Musings on the Daily Lectionary

O sing to the LORD a new song;
Sing to the LORD, all the earth. (Psalm 96:1)

What's wrong with old songs? Why do we have to sing a new one? I vaguely recall watching a movie on the life of Peter Marshall on our TV when I was a child. At the time I didn't know that he was a famous preacher, and I don't remember very much about the movie. But I do recall a scene where he was struggling at some outdoor event early in his career, and the situation was salvaged when someone fired up the crowd by getting them to sing "Gimme that Old Time Religion." It wasn't a song I knew, but it had lines that went, "It was good enough for Hebrew children; it was good enough... And it's good enough for me."

We recently did a "hymn survey" in my congregation so we would have a good list of favorites to use for a "hymn sing" Sunday worship service. A few favorites were relatively new songs, but most were oldie goldies. I don't know, but I suspect that for many these favorites come from folk's childhood and youth, songs that were part of their Christian formation. Music is a very emotional part of life, and many of us have music both religious and secular that can immediately transport us to another time and place, that can conjure up all sorts of memories.

So what's wrong with old songs? Nothing. We need to sing old songs. We need connection to the traditions that have sustained faith over the years and centuries. But as the psalmist knows, we need new songs, too. A God who is "making all things new" can never be fully expressed using only the old and traditional. Our faith is aimed toward a "new heaven and a new earth," and it cannot be fully contained in what was "good enough" for some previous time.

A vital, lively faith must cast its vision in two directions, toward both the past and the future. Traditions from the past form a foundation for us so that we can continue to move toward God's future. And as we catch glimpses of that new day, we will need to "sing to the LORD a new song."

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary

"The country's going to pot." No doubt you've heard such sentiments expressed. Perhaps you've even felt that way yourself at times. I know I have. But apparently things have been going south for a long time. Consider the opening of Psalm 12.

Help, O LORD, for there is no longer anyone who is godly; the faithful have disappeared from humankind. They utter lies to each other; with flattering lips and a double heart they speak.

Clearly there are times in any people's history when things are going relatively well, and there are times when they are less so. There are times when a people display what Abraham Lincoln called "the better angels of our nature," and there are times when we display our worst, when we are petty, greedy, self absorbed, and apparently devoid of ethics and morality.

But even if we have reason think our time is a bad one, that does not mean all is lost. I have often been struck by how people of faith can be some of the most pessimistic folks. They can be sure that doom and gloom are just around the corner because of our failings. It's as though they believe that we have the ultimate say.

The psalmist knows better. Despite the pessimistic assessment of a world where "the faithful have disappeared," the psalmist still trusts the God "will rise up," that "the promises of the LORD are promises that are pure."

My own Reformed Tradition has always emphasized the sovereignty of God, but we often seem to forget about it. But when we remember that this is God's world, and God is sovereign over time and history, we can trust that despite very real troubles, God's purposes will be worked out.

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Sunday Sermon - "All God's Children: Acting Neighborly"

Musings on the Daily Lectionary

The opening words of today's psalm are hardly startling.

For God alone my soul waits in silence;
from him comes my salvation.
He alone is my rock and my salvation,
my fortress; I shall never be shaken.

The idea of God as absolute sovereign, as the one in whom our hopes ultimately rest, is basic to Christianity as well as Judaism and Islam. And what person of faith would argue with it? God is our rock, a mighty fortress.

But in practice most of us don't want to leave all that much up to God. We may entrust God with our salvation when that term is defined very narrowly to mean what happens to us after we die. But when it comes to most everything else in life, our theology often runs more along the lines of "God helps those who help themselves." A lot of people think that quote is from the Bible. It isn't. And while I think the Bible expects us to do our part, I think that this theology really expects very little of God and trusts mostly in ourselves.

I know that I have trouble really trusting God. I struggle with how to integrate God into my daily life. Like a lot of folks, I find it easy to let God be a God of the gaps, filling in those places where I don't have answers or need a little help. But really trusting in God to set things right, to bring salvation, not some "pie in the sky by and by" type salvation, but the biblical sort that is real, earthy, and tangible? I have more trouble with that.

I think this highlights one of the difficulties for mainline Christians in an era when the culture has stopped supporting us. One of the reasons most traditional Christian denominations are loosing members is because, for many folks, what we're selling seems so disconnected from day to day living.

What does is it mean to wait for God, to trust in God alone for salvation, when salvation means more than life after death?

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Sunday Sermon - "All God's Children: Acting Neighborly"

The parable of The Good Samaritan is Jesus' answer to, "And who is my neighbor?" To a questioner looking for the limits and boundaries of who he must love, Jesus tells a story of a hated outsider who loves abundantly. And then Jesus says, "Go and do likewise."

Sermon for August 2.mp3

Musings on the Daily Lectionary

Coming from North Carolina and growing up a Presbyterian there, I am very familiar with a beautiful place in the mountains known as Montreat. There is a Presbyterian college there, but I and many others know it primarily as a mountain retreat center - hence the name. This time of year there are youth conferences going on there, and I saw on facebook that this week's conference had 1089 youth in attendance. Youth groups come from all over the country to the six weeks of conferences, and it is an incredible experience.

Considering that it is a youth conference, open only to high school ages, any participant 's tenure is fairly brief. Certainly people who came as youth come back as counselors and such, but there is a steady stream of new youth attending for the first time each year. And so you might think that there would be no way for any traditions to become entrenched the way that sometimes happens in local congregations, but you would be wrong.

I was at the conference some years ago when there was a great deal of upset over the expulsion of the song "Star Trekking" from the morning "energizers." It seems the powers that be had decided that one of the verses, "We come in peace; shoot to kill," was inappropriate. Many youth were outraged, and in a compromise, conference leaders allowed the song to be done at an outdoor event later in the week.

Traditions are sometimes thought of as the purview of old fogies, but traditions and rituals are effective ways of binding people together. There is a reason that fraternities, sports teams, sororities, and clubs have joining rituals.

I think it is important to remember how powerful rituals are we we hear Jesus speaking to the Pharisees in today's gospel. Many of the rituals used by these Pharisees helped them maintain their Jewish identity in a world that was not always very accommodating to them. And if you've ever attended a Friday night Shabbat meal in a Jewish home, you may have encountered some of the ritual washing Jesus speaks against. But it may have seemed a wonderful ritual to you.

We all need rituals. The early Christian Church, as it became more and more Gentile and abandoned its old, Jewish rituals, had to replace them with new rituals. Rituals of Baptism and the Lord's Supper were first. The bringing of bread and wine for the Supper eventually evolved into a ritual of offerings in worship. And even the most avant-guard, contemporary mega-church has a slew of rituals in place.

The issue - and I think this is Jesus' real concern - is whether or not our rituals help or hinder our life with God. Rituals that bind us together as community are helpful, except when they also work to exclude people who aren't like us. Rituals that help us maintain a distinct identity can be extremely helpful, as long that identity is Christ-like.

There can be a temptation when trying to renew or revitalize a congregation simply to throw out rituals without considering their purpose. I suppose this is a natural reaction to an opposite tendency to hang on to rituals long after they've outlived their usefulness. But rather than thinking of rituals and traditions as good or bad per se, we might do well to consider how ours contribute to or detract from "building up the body" and helping people to grow in their walk with Jesus.

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary

Reading the synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), you get the impression that Jesus' reputation as a healer was what really drew in the crowds. You can see that in today's gospel. When Jesus shows up - fresh from walking on the water - people immediately recognize him. "And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the market-places, and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed."

It's a dramatic picture of folks clamoring just to get near Jesus, wanting nothing more than to touch him in hopes of being healed. Yet though Jesus makes his initial splash with these rather indiscriminate healings, we Christians seem to be know mostly for what we believe. And we fight mostly about what to believe. Some Christians are even sure that some other Christians aren't "saved" because they haven't gotten the formula quite right.

Yet in our gospel reading, folks who do nothing more than touch the fringe of Jesus' cloak are "saved." The term "saved" has taken on all sorts of religious meaning in the Church. But the Greek word that gets translated "saved" is the same word used to speak of those sick folks who touched Jesus and "were healed." In some gospel accounts where Jesus heals people he tells them, "Your faith has healed you," or "has made you well." Although in my copy of Luke Jesus tells a blind man whose sight he has just restored, "Your faith has saved you." But these distinctions are only in the English translation. In the original Greek, it's all the same word.

It seems that Jesus was a lot freer with his healing, with his salvation, that we in the Church sometimes want to be. Don't get me wrong. Jesus does call us to live and act in certain ways, to believe certain things. But he still runs around healing/saving folks at the drop of a hat. What's up with that?

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary

I've always been envious (and also a bit suspicious) of those who seem to have a very clear sense of what God wants them to do, of God's will for them. I say that because I often struggle to understand what God intends for me. Even with help and advice from a Spiritual Director, I often feel quite in the dark.

That makes today's reading in Acts especially interesting to me. In it we see Paul, who seems to have a direct line to God if anyone ever did, have one and perhaps two false starts as he seeks to travel about sharing the good news about Jesus. He is forbidden to go to Asia; exactly how is not said. And when he tries to go to Bithynia, the Spirit of Jesus stops him. Once again we don't hear exactly how this works. Finally, Paul has a vision (a dream perhaps?) of a man calling him to come over the Macedonia.

I am especially intrigued by the account of what follows. "When he had seen the vision, we immediately tried to cross over to Macedonia, being convinced that God had called us to proclaim the good news to them." Now perhaps I'm making something out of nothing here, but after this vision, Paul and his buddies are described as "being convinced that God had called us..." Being convinced doesn't sound like absolute certainty to me. It sounds like they would try to go to Macedonia, but if prevented, they would then conclude that they had misunderstood.

In my own faith life, I would like to have more certainty. A burning bush in the back yard would be nice; perhaps an angel or two coming to the office and laying out a vision for the congregation. But it doesn't seem to work that way. We are required to do our best to understand what God's call is and then act on it, realizing that God may redirect us when we've gotten our instructions mixed up.

For the life of me, I wouldn't do it this way if I was God, but I have to assume that God's methods are better than mine. And based on my reading of today's scripture, it seems that we need to be both bold and humble when it comes to answering God's call. We do need to act, to move, to step out based on what may often be a rather vague set of instructions and directions. Waiting for God to send us Mapquest directions that say, "Go 1 mile south, turn left, talk to the person..." will likely mean waiting a long time, maybe forever. But at the same time, we can't be arrogant when we think we have discerned God's will. We may head out on that journey only to prevented by the Spirit.

I once was told by someone in strategic planning that one of the most difficult steps for some groups is to stop planning and start doing. Maybe that's what's going on in Acts. We have to move forward while the destination is still a bit fuzzy, and trust that God will provide the mid-course corrections along the way.

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary

There's an old saying that "there are no atheists in foxholes." I doubt that is completely true, but being in dire circumstances certainly does cause many to turn toward God. I think this is because dire circumstances can have a way of forcing us to acknowledge what limited creatures we actually are.

My own theological tradition has long held that we humans are prone to think more highly of ourselves than we ought. And the American ethos sometimes seems to encourage this. We celebrate the self-made man or woman and rugged individualism. We encourage the idea that everyone should pull themselves up by their own bootstraps. But in a foxhole, facing cancer, at the tragic death of a loved one, and in countless other situations, we come face to face with the truth that much is out of our control, that we are not nearly so powerful or substantial as we had thought.

The Psalms are filled with the prayers of those who realized that they cannot make it without help. Psalm 57 begins, "Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me, for in you my soul takes refuge; in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge, until the destroying storms pass by." Such psalms are not only cries of desperation, but they are theological statements insisting that we are dependent on God.

Anne Lamott has said that her two primary prayers are "Help me, help me, help me," and "Thank you, thank you, thank you." Her prayers seem to echo this notion of dependence on God, perhaps the "Thank you" even more so. It can be easy, once the storm is over, to reconstruct the illusion of self-sufficiency and control, and forget the "Thank you."

I wonder if women aren't better at both these prayers than men. The male ego can be a real barrier to faith. The old joke about men not stopping for directions has some truth to it. We don't like to admit we need help, which makes it hard to say, "Thanks."

"Help me, help me, help me. Thank you, thank you, thank you." I think I'm going to borrow Anne Lamott's prayers and make them my own.

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