Sermon for Sept. 6 - All God's Children: Risking It All for "Them"

Matthew 25:31-46 is Jesus' last public teaching prior to his arrest. He describes a judgment at his return in which righteous and unrighteous are separated like sheep from goats, all of them judged by what they have or haven't done to care for "the least of these." All the nations are gathered for this judgment, but "nations" seems to actually describe the non-Christian Gentiles who will be targets of the Church's evangelism efforts. Heard in this light, Jesus' words have something much more to say beyond care for those in need.

Sermon for September 6.mp3

Musings on the Daily Lectionary

After Pilate has sentenced Jesus to death, he hands him over to the soldiers for crucifixion. In Mel Gibson's movie, The Passion of the Christ, the abuse Jesus endures is depicted as something beyond imagination, more than anyone could endure. When I saw that movie I wondered if Gibson believed that Jesus' suffering had to be beyond comparison so that it would be sufficient to atone for our sins. But that's certainly not what I see in today's reading from Mark. Rather I see a group of soldiers who decide to have a bit of fun with someone arrested as a threat to national security. And the antics they use are not so different from those used by the soldiers holding terror suspects at Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq.

When I view this scene, I do not see Jesus enduring superhuman suffering. Rather I see him entering into the all too typical unhumaninty and cruely that humans inflict on one another. Nazi death camps, the killing fields of Southeast Asia, genocide in Serbia, Darfur, Rwanda, and countless other places; the list goes on and on. And though we Americans like to think of ourselves as above such things, Abu Ghraib and our willingness to use torture show how easy it is to justify the very sort of behavior we recoil from when we see Jesus suffer it.

When humans are afraid, they will resort to all sorts of uncivil behaviors. Our fears often evolve into anger and venom. Surely Jesus felt fear as he faced his own torture and death. After all he begged God to "remove this cup from me." But faced with the sort of cruelty and inhumanity that powers so typically use to maintain that power, he never lashed back. Somehow he was able to trust that God was still in control and would vindicate him in the end.

It is admittledly very difficult to employ Jesus' method at the level of national security. Even if I can "turn the other cheek" towards violence done to me, how am I to respond to the innocent suffering of others that I might be able to prevent? Still, we seem to find it all too easy to dismiss Jesus' call to non-violence. In America especially, we embrace guns and "the right to protect ourselves" with scarcely a thought as to how strange that sounds coming from someone who claims to be a follower of Jesus.

I suppose that people will continue to encounter cruelty, torture, and horrible deaths until God's reign fully comes. But for the life of me I can't understand why a great many Christians can so casually embrace and endorse such behavior as long as it is aimed at "the enemy." The enemy; you remember them, the ones Jesus told us to love.

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary

In today's reading from Mark, Jesus is on trial before Pilate, the Roman governor of Judea. Pilate is willing to let Jesus go, but the priests stir up the crowd to ask for Barabbas instead. Now this passage has too often been used to "blame" the Jews for Jesus' death. But the fact that the people get what they want, freeing Barabbas rather than Jesus, doesn't strike me as a particularly Jewish issue. Rather, I think this a universal human problem. All too often, what we want turns out to be a poor guide for what is right, best, etc.

We Americans are especially partial to "the will of the people" being a good thing. And I agree that the American system of government is a stroke of true genius. (I should add that I believe the founding fathers were extremely wise in going with a democratic republic rather than a true democracy.) But the checks and balances that are a part of our government are there in large part because our founders realized that what people want is not always the best way to go. In fact, they had a lot less faith in the people that we tend to, as witnessed by the fact that our constitution did not originally allow for the direct election of US Senators. And they did not expect those in Congress simply to parrot the desires of their constituents. They hoped they would do what was best and right.

So how are we to know what it right and best? If we accept the notion that what we want may not be the most helpful guide, where do we turn? My tradition has always insisted that the Bible is our best help here. Is the course of action we desire consistent with the message of the Bible? And no proof-texting allowed. I'm talking about the overall message of the Bible.

But being led by Scripture is no small task. We are all prone to notice those parts that agree with us and conveniently ignore the parts that don't. This means that we would all do well to listen to the interpretation of the larger Christian community, not just folks who think just like us.

Whew! Being faithful ends up being a lot of work.

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary

Today's reading from the book of James so troubled Martin Luther that he argued against James being in the Bible. (The Reformation included a debate about what books were legitimately a part of the Bible and what had slipped in inappropriately. A quick comparison of a Catholic Bible and one in Presbyterian church will reveal the outcome of this debate.) Martin Luther, who championed the notion of "salvation by grace through faith" and not by works, didn't like the way James highlighted works.



The tension between faith and works may be one of the more difficult to keep in balance for a lot of Christians. Is being a Christian primarily about what you believe or about what you do? Luther worried that a focus on works made people think they had earned or merited salvation, undermining his and most of Protestantism's understanding of God's love freely given in Jesus. But Christians have often done horrible damage to the reputation of the faith by their failure to live in ways even remotely resembling what Jesus taught. The stereotyped depiction of Christians as hypocrites arises directly from this.



Not surprisingly, I've always loved my tradition's attempt to deal with this tension. For Calvin, the Christian life grows out of a profound sense of gratitude. The more one realizes the stunningly abundant grace and love so freely given, the more one wants to say "Thank you," with his or her life.



There's a scene at the end of the movie Saving Private Ryan that captures this perfectly. The former Private Ryan, now a grandfather, walks with his family through one of the many military cemeteries that dot France. Among the neat rows and rows of white crosses and stars of David, Ryan finds the grave of the captain who died saving his life, and he falls down beside it weeping. When his wife seeks to comfort him he says to her, "Tell me I've lived a good life. Tell me I've live a good life." He knew that his "Thank you" could never fully repay the debt of gratitude he owed.



If we experiened "salvation" as profoundly as Private Ryan had experienced his, perhaps we would be as motivated as he had been to "live a good life."



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Musings on the Daily Lectionary

I read Simon Critchley's op-ed piece, "Coin of Praise" in yesterday's NY Times just before I read today's lectionary texts. http://happydays.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/08/30/in-cash-we-trust/ Here is a part of it. "To push this a little further, we might say that in the seemingly godless world of global finance capitalism, money is the only thing in which we really must have faith. Money is the one, true God in which we all believe. It is this faith that we celebrate in our desire for commodities, in the kind of fetishistic control that they seem to have over us. It’s not so much that we revere the things that money can buy. Rather, we venerate the money that enables us to buy those things. In the alluring display of shiny brands that cover the marketplace, it is not so much branded objects that we desire, but rather those objects insofar as they incarnate a quantifiable sum of money."

I found this rather thought provoking, especially in light of today's reading from James. "For if a person with gold rings and in fine clothes comes into your assembly, and if a poor person in dirty clothes also comes in, and if you take notice of the one wearing the fine clothes and say, 'Have a seat here, please,' while to the one who is poor you say, 'Stand there,' or, 'Sit at my feet,' have you not made distinctions among yourselves, and become judges with evil thoughts?" James, along with Jesus, takes a fairly dim view of earthly riches and the efforts to acquire it. In one place Jesus goes so far as to say, "But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation." A "woe" is the opposite of a blessing, in essence, a curse.

Noted Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann has said that we chase so hard after money because we have bought into what he calls "the myth of scarcity" rather than trusting in generous provisions of a loving God. And while I would agree with those who say that some sort of capitalism is superior to any other economic system yet devised, it is not without significant problems and dangers. Whether it be the sort of blind faith in "the market" that allowed regulators, bankers, and financiers to drive the world's economy off the cliff, the tendency to value people based on how much money they have, or the idolatry of self that claims I am responsible for all that I have, unfettered capitalism is fraught with potential to corrupt both the individual and society.

I have watched with interest as the recent political debate has found a new boogieman, "socialism." Presumably we should all run screaming in horror from any notion of socialism because it is some innate form of evil. But of course Social Security and Medicare are "socialist" styled programs. And a quick read of Acts' description of the early Church will find a group that would conform to many definitions of socialism.

It seems to me that in tough economic times our anxieties and fears grow. In such a climate, the "myth of scarcity" becomes all the more attractive, and we are driven to protect what is ours. But perhaps such tough times could also be a call for us to examine ourselves and see where our true faith lies; in money, in ourselves, or in the gracious promises of abundant life freely giving by God.

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary

Two Sundays in a row absent worship at Boulevard Presbyterian seems quite odd. But I've made good use of this week, getting a significant amount of a Bible study on Revelation written. I mention this because one of today's psalms reminded me of Revelation's depiction of the heavenly throne room. There was lots of worship filled with lots of singing. Psalm 66 has a similar feel. "Make a joyful noise to God, all the earth; sing the glory of his name; give to him glorious praise. Say to God, 'How awesome are your deeds! Because of your great power, your enemies cringe before you.' "

It's amazing how much singing of this sort is in Revelation. I suppose I've rarely noticed because, like many mainline Christians, I have a tendency to ignore the last book of the Bible, which unfortunately leaves this book in the hands of irresponsible and even dangerous interpreters. But Revelation isn't really a book of predictions. It is a call for Christians facing persecution and even death to continue embracing Psalm 66 despite all that. John of Patmos insists that his readers not accommodate their faith to Roman culture, but to trust that God is indeed the Lord of all the earth. Despite their fears, they should live and worship in ways that proclaim the God worshiped in Psalm 66.

I'm not sure that much of the worship I lead really appreciates this, but Revelation and probably Psalm 66 see worship as more "real" that the "real world" outside of worship. The heavenly worship depicted in Revelation is totally focused on God and the Lamb. And this is precisely the world we pray for when we ask for God's kingdom to come and will to be done on earth as it is already done in heaven. In other words, worship that is totally focused on God enacts what it will be like when the kingdom comes, enacts the fulfillment of human history.

And so perhaps the biggest question when it comes to how best to do worship is: How do we become so radically centered on God that we cannot help but offer thanks and praise and song? So how do we do that?

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary

In today's gospel, Jesus' arrest is drawing near and the tells his followers, "You will all become deserters; for it is written, 'I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered.' " But Peter insists otherwise. "Even though all become deserters, I will not." And even Jesus' prediction that Peter will deny him three times cannot shake Peter's insistence, nor that of the other disciples. " 'Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.' And all of them said the same."

Peter's arrogance has always struck me as a bit laughable. And yet I often engage in an arrogance of my own. I find it all too easy to see the shortcomings in others' faith lives while minimizing my own. I don't know if this is a particular problem for pastors or if it's just me. But to paraphrase Jesus' criticism of the Pharisees, it's easy to see the speck in another person's eye while missing the log in my own.

Does my ability to overlook my own faults rise to the level exhibited by Peter in today's reading? I'd like to think not. But it certainly is nice to know that even Peter's threefold denial of Jesus did not cost him his disciple's credentials. The risen Jesus still embraced him. I'm counting on that.

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary

Today's gospel contains Mark's account of "the Last Supper." This community meal became the centerpiece of Christian gatherings in the 1st century Church. I certainly had no appreciation for this fact growing us. I rarely saw what my tradition called "communion." We had communion four times a year. As a small child, it was both exotic and mysterious to me. The mysterious nature was compounded by the fact that I wasn't allowed to actually partipate in communion until I was middle school age.

Most Presbyterian churches celebrate the Lord's Supper more frequently nowadays, but I think we still struggle to recover any real sense of a community meal. Much of American, Protestant worship is highly personal and individualized. We gather with other people, but often we're still very much alone. It's similar to attending a movie or concert. Others are there, but we're not really there with them. Perhaps I'm overstating the situation a bit, but I think the analogy is appropriate.

In my childhood experience, church covered-dish suppers and picnics probably came a lot closer to the feel of 1st century Lord's Suppers than anything I experienced in worship. And I'm left to wonder why the congregations I've known find it easier to experience community outside of worship rather than in it.

When Jesus was about to leave his followers, he did not hold a class or preach a sermon. He gathered them together for a Passover meal, and this meal that celebrated God's salvation in the Exodus was reinterpreted to celebrate the new saving act of God in Christ. And I continue to wonder how we might better reclaim the community nature of friends and family gathered at table that is so integral to this celebration.

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary

In today's gospel reading, a tension that still exists in the church is on display. When a woman pours a jar of incredibly expensive ointment on Jesus (it was worth nearly a year's pay), some folks grumble about the extravagance, complaining that the money could have been better used to help the poor. I've heard similar arguments in congregations when some want to build a beautiful sanctuary and others say that the money would be better used to do ministry for those in need.

Jesus' response has troubled many over the years. "For you always have the poor with you, and you can show kindness to them whenever you wish; but you will not always have me." But there is no callousness toward the poor here, and I'm not sure if there's much general guidance contained in these words. Jesus' death on the cross is drawing near, and, as he says, this sort of opportunity for extravagance will soon cease to exist.

And so we are left with this tension between caring for others and displays made to honor God. Or perhaps not. One of the things I've discovered in my time as a pastor is that generous people tend to be generous on both sides of this tension. The same folks who give extravagantly to renovate the sanctuary often give sacrificially to fund mission.

Now I am aware of people who want to build sanctuaries as monuments to themselves. Perhaps this provides a key for dealing with this tension. Presumably the woman in the gospel reading engages in her extravagant act without ulterior motives. It is simply an act of love on her part. As Christians, we are called to love God and love neighbor. Perhaps if our extravagances can always be rooted in this love, we can live faithfully in the midst this tension.

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary

I was struck by the opening line of today's Old Testament reading before I ever got to the particulars of the situation. "Again the anger of the LORD was kindled against Israel..." I admit that I find such lines in Scripture troubling, as well as difficult to reconcile with my own image of a loving God. Although I am convinced that all our pictures of God are partial and incomplete, it can still be difficult to hold together some of the seemingly contradictory pictures of God found in the Bible.

On the one hand, these varied pictures of God do serve to overturn the God I create in my own image. They force me to see a God who is bigger than any image of mine, and who is beyond my ability to fully comprehend. And yet...

I suppose my struggle with this raises the issue of how one approaches, receives, and interprets Scripture. I've never thought of Scripture as being dictated by God, by I do firmly believe that it is inspired, that it reveals God to us in ways we could never discover on our own. But what exactly does it mean for something to be divinely inspired? How much of the writers' biases and preconceptions about God's nature mix in with this revelation?

Do the opening words of today's reading speak of a God who gets mad, who in anger lashes out at humans? Are an ancient writer's notions of God coloring these reports of what happens when people live contrary to God's desires? Difficult questions, but are they rendered moot in a day when fewer and fewer people view Scripture as authoritative? And is my own discomfort with "Again the anger of the LORD was kindled against Israel..." indicative of my own inability to accept scritpural authority over the idol of personal feelings?

Whew! Lots of questions without easy answers. No wonder some go the route of fundamentalism and others the route of "spiritual but not religious." But I guess I'll keep muddling along somewhere in between.

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We're all Hindus?

This fascinating little piece from Newsweek points out that many beliefs of American Christians aren't Christian at all, at least not the biblical Christianity of our ancestors. Even evangelical Christians stray fairly far from traditionally held, biblical views. Reincarnation anyone?

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Sunday Sermon - "All God's Children: It Comes via Strangers"