Sermon video - It's Not Fair!

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Sermon Text - It's Not Fair!

Matthew20:1-16 (Exodus 16:2-15)

It’sNot Fair

JamesSledge                                       September18, 2011

Perhapsyou saw the news story a few weeks ago about a Youngstown man who filed alawsuit seeking a share in the lottery winnings of some of his co-workers.  It seems this fellow has been part of poolwhere workers combined their money to buy lottery tickets, but he was out witha back injury the week the pool bought a ticket that was a $99 millionwinner.  According to the lawsuit, themembers of the pool had an unwritten agreement that they covered for each otherwhen someone was not at work.  But onemember of the pool insisted that it was a putup your money and you’re in, don’t and you’re not sort of setup. 

Isaw a TV news story on this where a reporter asked people to comment on thelawsuit.  Almost all those interviewedthought the fellow didn’t stand a chance in court. “Fair is fair,” onesaid.  “He didn’t put anything in and sohe doesn’t deserve any of the winnings.”

Alot of us have strong feelings about things being fair and right.  We know they often aren’t, but we want themto be, and so we react when we think someone is doing something patentlyunfair.  I think the people in that newsstory thought the man suing his co-workers was trying to pull a fast one, tryingto get something that didn’t rightly belong to him.  But I suspect if it could be proven that hisfriends had promised to cover for him while he was out of work and had thenlied about it, well then people would have a different view of things.

Whatis fair?  What is the fair amount oftaxes that someone should pay?  How muchmore can a CEO make compared to factory worker at the same company and it stillbe fair?  What sort of punishment forcriminals is fair?  Is it fair for acollege to consider that a student came from a disadvantaged home and schoolsystem in its admission standards?  Is itfair when a wealthy person or a corporation is represented by teams of the bestattorneys in court while a poor person has to rely on a barely-out-of-law-school, public defender?  What is fair?

Andis it fair for someone to work hard all day long at his job and then watchsomeone else who only worked one hour get paid the same as he does?  That is the fairness question that seems tobe posed by the parable Jesus tells.

Isuppose the Matthew includes this parable in his gospel as a word to his Jewishcongregation made up of folks who have tried to follow the Law all their livesand have now embraced Jesus as their Jewish Messiah, but also a congregationthat is increasingly adding Johnny-come-lately Gentiles to its number.  Like the parable of the prodigal son in Luke,this parable speaks to those who have tried to be faithful for the long hauland now find it difficult to celebrate with those who are latecomers.

ButI’m not sure this parable is really about fairness.  Rather I think it is about an entirelydifferent sort of community, an entirely different sort of reality, somethingMatthew calls the kingdom of heaven, his very Jewish way of saying “kingdom ofGod.”

Thiskingdom has nothing to do with going to heaven. It is about an alternative to the empire of Rome and the ways of theworld.  I think we sometimesmisunderstand Jesus when we assume he is talking about our getting into heavenrather than the ways of this alternative kingdom, this alternative world.  And this world seems not to have books orbalance sheets.

Manyof you know that the scripture readings for each Sunday in our worship comefrom a lectionary, a list of readings for each Lord’s Day.  The particular lectionary used byPresbyterians breaks from some older lectionaries in that it does not alwaystry to connect the Old Testament readings with those from the New.  When we are not in a special season such asAdvent or Lent or Easter, our lectionary tries to read the Old Testament on itsown, with some continuity.  And so overthe summer we’ve moved from Abraham to Jacob to Joseph and now to Moses and thestory of the Exodus from Egypt.  Ourreading today about manna in the wilderness is not meant to comment on thegospel reading, but I think they have a great deal to do with one another.

Goduses Israel’s time in the wilderness to form them into a different sort ofpeople, a people who are meant to mediate God’s presence into the world.  When they come into the land of promise, theyare supposed to live in a manner and construct a society that embodies what Goddesires for the world. 

Oneof the lessons of wilderness is an absolute dependence on God.  When God provides manna for the people, it isliterally “daily bread.”  It is enoughfor today, and no more.  Other than theexception of gathering a two day supply in preparation for the Sabbath, mannacannot be stockpiled.  No one gets moremanna by burning the midnight oil.  Noone has a freezer full of manna because she works harder than others.  All have enough, but no one has more thanenough. 

Thisis a very different world from the one Israel left behind in Egypt, and forthat matter the world we live in.  InEgypt’s world and ours, there is not enough to go around, and so we must allstruggle to gain our share.  And we mustdo more than that.  We must accumulateextra so that we will be secure, so that we do not find ourselves wanting.  We do not dare pray for daily bread and trustthat this will be enough.  But in thewilderness, Israel must.

Theequality that comes from this mutual dependence on God is a radical one, andone that does not sit well with a human drive to take care of ourselves, toprovide for ourselves.  We are proud ofbeing able to provide for ourselves and family, or perhaps embarrassed if wecannot do so.  And I think some of ourconcerns about fairness arise from this.

Noticewhat those workers in the vineyard say when they raise the issue of beingtreated unfairly.  “You have made them equal tous.” 

Ina world of not enough, where we must struggle to secure our share, making equalsof those who do not struggle as hard as we do is a threat.  But not so in the wilderness.  Not so in God’s new dominion.  Not so in a community shaped by love and dailybread. 

Becausewe are familiar and comfortable living in our world, we are prone to think thatGod’s world is a lot like ours, only better. But Jesus says otherwise.  God’skingdom is shaped by love, not competition. It is a place of abundance, not scarcity where I must secure my share,and in the process prevent others from having enough, precisely how developedcountries like ours relate to third world countries.  No, the abundance of God’s kingdom features aradical neighborliness, a love that will not let another go without.  It is a bit like a loving family, only withoutany of the baggage that sometimes comes with families.

Decadesago, I heard a story about a family whose second child was born with specialneeds.  These special needs demanded agreat deal from the child’s parents, and her older sister began to feelneglected, even though her parents went out their way to not to do so.  Children learn quickly the ways of ourworld.  They realize that there is notenough to go around, and they had better struggle for their share.  And so the older sister complained that itwasn’t fair that her little sister got all the love and attention. 

Herparents listened to her.  They madedoubly sure they were not neglecting her. They explained once more why they had to spend so much time with hersister.  And then they showed hersomething about love.  They lit a candleand said, “This is our love.”  Thengiving her a candle they lit it saying, “We give our love to you, but our loveis still here.  We give our love to yoursister,” lighting another candle, “and we still have just as much love left togive.  We have more than enough love forboth of you.”

God’slove is exactly like that.  And the worldGod imagines is built on love like that. Imagine an entire community, an entire world built on such afoundation…  Maybe that’s why Jesus couldtalk about it only in parables.

Spiritual Hiccups - From Fleshy to Spiritual

There is an unfortunate tendency in our day to think of body and spirit as two totally different, separate, disconnected things.  To many people, the body is a shell or container while the spirit is something altogether different that can exist within this shell or outside of it.  In this understanding, to become spiritual is to get in touch with this non-corporeal side of our being.

The Apostle Paul does not share our modern, Western notions of body and spirit.  For him, flesh and spirit do not speak of any body-spirit dichotomy.  Paul has a holistic understanding of our human nature.  When he speaks disparagingly about being "in the flesh" he is not talking about a problem inherent to having a body.  Rather he is talking about a life that is driven and animated by the ways of the world.  This can include bodily desires, but it also includes things like greed, jealousy, or desire for autonomy and control, things we don't necessarily associate with our bodies.

In today's epistle reading, Paul speaks of those who are spiritual receiving "the gifts of God's Spirit,"  having spiritual discernment, and having "the mind of Christ."  In contrast, he speaks of the congregation of believers in Corinth as still being "of the flesh" because there is "jealousy and quarreling" among them. 

What an interesting contrast between spiritual and fleshy.  If a congregation experiences quarreling they are not spiritual but fleshy.  But if instead they are discerning and know the mind of Christ, they are spiritual.  Obviously they have fleshy bodies either way, but Paul says they are fundamentally different.

When I grew up in the Presbyterian Church I never heard much about spirituality or discernment.  And by natural inclination, I am not a person who gravitates toward activities that many think of as spiritual: meditation, chanting, silence, candles, and so on.  Yet I have found myself experiencing deep spiritual longing in recent years.  As much as I love theology and studying the Scriptures, I feel a burning need to do more than know about God.  I need to discern the mind of Christ.  I need to know God.

In his letters, Paul speaks of the transformation that happens when one is "in Christ."  We become new creations and everything old passes away.  This sort of dramatic transformation does not happen by getting enough information or the right information.  It does not happen simply in the mind.  It goes deeper, into the totality of who we are.

My faith upbringing did not well equip me for this sort of knowing.  This is not because we have bad or wrong theology, but because we somehow forgot that faith could never simply be about getting the facts right or agreeing with this and that.  Faith is about moving from fleshy to spiritual in the way Paul speaks of that transition, a move that fundamentally changes who we are.

This is sometimes a struggle for me.  It is so easy for me to slip back into those comfortable, well-practiced ways of "knowing about" that I have learned, ways Paul might describe as "of the flesh."  God, draw me in deeper.  Let me know you.  Let me have the mind of Christ.

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Spiritual Hiccups - Rend Your Hearts

O LORD, who may abide in your tent?
       Who may dwell on your holy hill?
Those who walk blamelessly, and do what is right,
       and speak the truth from their heart...
who do not lend money at interest,
          and do not take a bribe against the innocent. 

Psalm 15:1,2,5

I saw an post on facebook this morning about my home state of NC proposing a constitutional amendment banning same sex marriage.  (This is hardly novel,  In fact, NC is the only southern state that currently has no such ban.)  A friend shared a blog post that spoke against the amendment, but in a curious twist, facebook highlighted a quote that was actually an anonymous comment on the blog.  It said, in part, "Who are you to question the law of G*d?" sic

This sort of argument is frequently invoked in the cultural war around LGBT issues.  The problem, of course, is that many who invoke God's law do so very selectively.  This point was driven home to me the morning psalm, which says that those who lend money at interest may not enter the Temple.  And in case you are unfamiliar with the Hebrew form poetry which is used in psalms, it rhymes ideas and not words.  That is, it features parallel phrases, and in this poem lending money at interest is paired with taking bribes.  These two actions are seen, in some sense, as synonymous.

The Christian Church actually enforced a ban on lending money at interest until the 1500s.  John Calvin, the founder of my Reformed tradition, was one of the first to come up with a creative way around the ban.  He admitted that the Bible prohibited the activity, but he also saw the need for companies to come up with money to grow their businesses.  And he said that because the ban on interest was there to protect the poor, lending money in ways that created jobs and income for the poor could be done.  Even though it technically violated God's law, Calvin argued that it actually upheld the intent of God's law.  

We long ago forgot that lending at interest was a carefully crafted, under-certain-circumstances, exception.  We now allow absurd interest rates on credit cards and payday lenders who exploit the poor.  And I never hear anyone invoke God's law or tell bankers that they are going to hell.

I raise such issues because I'm struggling somewhat as I look at our very fractured, partisan cultural landscape and wonder about a way out.  I have long worried about the dark, "shadow side" of American individualism.  It did help foster a society of creativity and achievement, but I fear that when it is not balanced by a strong, unifying community impulse, it becomes destructive.  As with many other things, our greatest strength can also become our greatest weakness.  And I see much of the partisan rancor in our society coming from this weakness.  To some degree, political parties have become groups of like-minded seeking their own good and not the good of the whole.  They even seem able to confuse their good with the good of the whole, and so the aims of the other party are "dangerous, treasonous," or "bad for American," all terms casually bandied about in political discourse.

But my personal struggling is not so much with the sorry state of American politics.  It is rather with the sorry state of the Church that has made its own contributions to all of this.  Somewhere along the way we in the Church happily went along with American, individualist notions, and gradually created the idea of a private, personal faith.  Faith became about my personal beliefs, my accepting of some formula of salvation, and not about the peculiar sort of community Jesus called "the kingdom of God."

I think it well past time for the Church to admit that we have lost our way, and I say this from a moderate/liberal perspective.  Our problem is not the loss of some religious veneer from American culture, nor will it be fixed by hanging the 10 Commandments on buildings, discriminating against LGBT individuals, or teaching Creationism in schools.  Our problem is we that have allowed faith to become believing a few things and "going to church," and we have ceased to form people so that they are equipped to live by the ways of God's alternative community, the kingdom of God. 

There are not easy fixes to this problem; no new program or class or strategic plan will do it.  The time has come, as the prophet Joel said, to "Blow the trumpet in Zion; sound the alarm on my holy mountain!  Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble...Yet even now, says the LORD, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing."

Jesus calls us to be a community of disciples, but all too often, we are little more than an occasional gathering of believers.  Our beliefs have little impact on the lives we live, and yet we wonder why fewer and fewer of our children see any need for the Church.  And it is time for us who love the Church to own up to this.

If I seem a bit depressed about the current state of affairs, I suppose that I am, and this may even cause me to overstate the negatives.  However, as a Reformed Christians, a Calvinist, I am a cosmic optimist.  God is ultimately in control.  Congregations and denominations may disappear, but God was never bound to these.  God's purposes are being worked out in ways beyond my comprehension.  The promise and hope of good news to the poor, release to the captives, rest for the weary, and blessings for all the families of the earth are still moving forward.  And I pray that I shall find myself a part of that movement, and not standing in its way.

Lord, have mercy.

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Spiritual Hiccups - REPENT!

The word "repent" has become something of a cartoon word, more likely to appear on the panel of a comic strip than in regular conversation.  Other than reading it from the Bible and then talking about it in an accompanying sermon, I'm not sure I've ever suggested to anyone that he or she needs to repent.  But of course, all of us do.

In its stereotyped, cartoon form, "repent" has come to mean something that terrible or evil people need to do.  It's a word a street preacher might use when telling someone he is about to go to hell if he doesn't repent.  In this sort of understanding good people or "saved" (another loaded word) people don't need to repent, but bad or evil people do.  Trouble is, Jesus seems not to use the word this way at all.

For Jesus (and for John the Baptist) repentance is needed because, "the kingdom of heaven has come near" ("kingdom of heaven" being Matthew's way of rendering "kingdom of God").  The issue is less whether or not repenting makes you good enough to get in.  Rather, repenting means to change so that one's way of living begins to conform to this new day, this new dominion of God that is approaching.  Much of Jesus' teachings is about the ways of this kingdom.  And every one of us who has not yet fully learned to love our enemy, to forgive over and over from the heart, to love others as much as ourselves, to do God's will over our own, to sacrifice ourselves for the sake of God's new day, and so on, haven't yet fully conformed to God's kingdom.  And so we still need to turn, to change, to repent.

This is probably truer of pastors than anyone.  Our work gives us a lot of cover.  Many of our day-to-day tasks have the appearance of doing God's work, and so it can disguise our ambitions, the way we grumble about members who don't do their share, or the way we measure ourselves and our congregations by budgets and Sunday attendance rather than how faithful we are to God's call.  Being a pastor is even a great place to hide from God's call.  If God is calling a pastor to some other place or some other kind of ministry but that pastor is comfortable where he or she is, how is anyone other than God going to know.  The pastor appears to be doing God's work when, in actuality, resisting it.

My favorite way to use being a pastor in ways contrary to the kingdom is to busy myself with work but get disconnected from God.  That has the added bonus of insuring I don't hear God if God asks something of me not already a part of my routine.

God's kingdom looks little like the world we live in, and our lives are shaped by and conformed to this world.  But those ways do not work in the world that is coming, the new day Jesus shows us.  And so, Repent!

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Sermon video - Brokenness, Love, and Hope

This was my effort at speaking the gospel on the 10 year anniversary of the 9-11 terrorist attacks.

Sermons also available on YouTube.

Spiritual Hiccups - 9-11 Agitation and the Cross's Foolishness

We did not significantly alter our worship service yesterday on the ten year anniversary of the 9-11 attacks.  Those events did, however, figure prominently in the day, especially in the sermon.   I tend to prepare my sermons well ahead of time, and while this sermon gave me more trouble than most, it was still finished many days before.  Given that, I was somewhat surprised at how yesterday's worship impacted me.

I found myself ill at ease in worship yesterday, and I don't think that came from the day itself.  I think it was my sermon that bothered me.  My own sermons often bother me in the sense that I'm not happy with them or think they are not very good.  But this one unnerved and agitated me a bit.  This had nothing to do with it being a powerful sermon or such, but somehow the sermon, the service, and the day combined to make be realize how much 9-11 drew us into the world's brokenness.

Last night I got to thinking about this, and it struck me that I have become as oblivious to the deaths of people in Afghanistan and Iraq as the 9-11 terrorists were about killing people in the World Trade Center Towers.  The tens (perhaps hundreds) of thousands of combatants and civilians who have died scarcely register with me.  They are simply numbers.  That many, many more innocent civilians have died in our war on terror than died on 9-11 has bothered me intellectually, but for some reason it hit me emotionally yesterday.

One of the questions right after the 9-11 attacks was how anyone could do such a thing.  How can anyone think their cause makes it acceptable to kill completely innocent people who are just going about their daily lives?  Some have even suggested that one definition of evil is the loss of the capacity to see some other human beings as mattering, as being others like me.  The 9-11 terrorists clearly had lost that capacity.  Their cause had blinded them to the humanity they killed.  But has the same happened to me?  Do the lives of Iraqis and Afghans not matter in the battle to keep terror beyond our shores?

Yesterday I preached about how dealing with the world's brokenness often draws us into it ourselves, and I also talked about how God deals ultimately with the world's brokenness through love.  And as I read Paul's words to the Corinthian church in this morning's epistle reading, I became fixated on the phrase, "For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God."

The cross is foolishness.  It is no way to battle evil.  It makes no sense.  How can turning the other cheek, praying for enemies, and going to the cross without even a struggle, do any good?  No wonder we reduce Christian faith to getting our tickets punched to heaven.  It doesn't make sense in our real world.  It is pure foolishness.  And somehow yesterday made it clear to me how much trouble I have embracing that foolishness.

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Sermon audio - Brokenness, Love, and Hope

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Sermon Text - Brokenness, Love, and Hope

Exodus14:19-31 (Matthew 18:21-35)

Brokenness,Love, and Hope

JamesSledge                                              September11, 2011

Manyof us here today can remember where we were 10 years ago when we first heardabout the attack on the World Trade Centers. I was in the church lounge as people arrived for the first meeting of aFall, weekday Bible study.  I heardreports of a plane hitting the first building from some of those people as theyarrived. 

Mostall of us later saw the images of the towers with smoke pouring from them,followed by the sickening sight of them collapsing down on themselves.  Those horrible images of the buildingsfalling and dust swallowing up that part of Manhattan are forever seared intomy brain, as I imagine they are for many of you.

Andnot only did those events imprint themselves onto our memories, but they havegreatly altered our lives.  Flying on an airlinechanged dramatically.  Relationships withMuslim neighbors are still a point of conflict and division.  We have been more than willing to exchangesome of our freedoms for a bit more security. And we are still embroiled in seemingly endless war in Iraq andAfghanistan, wars costing trillions, but whose true costs are impossible tofully measure.

WhenI began thinking about what I should say or do on this Sunday, I was a bittaken aback to discover the Old Testament reading for this morning.  Our verses from Exodus bring to a closeIsrael’s escape from slavery in Egypt, a story filled with more than its shareof carnage and terror. 

A series ofhorrible plagues, including the death of every first born in Egypt, human andanimal alike, finally convinced Pharaoh to recognize God’s power. 

ThePassover and escape from Egypt are the events that form Israel into a people,and our reading marks the end of those Passover events as Israel now leavesEgypt and heads to Mount Sinai, the mountain of Yahweh. 

Israelhas come out of Egypt, but Pharaoh has had a change of heart and pursuedthem.  When the Israelites saw theEgyptians, in fear they cried to Moses, “Was it because there were no graves inEgypt that you have taken us away to die in the wilderness?  What have you done to us, bringing us out ofEgypt?  Is this not the very thing wetold you in Egypt, ‘Let us alone and let us serve the Egyptians’?  For it would have been better for us to servethe Egyptians than to die in the wilderness.” It seems that the Israelites were no more certain about God orMoses than was Pharaoh.

Whathappens next is well known, if only from the movies.  Moses stretches our his hand and the watersare dried up.  I can picture it easily,with Charlton Heston playing the part of Moses and Cecil B. DeMille specialeffects creating a dry path through the sea. Crossing the sea on dry ground is part of the imagery of our scripture,but it ends with a more troubling one.  Israelsaw the Egyptians dead on the seashore.

Thesongs of Moses and Miriam that celebrate this event in the verses immediatelyfollowing today’s reading speak repeatedly of horse and rider thrown into thesea.  And Israel saw the Egyptians deadon the seashore.  I wonder ifthat image was seared into those Israelites minds the way 9/11 is for many ofus.  To be certain, it is a much happierevent for them, but it is not a pretty picture. 

Inthe Exodus story, God’s intervention in the world’s brokenness on the side ofthe oppressed seems to drag God into that brokenness.  Dealing with evil produces greatcarnage.  Thousands of first born liedead, and Israel now gazes on Egyptian bodies lying on the shore.  The Passover events state powerfully God’scommitment to Israel, which includes a promise made to Abraham that all thefamilies of the earth shall be blessed through him.  But the problem of the world’s brokenness, ofevil, of oppression and violence and slavery remain.

Itturns out that God deals with this more fundamental problem of the world’s brokennessin a very different manner, not with violence or plagues, but with Jesus’suffering and self- sacrifice.  I thinkthe gospel reading this morning is jarring next to the story of slaughter inthe sea.  Forgive over and over, and notbegrudgingly but from the heart. Otherwise you will be counted among the wicked, a part of the world’sbrokenness.  Granted the forgivenessspoken of here is within the community of faith, but Jesus is more than happyto extend this requirement beyond the Church, telling us to pray for ourenemies and do good to those who persecute us. 

Notmany wanted to hear Jesus say such things in the aftermath of 9-11.  Not that people didn’t come to Church; worshipattendance swelled, but it quickly waned. The religious impulse inspired by 9-11 evaporated in much the same waythat the good will of the world shortly turned to animosity and the sense ofunity we felt as a nation degenerated into one of the most divisive andpartisan times our nation has known. It’s strange in a way.  For amoment, the horrors of 9-11 pushed us toward one another and away from thebrokenness of the world.  But then wemoved back toward brokenness.  We wantedvengeance.  We were afraid and we wantedsecurity.  We distrusted anyone whowasn’t “with us.”

Theawful events of 9-11 stand as a terrible monument to the world’s brokenness, tothe reality of evil and inhumanity in the world.  The firefighters and police who rushed intothe Twin Towers stand as an enduring reminder of the human capacity for selflessness,the willingness to risk everything, to give one’s life for another.  But what will the enduring legacy of 9-11be? 

Thatis still a work in progress, but I fear the work is not going well, at leastnot from a Christian perspective.  Infact, it seems to me that a truly Christian perspective is largely absent fromthat work.  The Church has too rarelyspoken on Jesus’ behalf in discussions about how to respond and move forward inthe aftermath of  9-11.  We have checked our faith at the door whenentering the arena of patriotism, politics, and war.

Myown faith has never led me to become a pacifist, though I sometimes wonder ifthat is more a lack of nerve than good theology.  But I am tentatively convinced that theworld’s brokenness at times requires the use of force to protect the innocentand vulnerable.  But this always involvesbodies on the shore.  It is alwaystragedy.  Yet we Americans have carefullynumbered our men and women who bravely gave their lives in Afghanistan and Iraqwhile hiding from view all those Afghan and Iraqi bodies on the shore, numbersestimated anywhere from 100,000 to over a million.

Butif the occasional use of force is at times warranted this side of God’sKingdom, it is a provisional, stop-gap measure that draws us into the world’sbrokenness, a brokenness that God finally overcomes not by force, but by love.  As Christians we are, perhaps, sometimescalled to take part begrudgingly in the use of force.  But as the body of Christ, our identity isrooted in love and mercy and hope and forgiveness.  And I still recall the words of the preacherat the National Cathedral in the days just after 9-11 when he cautioned usabout how we would respond to the great evil of 9-11, “lest we become the evilwe deplore.” 

Tenyears later, as we remember those who died, as we look back at how the worldhas become a very different place, we who are people of faith need carefully toconsider where we have placed our hope and trust.  And as I consider the strange contrastbetween Old and New Testament readings this morning, I find myself clinging toseveral truths.  In a broken world, Godsides with the weak, the vulnerable, and the oppressed; and against thepowerful and mighty.  God’s ultimatevictory over evil and brokenness comes not by might, but by mercy, grace, andlove.  And in Christ, we are invited tobecome part of that victory even now.

Spiritual Hiccups - Make Me a Star

Thanks largely to reality television, a new category of famous people has emerged in recent years: people who are famous for being famous.  I think of folks like Paris Hilton and the Kardashian clan.  They are a different sort of star from movie stars or sports stars.  I don't know that this makes them any worse or better, simply different.

I'm thinking about famous people, about "stars," because in today's reading from Philippians, Paul calls the Christians at Philippi to become stars.  More specifically, he calls them "in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation... (to) shine like stars in the world." 

I wonder how many Christians think of themselves as "stars."  Americans tend to think of faith as a private thing, and it is hard to be a star in private.  As a pastor, I get up in front of the congregation each week, and there is some sense that I am "on stage."  But this is not before the world.  It is within the closed doors of the faith community.  In terms of the world, my preaching remains private in much the same way American faith tends to do. 

Paul's description of Christians as stars comes in the context of a call to "work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure."  Private faith tends to think of salvation as having to do with my internal, private beliefs.  But Paul seems to think of salvation as more dynamic, God at work within us so that we act in ways that make us shine like stars in the world.

In one of his teachings, Jesus speaks of how no one hides a light under a basket.  Paul speaks of us shining because God is at work in us.  In other words, we become stars because we reflect God's light and people see God at work in us. 

I wonder if anyone sees God reflected in me?  God, make me a star.

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Spiritual Hiccups - Real Enough to Fear?

Yesterday I posted something on facebook saying that I was struggling with exactly how to handle the anniversary of 9-11 in worship this Sunday.  Judging from the handful of comments, most understood my quandary, though some didn't seem to appreciate that my struggle was about how a national day of remembering fits within a time of worshiping God.  Similar issues arise when July 4th comes on a Sunday.  Is celebrating our loyalty to a nation appropriate in a time set aside to worship God and profess our absolute loyalty to Christ as King and Lord?

Interestingly, today's gospel reading features Matthew's story of wise men (no number is given) from the East.  When they come to Herod's palace in Jerusalem, seeking the child born king of the Jews, their search strikes fear in the hearts of Herod, "and all Jerusalem with him."  The source of Herod's fear is obvious.  He is king, and a new king is a threat to his status.  But what about "all of Jerusalem?"  Presumably their fear is about the change and upheaval a new king might bring.  Herod wasn't actually a Jew, but he rebuilt the Temple and he maintained the Jewish traditions.  He was a known quantity and everyone knew the rules and how the system worked.  A new king threatened all that.

I seems to me that the lordship of Jesus, his claim to be King, is a threat to all other powers, lords, and loyalties, even in our day.  And yet, I have rarely experienced much fear around this.  The Old Testament frequently encourages people the "fear Yahweh," and the Old Testament reading for this coming Sunday tells of the Israelites crossing the Sea on dry ground as they escape Egypt and Pharaoh's army.  Afterwards, "the people feared Yahweh."  Yet I have rarely feared God.

Perhaps my lack of fear comes from knowing a loving God, from such an intimate relationship with God's love in Jesus that this has removed all fear.  It would be nice to think so, but I suspect my lack of fear more often is the product of being unimpressed by God.

God isn't much of a threat to my comfortable routines and patterns because, more often than not, God isn't all that powerful a presence in my life.  Jesus' lordship isn't real enough that turning the other cheek or loving my enemy actually seems like an option.  Trusting God and following Jesus even if this leads to suffering (much less death) are not really things I think much about.  But the juxtaposition of worship and 9-11 remembrance uncomfortably reminds me of how little my faith impacts my life.

I've never allowed worship to display much patriotic fervor because my theology taught me well that God is sovereign and that Christ is Lord of all.  I "know better" than to let the day lose its focus on being a "sabbath to Yahweh."  But my theological correctness is not the same as becoming a new creation in Christ.  It is not the same as experiencing God's presence so vividly and trusting God's love so fully that I want to bow down and say, "Whatever you ask, I will do.  Wherever you send my, I will go.  Whatever the cost, I will gladly bear it."

I love the study of theology and think it invaluable to the Church.  But what I need in the core of my being is not better information about God, but a more vivid experience of God's presence, one that shakes me and moves me and transforms me.  Come, Lord Jesus!

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