Faithful Servants and Wicked Tenants

I just saw the news that Nelson Mandela has died. It is indeed a momentous passing. It is hard to overstate the witness of his life, from all he endured and suffered in the struggle against apartheid to the remarkable humility and grace with which he took up the reins of power. If ever it could be said, "Well done, good and faithful servant..."

As I reflect on this, I am acutely aware of how easy my life has been, how petty my concerns and problems are, yet how hard it often is for me to do what I know is right. And the parable Jesus tells in today's gospel only heightens this awareness.

The "Parable of the Wicked Tenants" is directed at chief priests and elders, the leaders of Temple Judaism, the Church of that day. Jesus is abundantly clear that these leaders have failed in their calling, operating the religious structures more for their own benefit rather than serving God. And I can't help but wonder; what sort of parable would Jesus tell to me and to leaders of the Church in our day?

Read through the gospels and listen to Jesus' teachings. Hear the sort of life he calls his followers to live - suffering for the sake of others, praying for enemies, inviting the poor and destitute into our homes, not worrying about possessions of money but focusing on God's coming rule, doing God's will even when it is terribly difficult and costly - then wonder how likely Jesus would be to say to me or you, "Well done, good and faithful servant."

Very often the church is focused on serving its members and leaders, and the work Jesus calls us to is a small, sometimes insignificant piece of a congregation's life. It is common for churches with million dollar budgets to spend well under $100,000 on others, on the work Jesus calls us to do. We may not be corrupt like the tenants in Jesus' parable, but neither are we much focused on what Jesus calls us to do.

MaryAnn McKibben Dana had an interesting blog post the other day on the 'beyond repair" status of the Christian "brand." I wonder if this 'beyond repair" situation describes a great deal of what is labeled "church" by those of us who grew up in traditional, Mainline congregations that reached their zenith in the 1950s. If Jesus returned and gazed upon the many beautiful church buildings that dot the American landscape, would he give their congregations a "Well done," or would he instead say something about not one stone being left upon another?

Thankfully, with God there is much grace, yet still the Advent call rings out, "Prepare the way of the Lord. Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near."

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A Higher Authority

The particular events of American history have made us rather inclined to question authority. There are theological roots to this, Presbyterian/Reformed worries about sin that led to division of power in different branches of government so that power isn't overly concentrated in one place. Add to that a strong tendency toward individualism and personal freedom, and authority is further called into question. No doubt there are times when this suspicion of authority is a great strength in our society. But great strengths are usually roots of great weaknesses also, and our inability to recognize authority we don't like or agree with accounts for some of the partisan gridlock and chaos in Washington.

Jesus gets asked about his authority in today's gospel. As so often happens, Jesus answers a question with another question, querying his opponents about what authority lay behind the ministry of John the Baptist. Jesus' question demands that his opponents reveal what authority they do recognize, but they cannot do that, and they refuse to answer.

What authority do we recognize? In the season of Advent we say we are getting ready for the king who is coming, but to have  king is to respect the authority of that royal power. But most Christians, both on the left and right, fashion Jesus to suit themselves. We embrace the Jesus we agree with and reject the one who challenges us. In the end, we declare the real authority we recognize: our reason and intelligence, our personal preferences, our ambitions, or our desires. If Jesus does not cohere with some or all of these, we won't accept his authority or do as he says.

Soon we will sing of a king that is born, a lord who has come, a Savior who reigns. But will we allow this king to change us, to transform us into the children of God we are meant to be? Or will we insist that he recognize that we are the ones who are truly in charge?

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I Trust in God, but...

A king is not saved by his great army;
     a warrior is not delivered by his great strength. 
The war horse is a vain hope for victory,
     and by its great might it cannot save. 
Truly the eye of the LORD is on those who fear him,
    on those who hope in his steadfast love, 
to deliver their soul from death,
     and to keep them alive in famine.
Our soul waits for the LORD;
     he is our help and shield. 
Our heart is glad in him,
     because we trust in his holy name. 
Let your steadfast love, O LORD, be upon us,
    even as we hope in you.          Psalm 33:16-22

I wonder if the psalmist really believed the words he wrote. After all, Israel had warriors and horses and chariots and weapons of war. And being a rather small and insignificant kingdom, they also made military alliances with stronger powers. God is our help and shield. Really?

I'm not picking on the ancient Israelites. Many in our country and in our country's history have claimed that the US is the new bearer of God's blessings and covenant, the new Jerusalem. But some of the most ardent Christians are also the most ardent supporters of large military budgets along with the "right to bear arms" so that we can protect ourselves. God is our help and shield?

I trust in God, but... I presume that almost every honest person of faith (emphasis on honest) can finish this sentence with multiple buts and excepts. We trust in God, but only so far. And most of us tend to trust in ourselves or in the things we and others can do more than in God. In the modern world, most Christians have relegated God and trusting God to a narrower and narrower slice of life. For many, God isn't to be trusted with anything more that what  happens to us when we die. No wonder so many find Christian faith not worth their time.

I make no claims to be a big exception to this. I struggle to trust God as much as the next person. I manage to here and there, but I fail to do so regularly. But I have also discovered something over the years. At those times when I trust most in myself, in my abilities and skills and whatever else I think impressive about me, I inevitably find myself in trouble. And I find myself back before God, a little sheepishly, trying to lay claim to the hopes of the psalmist.

In Advent, as we once again remember and rehearse ancient stories, we might do well to remember that we are getting ready for the one who could trust himself completely to God, and who calls us to follow him. Especially among more "progressive" Christians like myself, Advent is a good time to refocus on the person of Jesus, on this one who does trust and who comes to show us his way of trusting.

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C and E Christians

I am apparently in a significant minority of pastors in that I tend to prepare sermons well in advance. I usually complete a sermon just over a week before it is preached. That means that right now I am reading in Matthew about John the Baptist's second thoughts on Jesus. John had almost refused to baptize Jesus, saying it should be the other way around. But now John is in prison, and he seems less certain. "Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?"

I can only assume that John had expected things to change more than they had. He expected the Messiah's arrival to rework the world and its structures in some way, but things still looked the same. Maybe Jesus wasn't the one after all.

We're a long way removed from John, and so his disappointments may not be ours. Our Christian faith has lived for a long time with a world slow to come around to God's ways, and so we may not be so acutely disappointed as the Baptist. But we still have to deal with all those promises of a kingdom drawn near, good news to the poor, and peace and goodwill. If we've always been Christian, we may simply shy away from John's question and instead operate with greatly lowered expectations of Jesus.

Today's lectionary gospel reading is Matthew's account of Palm Sunday, and I found myself thinking about how the tendency to rush from "Hosanna" to "He is risen" may, in some way, parallel the way Advent has been swallowed up by Christmas. Granted, Advent as Christmas may spring largely from the secular, consumerist, economic focus on Christmas while jumping straight from palms to Easter lilies is more about avoiding the ugliness of the cross. Still, both seem to focus on a happy event to avoid looking at something else.

The term "C and E Christians" is sometimes used to disparage church members who only show up a couple times a year, but I'm using it differently here. I refer to the much larger group of us that focuses on Christmas and Easter so that we don't have to consider some more troubling questions. Skipping over betrayal, arrest, trial and execution on a cross as we hurry to celebrate Easter not only avoids the messiness of the cross, but it also avoids Jesus' call for us to take up that cross as well. And spending so much time and energy celebrating Jesus' birth, on a babe in a manger, allow us to bask in the warmth of God's love, or at least in the warmth of a wonderful, old story, without needing to consider just who this baby is and what his coming demands of us.

But when we engage in a bit of Advent, we are again faced with John's (and perhaps our own) question. "Are you the one?" No need to ask that of a baby. We can imagine and mold the baby Jesus into whatever sort of Messiah we want. But Advent keeps asking who this baby is, what he will bring, and how we must prepare to be a part of that.

No doubt it is easier, certainly less costly, to be a C and E Christian. (Dietrich Bonhoeffer's "cheap grace" comes to mind here.) But I feel fairly certain that any faith with power to transform and make new can't be all C and E. With apologies to the musical Mame, maybe we really "need a little Advent, right this very minute."

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Sermon video: Awake and Ready

Audios of sermons and worship available on FCPC website.

Sermon: Awake and Ready

Matthew 24:36-44

Awake and Ready

James Sledge                                                               December 1, 2013 – Advent 1

I want you to do a bit of imagining with me this morning. Imagine that you have just learned that you have one year to live. In this imaginary situation, you will be able to live a perfectly normal life for most of that time. You will not feel bad, and you will be able to do pretty much anything you can do now. But there is nothing you or anyone else can do to change the situation. You have a year to live.

If you found yourself in such a situation, how would that impact you? What would change? What would you do differently? What things that are unimportant in your life right now might become more so? What things that are important now might not seem so important anymore? What would you start doing? What would you stop doing? Who would matter more? Who would matter less? Take a moment to mull all that over.

When someone has a dramatic event in life – a brush with death, the loss of job or career, the loss or someone important, or some other dramatic change in life circumstances – it’s sometimes referred to as “a wakeup call.” Some of you may have had one. Something happens that shakes us, and suddenly things look different, suddenly our perspective changes.

It’s an interesting metaphor, this “wakeup call.” It suggests that we were, in some way, sleeping up until we were roused into a state of alertness. But what does it mean to say that, metaphorically at least, we’ve been asleep?

Have you ever driven somewhere – work, school, the mall – and upon arriving you cannot actually recall the drive? You have no idea if the lights along the way were green or red. You clearly made it safely from point A to point B, but for all you know, you ran several red lights or stop signs. It’s like you were sleepwalking, or, in this case, sleep-driving.

Think of the things that lull us to sleep as we live our lives: long, monotonous commutes, a teacher, professor, or boss who drones on and on, long hours at a job that has lost interest or excitement for us. We can start simply to go through the motions, to sleepwalk , and it may touch all facets of our lives. We get home, grab a bite, get a drink, plop down on the couch and flip on the TV, or start checking out texts, tweets, and Facebook posts. We may even do all this in the company of friends or family yet hardly be aware of one another.

Most of us have some familiarity with going through the day scarcely aware, scarcely awake, not noticing the beauty all around us, not noticing the hurts and pains all around us. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism, a way to get through long difficult days, to deal with relationships that have soured, and so on, but we can become numb, oblivious to much around us, sleepwalking through our lives.
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Our gospel reading today is part of a much larger section of Jesus’ last teachings to his followers before he is arrested and taken from them. He focuses on their need, and ours, to stay alert and awake. After the verse we heard, he tells a number of parables that speak to this. The last of these, Jesus’ last teaching prior to his arrest, is the so-called Judgment of the Gentiles where the returning Son of Man gathers all people and separates them as one separates sheep from goats. Both sheep and goats say that they never saw Jesus hungry or thirsty or naked of a stranger or in prison. “But,” says Jesus, “Some of you did see the least of these who were hungry, sick, strangers, or prisoners, and so you saw me.” I wonder if the goats didn’t see because they were sleepwalking, walking right by those in need without even noticing them.

Praise the Lord! But What Have You Done for Me Lately?

If my Facebook page is any guide, there are a lot of people terribly upset by plans at Macy's, K-Mart, and other retailers to begin their Black Friday sales on Thanksgiving Day, but I'm struggling to come up with much outrage of my own. No one is required to shop at these establishments, tomorrow or on any day that follows. And what is so sacred about gluttony, parades, dog shows, and football that it is somehow sullied and profaned by this service to the almighty dollar?

Thanksgiving certainly has its religious connections and roots, though they have receded so far as to be nearly invisible. Some faith communities still hold Thanksgiving services, but rarely on the actually day. No sense trying to compete with the primary events of Thanksgiving. No complaints from me on that. Thanksgiving as a practice is essential to Christian faith, but Thanksgiving Day isn't.

It is possible, however, that Thanksgiving's being invaded by the spending frenzy of Christmas does speak to issues facing Christian faith, namely the difficulty we contemporary Americans seem to have being truly grateful (see Monday's blog). We are anxious people who struggle with being content. And so we quickly forget past accomplishments and gifts. We want to know, "What  have you done for me lately?" We all know stories of a very successful football coach who was fired after a single losing season.

Both of this morning's psalms call the faithful to praise, song, and thanksgiving for all God's graciousness, saving acts, and wonderful works. But such songs of thanks and praise require a longer memory than tends to be our wont. God is a remarkably patient and non-anxious deity, but our anxieties make patience, waiting, rest, and Sabbath very difficult for us. If God hasn't done something for us very recently, we may have a hard time finding it on our ledgers.

I wonder if one of the most profound things Christians might do as we move into Advent, something that might also allow for a more genuine giving of thanks, would be to slow down. What if, in this season of hectic busyness, we entered into an Advent discipline of rest, of stopping long enough for our fields of view to grow a little larger and lengthier? What if, in our recalling old, sacred stories of God's entering into human history at Bethlehem, we were able to remember and rest in the grace of God, allowing us not to worry so much about tomorrow, to be a little less anxious? What a witness that might be.

Grace and blessings to you for Thanksgiving. And may you find in it rest and space and sabbath to see beyond tomorrow's anxieties and to glimpse the goodness of God.

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If Jesus Got Ahold of Christmas

As surely as bad Christmas music is blaring in the stores and malls, so too the posts have begun to appear on Facebook from those upset over "Happy Holidays" rather than "Merry Christmas." It seems like so much manufactured upset to me. Is it really a significant concern for the faith if Target tries to whip people into a seasonal spending frenzy without using the word "Christmas?" For that matter, does the Messiah really want his title attached to our rampant consumerism?

That said, I understand some Christians' frustration with what they see as a gradual erosion of respect for the the church and religion. And even if the mall version of Christmas is largely devoid of any religious content, it was still connected in some way and still shares a date and a name. In minimalist fashion, Christmas keeps a very small bit of the Christian story before an increasingly nonreligious population. "Happy Holidays" make the tenuous linkage seem even more precarious. But even if I can understand some of their fear and frustration, I think the "Keep Christ in Christmas" crowd terribly misguided.

As this morning's psalm opens, I imagine some of these folks would nod in agreement with the psalmist's lament.
      Help, O LORD, for there is no longer anyone who is godly;
         the faithful have disappeared from humankind.
      They utter lies to each other;
          with flattering lips and a double heart they speak.
"Yes indeed... the world is going to hell in a hand basket."

But as the psalmist continues, we discover that this terrible situation has nothing to do with keeping up good, religious appearances. It has nothing to do with whether or not merchants have signs with Christmas, God, Lord, or Yahweh in their stores.
    “Because the poor are despoiled, because the needy groan,
        I will now rise up,” says the LORD;
        “I will place them in the safety for which they long.”

Because the poor are despoiled, because the needy groan... The American version of Christmas is about conspicuous consumption, about an orgy of buying and spending. To that we sometimes sprinkle in some toy drives for poor children and some turkey dinners for the hungry. But at the same time we cut food stamp programs and refuse to set a liveable minimum wage.

If Christ truly were to enter into our Christmas, it might well have all the warmth of when he lost it in the Jerusalem temple. "This is what you do in my name!?"

Sometimes I wonder if the New England Puritans didn't have it right. They celebrated Easter, but they completely forbade any celebration of Christmas. Except when it fell on a Sunday, a person could be arrested in colonial Massachusetts for not going to work on Christmas day. I'll admit such an approach is a bit severe, but they had come from England where Christmas wassailing often resembled a rowdy, drunken version of Halloween. Seeing no connection to such activity and a life of following Jesus, they banned the practice.

Actually, I have no desire to ban Christmas, I enjoy it, even those many aspects of it that have  nothing to do with Christian faith. But I don't see much call to "keep Christ in Christmas," at least not as that is usually understood. However, I wouldn't mind if Christ entered into our Christmas, at least the Christmases of those of us who claim to be his disciples. Surely the one who comes "to bring good news to the poor," who is celebrated in the Magnificat with "He has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty," would put an entirely different spin our our notions of Christmas.

Enter into our Advent, O Lord. Transform our preparation for another Christmas into preparations for a new day, that kingdom you proclaim is drawing near.

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"House Porn" and Other Longings

Truly God is good to the upright,
    to those who are pure in heart.
But as for me, my feet had almost stumbled;
    my steps had nearly slipped. 
For I was envious of the arrogant;
    I saw the prosperity of the wicked. 
For they have no pain;
    their bodies are sound and sleek. 
They are not in trouble as others are;
    they are not plagued like other people.       Psalm 73:1-5

I've noted before that we live in anxious times. We enjoy luxuries and comforts that could not have been imagined a generation or two before us, yet all this has not put us at ease. If anything it has done the opposite. Flip through the offerings on your television and you will find all manner of shows that will "help" us get better. Our homes need a make-over, our wardrobes, our bodies, our looks, and on and on.

I occasionally enjoy the home makeover shows on TV. I like to think of myself as handy around the house, so this is right up my alley. I've heard a number of folks refer to such shows as "house porn." I suppose the term comes for lusting over construction and fixtures and amenities that are better than we have or are likely ever to have in our homes. Such "porn" can create a longing that isn't really healthy, that leaves us perpetually unsatisfied with what we have.

As Thanksgiving approaches, I've noticed a number or articles and posts about how people in our world are less and less practiced at gratitude and giving thanks. Perhaps our unhealthy longings make it difficult for us to be grateful. Why would I say thanks for something that is so far removed from those things I fantasize about? Like the psalmist, I know how to be envious rather than grateful. And that line from the psalm, "their bodies are sound and sleek," fits perfectly into a "porn" like longing.

There is a famous line written by St. Augustine more than 1600 years ago that says, "You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you." We are indeed restless, but often it appears that our restlessness cannot be cured. It can only be temporarily sated, like a fix does for an addict. How strange to think that much of the anxiety of our age might be a misplaced religious striving, an ill fated attempt to calm a holy longing with the pursuit of more tangible desires.

There is a Christmas themed commercial for Audi running right now that features luxury car owners tossing their car keys into a Salvation Army type kettle. Having glimpsed an Audi, their Lexus or Mercedes no longer satisfies them. Their restlessness kicks in, and they must pursue it. I wonder if the advertisers realized the near parody of Jesus' call to leave everything behind and follow him.

During these seasons of Thanksgiving and Advent, prayers for all of us to discover a true resting in God that cures our restless longings.

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Sermon video: It Starts Today

Audios of sermons and worship available on FCPC website.

Sermon: It Starts Today

Luke 23:33-43

It Starts Today

James Sledge                                                   November 24, 2013, Reign of Christ

This is the King of the Jews. So says the inscription above Jesus as he hangs dying on a cross. His Roman executioners put it there for two reasons. First it is a horrific warning. This is what happens to those who would dare claim such a title. The emperor is king, and him alone. Any who would challenge that will meet a similar, horrible fate.

Along with this grotesque warning to those who might defy the power of Rome, the inscription on Jesus’ cross is also a mocking taunt directed at Jesus himself, as well as those who had so recently been enthralled by him. Here is your king. Doesn’t he look impressive now?

Crosses were not the standard mode of execution in the Roman empire. If you simply needed to kill a criminal, there were easier and much more efficient methods. A sword would do just fine. John the Baptist is dispatched in such a fashion. The order is given to kill him, and it is immediately carried out.

But Jesus’ death is a show, an event orchestrated to frighten would-be revolutionaries and insurrectionists. This is what happens to pretend kings. The real king squashes them like bugs. Look here on this cross. Take a long, hard look at your king.

I suspect that most all Jesus’ followers got the message. They had been sure that he was the Messiah. The power of God had seemed to flow out from him. Repeatedly they had seen that power displayed. But whatever power Jesus had, it clearly was no match for the power of Rome. Jesus had turned out to be one more in a long line of messianic pretenders. Maybe it was time to let go of such foolish hopes for an anointed one who would set things right.

Remembering and Hoping

Hear my prayer, O LORD;
    give ear to my supplications in your faithfulness;
    answer me in your righteousness. 
Do not enter into judgment with your servant,
    for no one living is righteous before you.
For the enemy has pursued me,
    crushing my life to the ground,
    making me sit in darkness like those long dead.  
Therefore my spirit faints within me;
   my heart within me is appalled.
I remember the days of old,
   I think about all your deeds,
   I meditate on the works of your hands.
I stretch out my hands to you;
    my soul thirsts for you like a parched land.            Psalm 143:1-6

There are a lot people who think of the church as an anachronism, an aging institution caught up in the past, with little or no relevance for present or future. There are faith communities who do little to disabuse people of such notions. Even those of us who dearly love the church and anticipate a vibrant future for it are all too familiar with Christians and church congregations who seem to worship the past. They look back and long for former glory, for Christian hegemony, for a full sanctuary, for cultural status, etc. When such folks remember, it often serves to deepen their despair.

As this morning's psalm begins, its author is clearly in a bad place. Things are not going well, and the psalmist seems near hopelessness and despair. Such psalms are surprisingly common in the Bible, and by some counts, psalms of lament are more numerous than any other type. I say "surprisingly" because I have met so many people of faith who think it irreverent or inappropriate to speak to God in the raw, straightforward manner of these psalms.

In psalms of lament, the dire circumstances almost always provoke a remembering, but this remembering is often little like that of present day Christians who lament and long to turn back the clock. In the psalms, remembering is done in order to hope for the future. "I remember the days of old, I think about all your deeds, I meditate on the work of your hands," says the psalmist, and this is no longing for the good 'ole days. Rather it is recalling and rehearsing the character of God who has acted in certain ways in the past and so can be counted on to act in those ways now and in the future.

That someone would remember in order to hope is hardly earth shattering. We don't go into a panic when the sun disappears and the world goes dark each night because we know - actually, remember - that we will see it again the next morning. Some of the wisdom that comes with age derives from a greater repository of remembrances. Great losses and tragedies have occurred, but life has somehow continued and been filled with things to be grateful for. Broken relationship that seemed beyond repair have been reconciled. Terror and evil have seemed to hold the upper hand, but then have faltered and ultimately failed. It makes me wonder if optimists, at least the non Pollyanna sort, aren't simply good and practiced rememberers. 

I've been thinking about remembering a lot as we draw near to the seasons of Advent and Christmas. Christmas and Advent, which has unfortunately turned into little more than pre-Christmas, feature a great deal of remembering. We remember and rehearse old stories along with old songs. It can and sometimes does devolve into little more than nostalgia, but it can also be a sacred remembering that allows for hope in something new. It can be faithful wisdom that sees clearly the world's darkness yet knows the light that cannot be overcome by it. It can be the source of a holy longing that hurts for the pain and brokenness of this world yet still calls out with hope and anticipation, Come quickly, Lord Jesus!

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