What Belongs to Whom?

You've probably heard a conversation between children that went something like this. "Hey, you're sitting in my seat." To which comes the reply, "Well I don't see your name on it anywhere."

Perhaps a parent wrote your name in items that you took to school with you. I still have my name in dress shirts that get taken to the cleaners. I've known people who divvied the furniture in their home by letting children and grandchildren put their names on the pieces they wanted.

"Show me a denarius," says Jesus. "Whose head and whose title does it bear?" Whose name is on it? Jesus, as he so often does, asks a question in response to a question. This time it was a question about whether Jews should pay taxes to the emperor, an especially loaded question for any would-be Messiah. To answer "Yes" offered support to the occupying Romans, but to say "No" would risk arrest for inciting rebellion. It's a carefully crafted "gotcha" on the part of Jesus' opponents.

Jesus parries his opponents, though some of his technique is hard for modern readers to notice. It starts when his opponents are able to show Jesus a denarius, a coin that not only had a picture of the emperor but included the inscription, "Tiberius Augustus Caesar, Son of the Divine Augustus." Such a coin was blasphemous to Jews and a violation of the second commandment, yet Jesus' questioners apparently have just such a coin on them.

Finally Jesus answers them, though not exactly. "Then give to the emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that are Gods." Jesus doesn't say which is which, but any good Jew who knows her psalms is well aware that "The earth is the LORD's and all that is in it, the world, and those who live in it." (Psalm 24)

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The second question in the Presbyterian Study Catechism asks, "How do you live by the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ?" The answer begins, "I am not my own. I have been bought with a price." (See 1 Corinthians 6:19-20) Someone else's name is on me, and on everything and everyone else.

This has huge implication, impacting everything from what I do with "my" money and "my" time to how humanity cares for the earth, yet the individualism of our culture often seems to obliterate such notions, even among those who profess the faith. I find it incredibly odd that some of the politicians most prone to trumpet their Christianity seem to think that the earth is ours to use as we see fit, that the disappearance of vast numbers of species is unimportant. Never mind that God "gives to the animals their food, and to the young ravens when they cry," (Psalm 147) and "not one sparrow is forgotten in God's sight." (Luke 12)

And if we belong to God we also belong to one another. We are not independent agents free to do whatever is best for us and us alone. Yet I saw this headline in the Washington Post earlier in the week. "Rich Californians Balk at Limits: 'We're Not All Equal When It Comes to Water.'" The attitude of some in the article seemed to be, "If I have the money to pay for it, the hell with any problems it causes for others." No wonder Jesus was a lot more popular with the poor than he was with rich folks.

The more money we have, the more stuff we start to put our names on. Do this with enough stuff and you may start to think it really is yours and yours alone. Get wealthy enough and you may even start to think you are different and better than regular people. You may not put "divine" or "Augustus" next to your name (unless, perhaps, you're Donald Trump), yet you may well begin to imagine that you matter more than other people do.

"Give to the emperor the things that belong to the emperor, and to God the things that belong to God," says Jesus. He also says that following him requires self denial, giving up possessions, and losing one's life. He actually asks me to give up things that I've written my name on. Just who does he think he is?

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Sermon video: On One-Anothering

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: On One-Anothering

Acts 10:34-48; 1 Corinthians 13:1-13

On One-Anothering

James Sledge                                                                                       June 14, 2015

One Sunday, right after Shawn and I first got engaged, we were sitting in a pew at her home church, First Baptist of Gaffney, SC. We were beginning to think about the actual service, and Shawn mentioned wanting to use the famous Bible passage on love that was our scripture for this morning. So I grabbed a pew Bible and started looking for it. This was long before I ever thought about being a pastor, and I didn’t know exactly where to look. I thought it might be one of Paul’s letters, but I searched and searched without finding it.

Turns out my scant biblical knowledge was only a part of the problem. That pew Bible was a King James version, and in place of the word “love” it had “charity.” And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.

Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it? “Charity” isn’t really the best translation, but discovering that word was my first hint that Paul never imagined that his difficult letter to a troubled and fractured congregation would become a staple at weddings. Not that Paul’s words are bad advice to newlyweds, but he has a larger community in mind.

Paul was not happy when he wrote the Corinthians. He’d received reports of quarrels and divisions in the congregation, and he sees that as a clear indication that the Corinthians have not yet grasped the full meaning of their faith.

We humans are remarkably skilled at dividing ourselves into groups, clustering into clumps of those who are like us. We get started as toddlers on playgrounds and only get more sophisticated at is as we grow older. This likely served some evolutionary purpose in our ancient past, but now it seems more a curse. We tend to fear and distrust those who are different from us, and we presume that our group is better than their group. It’s a problem that afflicts even our most noble undertakings. Just consider the connotations of that word “charity.” Very often it is something that we do for them.

But I Don't Wanna Be Weak

Three times I appealed to the Lord about this, that it would leave me, but he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness." So, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities for the sake of Christ; for whenever I am weak, then I am strong. 

2 Corinthians 12:8-10

Paul's words about God's grace being sufficient, about power made perfect in weakness, are much quoted in Christian circles, thought I'm not sure that means many of us believe such things. Whenever I am weak, then I am strong? Really? Is that why I make such efforts to hide my weaknesses, to project strength and certainty? And I don't think I'm the only one. 

Think of all the phrases that speak to situations with competition, conflict, difficulty, or struggle. Bring your A-game. Never let them see you sweat. You can do it. Man up. Don't tread on me. Speak softly and carry a big stick. I can't think of any that say, "Boast in your weakness."

Over the years, I have seen that the more bluster I use, the more I try to project power and might, the more I usually end up regretting things later. Yet that still hasn't made me want to embrace weakness. It still hasn't made me willing to be vulnerable in the face of people who frighten me, or worry me, or who I think might cause trouble if I don't stop them.

It's rarely a good idea to treat a single scripture verse as though it was an end all and be all. Indeed there are other scripture verses that call us to be bold or strong or courageous. Yet clearly Jesus exemplified the sort of weakness Paul speaks of here. Jesus was brave and steadfast in the face of difficulties, even in the face of death, but he did not employ power or might to deal with them. He employed what looked to all the world like weakness.

I wonder if one area where church leaders would do well to display "weakness" more isn't in the area of faith itself, to be more vulnerable and forthcoming about our own doubts and faith struggles. There is already a tendency for people to assume that pastors are some sort of spiritual titans. And quite often we are more than happy to feed such assumptions. I wonder if we worry that showing our faith weaknesses might damage our pastoral reputations. Or maybe our projections of spiritual strength are for our own benefit, to ward off our own fears.

On some level, my fear of being weak or showing weakness is about trusting my own abilities over the power of Christ working through me. But given how often I mess things us, it seems strange that I haven't leaned this lesson a little better by now.

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The Pastor Is In

I recently started the practice of keeping Monday afternoon office hours at the local Starbucks. I've even made myself a little sign in the manner of the one Lucy used in old Peanuts cartoons. Mine reads, "The Pastor Is In."

These new office hours are supposed to get me out where I'll bump into folks, both church members and others. I have seen quite a few members who I would not have seen had I been in my church office. It hasn't yet happened, but I envision someone asking me a theological question, wanting to know about the church and same sex marriage, or having some other spiritual issue to explore.

I suppose I think it would be a bit cool to be the "Starbucks pastor," and so I found it somewhat irritating when all the non members who approached me today were people looking for financial assistance. Some already knew me, another didn't, but regardless, they were interrupting my chance for someone to ask me a stimulating theological question.

I suppose I would have been among those who told the blind man to be quiet in today's gospel reading. Jesus was headed to Jerusalem, to the important events about to take place there. He didn't have time for a blind beggar. Or so everyone but Jesus seemed to think.

What exactly does it mean to be a pastor? For that matter, what exactly does it mean to be a Christian? Sometimes my notions get interrupted by God's.

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Acting like Foreigners

Then Jesus asked, "Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?"

I'm certainly no foreigner. I'm a native. I was baptized as an infant, brought up in the church, had Bible stories read to me by my Father, and rarely missed worship on Sunday until heading off for college.

I had my away time, but it's not like I every forgot my native tongue. For a time I was quite content without going to church on Sunday, but I never renounced my citizenship. In time, I became active at church again. At some point in my mid 30s, I even felt a "call" to attend seminary and become a pastor. And for the entire time, from birth to this moment, I've been Presbyterian.

Natives have a different perspective than do foreigners. We know things they don't, but they notice things we miss. And in the story of Jesus healing 10 lepers, being a native seems to be a negative. The foreigner returns to give thanks and praise God, but the other 9, presumably natives, continued on to get their certificates of cleanliness from the priests. (That's required somewhere in the rules of Leviticus.) Either that or they just went home.

You have to think those natives were happy, even grateful, with how things turned out. But Jesus had sent them to the priests and the rules required the priest to certify them as clean and they ought to do as the rules said. Besides, Jesus was likely to have moved on by the time they could have returned to say thank you.

And just look at the way that foreigner came back yelling and screaming and throwing himself on the ground. Natives have a little better sense of decorum. We know how to keep this faith thing presentable and respectable, "decently and in order" as we Presbyterians like to say. No yelling or flopping on the ground.

I've occasionally spoken with religious foreigners who've told me how intimidating it can be to attend a worship service populated mostly by natives, people who know all that stuff they don't know.  We do have a facility with the language that foreigners don't, but we may not really know all that much. (It's not unlike how people applying to become US citizens learn a lot more about American civics and government that most natives ever knew.)

But we natives don't dare act like foreigners. Pastors can be the worst. We don't dare act like we don't know what's going on, like we don't have it figured out. I rarely hear church members being open about their doubts and faith struggles, but I almost never hear it from pastors. That makes it difficult to make comparisons, but I dare say I have as many doubts and as many days when I question the wisdom of even believing in God as the next person. But I'm a native and a leader of natives. I'm not supposed to act that way.

If things get bad enough in my life, I can cry out for help, just as the native lepers did in the story. But once things get back to normal, I part company with the foreigners and act like a native again. I don't know if that's what happened with the lepers, but it makes sense to me.

I read this recently in Rachel Held Evan's latest book. "I often wonder if the role of the clergy in this age is not to dispense information or guard the prestige of their authority, but rather to go first, to volunteer the truth about their sins, their dreams, their failures, and their fears in order to free others to do the same. Such an approach may repel the masses looking for easy answers from flawless leaders, but I think it might make more disciples of Jesus, and I think it might make healthier, happier pastors."

I wonder if we don't need to start acting more like foreigners.

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Sermon video: Vine and Branches

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.\

Sermon video from Pentecost: Unboxing the Wind

Audios and sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Vine and Branches

John 15:1-11

Vine and Branches 

Moving with the Spirit

James Sledge                                                                                                   May 31, 2015

Back in the early 1990s, before going to seminary, I lived in Charlotte, NC, not too far from my grandparents’ home. The city was beginning to surround them, but they still had seven acres of land, a barn, a pond, and a big garden plot. And there were grape vines.

As a child I ate muscadines and scuppernongs from those vines and helped my grandmother make jelly from them. But by the early 90s there hadn't been grapes in a while. Some vines had been lost to a road widening. Other vines still grew on the metal and wire trellises my grandfather had constructed years earlier, but no grapes.

Our daughter Kendrick was a toddler then, and I often took her to visit her great grandparents. On one visit, I reminisced about grapes and making jelly. Too bad there we no grapes any more, and Kendrick would never get to do that, but my grandfather quickly corrected me. “Nothing wrong with the grapes,” he said. “They just haven’t been tended in recent years.”

Grandad had suffered a mild stroke that affected the vision processing part of the brain, leaving him nearly blind. He could no longer do gardening or yard work, but he told me that if I pruned the vines early next spring, there would be grapes.

So it was that he and I went out to the vines one day with pruning shears. He sat down in an old, metal lawn chair as I began to prune branches. He couldn’t see much, but he quickly realized that I was being far too timid. “You’ve got to cut them back hard,” he said.  “Get rid of all that growth from last year, all the way back to the main vine.” That seemed extreme to me, cutting off lots of perfectly healthy growth. But with his encouragement, I pruned them way back, leaving what seemed to me very little. 

Time passed, and just as Granddad promised, the wires supports filled with branches.  Then tiny grape clusters began to form.  Later that year, Kendrick and I ate grapes and made a batch of jelly with my grandmother’s supervision.

It’s a special memory for me. I don’t know if Kendrick remembers it, but I cherish that she got to make jelly with my Grandmother, just as I had once done. It’s a small link to a rural past that has vanished. A drug store now sits where my grandparents’ home once was.

That memory also helps me understand when Jesus says he is the vine and his Father the vinegrower who prunes the healthy branches so they will bear more fruit. And I have to admit, I find that image both comforting and disturbing at the same time.

God Hates Bankers?

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

Psalm 15:1-2, 5a

If you use the same logic that leads the Westboro Baptist folks (along with many others) to think God hates gays, then bankers are in a lot of trouble as well. The Bible is full of prohibitions on lending money at interest. That is why this morning's psalm includes those who keep that rule as part of its list typifying those whom God loves.

A lot of modern Christians are surprised to learn that Christians weren't supposed to be bankers until fairly recently. The Protestant reformer John Calvin was largely responsible for crafting a theological justification for Christian lenders. He recognized he was permitting something the Bible prohibited, but his approval was narrow, restricted to lending that would benefit the poor. He understood the Bible's prohibition as protecting the poor from wealthy who trapped them in debts. Thus he justified lending that created capital to create businesses which in turn gave poor people more income. He saw this as fulfilling the original intent of the biblical prohibition.

Calvin's constraints on lending have been largely forgotten over the centuries. Certainly there is lending that would still meet his approval, that creates businesses or allows people to lead better lives than they might otherwise. But of course much lending is exactly the sort the Bible forbids.

The core problem with lending at interest, as well as a host of other activities, is that is views people as a resource to be exploited. Those with little are a chance for those with more to make money. Making money isn't a problem in and of itself, but viewing the other as a means to an end is.

Consider the very different sort of lending that sometimes goes on in families. A parent, grandparent, or some other family member with excess funds may well loan money to a less well-off family member. Some interest might even be charged. But rarely is the motivation to make money. The relative in need is not seen as a business opportunity but as someone needing help.

The book of Acts describes the early church as a radical community where everyone shared what they had so that no one was in need. Because everyone was made family, brothers and sisters in Christ, strangers suddenly were seen as kin, creating a strange and wonderful sort of community.

That community in Acts may be a utopian ideal, but our culture has gone to the other extreme. People are "human resources," something to be utilized to the greatest possible efficiency and productivity at as low a compensation as the market will allow. And in our hyper-competitive world, those who are not potential resources are often viewed as obstacles to be pushed aside.

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I once heard a professor describe sin as a problem that constricted and distorted us. It gives us a myopic view of the world where the needs of me and mine matter much more than those of you and yours. Fixing this requires restoring our sight and helping us see more as God does. The Old Testament's concern for the poor, the weak, and the vulnerable emerges from godly vision that does not share the world's preference for the rich and powerful.

Of course no human religion is immune to the vision problems of sin. People of faith too often imagine God only likes folk who believe what they do or follow their rules. Jesus faced much opposition from the good, religious people of his day who could not imagine God looking so lovingly on those they despised. But Jesus, very much in the tradition of the Old Testament prophets, sought to expand people's vision, to help them discover how small their view was and how big God's love is.

And that brings me back round to the problem with bankers, and coaches, and pastors, and employers, and on and on. Whenever any of us view others as resources, as means to our ends, as obstacles, as anything other than those we are called to care for and love, then we are caught up in problem that Jesus came to overcome. Fortunately, God doesn't hate bankers, or any of the rest of us. However God would like to restore our vision and help us to see others as God does.

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Unboxing the Wind

Genesis 1:1-5; Acts 2:1-13; John 3:1-8

Unboxing the Wind

James Sledge                                                                                       May 24, 2015

There’s an old joke about the UCC. The United Church of Christ is a close theological cousin of Presbyterians, so the joke could probably be told about us or a number of other “liberal” denominations… expect the joke only works with those letters, UCC. Anyway, the joke goes like this. “What does UCC stand for? – Unitarians considering Christ.”

The joke refers to modern day Unitarians who believe in God but not the Trinity or the notion that Jesus was divine. Of course that also describes Nicodemus. He believes in God. He knows a lot about God. He is well versed in the Scriptures, what we would call the Old Testament, and he is a deeply religious man.

All this has helped him to conclude that Jesus is someone special. He calls Jesus a teacher who has come from God. Nicodemus comes to Jesus at night, under the cover of darkness, hoping to make some sense of Jesus, but he never really gets the chance. Jesus befuddles him before he can ask his first question, and Nicodemus never really recovers. If you read a little further in John’s gospel, Nicodemus simply fades from view, never grasping what Jesus says.

His confusion turns on a word play that can’t be done in English. Jesus speaks of being born “anothen” (a/)nwqen), a Greek word that can refer to location, meaning “from above,” or to timing, meaning “again” or “anew.” English translations must go with one way or the other, and so some have born again, which is what Nicodemus hears, while others, including our pew Bibles, have born from above, which is what Jesus means.

No doubt Nicodemus hears again because from above is even harder for him to comprehend. He can understand what again means, even if it seems impossible. But to be born from above, of the Spirit, caught in a divine wind whose source is unseen. What on earth is that about?

The notion of being transformed and reanimated by the Spirit is as puzzling to many modern Christians as it was to Nicodemus, yet clearly this experience was a hallmark of the early Church. In the letters of Paul, the gospels, and the book of Acts, the Spirit births the Church, propels it, and sustains it. The Church doesn’t burst into being and spread like wildfire over the Mediterranean world simply because followers of Jesus share his teachings, but because the power of God, the presence of the risen Christ, is palpably present in those followers.

Not that it was the easiest thing to explain or describe. Paul speaks of being “in Christ” through the Spirit. The Pentecost story in Acts tells of a violent wind and of divided tongues, as of fire. At Jesus’ own baptism the Spirit is described as a dove, and in the gospel of John the Spirit is received by the disciples when Jesus breathed on them. In both Hebrew and Greek, the word for Spirit is also the word for wind and for breath. And like the wind/Spirit/breath of God that moves over the waters at creation, the Spirit moves in the lives of Jesus’ followers, and everything gets stirred up and changed and made new.

But as the years and centuries go by, slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the dynamism of the wind/breath/fire/Spirit gets tamed. As the Church becomes more and more an institution, less and less an uprising, the Spirit gets talked about more than experienced. Writes Brian McLaren, “In the millennia since Christ walked with us on this Earth, we’ve often tried to box up the “wind” in manageable doctrines. We’ve exchanged the fire of the Spirit for the ice of religious pride. We’ve turned the wine back into water, and then let the water go stagnant and lukewarm. We’ve traded the gentle dove of peace for the predatory hawk or eagle of empire. When we have done so, we have ended up with just another religious system, as problematic as any other: too often petty, argumentative, judgmental, cold, hostile, bureaucratic, self-seeking, an enemy of aliveness.”[1]
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Safe But Uncomfortable

Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob...
     who executes justice for the oppressed;
     who gives food to the hungry.
The LORD sets the prisoners free;
     the LORD opens the eyes of the blind.
The LORD lifts up those who are bowed down;
     the LORD loves the righteous.
The LORD watches over the strangers;
     he upholds the orphan and the widow...          

from Psalm 146

I'm reading Rachel Held Evans' book, Searching for Sunday: Loving, Leaving, and Finding the Church. Beneath the chapter title, "Dirty Laundry," sits this quote from Walter Brueggemann. "Churches should be the most honest place in town, not the happiest place in town." The chapter describes AA meetings that create fellowship and intimacy and church that the congregations whose buildings they use would love to experience. 

If you've never been to an AA meeting, they feel very different from most church services I've attended. They are usually much more diverse. Rich and poor, lawyers and factory workers, young and old, liberal and conservative, all bound deeply together by a shared disease and a shared way out. "Hi, I'm Joe, and I'm an alcoholic" goes the introduction. No putting the best possible face on it, just brutal honesty that is a crucial step out of a shared brokenness.

As Rachel Held Evans points out, actual churches often look much more like country clubs by comparison. We dress up nice and do our best to look like we have it all together. As a pastor, people let me in on some of their struggles, but only because they know I won't share it with anyone. Quite often, people don't even want me to let others know when their problem is something perfectly respectable such as surgery or an illness. 

Pastors can get caught up in the "country club" mentality. Rare is the pastor who airs the dirty laundry of her faith struggles or his doubts and feelings of inadequacy. After all, we're leaders of this place where we dress nice and do our best to look like we have it all together. 

I've often read accounts of church novices being intimidated by being in the company of all these people who have faith all figured out. They're afraid to ask a question or speak up in a class for fear of being found out. And I've heard more than a few long time church members say that they keep quiet and turn down leadership positions because of similar fears. Never mind how often we've heard that the church is a hospital for sinners, we're all afraid someone might find out we're sick.

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The oppressed, hungry, prisoners, blind folks, those who are bowed down, strangers, orphans, and widows. Psalm 146 lists all of these, along with the righteous, who enjoy God and God's favor. It's a pretty rag tag sounding congregation, made up largely of folks from society's margins, people who would feel out of place at a country club, but maybe not an AA meeting.

The "Dirty Laundry" chapter of Evans' book concludes talking about a very different sort of "church," one called The Refuge. Founded by Kathy Escobar, who left a life of religious success for what she labels "downward mobility," it is rooted in the Beatitudes and AA's twelve steps. It doesn't have creed but it does have this invitation. 

The Refuge is a mission center and Christian community dedicated to helping hurting and hungry people find faith, hope, and dignity alongside each other. 

     We love to throw parties, tell stories, find hope, and practice the ways of Jesus as best we can. 

     We’re all hurt or hungry in our own ways. 

     We’re at different places on our journey but we share a guiding story, a sweeping epic drama called the Bible. 

      We find faith as we follow Jesus and share a willingness to honestly wrestle with God and our questions and doubts. 

      We find dignity as God’s image-bearers and strive to call out that dignity in one another. We all receive, we all give. 

      We are old, young, poor, rich, conservative, liberal, single, married, gay, straight, evangelicals, progressives, overeducated, undereducated, certain, doubting, hurting, thriving. 

      Yet Christ’s love binds our differences together in unity. 

      At The Refuge, everyone is safe, but no one is comfortable.

Rachel Held Evans adds, "Imagine if every church became a place where everyone is safe, but no one is comfortable. Imagine if every church became a place where we told one another the truth. We might just create sanctuary." We just might indeed.

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