Sermon video - Pregnant with God's Nevertheless

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Dealing with Weeds

There is an unfortunate tendency among us liberal Christians to act as though sin and evil are not real problems. There are only environmental factors, lack of education, poverty and desperation, etc. This tendency is not as strong as it was a century ago when many liberal Christians expected "progress" to bring the kingdom, but it is still one of our biases.  And so we sometimes think it quite easy to follow the lesson of today's parable.  We have no difficulty leaving the field a mix of wheat and weeds.  After all, weeds are just disadvantaged and misunderstood.

Now I don't mean to make light of the very real impact that social forces have in shaping our world and in shaping individual's lives. There are countless human problems that can and have been addressed via education, increased opportunities, social reforms, and so on. But these cannot address a more fundamental problem with the human condition. There is something inherently tragic and self-destructive about us. We are quite proficient at doing the wrong thing even when we know full well what the right thing is and know it is in our self interest to do that right thing. We have a tendency toward greed and covetousness that only seems to get worse the more that we have.

I don't understand acknowledging the basic problem to lead to a pessimistic outlook. Instead is like an alcoholic or addict admitting his fundamental problem as the first step inrecovery. It is acknowledging that I need help, that I need "saving." I cannot be who I am meant to be without help from God and others.

Jesus' parable presumes that when we are transformed and made new in him, we will no longer feel quite at home in the the world as it currently operates. We will be fundamentally out of sync with many of the forces that drive society, politics, economics, and so on.  And I think that it is only when we experience this strong dissonance with the world that Jesus' parable begins to resonate. Only when we recognize that the way of Jesus is in deep conflict with the ways of the world do we face the dilemma of the slaves in the parable who want to do something about the weeds. Only then do we recognize that parable is not about tolerance or those who are simply different, it is about a tolerance of those who are our enemies.

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Church as "Family"

The term "Church Family" is very familiar to many of us who grew up in church.  This was likely the most common way the congregations where I learned church self-identified. Ask church members to describe the congregation and the word family was sure to be used.

I assume that this metaphor of family drew on positive aspects of family life, people who loved you and cared for you, etc. But of course there were negative pieces to the metaphor as well. And these probably are more problematic for churches than they are for real families. Families are rather closed systems. One does not join a family. You are either born into it or marry into it. And while things are changing today with more blended families and interracial families, on the whole, families tend to all look the same.

Churches often amplify some problematic aspects of family. In some congregations, you can be a member for years and still get treated like an outsider, not fully a member of the family. Church congregations are often made up of folks who all look very much the same. And not only is racial diversity a real problem for many congregations, but class diversity, income diversity, cultural diversity, and so on are problems as well.

I have recently become pastor at a vibrant congregation that, thankfully, has more diversity than I've typically experienced in Presbyterian congregations. But if you don't like classical music and you aren't at a certain income level and you don't lean a little toward the "progressive" side of politics, you may not feel that you really fit here.

Someone told him, “Look, your mother and your brothers are standing outside, wanting to speak to you.”  But to the one who had told him this, Jesus replied, “Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?” And pointing to his disciples, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.”   Matthew 12:47-50

I suppose the Jesus sanctions the use of the family metaphor for the church, but it is a significantly redefined picture of family. The likeness of this family is not about race, ethnicity, culture, income, etc. It is about discipleship, about doing God's will. Now I imagine that just about any church would embrace the idea that doing God's will is integral to being a Christian. But I suspect that more often than not, doing God's will is not what binds congregations together as families.

If we're going to sing songs in worship, I suppose there is no avoiding that worship at one place may appeal to someone more than worship somewhere else. But I still wonder. What is it that really defines us as a congregation? What notion of family, or some other metaphor, creates and shapes us? And where does God's will fit in all that?

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Where Did This Come From?

One of the difficult things about being a new pastor in a congregation is figuring out what changes to make. I take it as a given that changes must be made. This is a continual, ongoing process. The kingdom, God's reign, has not yet arrived, and we must be continually open to where the Spirit is leading us.

However, it is often quite different to differentiate between the Spirit's leading and personal preferences and inclinations.  Incoming pastors arrive with notions of what works well and presumptions of what is needed. Likewise, congregations have notions of what works well and presumptions of how things should be.  And it can be very easy for pastors and congregations each to assume they know best what is appropriate for their particular congregations. But such "knowledge" doesn't necessarily have anything to do with the Spirit's guidance.

In today's gospel, Jesus shows up at his hometown, and people are astounded. He makes a big impression, but then they start thinking about who he is and what they already "know" about him.

"Where did this man get this wisdom and these deeds of power? Is not this the carpenter's son? Is not his mother called Mary? And are not his brothers James and Joseph and Simon and Judas? And are not all his sisters with us? Where then did this man get all this?" And they took offense at him.

Most church folks have notions and expectations about how to do and be church. The more serious we are about church, the more rigid such expectations and notions often become. Pastors and other dedicated leaders in congregations are perhaps most prone to such problems. So how are we to sense the guidance of the Spirit who - like the wind - "blows where it chooses," who - like Jesus - often shows little respect for how we've always done it or how we're sure it should be.

 I'm more than a little suspicious that if we've never had our religious certainties upended; if we've never felt threatened and dislocated regarding our religious habits, we're doing a remarkably good job of hiding from the Holy Spirit.

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Sermon - Pregnant with God's Nevertheless

Ezekiel 37:1-14; Romans 1:1-14

Pregnant with God’s Nevertheless

James Sledge                                                                           May 27, 2012 – Pentecost

I suspect there are very few pastors who have not had a conversation like this one.  “Pastor, we raised our children in the church.  We tried very hard to bring them up in the faith.  But now that they’re grown and have children of their own, they want nothing to do with the church.”

Or this one.  “Pastor, how are we supposed to keep our teenager engaged at church?  He doesn’t like Sunday School.  He hates worship.  And he thinks youth group is a waste of time.”

Such conversations sometimes lead to reminiscing about those days, not so long ago, when stores were closed and the sports teams didn’t play on Sunday.  When I was growing up the schools didn’t schedule games on Wednesday nights because of Wednesday night prayer services.  It sure was nice when the culture cleared the table of everything else and said, “The only sanctioned activity right now is church, and we expect you to participate.”

But that’s not our world, and in a very real sense, the church finds itself in exile.  Church has been unceremoniously cast out from the center of culture.  Church is increasingly pushed to the margins and, all too often, to the margins of our own lives.  Some even proclaim that Church is dying. 

The prophet Ezekiel has a vision where he is brought out and set down in the midst of a valley, a valley filled with bones.  If we’re familiar with the bouncy, “Dem Bones” song, we may miss the horror of the scene.  It is a battlefield, perhaps even the scene of a massacre.  There was a slaughter so complete that no one was left to bury the victims.  The bodies were stripped of valuables by those who killed them, then left for buzzards and other scavengers.  Finally, the sun baked and bleached the bones.  There were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry.

“Can these bones live?”  What a strange question.  Of course they cannot.  But at least the prophet has the good sense not to say so to God.  “O Lord Yahweh, you know.”

Last year a group of conservative, Presbyterian pastors wrote an open letter to our denomination expressing their fears about where we were headed.  The phrase in the letter that caught the most attention, that became a shorthand term for the letter, said that the PC(USA) is “deathly ill.”

A local pastor, Maryann McKibben Dana of Idylwood Presbyterian, recorded a video responds to this letter. (You can view it at her blog, The Blue Room.) 

What I Really Need

Today's gospel is one of those passages that has always made me a bit uncomfortable. People bring a paralyzed man to Jesus, presumably for healing. Jesus is impressed by this act of faith on their parts and responds, not by healing the man, but by saying, "Take heart, son; your sins are forgiven." Only after some biblical experts complain that Jesus is doing what only God can do does Jesus actually heal the man.  And so the healing seems motivated less by compassion and more as a proof.

Now I suppose that Jesus' compassion is more than evident in numerous other passages, and Matthew may simply be making a point that has little to do with Jesus' actual motivations. Nonetheless, I can't help wondering what Jesus thought this man most needed. Did he need forgiveness, restoration and peace with God, more than he needed to walk?

I also wonder about myself.  What is it that I most need from Jesus?  There are certainly times when I feel an acute need for restoration and forgiveness, but more often these are quite a ways down my needs list - or at least my wants list. 

When our children were very small, we often did not give them what they wanted because we knew it was not what they really needed. Recalling this reminds me of a time when Jesus told a rich man exactly what he most needed.  "Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, 'You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.' "

I know that's not what I want.  I hope that's not what I really need.

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Hi, My Name Is ____, and I'll Be Your Host

At my first meeting in my new presbytery, there was a time before the actual meeting for break-out groups on different topics. I went to one on hospitality led by Henry Brinton, pastor at Fairfax Presbyterian. He has a new book entitled The Welcoming Congregation: Roots and Fruits of Christian Hospitality.  During his presentation he said something along these lines. "Members must start to think of themselves as hosts rather than guests."

I have yet to meet the church congregation that did not describe itself as "warm and friendly," but that warmth and friendliness is often difficult for an "outsider" to encounter.  In every church I've been a member or served I've heard people share their experience of attending worship and standing around in a fellowship time afterwards while nary a soul speaks to or even acknowledges them. In a day when it was somewhat safe to assume that most people were church goers, this may have had little impact other than to turn away a potential member. But in a day when larger and larger percentages of our population have little or no church experience, such a lack of hospitality may well be how that person meets Christ. And even though our congregation may speak of a Christ who embraces the outsider, the outcast, and the marginalized, a guest in our worship may find scant evidence of that.

Brinton's comment about church members understanding themselves as hosts rather than guests, goes to the heart of what Christian hospitality is.  It is less about warmth and friendliness and more about realizing that each of us is called to be Christ to others. But all too often, the consumerist mindset of our culture has transformed the church. We go to get something, to be served. Staff and leaders are hosts who are supposed to wait on and care for those who come.

Today's reading from the letter to the Ephesian church has a famous line where the writer says the Jesus gifts each of us "to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ." ("Saints" refers to all believers, not a select few.) The work of ministry is a communal task. Some of this work requires special gifts, but Christian hospitality is not one of them. Some of us are more outgoing than others, some of us can strike up a conversation with a stranger easier than others, but I dare say there is hardly a one of us who does not understand how to be a good host.

The problem of hospitality - or the lack of it - in many churches is not a lack of skills, it is a problem of perspective. If you are a churchgoer, when you head to your local congregation on a Sunday, do you understand yourself as going, at least in part, to engage in the work of ministry?

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Sticking with Eliab

Have you ever spent time in prayer, hoping to figure out what God wanted you to do, came up with some sense of what that was, and then sometime later realized you were completely wrong? That certainly has happened to me, although I suspect it is more common that I come up with what seems a very good idea with no input for God, then simply assume that God approves. I may even have enough arrogance to blame God when the plan goes awry.

In today's Old Testament reading, Samuel takes neither of the approaches I often do. To begin with, he doesn't want the task that God gives him, so it's certainly not his idea. And when he finally concedes to do as God wants, he sees a great plan coming together. Eliab, Jesse's oldest son, looks like an ideal candidate for king. He has all the qualifications.  Samuel is all set to say, "This is the one." But...

"But Yahweh said..." How did Samuel hear that "But?" I think I would have been so thrilled that a clear answer had arisen for what God had called me to do that I would have latched on to Eliab and never let go. I'm busy. I have a lot of things to get done. Eliab is better than anything I could have hoped for. No way I'm going to listen for a "But."

"Successful" congregations are often filled with "successful" people and pastors. And in our culture, successful mean getting things done. So I wonder how often we stick with Eliab and never meet David.

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What Is Faith?

In today's gospel reading, a Roman centurion comes to Jesus seeking healing for one of his servants.  When Jesus says he will come and heal him, the centurion insists that Jesus need only speak the word and not actually travel to the centurion's home.  Jesus is astounded and says, "Truly I tell you, in no one in Israel have I found such faith."

What is faith?  In American Christianity, faith has often come to mean believing the correct essentials about Jesus.  Certainly belief is part of being a Christian, but the faith of the Roman centurion is surely short in the belief department.  He may well believe nothing more than Jesus is a powerful healer.  This centurion may not have embraced any of Jesus' teachings, and he need not even be a monotheist in order to have faith that Jesus can heal.  Yet Jesus heaps praises on this man's faith.

What does faith mean to you.  Our "Christian nation" does not seem to have much faith in Jesus' call to turn the other cheek and seek the good of our enemy.  We clearly don't trust him when he calls us to non-violence and a willingness to suffer for others.

I don't think I've ever met anyone who fully trusted Jesus.  I certainly don't.  Jesus says plenty of things that I ignore or rationalize away because they just don't seem like a good idea to me.  They ask for greater faith than I seem able to muster.

Just how far do I trust Jesus? How about you?  What assessment would Jesus make about your or my faith?

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Preaching Thoughts on a Non-Preaching Sunday: Whatever Happened to Matthias?

Preaching may be my favorite activity as a pastor, but it is nice to have Sundays when I don't preach.  To have a week where I'm not concerned with sermon or service liturgy or bulletin allows a focus on other things.  But I am too much the preacher not to think about the Sunday texts, and so today I am wondering.  Whatever happened to Matthias?

Matthias is the person chosen to take Judas' place as twelfth disciple.  He is chosen by lot (in our day we would say be chance) from two candidates.  This practice of rolling dice was done in faith that God was making the final choice.

This is Matthias' one and only appearance in the Bible.  I once heard a preacher use this as evidence that churches should be slow and deliberate in filling positions.  Clearly there was someone that would have made more of a splash than Matthias.

But as Diane so aptly pointed out in her sermon today, almost none of the other apostles are mentioned again following the choice of Matthias.  He joins seven other apostles who disappear from the story at this point.  Following the logic of that preacher I once heard, Jesus probably needed to be more careful in whom he called to follow him.

The fact is that the work of the Church is done mostly be anonymous individuals.  The fact that Matthias doesn't get a certificate of recognition anywhere in the New Testament has little bearing on whether or not he was a good choice.  And remembering that Jesus said, "Whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be your slave," the Church would probably have a lot more anonymous greats if we took Jesus seriously.

But I still sometimes wonder what happened to Matthias.  I guess I'll never know.  But given the improbable way that the Christian movement spread like wildfire across the Mediterranean world, I can only assume that his faithful witness played a significant role in the vitality and vigor of the early Church.  And I can't help but think that the Church today could use a lot more folks like Matthias.

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No Earthly Good

Today is The Ascension of the Lord, a feast day I was totally unaware of for much of my life.  (I barely knew about Advent and Lent as a child in a small, Southern, Presbyterian church.)  The reading from Acts for this day naturally features Jesus' ascension into heaven.  This occurs after he has instructed the disciples to wait in Jerusalem for the coming of the Holy Spirit.  When that happened, they would be his witnesses to all the earth.

And then Jesus elevators up into the clouds, leaving the disciples standing there, staring up at the sky.  I can only imagine that their mouths were hanging open and they looked incredibly stunned and confused.  In my imagination this must have gone on for a long time.  That explains the appearance of "two men in white robes."  These men or angels presumably show up both to end the heavenly gawking and to let the reader know something important.  They said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.”

As a Southerner, I am rather fond of the comedy routines of the now deceased Jerry Clower.  If you're not Southern he is an acquired taste, but his stories of rural life in Mississippi are hilarious.  He was also a Southern Baptist who was very serious about his faith, a faith was also quite nuanced and exhibited a great deal of self-reflection.

I know Clower from his recordings, but I have a book of his that was given to me, a gift from my brother if I recall.  The book is a mix of his stories along with reflections and thoughts.  In one chapter, he recalls being taken to task by fellow Baptists for working in a nightclub that served alcohol. (That it was for an AA Convention had apparently escaped them.)  The title of the chapter is "Some People are so Heavenly Minded, They Ain't No Earthly Good."

I think Clower's title might be a very loose paraphrase of what the men in white robes tell those disciples staring up at the sky.  Jesus will return when he returns, they say.  In the meantime, your work is here, on earth.

One of the great failings of the Christian Church was losing sight of this.  All too often, we have acted like the work of the Church was getting people to heaven (or at least failed to correct this idea).  But Jesus says nothing of the sort to his followers.  They are to be his witnesses, to continue his work so that all the world experiences his healing and hope, his call to a new way of life, his dream of a world where God's will is done. 

Followers of Jesus, why do you dream of heaven?  You have earthly good you are called to do.

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A Dangerous God

The LORD is king; let the peoples tremble!
     He sits enthroned upon the cherubim; 
         let the earth quake!     (Psalm 99:1)
 
 Those of us wearing the label "progressive Christian" are sometimes a bit squeamish at the notion of God making folks tremble.  "God is love," we say.  Jesus loved people and helped them.  He didn't try to scare them.  And plus there are enough people running around talking about a God who has it out for anyone who doesn't have her beliefs nailed down just so.

However, as true as all this may be, we sometimes end up with a very safe, user-friendly, manageable God.  And even sweet, loving Jesus scared folks badly enough that they thought it necessary to kill him.

One a those paradoxes inherent to a deep, mature faith is the experience of a God who is loving, merciful, and filled with endless grace, and yet is awe inspiring, wild, dangerous, and not the least bit manageable.  No wonder Jesus said that following him meant losing yourself, allowing your life to be taken over by this strange new thing that begins to happen in Jesus.

In my own spiritual life, I'm often more than happy with a hint of God.  A wisp of spiritual warmth will do.  I'm not sure I want to meet a God with the power to transform me, to spin me around and drive me in some direction I'd prefer to avoid at all costs.  God is supposed to grease the skids of my comfortable, middle-class, pastoral enterprise, not startle me or unnerve me or demand that I change.

Yahweh is king; let the peoples tremble!  Actually, just the thought that God is actually in charge, rather than me, is enough to make me tremble just a bit.

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