Sunday, May 15, 2011
Sunday Sermon text - Abundance
Acts 2:42-47; John 10:1-10
Abundance
James Sledge May 15, 2011
About ten years ago, a little book called The Prayer of Jabez came out, offering to teach you the secrets of “breaking through to the blessed life.” It quickly became a best seller, and as often happens when something “religious” becomes extremely popular, many churches started offering classes and seminars based on the book, and the ministry founded by the author made available a DVD set and workbook, not to mention Prayer of Jabez greeting cards, a Prayer of Jabez journal, and so on.
Now if you had never heard of Jabez before this book came out, there is good reason. Even serious students of the Bible easily could have missed Jabez’s solitary appearance in 1 Chronicles. That’s obscure enough, but Jabez’s brief moment is embedded in a long genealogy of the descendants of Judah, one of Jacob’s sons. Sandwiched between the listings of Ahuzzam, Hepher, Temeni, and Zobebah; Chelub, Shuhah, Kenaz, and Hathath – every one of which my computer’s spellcheck flagged in red – we meet Jabez.
It turns out that the name Jabez is related to the Hebrew word for pain, and he has received this rather troublesome name because his mother experienced a great deal of pain in childbirth. But she had more than gotten back at her son. In the thinking of ancient Israelites, names had real power, and to name her son Jabez was to curse him in a way.
To call someone “Pain” or “Hurt” was to fate him to a life of pain and hurt. But Jabez called out to God asking to be blessed instead, and God granted his prayer.It’s difficult to know exactly what to make of these two brief verses in the Bible. It seems likely they are fragments of a larger story, but still it seems reasonable to conclude that they means to say something about the saving power of God. Even though Jabez is cursed by his name and fate, God’s power to save and bless is greater.
Based on my admittedly cursory reading of the book, The Prayer of Jabez, I’m not certain its author fully appreciates this. Rather, he seems to have appropriated Jabez’s prayer as a kind of magic formula. Say this prayer every morning and great things will happen to you. A look at The Prayer of Jabez website seems to confirm this. There you can download studies on scripturally based financial freedom, spiritual principles for obtaining God’s blessings, for profitable personal godliness, and more. Learn the secrets that will allow you to tap into God’s power to make you wealthy and happy and whatever else you are seeking.
In our gospel today, Jesus says, “I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture… I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” Images of sheep and shepherds are foreign to many of us, but even we recognize that finding pasture is about provision, about preparing a table for us, and this abundantly. We will have all we need and more. God’s blessings will rain down on us. We’ll achieve financial freedom. Our cups will overflow.
Food and drink are often associated with abundance: $600 an ounce caviar, a $500 bottle of Dom Perignon champagne (more than $1000 if you want a really good year), and a $300 Kobe beef steak. Ah, the good life, the abundant life.
Interestingly, food is mentioned several times in today’s reading from Acts, although there’s no caviar or Dom Perignon. In the span of five short verses we hear twice about breaking bread, and of how they ate their food with glad and generous hearts. But this joyful fellowship and dining doesn’t have the feel of Bon Appétit or Wine Enthusiast magazines. After all, we are told that they had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. That hardly fits with the typical understanding of abundance, which usually means, “I have more than you do. I can afford better stuff than you can.”
I’m not sure when I first learned that Jesus promises us abundant life. It seems to me that I’ve always “known” this. Jesus came that we might have life, and have it abundantly. So you can imagine my surprise when I did a little digging and discovered that the phrase “abundant life” appears nowhere in the Bible. And the word Jesus uses when he speaks of our having life “abundantly” is quite rare. Only here is it translated “abundantly.” Elsewhere it is translated “more” or “unnecessary,” but a quick trip to the Greek dictionary showed that the first definition is “extraordinary” or “remarkable.”
I thought about that and heard Jesus saying, “I came that they may have life, and have it remarkably, extraordinarily.” And it occurred to me that the life of the community described in our reading from Acts was pretty remarkable and extraordinary, a Spirit filled community marked by fellowship and worship, by radical sharing where everyone had enough, a community filled with gladness and generosity. No wonder they had the goodwill of all the people, Jew and Gentile alike. It was such a remarkable, extraordinary community how could people not notice, not admire it, not want something similar for themselves?
This extraordinary community in Acts is not something they created by trying hard. It was a gift. As the people gave themselves over to God’s presence, the Spirit began to transform their community so that it started to look more like God’s coming Kingdom than it did the world. Too often, people think of faith as a way to get God on our side and bless us with all the things the world says we need. But this remarkable community in Acts is something altogether different. It has become a preview of God’s new day, God’s dream for a better world, a world of joy and generosity.
I shared during our Lenten study that Shawn and I used to be big fans of the TV show ER. The show ran from 1994 to 2009, and for the first eight seasons Anthony Edwards starred as Dr. Mark Green. One of the real tearjerker episodes on ER was when Mark Green dies. He had been diagnosed with a brain tumor that did not respond to treatments. Finally, with only a short time left to live, he journeyed to Hawaii, where he had lived as a child, to die. In his last moments, he has some time alone with his daughter. Lying in his bed he tells her that he has been trying to think of something important to say to her, “something every father should impart to his daughter. Generosity,” he says. “Be generous— with your time, with your love, with your life.”
We Christians are often very good at charity, at doing things for people who need help, bringing food for those less fortunate than us. But I’m not sure charity is quite the same thing that Mark Green was recommending to his daughter. I think maybe Mark Green had discovered something akin to what that remarkable community in Acts had discovered, something I think that a lot of people would be overjoyed to discover.
Regulars in worship here know that I am not one to use poetry in my sermons. But as I was finishing work on this one, I stumbled onto a poem by Walter Brueggemann, scholar, theologian, Old Testament professor, and wonderful writer. It is called “On Generosity,” and since this poem is also a prayer, I think I will pray it. Let us pray.
On our own, we conclude:
that there is not enough to go around
we are going to run short
of money
of love
of grades
of publications
of sex
of beer
of members
of years
of life
we should seize the day
seize the goods
seize our neighbor’s goods
because there is not enough to go around.
And in the midst of our perceived deficit:
You come
You come giving bread in the wilderness
You come giving children at the 11th hour
You come giving homes to exiles
You come giving futures to the shut-down
You come giving Easter joy to the dead
You come—fleshed in Jesus.
And we watch while
the blind receive their sight
the lame walk
the lepers are cleansed
the deaf hear
the dead are raised
the poor dance and sing.
We watch
and we take food we did not grow and
life we did not invent and
future that is gift and gift and gift and
families and neighbors who sustain us
when we did not deserve it.
It dawns on us—late rather than soon—
that “you give food in due season
you open your hand
and satisfy the desire of every living thing.”
By your giving, break our cycles of imagined scarcity
override our presumed deficits
quiet our anxieties of lack
transform our perceptual field to see
the abundance… mercy upon mercy
blessing upon blessing.
Sink your generosity deep into our lives
that your muchness may expose our false lack
that endlessly receiving, we may endlessly give,
so that the world may be made Easter new,
without greedy lack, but only wonder
without coercive need, but only love
without destructive greed, but only praise
without aggression and invasiveness…
all things Easter new…
all around us, toward us and
by us
all things Easter new.
Finish your creation… in wonder, love, and praise. Amen. [1]
Amen.
[1] Walter Brueggemann, Inscribing the Text: Sermons and Prayers of Walter Brueggemann (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2004) p. 3.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Spiritual Hiccups - Now What?
If this is true, then the Christian Church sure has problems living in ways that demonstrate it. Sometimes we seem to be much better at dividing over our differences than we are at acting like brothers and sisters, like one family. Some of our divisions are minor, and don't really undo family ties. Members of my own, biological family have different tastes, interests, politics, preferences, etc. and agreeing on all of these is not a requisite for being a family. I'm unaware of anyone in my family ever stating that only Republicans or Democrats could stay, or that an appreciation of classical music was required to come for Christmas dinner.
And so I'm not all that worried over the fact that different Christian congregations worship in different ways, prefer different sorts of buildings, or forms of governance. We can be family without agreeing on these things. At least we can until someone states that you must like this worship style or abide by this form of church government in order to be a real Christian. Such statements are rare, it turns out. However, when issues get a bit more substantive, this is not always true.
Yesterday the Presbyterian Church (USA) passed an amendment to its constitution that will allow the ordination of gays and lesbians who are in same-sex relationships. Exact figures are difficult to come by, but the votes so far suggest that a bit over 55% of those voting favored this change, which of course means that nearly 45% didn't. And many of those who didn't see this change as an abandonment of biblical teachings. I disagree with them, but the more burning issue for me at this point is: Are we still brothers and sisters in Christ?
I've already heard of threats from some who want to leave the denomination as well as "Don't let the door hit you on the way out" comments from some happy with yesterday's outcome. My hope is these are emotional outbursts in the midst of a family squabble. My hope is that when emotions cool a bit we will still say to one another, "I love you, sister. I love you, brother."
A lot of biological families can be a bit on the dysfunctional side, and probably none of us come from families with no dysfunction. But for most families, the family connection somehow remains intact. Church congregations are every bit as dysfunctional as biological families. But for some reason, the family connection often seems more tenuous there. But how can this be when our family connection is Christ?
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Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Spiritual Hiccups - Victory, Loss, and Love
Exactly how this change will be lived out and the impact it will have remains to be seen. But one thing is certain: some will be overjoyed at the threshold crossed today, and others will be deeply upset and angry. And a huge question facing us in light of this is: How will we love one another?
"Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love." These words from 1 John compose a challenge to us regardless of where we stand on the issues. And if I am to love the other, I must consider how my actions impact them.
I am among those who welcomes this day, who will rejoice when the vote today creates a majority of presbyteries in favor of changing our ordination standards. But I also believe that the command to love is especially incumbent upon "winners."
We live in a time when end zone celebrations by players who have scored a touchdown are an accepted part of football games. Such celebrations are far from genuine eruptions of joy. Rather, they are choreographed routines that sometimes seek to embarrass and show up the opponent.
Consideration for "the other" is often far down our list of things to do. But Christians are called to be a different sort of community. We are called to model an alternative way of being and living in the world. And I can think of few places where the opportunity to be different is greater than at moments such as this.
How will we love one another? That is a question we must ask ourselves whether we are thrilled or terrified at today's outcome. It is a question we must ask whether we are convinced this opens the way to a bold new day for the church or we are convinced that it spells doom for the church. Whether we weep or rejoice or don't know what we think, we are still called to love one another. And if "in Christ" we were truly to do that, what an amazing witness that might be to the world.
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Monday, May 9, 2011
Spiritual Hiccups - Troublemaker Jesus
Very few pastors would dare speak to their congregations the way Jesus does the folks at Nazareth. It is a prescription for disaster. The synagogue folks tried to kill Jesus. Not likely to happen to a pastor, but she's probably be looking for a new job pretty quickly if she didn't display a little more tact than Jesus did.
Almost all cultures weave a dominant religion into their status quo. Step into a typical church sanctuary in America, and you will likely find an American flag displayed somewhere. Many of those churches' members presume that national interests and God's interests run roughly parallel. Nations aren't perfect and so there are some problems, but by and large...
When I get myself in trouble as a pastor, it usually isn't because I've taken a bold but unpopular stand on some issue. More likely it is because I didn't think before I spoke, that I wasn't paying attention to other people's feelings, or I was just being a dolt. And when I try to improve as a pastor, along with learning to preach better sermons or do better strategic planning, I want to improve my "people skills." I worry about communicating well without giving offense, keeping people happy, doing things in a loving manner, etc.
I still think these important things for me to work on, but I also wonder sometimes about how rarely I encounter the sort of hostility Jesus did. Maybe my political and people skills are better than his were. Or maybe I'm just a coward.
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Sunday, May 8, 2011
Sunday Sermon text - Headed to Emmaus
Luke 24:13-35
Headed to Emmaus
James Sledge May 8, 2011
If you go to your computer and Google the term “Emmaus walk,” you will find numerous listings for retreats and other events designed to foster spiritual renewal and revival. “Emmaus walk” and “Emmaus road” have become metaphors that speak of spiritual discovery, of encountering the presence of the living Christ.
I suppose that’s just as well considering that no one knows where the real Emmaus is. Luke tells us it was seven miles from Jerusalem, and so a number of places have been suggested, but it’s all speculation. And so we’re left with Emmaus as this wonderful metaphorical destination that people hope for, that they seek out.
But Emmaus does not start out as a happy place. Emmaus is a stop on the way out of town after everything has gone wrong and fallen apart. The two otherwise unnamed disciples in our gospel reading today are not headed there for a spiritual retreat. They are not headed there for enlightenment. They’re headed there because their hopes and dreams have been shattered. They’re headed to Emmaus because hope is gone.
It is evening on that first Easter Sunday, and so these disciples have heard the wild story told by the women about visions of angels who said Jesus was alive. But Luke tells us that the disciples thought their story “an idle tale, and they did not believe them.” And so these disciples say to Jesus as he walks along beside them incognito, “We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. We had hoped that he was the one… We had hoped…”
They know the entire Easter story. They even explain it in great detail to the stranger walking beside them. Yet still they journey to Emmaus. Still the mutter, “We had hoped…” We are all familiar with this Emmaus. We’ve all headed there. We’ve all said, “We had hoped… ”
In his book, The Magnificent Defeat, Frederick Buechner writes,
…there is not one of us who has not gone to Emmaus with them. Emmaus can be a trip to the movies just for the sake of seeing a movie or to a cocktail party just for the sake of the cocktails. Emmaus may be buying a new suit or a new car or smoking more cigarettes than you really want, or reading a second-rate novel or even writing one. Emmaus may be going to church on Sunday. Emmaus is whatever we do or wherever we go to make ourselves forget that the world holds nothing sacred: that even the wisest and bravest and loveliest decay and die; that even the noblest ideas that [people] have had—ideas about love and freedom and justice—have always in time been twisted out of shape by selfish [people] for selfish ends. Emmaus is where we go, where these two went, to try to forget about Jesus and the great failure of his life. …[Emmaus] is the place where we spend much of our lives, you and I, the place that we go in order to escape—a bar, a movie, wherever it is we throw up our hands and say, “Let the whole damned thing go hang. It makes no difference anyway.”[1]
“We had hoped the doctors would be able to cure our little girl’s leukemia.” “We had hoped that Obama would bring real change to a bitter and broken political process.” “He had hoped to reconcile with his son before he died.” “We had hoped this would make a real difference in homelessness in our community.” We had hoped… We had hoped…
“We had hoped…” easily leads to cynicism, apathy, anger, and despair. If it makes no difference anyway, then my compassion, my sacrifice, my time, my energy aren’t worth the effort. What’s the point?
I think there must be significance to the fact that the very first appearance of the risen Jesus in Luke’s gospel is on the way to Emmaus. Just as Jesus enters fully into the suffering and brokenness of humanity there on the cross, so too he also joins us in our moments of hopelessness and despair, headed to Emmaus, caught up in the throes of “We had hoped…” Jesus joins us there, though we may well not recognize him. Perhaps he hides himself because we need to learn something along the way. Perhaps we do not see him because at that moment we cannot see beyond, “We had hoped…”
I wonder if either Cleopas or the other, unnamed disciple were introverts like me. When I find myself wondering if there is any point, headed on the way to Emmaus, I want to withdraw, to be by myself. But Cleopas and his companion welcome a stranger into their company, even insisting that he stay with them that evening. They offer him true hospitality and share their meal with him. And in breaking bread together, they meet their risen Lord.
His presence is fleeting – God’s presence often is – but nothing is quite the same afterward. They immediately head back to Jerusalem. Emmaus is forgotten. “We had hoped…” is forgotten.
One of the wrong turns that Christian faith sometimes takes is the notion that faith is mostly a private thing between us and God, that as long as we know the facts of the story and say we believe them, that’s faith. But if the road to Emmaus is any guide, the Jesus who walks beside us becomes fully present to us when we turn out from ourselves, when we welcome the stranger, when we show true hospitality, when we share our fellowship, our hopes, our table, our meal.
The other day a read a story about Anglican priest Desmond Tutu that took place in the days of South Africa’s apartheid system. More accurately, the story was about a white supporter of apartheid who thought Tutu a rabble rousing trouble maker, a communist, and a heretic. That’s what the leaders of his country told him and he believed it. One day this white South African happened to cross paths with Tutu in an airport. Enraged at the sight of this enemy of his country, he moved toward the much smaller Tutu, intentionally and roughly bumping him as they passed, sending the priest sprawling onto his backside with a thud. The man glared down at the stunned Tutu whose dazed look gradually gave way to a smile. Then Tutu said, “God bless you, my child.”
The man stormed off, angered that he had not upset Tutu or provoked a confrontation with his enemy. But over the days that followed, those words of blessing ate at this fellow until he found himself deeply sorry for what he had done, until he saw Tutu in a whole new light. [2]
But how could Desmond Tutu possibly have offered that blessing to someone who hated him, who wished him ill, who in a dark alley might have done much worse than simply knock him down? What did Tutu know that allowed him to act in such a strange manner?
Someone headed to Emmaus, someone whom life had beaten into “We had hoped…” could not have offered that blessing. And considering the treatment of blacks in apartheid South Africa, there must have been times when Desmond Tutu thought that things would never get any better, when he lapsed into despair and said, “I had hoped; we had hoped…” Tutu, of all people, must surely have walked that road to Emmaus. But clearly he must have met the risen Jesus somewhere along the way.
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