Grace Colored Glasses

In today's Old Testament reading, Israel is about to enter the land of promise, but Moses is not going to enter it with them. And so he reminds them of the covenant God has made with them, insisting that it is not too difficult a task for them. "If you obey the commandments of the LORD your God that I am commanding you today, by loving the LORD your God, walking in his ways, and observing his commandments, decrees, and ordinances, then you shall live and become numerous, and the LORD your God will bless you in the land that you are entering to possess."

It is simple. Do as God has commanded and all will go well. Play by the rules, and you will prosper. But history proves that keeping God's commandments is too difficult, and Israel's history is filled with stories of their failures. Fortunately, God seems unwilling to give up on Israel. True, there are consequences for their failing to live as God's people, but God's grace simply will not leave them to their own devices.

That's encouraging news for me, because I know all about the sort of self-destructive behavior Israel engages in. Most all of us do things we know we shouldn't do and fail to do things we know that we should. I often regret such choices shortly after, but that doesn't always stop me from making the same choices again.

I think my experience may explain why stories of Jesus seeking the lost are so popular. At times, we all can identify with a wayward, prodigal son, a lost sheep, or a fellow like Zacchaeus from today's gospel, whose greed has caused him to hurt others and become despised in his own community.

But Jesus says, "He too is a son of Abraham." Zacchaeus may have betrayed his own people, may have walled himself off by his own, self-destructive behavior. But Jesus simply will not leave him there. He draws Zacchaeus back in, even when it scandalizes the good, religious folk.

It's nice to know that even when I act in ways contrary to what God wants, when I go through the day acting as though God isn't even there, when I put my own petty needs above everyone else's, Jesus refuses to see me as my actions define me. Instead he insists, "You too are a beloved child of God."

That calls for a big "Thanks be to God!"

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Becoming Dependent... in a Good Way

I'm back in the office after taking off most of last week. I'm pretty exhausted, but in a good way. My wife and I finally found a home to purchase after many months of searching, and I spent last week ripping out layers of old kitchen floor, knocking down a wall, refinishing hardwood flooring, and hanging sheet rock. I still have a lot of work to do, but I made a lot of progress.

I come from that "If you want it done right you'd better do it yourself" school of thought, and so I am inclined to do anything I know how to do - or think I can learn to do - on my own. (Only occasionally do I get myself in trouble by attempting something I shouldn't have.) So I am feeling pretty good about myself as a handyman after last week, but there is a downside to my do-it-yourself attitude.

Being self-sufficient is something many people aspire to, although no one is ever totally so. But for me, the desire to be self-sufficient can make me loathe to ask for help. If I need help, then I'm not doing it myself. In fact, I'm dependent on another, and dependent is the opposite of self-sufficient.

For God alone my soul waits in silence;
    from him comes my salvation.  
He alone is my rock and my salvation,
    my fortress; I shall never be shaken.   Psalm 62:1-2

At the core of Christian faith is a radical dependence on God, on God's love and grace in Jesus. This is perhaps especially true for Protestants like myself who speak of "justification by grace through faith," the notion that restored relationship with God is a gift freely offered, not something we can acquire by our efforts. There are times when this sounds absolutely wonderful, this promise of God's love extended to us regardless. But it can negate notions of personal merit, accomplishment, etc.

Notions of self-sufficiency sometime lead me astray in church work when I think that "success" is about getting everything just right: the right programs, the right mission activities, the right volunteers, and so on. But when I think this way I view church through a self-sufficiency lens, not leaving much room for God to operate, for the Spirit to move, for more than I can imagine to occur.

And so I need to remind myself to wait for God alone. I need to remember that Jesus promises to be with all who seek to follow him, and we don't need to do it all ourselves. He calls me away from the impossible demand of being self-sufficient saying, "Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

That sounds pretty inviting.

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Sermon video - Extravagant Generosity: Freed from Consumeritis

June 2 sermon

Audios of sermons and worship on Falls Church Presbyterian website.

Sermon video: Risk-Taking Mission and Service: Use Your Talents Foolishly

Sermon from May 26

Audios of sermons and worship found on church website.

Sermon - Extravagant Generosity: Freed from Consumeritis

Luke 19:1-10

Extravagant Generosity: Freed from Consumeritis

James Sledge                                                                                       June 2, 2013

I was in Target the other day, picking up a few small items, and for some reason I walked detoured through the TV section. I didn’t even slow down as I walked by the 26, 32, and 40 inch screens, but I stopped at the 55 and 70 inch TVs. Now that would be nice. Think of the Super Bowl party you could have with a 70 inch television.

That big screen called to me, but I walked on to the checkout with my little basket of items. I wanted it though, and I wished I had it. I even felt a bit diminished by not having it, which is not surprising since I suffer from a disease endemic to our culture. I don’t have a bad case, but I still have consumeritis. Its chief symptom is always needing more in order to be happy: a new TV, new car, renovated kitchen, new smart phone, and on and on and on.

One of the problems with consumeritis is that getting more doesn’t actually help. You still need more. That’s true whether you’re rich or poor. Regardless of income, people say that if they just had 20% more, they’d be happy.[1] Just think, wherever you are, whatever your salary, whatever you have, someone is sure she’d be happy if only she made what you make and had what you have. But you know better.

Consumeritis is a great spiritual malady of our age and the cause of much of our anxiety. It’s true that a bit of dissatisfaction can motivate and drive us, but at some point, this endless striving for more becomes pathological, an addiction that can never be sated. It keeps people in jobs they can’t stand, and it runs them ragged. It consumes people, damaging relationships, ruining health, and more. As someone has said, “We buy things we don't even need with money we don't even have to impress people we don't even know”[2]

Endemic cosumeritis is a modern problem, but the disease itself has been around forever. No doubt Zacchaeus suffered from it. After all, he had pursued riches in a manner that left him hated and disowned by fellow Israelites. Chief tax collectors purchased their position from the Romans, becoming a part of Rome’s hated occupation. And beyond collaborating with the Romans, they got rich by collecting more taxes than were actually owed and keeping the surplus. In other words, Zacchaeus was a traitor and a thief.

I wonder what drove Zacchaeus to pursue wealth at such costs. What about him was willing to become a hated pariah to get wealth? Surely there was some deep, unfilled need that drove him. But I suspect it had not worked out as he hoped. How else to explain his desire to see Jesus, even if he made a fool of himself in the process?

And when he meets Jesus, everything changes. He’s ready to give away half he owns and repay quadruple anyone he defrauded. Whatever it was that drove him to pursue wealth no matter the cost, it is gone, and Jesus says that “salvation” has come to his house. Zacchaeus has been healed, made whole, saved, made new.

Not So Bold

Just before his death, Moses gives the same command to both the people of Israel and to Joshua, who will now lead them. "Be strong and bold." This strength and boldness does not come from Israel being particularly powerful or impressive, or even from Joshua being a brilliant leader. Israel and Joshua can be bold and strong because God goes with them.

The Apostle Paul speaks in the same manner in today's passage from 2 Corinthians. He speaks of a competence that comes, not from himself, but from God. He has a confidence he has received through Christ. And so, he writes, "Since, then, we have such a hope, we act with great boldness."

I've done a few risky things in my life, but I'm not sure that I much inclined to be bold. I tend to have lots of doubts, and when I analyze the complexities of something I think needs to be done, I can feel overwhelmed. Surely I don't have what it takes to tackle it.

Very often I lack the boldness to take on big problems because they seem too big for my abilities and competencies. I don't know that there is anything all that peculiar about me on this. Lots of people, lots of organizations, lots of church congregations, are constrained by whatever estimates they make of their talents, abilities, resources, and competencies. And while this might seem to be a fairly prudent way to operate, followers of Jesus are supposed to have resources much greater than those we possess naturally. We are supposed to be gifted with and empowered by the Spirit.

If everything I attempt is something I deem within my natural abilities, what room do I leave for the Spirit? And how am I to bear witness to the power of Christ in my life if I do nothing more than I could already do all by myself?

Your thoughts?

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Older Siblings and a Prodigal God

Today's gospel is the famous "Parable of the Prodigal Son." It's one of those bits of scripture that many people who were raised in church can recall as soon as they hear the word "prodigal." That is certainly the case for me, but I confess that while I've long known this parable by its designation "prodigal," for many years I had no idea what the word "prodigal" meant.

The word is nowhere to be found in the parable itself. It is a label affixed centuries after the story was first written down. For that matter, the word "prodigal" occurs nowhere in the entire New Testament translation sitting on my desk.

Just in case you're a bit like me and never thought very much about the meaning of this rarely used word, one definition of "prodigal" reads "wastefully extravagant." Easy enough to see how such a word got attached to the younger brother who blew through all that money he had demanded from his father. But I wonder if the label "prodigal" might not just as easily be affixed to the father in the parable. The older brother certainly seems to think so.

This parable is a favorite bit of scripture for many Christians, for obvious reasons. Of course this generally requires us to identify with the younger brother. Some of us may have a history not so unlike this fellow, but the fact is that church congregations are heavily populated by older brother and sister types. And like the parable's older brother, we sometimes chafe at the prodigal nature of God. We imagine that God should pay more attention to us, those who have kept our noses clean, supported the church budget, and been good little boys and girls.

Jesus tells this parable to older sibling types, those who've worked hard at being good church folk and resent Jesus' prodigal sharing the wealth with those who've not made near the effort they have. And I think it is helpful for those of us who've been reliable church sorts for many years to hear Jesus address us in the same manner with this parable. If you hear Jesus speaking this parable to you as and older sibling, what sort of response does he seem to ask of you?

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About "Those People"

Today's gospel reading is familiar to many church folk, the parable of the lost sheep where the shepherd leaves 99 sheep alone in the wilderness to search for the one who is lost. There is great rejoicing and celebration with the single lost sheep is found, something Jesus says mirrors events in heaven over a single sinner who repents. In fact, Jesus says, heaven gets much more excited about the one sinner who comes into the fold than the 99 who never left it.

Rarely have I heard church people take issue with this bit of Scripture. It is a favorite passage for many. Who doesn't like the idea that when we go astray, Jesus drops everything and comes looking for us? But when it comes to actual practice, I've heard a lot of people take issue with the sort of behavior this parable recommends.

Jesus tells the parable because people were upset with him for spending so much time with "sinners." Many evangelically minded pastors have found themselves in a similar position with their own congregations. When a pastor spends too much time with unchurched folk, especially if those folk look a little unsavory, complaints from the congregation are likely to follow. (Jesus and his opponents don't quibble over the use of the term "sinner." They all seem comfortable with the idea that some - including Jesus' opponents - are trying much harder than these "sinners" to be right with God.)

I've never been a very good evangelist, so I've not gotten in any real trouble for spending too much time reaching out or ministering to non-members who are unsavory to boot. But on more than one occasion I've heard people declare, "We need to be more worried about our own members and not those people." ("Those people" covers a wide swath. It could be a missing demographic group the church hopes to connect with, the people being reached out to with an on-site mission activity, a group that a differently-styled worship service hopes to attract, etc.)

In his devotion for today, Richard Rohr writes on the meaning of the communion of saints. "Living in the communion of saints means that we can take ourselves very seriously (we are part of a Great Whole) and not take ourselves too seriously at all (we are just a part of the Great Whole!) at the very same time." I wonder if we in church congregations don't need to do a better job of embracing both sides of this. (I'll leave it to each individual to consider which side of this she or he needs better to embrace.) 

I think that being a follower of Jesus requires a sense of what the Great Whole is, and it also requires some realization of what part I am called to play in that Great Whole. But one thing is certain, the Great Whole is not all about me or my congregation. And God seems to get downright giddy over connecting with those outside those little communities we sometimes make the centers of our religious universe.

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Sermon - Risk-Taking Mission and Service: Use Your Talents Foolishly

Matthew 25:14-30 (Romans 5:1-5)

Risking-Taking Mission and Service: Use Your Talents Foolishly

James Sledge                                                          May 26, 2013 – Trinity Sunday

There’s a TV commercial for a bank where someone with a brief case full of money goes up to strangers and asks them to hold it for a while. The commercial shows a man sitting next to the brief case, nervously touching it and looking around. Imagine someone asked you to take care of his brief case full of money. What would you do? How about if he asked you to watch it for six months, or a year, or five years?

If we eliminate “I’d just keep it for myself”–let’s say the person who gave it to you is a mobster – what are your options? You could take it to the bank and put the cash there, or perhaps put it in a money market account where it would earn a little interest. But I doubt many of you would do any speculative investing with a mobster’s money. No way I would risk losing a big chunk of that money and having to tell him, “I tried to make you some big money, but it didn’t work out, and most of it’s gone.”

If you’re like me and not inclined to speculate with a mobster’s money, then you should have no trouble relating to the third slave in Jesus’ parable. He did just what we would do. In Jesus’ day there were no banks as we know them, no investments that were really safe, and if you wanted to be certain you wouldn’t risk losing it, you hid money, which is exactly what the third slave did.

The first two slaves, on the other hand, managed to double their master’s money. Even today, with regulators and laws to protect investors, you don’t double your money without taking some significant risks. In Jesus’ day, the risks would have been phenomenal. 

In popular thought, and often in sermons, today’s parable gets treated as a fable with a moral that says, “Use your talents wisely.” Trouble is, the third slave does what most folks considered wise and prudent, while the first two slaves do what is risky and foolish.

Isn't That Special

I don't think I'd ever noticed this line from today's reading in 1 Timothy. "For to this end we toil and struggle, because we have our hope set on the living God, who is the Savior of all people, especially of those who believe." I'm not exactly sure what it means for God to be Savior of all people and especially of believers. Can someone be especially saved? If God's saving activity with believers is somehow different than the saving of people in general, what is it that makes Christians special?

These words on God as Savior of all and especially of believers occur in the context of a call to godliness and as motivation to toil and struggle. So perhaps our specialness is supposed to be there, in the rigorous work of godliness that others can see.

 Such a notion would certainly fit into the idea that the Church is the body of Christ in the world, and there are  many ways that church congregations show Christ/God to the world. Once a month this church welcomes 200 or so of our poor or homeless neighbors for a delicious home-cooked meal, to receive gifts cards for the local grocery store, and more. It is admittedly a drop in the bucket compared to the magnitude of the hunger, poverty, and homelessness problems of this region, but it is also an activity that is largely restricted to shelters and other faith communities. And it strikes me as an act of godliness, a moment where we show God and the saving nature of God to others.

When we show God to the world, in many a varied ways, we live into a specialness that is our calling as believers. Unfortunately, there is much in our culture that tries to draw us away from this. Our culture of consumerism has done a good job of turning Americans into religious consumers. People often come to churches looking for something to make them happy, perk them up, help them through the week, and so on. I don't think there is anything wrong we that per se, but when church members began to see themselves primarily as consumers, judging pretty much everything in their congregation based on how well it suits them or impacts them, our special godliness can get obscured.

I realize this is a complex and nuanced question, but I'll ask it anyhow. Are the things that make your faith community special things that show God to others or things that you enjoy and make you happy? Of perhaps better, how do the things that make your congregation special balance out between these two poles? Is it more about nurturing a special godliness for the sake of the world or about providing the religious goods members like and want?

So what is it that makes your group of believers special?

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Insiders, Outsiders, Judgment, and the Kingdom

I often don't quite know what to make of a Scripture passage when I first read it, and that is the case with today's gospel reading. I don't do any research or study with my devotional readings, and so sometimes I simply tumble things around in my head without any precise meaning. Today I'm thinking about the kingdom, mustard seeds, leaven, narrow gates, insiders who are locked out, and the last who become first. It's quite a mixture.

An uncomfortable piece to this reading is the notion of judgment. Like a lot of people, I'm much bigger on forgiveness, grace, and unconditional divine love than I am on judgment. But today's reading clearly speaks of a narrow gate and people who thought they had an invitation to the party but were told, "I do not know where you come from; go away from me, all you evildoers!"

I've read Dietrich Bonhoeffer's The Cost of Discipleship, and I'm familiar with his warnings against "cheap grace," forgiveness without repentance and grace without obedience. But I still have trouble reconciling notions of love and grace that nonetheless insist we be changed by that grace.

Perhaps part of my struggle with judgment arises from the Church's all too common practice of speaking judgment against outsiders, those who aren't Christian or not the right kind of Christian. But Jesus' words of judgment are most often aimed at religious insiders, not outsiders. And that seems to be the case today where insiders are locked out and watch as all manner of folks " from east and west, from north and south," get welcomed into the party. It is insiders, it seems, who most need to be reminded of the requirements of obedience and discipleship.

I'm not about to make any clear-cut doctrinal statements about judgment based on my brief, devotional meditation on today's gospel. I'm not entirely clear whether Jesus is speaking of an ultimate, final judgment, or simply doing what prophets have long done, warn people that they need to change. Regardless, it is abundantly clear that the call of Jesus is to a very particular way of living in the world, one that requires faith, obedience, and assistance from the Spirit. And I can always stand to be reminded of that.

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Questions, Anger, and Hope

As a deer longs for flowing streams,
    so my soul longs for you, O God. 
My soul thirsts for God,
    for the living God.
When shall I come and behold
    the face of God? 
My tears have been my food
    day and night,
 while people say to me continually,
    “Where is your God?”        Psalm 42:1-3

There are a lot of "Where is God?" type questions floating around today in the aftermath of the tornado in Moore, OK. And as troubling as it is to admit, there are times when the best answers we have are not very satisfying. Quite often, the cheap platitudes offered by some people of faith are as unhelpful as the absurd comments of those who blame such events on toleration of gays or some other presumed sin.

Some church folk are terrified at the prospect of questioning God's role in yesterday's events. They view questioning God as a lapse in faith, as evidence of doubt that they will not admit to. But the psalmists have no such qualms. That's true of today's psalm and of many other psalms of lament. Jesus borrowed one while on the cross. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

I've always thought that a fist shaken at God is more an act of faith than is found in any act of stoic resignation. Certainly the psalmists are acting on faith when they question God, even demand of God. And they most often proclaim hope in the midst of their upset. Today's psalm ends with the psalmist counseling himself.

Why are you cast down, O my soul,
    and why are you disquieted within me? 
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
    my help and my God.

Sometimes the best thing we can do in moments of hurt and pain that cannot be explained is to cry out, yet somehow still hope. This moment is not one for complex theologies. It is a time to weep, to pray, even to shake a fist. It is a time to remember that Jesus experienced this, too. He felt abandoned and wondered where God was. And it is a time to recall the promise that God brings life out of death, that even in the face of death, we can still hope.

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