Sunday Sermon - "Listening to Jesus"

The heavenly voice on the mountaintop says to Jesus' disciples,"Listen to him!" This clearly refers back to Jesus saying, deny yourself, take up the cross, lose your life, etc. But I'm not sure we can listen unless we are first sure of God's love for us.

Feb 14 sermon.mp3

Luke 9:28-43a

Listening to Jesus

James Sledge -- February 14, 2010 – Transfiguration Sunday

Some of you may be familiar with French writer and philosopher Albert Camus. Perhaps you read The Stranger in a high school or college literature. Camus was an agnostic and a pacifist, but became part of the French Underground during WWII after witnessing Nazi atrocities. Though agnostic, he was once asked to speak to a group of Christians. Speaking out of the horrors of World War II and the Holocaust he said this.

What the world expects of Christians is that Christians should speak out, loud and clear; and that they should voice their condemnation in such a way that never a doubt, never the slightest doubt, could arise in the heart of the simplest man. That they should get away from abstraction and confront the blood-stained face history has taken on today. The grouping we need is a grouping of men resolved to speak out clearly and to pay up personally… Perhaps we cannot prevent this world from being a world in which children are tortured. But we can reduce the number of tortured children. And if you don’t help us, who else in the world can help us?…

It may be, I am well aware, that Christianity will answer negatively. Oh, not by your mouths, I am convinced. But it may be, and this is even more probable, that Christianity will insist on maintaining a compromise or else on giving its condemnations the obscure form of the encyclical. Possibly it will lose all the virtue of revolt and indignation that belonged to it long ago. In that case Christians will live and Christianity will die.[1]

I stumbled across this quote in a book on Christian doctrine, in a chapter entitled “Are You a Christian? The Doctrine of Sanctification.” Shirley Guthrie, the Presbyterian theologian who wrote this book, says that Camus, an unbeliever, wants Christians to take seriously our own doctrine of sanctification. Sanctification is about how we, realizing that God has lovingly forgiven us and adopted us as children, begin to live as God’s children, letting the Holy Spirit work within us to transform us so that we act more and more like true children of God.

I think that Luke is talking about the very same thing when he gives his version of Jesus transfigured on the mountaintop. Luke writes his gospel some years after that of Mark and Matthew. Luke writes in a time when early Christians are just beginning to wrestle with the fact that Jesus’ anticipated quick return is going to take awhile. Luke writes at a time with the Church is becoming less and less Jewish, more and more Gentile. As the first generation of Jesus’ followers is beginning to die off, Luke uses Jesus on the mountaintop to help answer the question of what it means to be a Christian.

Although he gives a very similar account to that of the Transfiguration found in Matthew and Mark, there are interesting differences. Luke links this event to the sayings that precede it, where Jesus tells those who want to be his followers that they must deny self and take up the cross, that if they want to save their life they will lose it, but if they lose their life for Jesus’ sake they will save it. Only Luke tells us what Jesus talked about with Elijah and Moses; his impending “departure” at Jerusalem. And only Luke links the Transfiguration so closely with the disciples’ failure to heal a young boy and Jesus’ exasperation with over this.

In the middle of all this the heavenly voice tells Peter, James, John, and us, “Listen to him!” Listen to him telling us about the cost of being his disciples, the need to embrace the cross and be willing to lose our own lives for Jesus’ sake. Listen to him talking with Moses and Elijah about his own journey to the cross, how the cross is the fulfillment of the Law and the Prophets. And listen to how upset he is with his followers for their failure to bring healing and wholeness to those who are suffering.

The other day in a staff meeting, we were talking about what sort of things the staff needed to be doing to help foster the renewal and change that is necessary for a congregation to stay healthy and vital. In the midst of our conversations Mary Ann, our organist, suggested that we needed to model risk taking.

I thought about this later as I was preparing this sermon. I thought about risk taking and about Jesus’ call for us to deny self, take up our cross, and lose our lives. And it struck me how utterly safe, secure, conventional, and nearly risk free that my life is.

I’m not going to get rich, but I’ve got a nice paycheck coming in every month. I have pretty good health insurance and a right nice retirement plan. Being a pastor may not be the high status job it was fifty years ago, but it’s not too shabby.

But what of crosses, self denial, and risk? Where is that? Is Jesus upset with me, calling me part of a faithless and perverse generation for my failure to help heal the world’s pain and suffering? Is it because of pastors like me, and Christians like me, that American Christianity is waning? Have we become precisely what Albert Camus prophesied, where individuals who say they are Christians are doing just fine but Christianity, that community of disciples who listen to and follow Jesus, is dying?

Lately I’ve been using a little book entitled The Orthodox Heretic and Other Impossible Tales in my personal devotions. Let me share with you one of those tales.

Once there was an old and learned priest who worked tirelessly in the streets of a city nestled deep in the heart of an empire ruled by an elderly king. This priest was greatly respected by all the people and would constantly be approached by those who needed help in all manner of issues.

The king of this vast empire had a young son who grew up hating the church. He was disgusted by what he perceived to be its hypocrisy and deception. Because of this deep hatred the young prince would often oversee the imprisonment of church leaders and order the break-up of church gatherings. But his actions also betrayed a deep jealousy. Indeed he particularly disliked the fact that there was a priest who received the people’s respect, that he believed was rightly due to him.

Why should the people be so deceived by this old fool? thought the prince. He is like so many of his type: a coldhearted liar who sells the people lies in order to live.

The prince harbored a burning desire to put a stop to the priest’s work, but he did not want to garner the hatred of the people. So he carefully devised a plan that he believed would expose the hypocrisy of the priest to everyone in the empire once and for all.

He is a poor man, thought the prince. I will offer him a great sum of money in exchange for a public confession his hypocrisy and the hypocrisy of the church.

So late one evening, under the cover of darkness, the prince visited the priest and, upon entering his home, said, “I have the power to reach every person in this kingdom through the printed press. For 10,000 rupees would you write a letter to be dispersed throughout the kingdom, in telegrams and newspapers, informing the people that you are nothing but a liar and a hypocrite?”

The priest was indeed a poor man who had been born into poverty and had known nothing but need all his life. He thought carefully for a few minutes before finally responding.

“I will do as you ask, but only under three conditions.”

“What are your conditions?” replied the prince.

“First, if I do this you must leave me and my church alone.”

“Yes,” said the prince.

Second, you must release those brothers and sisters of mine who are innocent of any crime.”

“It will be done,” replied the prince. “And your third stipulation?”

“Well,” said the priest after a great deal of thought, “10,000 rupees is a great deal of money and I am a poor man. You will have to give me time to raise it.”[2]

I can’t imagine acting like this priest, willing to ruin my own reputation in order to help others, even to pay for ruining it. How could I ever be this Christ-like? And no amount of encouraging or haranguing would likely change that. And therein lies the problem with sermons like this that encourage people to answer Jesus’ call to be like him, to deny self and take up the cross.

It seems to me that listening to Jesus, doing as he says, is not so much a matter of effort or trying harder. It’s a faith matter, a trust matter. I’m simply not so confident of God’s love and care as Jesus is. I’m not sure I matter enough to God that God will always be there for me. And so I have to watch out for myself.

God, show me your love once more. Let us experience that love that would risk a cross for our sakes. Embrace us in your love, that we may share it with others, living as the children of God Jesus calls us to be.

---

[1] Quoted in Shirley Guthrie, Christian Doctrine: Revised Edition (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1994) 330.

[2] Peter Rollins, The Orthodox Heretic and Other Impossible Tales (Brewster, Mass: Paraclete Press, 2009) 52-54.

Musings on the Daily Lectionary

Today's reading from Romans contains the famous line, "Vengeance is mine... says the Lord." Many times I've heard these words quoted to justify a demand for vengeance, be it the death penalty for a crime or some other form of retribution. But that's rather odd when you consider that Paul is encouraging exactly the opposite behavior.

The lead-in to the quote goes, "Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God." Paul doesn't doubt that there is true evil in the world, but he will leave it to God to sort all that out. We humans are to act as we have seen Jesus act, to "overcome evil with good." Paul even gives concrete suggestions such as feeding your enemy if he is hungry.

I'll be the first to admit that Paul's advice is very difficult to follow. Being kind to enemies isn't anything I want to do. It doesn't seem very practical either, but then neither does the cross. We Christians sometimes reduce the cross to a great sacrifice by Jesus that benefits us. But Jesus says we must embrace the way of the cross, and Paul says that the cross is God's wisdom and power on display.

All too often I find myself facing a dilemma. I want to be a Christian but I don't want to be Christ-like. I want to be a child of God but I don't want to act anything like the Son of God, who surely is supposed to be the model for all his brothers and sisters. No wonder people outside the church often think of us as hypocrites.

I wonder just how Christ-like I need to act in order to do something about that.

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary

Do not be conformed to this world,
but be transformed by the renewing of your minds,
so that you may discern what is the will of God --
what is good and acceptable and perfect.

These words from Paul's letter to Christians in Rome are well known to many. And I've heard many people affirm these words over the years. My own tradition speaks of how sin corrupts and distorts all people and institutions so that they all need to be transformed. We even speak of the Church as an agent of "Christ transforming culture."

However, in practice things often seem to work in the other direction. The increasingly polarized political landscape in our country is mirrored by increased polarization in my own denomination. And some of the same issues -- abortion and gay rights -- provide fault lines dividing groups who yell at one another but seldom listen to each other.

As a pastor, a religious professional, I find that I often measure myself by the standards of "this world." Moving to a bigger congregation is a step up the career ladder. Membership, attendance, and financial statistics are measures of my successes or failures. And I sometimes wonder if my motivations are any different from a bank manager or a company CEO. So much for being transformed.

I suppose these are the hazard of religious professionals everywhere, but I think we Americans have an added problem. Our tendency to think of America as a "Christian nation" can seem to put God's stamp of approval on our culture. Sometimes when I hear people talking about restoring America's Christian values by putting up displays of the 10 Commandments and returning prayer to the schools, I wonder if they suppose that 1950s America was the Kingdom on earth, that it was not a part of same world in Paul's warning, "Do not be conformed to this world."

Many people have noted over the centuries how faith tends to get domesticated by the powers that be, how it gets put into service supporting and propping up the status quo. And so a blessed, Christian nation embraced human slavery in the 19th century and government mandated racial discrimination in the 2oth. You can add your own examples for the 21st.

Curious that a faith focused on a Messiah regarded as so dangerous that the religious and political rulers or his day had him executed, so often becomes an agent of conformity. And I think Paul's letter is a reminder to each of us, and to the Church as a whole, that our desire to conform can easily hinder the work of the Spirit.

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary

In today's reading from John, the religious authorities bring Jesus a woman who has been caught in adultery. Her "guilt" is apparently never in dispute. The only issue is how Jesus will respond. "Teacher, this woman was caught in the very act of committing adultery. Now in the law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?"

Saying "the law Moses commanded us," is the equivalent of someone today saying, "It says right here in the Bible..." And it does say in the Bible, in Leviticus 20 and Deuteronomy 22 to be precise, that a woman caught in adultery is to be killed. (For that matter the man is to be killed as well, but the male religious authorities seem to have forgotten this.) Obviously this woman is brought to Jesus because Jesus has developed a reputation for bending and breaking the rules. Will Jesus say, "Do what the Bible commands," or will he go against the Bible and get himself in trouble?

But as is so often happens, Jesus pulls off a nifty escape that does not require him to say outright, "Disobey the Scriptures." But nonetheless, he does disobey the Scriptures that demand this woman be killed in order to "purge the evil from Israel." There is simply no getting around the fact that Jesus, the Messiah promised by Scripture, decides that certain Scripture should not be followed.

What are we to do with the Bible? Like the religious authorities in today's gospel, many of us are good at using it as a weapon. We employ it selectively to support our causes and bludgeon our opponents. Some say that homosexuality is an abomination because it says so in the Bible. Of course the same passage also says that planting two different kinds of seeds in the same field is an abomination, as is wearing clothing made from two different materials. It also says that children who curse their parents must be put to death, and a stubborn and rebellious son who has failed to respond to his parent's discipline can be taken to the town elders and ordered stoned to death.

It's hardly a news flash that all of us use the Bible in selective fashion, reading it to support what we like and condemn what we don't. Conservative Christians often claim religious warrant for supporting a strong military and limited government while liberal Christians claim religious warrant for pursuing peace and have large scale social services for the poor and needy. Both can find passages in the Bible to support their stance.

But if today's gospel is any guide, what we are to do as Christians is never as simple as "What does it say in the Bible?" After all, Jesus completely ignores what is says in the Bible.

I'll show my own bias and say that this is why I so like the stance of my own, Reformed tradition that sees the Bible as a witness to Jesus Christ. As a witness it points to something and by its testimony unveils the truth to us. But that truth cannot be found by using the Bible like a dictionary or encyclopedia. We cannot search the index for the passages on adultery or homosexuality or war or parenting or whatever and then say we know what we are to do. That's like rendering a verdict in a court case after listening to a few words uttered by one of the witnesses in a week long trial. Only after we listen to all the witnesses in totality can we come close to understanding what is true.

Why do you think Jesus disobeys the Bible the way he does? What does that say about how we are to read the Bible and use it as we seek to be the people of God?

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Sunday Sermon - "Joining the Parade"

Musings on the Daily Lectionary

Growing up I learned the story of young Jacob stealing his older brother Esau's birthright. But I'm not sure that it registered what a true scoundrel Jacob was. He not only stole Esau's birthright but, with the aid of his own mother (talk about dysfunctional families), he tricked his father into giving him the blessing intended for Esau. Yet despite all this, the story in Genesis makes it clear that God's promise runs through Jacob, this trickster and scoundrel.

I'm not always sure what to make of this, but one thing is certain, God's blessings and plans take a circuitous route that I would never have chosen. That probably recommends that we all exercise a great deal of humility when it comes to deciding who is and who isn't a part of God's plans.

The same sort of problem crops up with Jesus. In today's reading from John, the fact that Jesus comes from Galilee prevents people from being able to embrace him as Messiah. They are sure that nothing good can come from Galilee, not to mention prophecies saying the Messiah would come from Bethlehem. But in John's gospel the issue is not whether Jesus is from Bethlehem or Galilee. The issue is that Jesus comes from God, and so arguments about earthly origins miss the point.

It seems to me that both Jacob and Jesus emphasize that "God moves in mysterious ways." And so whoever we are and however we tend to interpret the Bible, any arrogance that is certain we've gotten it right may well cause us to miss what God is up to.

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Sunday Sermon - "Joining the Parade"

Luke tells a different version of Jesus calling his first disciples than Matthew and Mark do. In Luke, Jesus has been to Simon's house prior to this. Apparently Simon "knew" Jesus but didn't quite realize who he was. But when he does, Jesus calls him.

Feb 7 sermon.mp3

Luke 5:1-11

Joining the Parade

James Sledge -- February 7, 2010

I suspect that many of you have a picture in your mind of Jesus calling his first disciples. I know that I do. In my picture Jesus begins to teach, to proclaim God’s coming kingdom right after he is baptized and then tempted in the wilderness. As he travels along the shoreline of the Sea of Galilee, he encounters a few fishermen. “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people,” Jesus says. And they drop everything and go after him.

In this picture there is simply something about Jesus and his invitation that draws these fishermen from their old life to a new one. It is incredibly dramatic. One minute they are making a living by fishing. The next minute, a stranger speaks to them and they are forever changed. And I think this picture has had a significant impact on the idea of evangelism as a dramatic event where one meets Jesus for the first time and is changed forever.

My picture of Jesus calling his first disciples comes straight out of Matthew and Mark’s gospels. But today we heard a very different story from Luke. Over the years Christians have often tried to harmonize these stories, but I think that misses the point. The gospel writers were often less concerned with telling precise history and more concerned with making a point. Luke writes for a different audience and paints a very different picture than Matthew and Mark, one that may actually have more contact with some of our lives.

To see Luke’s picture, we need to step back a bit and glimpse the entire canvas. As with Mark and Matthew, Jesus has been baptized and tempted in the wilderness. But then he has begun his ministry, taught in his home synagogue at Nazareth, come to the region of Galilee and healed a man with an unclean spirit. Then Jesus has visited Simon Peter’s house, cured his mother-in-law of a high fever, and then cured throngs of sick who were brought to him there. Jesus has become a well known rabbi, followed by adoring crowds prior to inviting Simon, James, and John to follow him.

In Luke’s picture, Simon already knows about Jesus, has already met him as he finishes a long night’s work with nothing to show for it. But then Jesus asks to borrow his boat. Surely Simon is tired and wanted to say, “No.” But after all, Jesus had cured his mother-in-law.

Luke seems uninterested in what Jesus taught the crowds who gather on the shore. He skips over that, moving quickly to where Jesus tells Simon to put out into deep water. Once again, Simon would rather not, but he obeys this remarkable rabbi. In an instant there are more fish than anyone has ever seen before. And suddenly, Simon is frightened by Jesus. Suddenly Simon wants to be far away from Jesus. Simon has met Jesus before and knows about his ministry, but all of a sudden Simon senses that he is in the terrifying presence of God. Simon, a rough, uneducated, hard living and swearing, dirty and sweaty fisherman, finds himself where ritually purified priests fear to tread, and all he wants to do is escape. “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!”

I feel safe in saying that there is no one here today who has never heard of Jesus. Fact is, it is pretty near impossible to grow up in the United States and not know something about Jesus. You may like him or not; you may believe in him or not, but you’ve heard about him.

Now obviously people come to a lot of different conclusions about Jesus based on what they’ve heard and know. For some Jesus is an ethical teacher without parallel. For others he is some sort of divine magic trick that gets them into heaven when they die. For still others he’s a miracle worker. He’s known by all sorts of names and labels: Prince of Peace, Savior, Lamb of God, Son of God.

To one degree or another, most all of us know Jesus, perhaps a lot like Simon knew Jesus before that fateful day in the boat. Most of us have bumped into Jesus here and there, but more often than not he stays pretty far away from our everyday lives.

If we take Luke’s picture of Jesus calling the disciples as any sort of guide, it seems that we can be familiar with Jesus, that we can know Jesus and our lives still go on as they always have. But if we meet Jesus like Simon did, encounter in him the fullness of God with the power to transform; if he becomes real enough that we’re not sure we want him standing right next to us, then life may very well never be the same again.

It’s easy enough to like Jesus, to be a fan of Jesus. It’s like being a fan of anything else. On facebook, the online social networking site, you can become a fan of all sorts of groups, people, and causes simply by clicking on the onscreen button. I’m a fan of a number of causes, a few musicians, a magazine or two, and I’m even a fan of Krispy Kreme Doughnuts. But it doesn’t mean much. I don’t necessarily send any money to the causes, or go to the musician’s concerts, and I can’t remember the last time I bought a Krispy Kreme Doughnut.

More often than not, being a fan is about being a spectator, and that asks not a bit more of me than I feel like giving. Sometimes my relationship with Jesus is a lot like that. But when you run into the awesome, holy presence of God, that’s something else altogether. It’s dangerous, and people almost always come away from such encounters changed.

The crowds that listen to Jesus from the shore liked him, were even enthralled by him. But most of them went home the very same people they were before. Not Simon. Simon may have been a fan before, but suddenly things changed. Simon’s first instinct was to flee. Getting too close to God is dangerous. Simon knew those stories from the Old Testament. Whenever God shows up something happens, and it is never something the person wants. And Simon is right. Jesus tells Simon that from now on he’ll be catching people, and Simon’s life is never the same again. He’s a disciple now. His days as a spectator are over. And I’m reasonably certain that Jesus wants to say the same thing to us that he says to Simon. Jesus isn’t looking for fans or spectators. Jesus calls disciples.

In his new book, Donald Miller tells the story of a rather odd family from San Diego. This family was sitting around one New Year’s Day when one of the kids complained about what a boring day it was. Bob, the father, agreed and they decided that New Year’s was one of the more boring days of the year, and they began to toss out ideas to rectify this situation.

One of the children suggested holding a parade. This being much cheaper than an earlier suggestion to buy a pony, Bob quickly endorsed the idea. They began to think about costumes and getting some balloons. The parents planned a cookout in the backyard afterward and the kids started to invite their friend and neighbors to watch.

But then Bob thought how it is much better to be in a parade than to watch one. And so he quickly made a rule. No one would be allowed to watch the parade, but anyone could march in it. A few neighbors agreed and so the first parade was held. As they marched down the street the few spectators were converted into marchers and at the end a dozen or more folks enjoyed the cookout.

Ten years later, the parade has hundreds of participants. People who have moved away fly back to take part, planning vacations around the event. At the most recent, they invited the neighborhood mail man to be the grand marshal, and he showed up in full uniform, leading the parade by tossing envelopes up into the air. Behind him were hundreds of people wearing costumes, carrying banners and flags, and not a soul was sitting on the curb. After all, no one is allowed to watch. There are no spectators at this parade.[1]

---

[1] Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2009) pp. 233-236.

Musings on the Daily Lectionary

In today's verses from Hebrews, the writer recounts great acts of faith from heroes of Old Testament days, but then adds, "Yet all these, though they were commended for their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better so that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect. Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses..."

My congregation repeats the Apostles' Creed most Sundays, saying that we believe in "the communion of saints." Saints here speaks of all those in Christ, not some sort of super Christians, and the creed is saying that we are all joined together. Together we form a great arc through history. The faith of saints long dead impacts us, and our faith affects them.

Yet we modern American Christians have turned our faith into something that is largely individualistic. Despite what we may say in a creed, we tend to view faith as something personal between us and God. And I think it is such thinking that allows people to participate in a congregation, do a little mission work down at the homeless shelter, then make business and political decisions with no thought as to how those decisions square with the teachings of Jesus.

Our associate pastor preached a sermon recently that honed in on the line in 1 Corinthians 12 where Paul speaks of believers as one body saying, "If one member suffers all suffer together." Yet in our individualist view of faith, others are so disconnected from us that their suffering is usually easy for us to ignore, and it has little impact on how we live out our faith.

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary

I first heard of this when my father read me "Bible Stories" as a small child, and we studied it as children in Sunday School. But I've never really understood why anyone would tell this story to a child, the story of Abraham preparing to kill his son, Isaac.

I've never been sure what to do with this story. Is Abraham to be blessed by God only because he passed this "test?" The angel says, "Because you have done this, and have not withheld your son, your only son, I will indeed bless you, and I will make your offspring as numerous as the stars of heaven and as the sand that is on the seashore." But this promise had been made by God to Abram long before this event. Was there some fine print in the covenant that said Abram would have to prove himself for the promise to be good?

I'm not sure it is possible to read this story as a straightforward account of actual events and not be left with some truly disturbing images of God. God comes off as nearly sadistic. After all, if God truly "knows the heart," why the need for any test at all? And God is the one who recruited Abraham for this role, who had uprooted his life and took him away from family.

I find this text disturbing, but I know that many Christians find my questioning of the text equalling disturbing. If, like me, you grew up in a Protestant church culture that revered the Bible, it can be difficult to challenge the obvious, plain meaning of a biblical account. But I am convinced that we, like Jacob, must wrestle with the God we meet in the pages of Scripture if we are to be blessed and changed (although we may find ourselves with limp; see Genesis 32:22-32).

Is this story a "legend" about Abraham told to demonstrate his remarkable faith? Is it a story of a pious man who thought he heard God tell him an impossible thing and in his religious zeal set off without even considering that he might be wrong? Surely he might well have followed the advice given in 1 John 4, "Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God."

Whatever is actually going on in this story, God's promise to Abraham and Sarah, the promise present in the boy Isaac, seems to be in serious peril. But in the end, God intervenes, and the promise is preserved. Does that happen only because Abraham performs well enough in his test? That seems out of character with the God who had made the covenant with Abraham, and surely with the God we meet in Jesus.

I wonder, what picture or image of God and God's character do you have? Where does it come from, and how do you handle those places in Scripture that seem contrary to your image? Where do you find yourself wrestling with God?

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary

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.

So begins Psalm 12. In every age there are times when the world seems to be going to pot, when people are abandoning the ways of God. The psalmist sees that happening in his time. Which is not to say that they people of his day weren't being religious. If other biblical passages are any guide, people continued to go to the Temple, to make their offerings, and to participate in the festivals and celebrations of the faith. The prophets regularly complained about those who confessed God with their lips but failed to live as God commanded.

The same sort of thing can be said in our day. More attention is given to religious symbols and observances than to how people live. There is a facebook group insisting that this is a Christian nation, and people rally around nativity displays and displays of the 10 Commandments. Yet our culture seems to value consumerism, greed, individualism over any biblical designs for society.

Regardless of the age or situation, there are times when it is easy to sing along with the psalmist. "Help, O LORD, for there is no longer anyone who is godly." But the psalmist does not make the move that some of us want to make. The psalmist never says, "It's hopeless." The psalmist never writes, "The whole world's going to pot." Instead the psalmist proclaims a word from God, "Because the poor are despoiled, because the needy groan, I will now rise up."

I think that one of the great challenges of faith is to trust that God is still sovereign, that God still controls human destiny, even when things look bad. It is so easy to make faith about nothing more than one's personal spiritual state, and in the process deny that God is the God of history. O God, help me trust that you bend all things to your will.

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Sunday Sermon - "Act Like Family!"

Musings on the Daily Lectionary

"I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty." So says Jesus in today's verses from the gospel of John. No doubt the familiarity with these words has numbed many Christians to the oddness of this metaphor. What does this mean? What in our personal lives of faith and spirituality is described by never being hungry and never being thirsty?

Certainly my own spiritual life can get pretty dry at times, and I can feel empty. How do such experiences fit into what Jesus says?

I don't have any neat answers to such questions. And sometimes I think that the trite formulas spouted by some Christians are more of an impediment to deep faith than they are a help. Faith needs to wrestle with doubt, with feelings of God's absence, with questions of "Why?" if it is going to grow and mature.

So I won't offer a one size fits all interpretation of today's words on hunger and thirst, but I will speak of my own experience. Often times my own spiritual dryness is connected to barriers I set up between me and Jesus. Sometimes these barriers have nice, religious clothing such as my work as a pastor. Serving a religious institution is not always the same thing as following Jesus, and sometimes I need to make a concerted effort to draw close to Jesus once more.

What are the things in your life that get in the way? In my case, they are rarely things which seem patently evil or opposed to God. The best barriers, like the best idols, usually appeal to our religious and spiritual hungers.

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