Becoming Better Lovers

In seminary, my favorite subjects were theology and Bible exegesis (the careful study of Scripture in order to understand, explain, and interpret a passage).  I really enjoy the rational thought processes involved in such study.  I love trying to figure things out, trying to understand what something means, and there were times when I thought about further academic pursuit, about trying to become a theology professor perhaps.

I still love theology and exegesis. After all, it is not possible to be a Christian without doing both. All people of faith have some way of deciding what God is like, how to use the Bible, etc.  But sometimes I have tendency, as does my denomination, to make such things an end in themselves. That's likely one of the reasons Presbyterians tend to be a bit on the stuffy side.  A great deal of the time, faith operates only in our brains.

I am overstating things a bit, but there is some truth to Presbyterian stereotypes.  And as one somewhat comfortable in those stereotypes, I find Paul's words today a tad unsettling.  "The one who loves another has fulfilled the law.... Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law." 

Paul is referring to law in the sense of Torah, so we're not necessarily talking about speed limits here.  But neither did Paul divide things into religious and secular spheres.  The religious permeated all things for Paul and most ancient people, and so he might well has seen speed limits as religious.  Speeding or running a red light does increase the chance of me injuring a neighbor.

But the bigger issue for me is this idea that loving the other fulfills all the law, rules, and regulations.  Can it really be so simple?  If we just all loved one another, would everything else take care of itself?

In my denomination, pastors, along with elders and deacons (who might be called "lay leaders" in other traditions), are ordained.  One of my favorite questions asked to those being ordained is also probably the most difficult promise to keep. "Do you promise the further the peace, unity, and purity of the church?" The problem is that some folks tend to emphasize one component while other folks have a different favorite. Some will happily sacrifice peace for the sake of purity while others will happily toss out any notion of purity to maintain peace. 

(One of the reasons there are liberal Presbyterian Churches and conservative Presbyterian Churches is because we can't figure out how to do all three.  And so we divide up, allowing individual congregations to live more or less peacefully in unity as they practice the particular purity of their position.  This moves the purity fights that reveal our lack of peace and unity, [and love?] mostly to a regional and national level.)

But if we take Paul seriously, and if we draw some parallels between purity and the law, then loving one another would seem to take care of purity.  And certainly loving one another would seem to build peace and unity.  Of course it must be said that Paul had opponents, and he wasn't always shy about saying nasty things about them.  Was this a matter of Paul having trouble practicing what he preached, or was he simply dealing with people who were hurting others because they weren't loving their neighbors?  I'm not sure there are easy answers to such questions, but I do think that embodying the idea that love fulfills the law in doing no wrong to the neighbor would makes things better.

There's an old line that says, "I'm a lover, not a fighter." In my experience, we Presbyterians (and plenty of other groups) are sometimes better fighters than lovers.  We are very good at rational exercises of theology and exegesis that allow us to marshal compelling  arguments to help our side win.  But how might it look if we focused more on loving?

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Sermon - Quiet Desperation

Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

Quiet Desperation

James Sledge                                                                                       July 22, 2012

Jesus and the disciples needed a little R and R.  They had scarcely had a moment’s rest for weeks.  It had been a nonstop preaching, teaching, and healing tour. The crowds were everywhere, pressing in on them, demanding access to Jesus.  Perhaps that is why Jesus had sent the disciples out in pairs on a tour of their own.  He needed surrogates to help in the face of so much demand.

When the disciples returned from their mission trips with tales of their own crowds and of teaching and healing many, everyone was exhausted.  But still people swarmed around.  And so Jesus said, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest awhile.” And like celebrities escaping the paparazzi, they got into a boat and slipped away.

But the crowds were as persistent as paparazzi.  Jesus and his entourage had not made their getaway completely undetected.  They had been spotted, the direction they were headed observed. Word quickly spread, and by the time Jesus and his crew came ashore at their deserted hideaway, a huge, clamoring crowd was waiting for them.

Time to make another break for it. Time to give the crowds the slip.  Send a couple disciples one way, a few more the other, then slip out the back.  Except that Jesus looks into the faces of the crowd, and he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd.

How pathetic those folks must have been. They were so desperate that they chased after Jesus like pre-teen girls chasing Justin Bieber.  They were so desperate for help that they begged just to touch his clothes. The disciples could have made a fortune if they had known about mass marketing.  “Get you own piece of Jesus’ cloak for only $19.95, plus shipping and handling.”

I’m sure glad I’m not like those pitiful Galileans.  Sure, I’ve got my problems, but I’m not going to come unglued over them.  I don’t need to push and shove and beg.  I have things under control. I have resources as my disposal.  I’m not going to let myself get in a situation where I need to act like those folks who chased after Jesus, begging for him to help.

Feelings this way may be why the images out of New Orleans shortly after Hurricane Katrina were so disturbing. 

Not Much to Say

I imagine there were people who expected that I would write something about the horrible shooting in Colorado yesterday, but the truth is I really had little to say.  Calls for prayer were everywhere, I and I didn't feel the need to echo those.  Facebook and Twitter were filled with comments and messages. Many faith based responses struck me as trite. Other struck me as almost cruel, insisting so forcefully on joyful hope that they seemed to deny people their grief.  And so I said nothing.

I don't have much more to say today.  I'm not at all certain how to salvage any "good" from this terrible and evil act. But neither am I comfortable simply chalking this up to how things are in a broken and fallen world.

There's a line in the old John Prine song, "Sam Stone," about a man who gets addicted to morphine after being wounded "in the conflict overseas." His life spirals downhill upon his return home, and he finally dies of an overdose.  The chorus to the song goes,

There's a hole in Daddy's arm where all the money goes,
Jesus Christ died for nothin' I suppose.
Little pitchers have big ears,
Don't stop to count the years,
Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios. 
Mmm....

 Sometimes I don't feel very far from such sentiments, and I simply rest in a quite, poignant sadness. But feeling I should say something, I looked at the lectionary readings for yesterday, and there were these verses from Paul.

Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor. Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers. Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly; do not claim to be wiser than you are. Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God; for it is written, "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord." No, "if your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink; for by doing this you will heap burning coals on their heads." Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

 I've often heard the line, "Vengeance is mine" quoted, but rarely with Paul's intent, rarely arguing that we are to love our enemies and leave all the vengeance stuff to God. Paul seems to think that evil can be defeated with good.  But evil seems amazingly resilient.  Can we really believe it will be overcome by good, by love?  Dare we believe it?

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Non-conformists

I've likely mentioned this before, but one of the classic 20th Century works in my faith tradition is a book by H. Richard Niebuhr entitled, Christ and Culture.  It speaks of several possible relationships between the two, "Christ against Culture, The Christ of Culture, Christ above Culture, Christ and Culture in Paradox," and finally argues for "Christ the Transformer of Culture." 

I'm not sure the Apostle Paul is thinking at all along Niebuhr's lines when he wrote the verses in today's epistle reading, but I think they underlie such thought. 

I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. 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.

Paul says that being in Christ makes us non-conformists.  That might not lead directly to Niebuhr's conclusions. A non-conformist might choose simply to be "against culture."  But clearly a non-conformist has to have some sense of tension with any culture this side of the reign of God, the full-blown arrival of the Kingdom on earth.

Church congregations vary widely with regards to their level of non-conformity, but I don't think it unfair to say that on the whole, church congregations are a fairly conformist group.  My own Presbyterian tradition, which proudly claims both H. Richard and Reinhold Niebuhr, certainly has been very at  home in the culture for much of its time in America.  We Presbyterians have been referred to as the "Republican party at prayer" (a moniker we've shared with others). Granted, this referenced a Republican party no longer in existence, but I'm not sure the Republican party was very non-conformist in the 1950s either.

For much of American history, Mainline churches were viewed as cultural institutions that helped raise solid citizens who shared a common moral framework.  That did not necessarily prevent working to make changes in the culture, but it did pose problems.  Mainline churches often came late to movements to change society, drawn to things such as the Civil Rights movement by members who caught the fever for change outside their congregations.  (I should add that much of that fever was faith induced, but its origins tended to be non-Mainline churches.)

Of course we Mainline denominations have lost our special place in the culture.  There are still vestiges of it, especially in the South, but by and large the culture decided it doesn't need us as one of its key institutions for raising good, community citizens.  And perhaps this is nothing short of a gift from God, though one we don't yet know how to use.

We Presbyterians still love to pass resolutions with regards to the environment, the Middle East peace process, health care reform, gambling, immigration, and so on as though we spoke with some authority to the culture.  We still operate out of patterns that evolved when we were an important cultural institution.

I'm not sure I know just what patterns we should be embracing in this new time, although I suspect such patterns will require a lot more being "transformed by the renewing our your minds" at a congregational level. Congregations need to become places of personal transformation if we are to be non-conformist, transforming agents in the culture, in the world. 

And so that is what I'm struggling with myself right at this moment.  What sort of non-conformity am I being called to in Christ?  And what sort of transforming non-conformity needs to catch fire in this and other congregation?

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Becoming Least

Today's gospel reading with its famous Jesus quote, "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me," is loved by many. But I'm not entirely sure what to do with this passage, sometimes called "The Judgment of of the Nations," other times "The Judgment of the Gentiles."  And my dilemma is related to those different titles.

When "the nations" are gathered before the Son of Man and separated "as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats," just who is it that is gathered?  For much of my life, I assumed it was everyone who was so gathered, but I'm now reasonably certain that is not the case.  In the original Greek of the gospel it is the ethnos who are gathered.  This word can mean "nations" but it more regularly is used to refer to the "Gentiles."

Matthew's gospel is a very Jewish gospel, and in Jewish thought, ethnos, Gentiles, nations, provides the ultimate us-them demarcation. Matthew seems here to use it just that way. The Gentiles, the goyim, the others, are gathered for judgment.  And in a surprising turn, they are judged worthy because they were kind to members of Jesus' family (presumably meaning his followers) who were in need.

When I think about the gospel passage from this point of view, it resists simple, moralistic understandings, but it is rich with interpretive possibility. If Jesus judges outsiders, not on their receptiveness to the Christian message but on their kindness to Christians in need, what does that say about Jesus' priorities?  And if this passage is about how Jesus judges outsiders, what does that say about how the Church should relate to outsiders?

Matthew's gospel ends with Jesus commanding his disciples (and the Church) to "make disciples of all ethnos," and so the Church is clearly charged to call people to lives of following Jesus. Yet Jesus says here that these ethnos won't necessarily be judged on how they respond to this disciple making enterprise.  In fact, putting ourselves at the mercy of the ethnos, thus giving them a chance to show us kindness, would seem to offer salvation every bit as much as the stereotypical evangelistic appeal.

As part of a denomination that is not terribly good at evangelism, and sometimes seems to dabble in it only out of some survival instinct, I wonder what it would look like for us to reach out to them in an entirely different way.   What would it mean for us to put ourselves at the mercy of them, to become the "least of these" who are dependent on others' kindness?

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Risky Business

I'm guessing that most church folks have at one time or another heard a sermon from today's gospel with an Aesop's Fable type moral.  "Use your talents wisely."  Trouble is, the parable of the talents is not about that at all.

The two slaves who doubled their master's investment most certainly had to engage in risky behavior.  They were no safe, prudent investors.  But the third slave was.  In Jesus' day, there were no reliable banks.  On top of that, the Bible has prohibitions against lending money at interest.  And so the third slave did the safe and prudent thing, the one thing that guaranteed he would not lose any of his master's money.

On a number of occasions, I've been part of groups that were discussing how to invest a church's endowment funds.  And I probably don't need to tell you that risky, speculative investments were not seriously considered. I don't disagree with such financial prudence, but the same sort of timidity often saturates all church planning and thinking.  Yet Jesus' parable lifts up risky behavior and says, "Well done, good and trustworthy slave."

I don't think that Jesus meant that we are never supposed to consider the risks before doing something. In fact, he tells a parable about doing just that.  But clearly Jesus thinks there will be times and places where we are called to risk it all for the sake of God's coming reign.  Jesus certainly did so, risking even his very life.

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Sermon audio - Dancing Naked

Sermon and worship audios also available at Falls Church Presbyterian site.

Acting on Predictions

One of the comic strips in this morning's paper featured a scraggly character holding a sign that said, "Repent! The world ends tomorrow."  The fellow is a stock character we've all seen many times, the crazy who has figured out the end is coming and wants everyone to be ready.

But if this is a fringe, stock figure, tamer versions of him are quite popular. On the one hand are those who presume they can do reasonably accurate predicting by deciphering a code for the book of Revelation.  And on the other hand are the larger number of folks who laugh at such attempts but do a different sort of predicting themselves, insisting that nothing will happen in any foreseeable future.  Things will go on pretty much as they are well beyond all of our lifetimes.  And both sorts of predicting are used to support behaviors, or the lack of them.

"Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour," says Jesus in today's parable.  Jesus says this sort of thing a number of times, but his followers seem not to have heard him. Some insist they will not be surprised by the kingdom's arrival because they will have seen it coming, but others insist they will not be surprised because it won't come.

 I have really been intrigued in recent years by the Emergent Church movement and its attempt to reclaim an emphasis on the Kingdom, on the promise of God's coming rule. This is certainly central to what Jesus teaches. He calls people to reorient their lives in preparation for a very different world whose arrival will take us by surprise. But somehow Christianity's focus shifted over the centuries to an off-world heaven rather than the transformed world Jesus proclaimed.

My own faith is probably more about personal solace, about hope and guidance for the day than it is about being transformed so that I conform to an as-yet-unseen, new world.  "It's gonna happen.  It's gonna happen," says Jesus.  Sure it is, but right now I need a nap.

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Sermon - Dancing Naked

2 Samuel 6:1-19

Dancing Naked

July 15, 2012                                                                           James Sledge

One of the things I still miss from my time in Raleigh, NC in the late 1990s is the campus radio station at N.C. State, WKNC.  It was student run station that played songs rarely on commercial radio.  One Sunday while driving home from church I turned on the station expecting the reggae program normally on at that time.  Instead I heard bouncy pop tune with a chorus that went, “He’s dancing naked!” over and over.  It was quite a toe-tapper, and I soon found myself singing along, “He’s dancing naked!”

Programing at WKNC was always dependent on whether the student DJ woke up and got there in time. The reggae DJ must have overslept because the “Rez Rock Show,” short for Resurrection Rock was still on in the reggae hour.  It was a Christian rock and roll program, and the Christian band singing “He’s dancing naked!” was singing about King David.

Actually David wasn’t completely naked.  Our scripture says that he had on an ephod, a little apron or loin cloth.  Dancing around with nothing but a loin cloth is hardly what one would expect from a king.  It’s embarrassing.  David’s wife certainly thinks so.  She looks down on David in disgust.  And if you read a little further than we did this morning, she tells David what a fine spectacle he made of himself and calls him “vulgar.”  Michal was the daughter of King Saul, so she had some knowledge of how royalty should behave – certainly not like David.

You have to admit, it’s pretty strange behavior for a king, a head of state.  (Think how people would react if President Obama suddenly ripped off his clothes at a state dinner and started offering prayers in his underwear.)  Had David taken leave of his senses? 

A little background may help. David is bringing the Ark of the Covenant, which held the Ten Commandments, into his new capital of Jerusalem. 

Getting Personal

On a handful of occasions, I have been surprised by someone who seems religiously progressive and open-minded as well as open to interfaith dialogue, who then says something like, "I feel bad for Jews who can't really have a personal relationship with God." The first time this happened, I got the impression that the person didn't actually know anyone who was Jewish, that her notion of a Jewish person was a mistaken caricature she had picked up somewhere.  Still, her remark startled me.

Today's morning psalm begins:

   I love the LORD, because he has heard
          my voice and my supplications.    Because he inclined his ear to me,
          therefore I will call on him as long as I live.    The snares of death encompassed me;
          the pangs of Sheol laid hold on me;
          I suffered distress and anguish.    Then I called on the name of the LORD:
          “O LORD, I pray, save my life!”
   Gracious is the LORD, and righteous;
          our God is merciful.
   The LORD protects the simple;
          when I was brought low, he saved me. 

This hardly sounds like the words of someone for whom God is a distant concept or unapproachable deity. And if you read through the psalms, you will discover cries to God that many Christians wouldn't dare utter for fear of being irreverent,  or perhaps simply out of fear.  I've known many church folk who could never say, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" unless they were reading it from the Bible. But of course some ancient psalmist felt close enough to God to shake a fist and demand an answer from God long before Jesus borrowed the psalm while on the cross.

As a Christian, I certainly believe, among other things, that Jesus is a unique window on God, an encounter with God not available otherwise. But that is a far crying from saying no one else can draw close to God in a personal sense.  In fact, I'm intrigued by the question of what constitutes a personal relationship with God.  What allows someone to feel an intimacy with God, to engage God in a personal sense? 

It seems to me that any sort of personal relationship has a significant experiential component.  We don't really have relationships with people we've never met, talked to, or done things with. We have to respond to one another, react to one another, and so on.  You have to go through things together to really get to know someone, which is why the first year of marriage is often tumultuous. The couple is getting to know one another and working out a deep relationship with each other.

Does God inclined her ear to me?  I can't really know unless God has responded to me.  Does Jesus save me?  Hard to say unless I've experienced that in some way. Simply believing a few things as part of a contract that promises me heaven in some hereafter is not personal, and it's not a relationship.

I love the LORD.  My God, why have you forsaken me?  Exactly the sort of things you would expect someone who gets personal with God to say.

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Sermon audio - Constrained by What We Know

Audios of sermons and worship available at Fall Church Presbyterian website.

Favorite Hymns

     O sing to the LORD a new song;
          sing to the LORD, all the earth.  

(from Psalm 96)

Falls Church Presbyterian, where I recently became pastor, has a wonderful music program. I was blown away by the choir the first time I heard them, and they have continued to astound me. I've not yet had the chance to hear the children's choir, but if they are half as good as the youth, that will be a treat as well.  And the congregation itself seems to be very musical.  They throw themselves into the hymns and are deeply appreciative of the music program.  Many of them sit back down after the benediction at worship service end to listen to the organ postlude.

All this is a preface to saying that our denomination has a new hymnal coming out.  Like all new hymnals, it will have some wonderful new additions and some head-scratchers, although from what I've seen of it, this one looks better than most. Given what I've observed about music in this congregation, I'm assuming that we will be getting new hymnals sooner rather than later.  But I know that will not be the case everywhere. There are still plenty of congregations who have not bought the "new" hymnal that came out over 20 years ago.

When I arrived at my first congregation in 1995, they had bought those "new" hymnals not terribly long before I came.  And there was a sizable contingent of folks who were quite vocal in their dislike of it. Not only had it messed with lyrics to make them more gender neutral ("God of our Fathers" became "God of the Ages"), but it had removed beloved favorites such as "Onward Christian Soldiers." (That it had added old favorites such as "How Great Thou Art" and new favorites such as "I Danced in the Morning" was conveniently overlooked.)

Christian faith looks forward to the new.  In Christ we become new creations. We await a new heaven and new earth. The Bible concludes with the promise, "See, I am making all things new."  Well that's great, but don't change any of the songs.

In truth, I think that people's attachment to songs and hymns actually speaks to a spiritual power in music that is rarely present in words alone.  Music impacts us more deeply than the neck up religious experience that dominates Presbyterian worship.  It may be the one part of our worship that touches us deep down in our soul.  No wonder people sometimes react so viscerally over a new hymnal.

Perhaps this sort of reaction speaks to a spiritual hunger that has not always found sustenance in our worship. And perhaps fights over music and hymnals are sometimes proxy battles that are really about the fear of losing a personal, spiritual connection in worship.  If so, how do we address that directly so that we can joyfully sing the old favorites and sing to the LORD a new song?

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