Sermon video: You're My Dear Child

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Sermon: You're My Dear Child

Luke 3:15-22

You’re My Dear Child

James Sledge                                       January 10, 2016 – Baptism of the Lord

Have you ever known someone who was going through a tough time and disappeared from church? Illness or the death of a loved one sometimes causes a faith crisis that pulls people away, but I’m thinking more of folks who disappear after something that might cause people to judge them.

It doesn’t happen as much with divorce as it once did, but some folks still feel embarrassed enough to stop attending. Graduate to things such as getting arrested or some other form of public humiliation, and it becomes much more likely that people won’t show their face around the church. Church is, after all, a place for good, respectable people.

I thought about respectable people as I read Luke’s take on Jesus’ baptism. All the gospel writers have their own take on it. Apparently the event was well enough known that they need to address this potentially embarrassing episode. Why would Jesus need a baptism of repentance and forgiveness after all?

Matthew’s gospel has John the Baptist raise the question of “Why?” directly, but Luke does something different. There is no conversation with John. Jesus does not speak at all. Instead Luke merely throws Jesus in with all the other folks going to John. Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized…

With no apparent fanfare, Jesus got in line with everyone else, with the “brood of vipers” who came out to the wilderness to be baptized. Jesus joined with those who felt they needed to turn their lives around, who needed God to forgive them. And this was hardly the last time. No wonder the religious folk would say Jesus wasn’t respectable enough, calling him “a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!” (Luke 7:34)

As Jesus prayed following his baptism, the Holy Spirit descended on him and a voice said, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” I love the way the Cotton Patch Gospel renders this, “You are my dear Son; I’m proud of you.” Sounds like something a good, southern Momma would say.

On Not Being, or at Least Acting, Afraid

God is our refuge and strength,
     a very present help in trouble. 
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change,
     though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; 
though its waters roar and foam,
     though the mountains tremble with its tumult.      

Psalm 46:1-3 

I often use these verses as a Call to Worship for a funeral service. When I read them today I found myself struck by an odd contrast. I've done funerals where the family wants nothing of this sort of reading. They want the service to be "a celebration" with no mourning or sadness. Very often it is family members with little connection to church who are most insistent that there be nothing in the service that speaks of sadness. They want to celebrate rather than grieve, and not because their faith assures them in the hope of a resurrection.

On the other hand, people who do claim a deep faith, who presumably would resonate with the verses of the psalm, are some of the more fearful voices in this country right now. I'm continually amazed at the number of Christians who tie their faith to support for Donald Trump or Ted Cruz, rattling off a long list of the things that terrify them. People who claim to have a deep trust in the power of God seem motivated primarily by crippling fears.

It is indeed a strange contrast. Those facing the loss of a love one yet seemingly unwilling to acknowledge any need for comfort, support, and hope, alongside those who profess security, comfort, and protection in the power of God yet imagine every refugees a terrorist and a Christian president the agent of the devil.

I suppose I should be more understanding of non-churched family members who don't look for support from something they scarcely acknowledge, who seek solace through other means. But what to make of people of faith who can happily say, "We will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea," and yet act like terrified children.

But as I point fingers at this obvious lack of faith from the faithful, I need to confess that it is hardly a problem relegated to evangelicals or conservative Christians. It takes different forms among  progressive or liberal Christians, but it is no less real. I know plenty of liberal Christians for whom faith is mostly a philosophy, its power limited to convincing enough other people to live by that philosophy. It is all too easy to have faith that the world would be a better place if only everyone would be kinder and more loving while never acknowledging the requirement for God to overcome the problem of sin and evil.

My own laments over the church and its failure to be anything approximating the body of Christ are often prompted by my struggle to trust that God could work anything of significance using the likes of "us." My own version of saying "We will not fear," but them trembling.

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I think it is important to remember that this faith thing is not easy, or at least it is not easy to live it out in any meaningful way. That is why you should be very suspicious of anyone who tells you that faith is simply a matter of "accepting Jesus as your Savior," or of "believing in him." Faith is about following a Savior who goes to the cross, as terrifying as that is to him, because he trusts the power of God more than he is controlled by his fears.

That sort of faith is not something you can do on your own. You can't do it without help, the help of God, and the help of a community. I think that may be why the Apostle Paul writes in his first letter to the Corinthians that "No one can say 'Jesus is Lord' except by the Holy Spirit." And I assume that Paul is speaking of more than simply mouthing the words, speaking of living as though they were true.

Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change,
     though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; 
though its waters roar and foam,
     though the mountains tremble with its tumult.      

"We will not fear," says the psalmist. I have my doubts that he meant that literally. Even Jesus seemed genuinely fearful of going to the cross. But with  help, with prayer and the support of the Holy Spirit and the encouragement of the community of faith, we can - here and there - live like those who are not afraid.

Click to learn more about the lectionary.

Sermon video: A Little Christmas... But Not Too Much

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon video from December 20

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Changed into Children

There's a car commercial that's been running on TV during the Christmas season featuring adults acting like children and children acting like adults. The excited grownups rouse the children from their beds early on Christmas morning then run downstairs to see the new car in the driveway. The children follow them outside with cups of cocoa in hand, commenting on how it's all worth it to see the joy on the adults' faces.

I thought about this scene of adults reverting to childlike behavior when I read today's gospel. Jesus tells his followers, "Unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." So does that mean to become like the adults who just found a Lexus as their Christmas present? Or is Jesus talking about something else?

Interpreting images such as this one can be difficult. "Childlike" can have all sorts of meanings, some good and some bad. And modern notions of childhood are vastly different from those in Jesus' day. Fortunately on this one, Jesus gives us an interpretive clue in his next sentence saying, "Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven."

I suppose humility came easily to children in Jesus' time. Childhood was short and children had little in the way of power or influence. "Arrogant child" would have been something of an oxymoron in first century AD, and this seems to be the sort of change Jesus urges his followers to embrace.

Because Christian faith has tended to be presumed in America (at least until fairly recently), the notion of faith changing us has often been absent. If you've been a Christian all your life, how can your faith change you? Of course the problem with this notion is obvious. With no expectation of faith changing me, the way I happen to be must be compatible with faith. I wonder if this notion doesn't have a lot to do with how American Christians can see whatever views they hold as not only compatible but also as integral to their faith.

Examples abound of those who think that patriotism, consumerism, unlimited access to guns, Democratic ideals, Republican ideals, etc. are not only fine with Jesus, but actually an essential part of Christian faith. And generally speaking, none of these positions involves any "change" that occured as the result of following Jesus.

It strikes me that there is a certain arrogance to assuming that my political, economic, social, or other points of view fit easily into the ways of Jesus. Jesus did not fit easily into many of the norms of his day, and a great deal of what he says still grates against the norms of our day.

If we are to become the children Jesus recommends, it will not involve getting a Lexus, or any other consumer item. Jesus says it will mean becoming "humble," and a good place to start might be considering how the norms and truths we live by are or aren't in keeping with the life Jesus tells us to live.

One constant to being a child is realizing there is so much you do not know. Growing up is a regular process of learning new things and casting aside old assumptions of what is true and certain. Surely the humility Jesus demands of his followers requires that we test and evaluate all we hold dear in light of his words.

Click to learn more about the lectionary.

Sermon: A Little Christmas... But Not Too Much

Luke 2:41-52

A Little Christmas… But Not Too Much

James Sledge                                                                                       December 27, 2015

I’m not sure what prompted me to use song lyrics in sermons two weeks in a row, but for whatever reason, as I studied the verses we just heard from Luke, a line from a Christmas song popped into my head. It’s a song I heard many times on the radio growing up, but I actually knew few of the words. I had to look it up and then discovered that it’s actually from the musical Mame. The opening chorus goes,

For we need a little Christmas Right this very minute,
Candles in the window, Carols at the spinet.
Yes, we need a little Christmas Right this very minute.
It hasn't snowed a single flurry, But Santa, dear, we're in a hurry;

The song ends with variation on the chorus.

For we need a little music, Need a little laughter,
Need a little singing Ringing through the rafter,
And we need a little snappy "Happy ever after,"
Need a little Christmas now.

With all the terrible things in the world, I’m sure that a lot of folks felt like they could use a little Christmas this year. Candles and music, a little laughter, and wouldn’t some happy ever after be great. Yes, who wouldn’t love a little Christmas. But not too much. A little will do for most of us, which may be why Luke tells the story we just heard, as a reminder of what Jesus’ birth is really all about.

When you think about it, it’s amazing how little we know about Jesus outside the last years of his life. Mark and John’s gospels make no mention of his birth or childhood. Matthew and Luke have brief stories connected to Jesus’ birth. And Luke alone has a single story of Jesus as a 12 year old boy in which Jesus speaks two brief sentences.

Christians have been curious about Jesus’ childhood from the beginning. There are writings that purport to tell of Jesus the boy, written during the church’s early centuries. But when the New Testament was put together and made official, those got discarded, and for good reason. They were fanciful accounts of Jesus animating clay animals, causing the death of a child who bothered him, even raising a playmate from the dead so he could testify that Jesus wasn’t the one who pushed him to his death.[1] Such stories were written by people of faith who imagined what Jesus might have been like, sometimes in absurd fashion, but Luke is not doing that.

A Christmas Version of Strength and Bravery

In the biblical account of Christmas, two people are absolutely essential for God's plans to come to fruition. First, a young woman must bravely consent to become a part of that plan. Mary becomes a disciple before the fact, responding to the seemingly absurd message of the angel with, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord. Let it be with me according to your word." Pretty darn close to, "Not my will but yours."

Today's lectionary speaks of the other person who must cooperate with God. In truth Matthew doesn't actually have a Christmas story. There are today's verses which speak of events well before Christmas and then the story of the Magi, which takes place long after Christmas. Nevertheless, the events from today's gospel are critical if Jesus is to have a family, if he is to come from the house of David.

If Mary is incredibly brave and faithful, Joseph comes across as remarkably righteous and kind. He's learned that his wife-to-be is pregnant, and not with his child. You'd think he'd be furious. You'd think he'd lash out. Instead he plans to follow the law and break his engagement, but in a way that is as gentle as possible. And I suppose you can say Joseph is also brave and faithful because he sign's on to the angel's crazy plan as well.

I think about the sort of strength and bravery and faith shown by these two people so critical to the Christmas story, and I wonder what they might think of all the noise and anger in our world at Christmas. I wonder how they would respond to voices that posture and claim to be strong by railing against refugees or Muslims. I wonder how they, who faced very real attempts to kill their son, would react to all the hysteria and fear in our world. I wonder if they would be dumbfounded that people who claim to follow their son can get so bent out of shape because someone says, "Happy Holidays."

As we celebrate the child who was born, in part, because of the quiet bravery and faith of Mary and Joseph, I hope we might learn something from them about the shape of strength and bravery and faith.

Grace and peace to you and yours in this season of joy and peace. Wishing you a wonderful and Merry Christmas!

Click to learn more about the lectionary.

Why the Christ Child?

Christians everywhere are getting ready to celebrate. Christmas is only days away. Choirs are well rehearsed. Extra musicians are ready. Candles with small paper or plastic protectors await Christmas Eve worshipers. Perhaps there are Christians somewhere who won't observe a celebration of Jesus' birth, but I do not know of any. (When the "Pilgrims" first came to Plymouth, Massachusetts they outlawed all Christmas celebrations, a law that remained on the books well into the 19th century.)

But if there is near uniformity on the decision to celebrate, there is much less regarding the reasons for the celebration. Yes, we can all agree that the immediate reason is the birth of the Messiah, the Christ, a Savior. But what exactly is the point of this Messiah and Savior? What does his birth herald?

I don't know of any reliable statistics, but many of the Christians I know equate "being saved" by this Savior to mean getting into heaven. I saw a Facebook post recently which I assume hinted at this. It read, "Eternity is a long time to be wrong." The person who shared it - whom I know to be Christian - had added, "I have a good insurance policy." This was likely just meant to be humorous, but this is the good news of Jesus to many: an engraved invitation to heaven.

But if you had never heard of Jesus and sought answers to the meaning of his birth in a Bible, you might come to some very different conclusions.When Luke, the only gospel writer actually to report a birth in Bethlehem, begins the story, he starts with Jesus' mom. Mary is visited by the angel Gabriel, and she consents to be a player in God's plan. She then heads to visit her cousin, Elizabeth, already six months pregnant with a child who will become John the Baptist. There Mary launches into her "Magnificat" a song that celebrates what God is doing. That song is part of today's gospel reading.

It makes no mention of heaven. It does have a lot of details about earthly things, though. The proud are scattered, the powerful are brought down from their thrones, and the lowly are lifted up. The hungry get good things to eat, but the rich get sent away empty. And if you imagine that Mary didn't quite understand what this as yet unborn Savior was really all about, there are Jesus' own words when he begins his ministry. Jesus says that God's Spirit has anointed him "to bring good news to the poor... to proclaim release to the captives... to let the oppressed go free... (and) to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." (This last one refers to the year of Jubilee from Leviticus 25 which has nothing to do with heaven but is decidedly bad news for the investor class.)

Neither Jesus nor Mary say anything about getting folks into heaven, but they both say a great deal about a tumultuous, social leveling, an upheaval where those at the bottom are lifted up and those and the top are brought down. If you reprinted some of these words in a non-church setting, I would be surprised if someone didn't accuse you of encouraging "class warfare."

The good news of Jesus does include the promise of eternal life and resurrection, although neither of these necessarily has anything to do with heaven. But at the very core of Jesus' message is a new social order he calls the kingdom of God. He chooses a political term for his new day because it has huge political implications. The powerful won't give up power easily. Those with great military might have no intention of turning swords or tanks into farming tools. The fabulously wealthy seem doggedly determined to hang on to what they have and to acquire even more. And so no one should be the least bit surprised that this Savior got himself killed. He was a threat to a lot of people.

Babies in mangers are not terribly threatening, making it easy to celebrate Jesus' birth without worrying too much about why he is born. But his mother lets us know what he is all about well before the big day. So if we celebrate with nary a thought about social upheaval, lifting up the poor, or freeing the oppressed, we seem to have missed the point in some way.

Click to learn more about the lectionary.

Sermon: A Foolish, Radical, Idealistic Vision

Luke 1:39-55

A Foolish, Radical, Idealistic Vision

James Sledge                                                               December 20, 2015 – Advent 4

Some of you may recall this line from Longfellow’s poem, “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,” better known to many as a Christmas carol.

            And in despair I bowed my head; “There is no peace on earth,” I said,

            “For hate is strong and mocks the song Of peace on earth good-will to men.”

When I was young, I loved the band, Emerson, Lake, and Palmer. They had a Christmas song that U2 has covered in recent years, one that reminds me of that line from Longfellow.

They said there'll be snow at Christmas; They said there'll be peace on Earth;
But instead it just kept on raining, A veil of tears for the Virgin birth.

Looking at the world we live in, it is easy to be pessimistic and cynical. War, terror, shootings, hate, and  political discourse that sounds like middle schoolers trading insults on the playground. And that comparison may be an insult to middle schoolers.

Perhaps the most we can expect from Christmas is a warm moment, a upsurge in charity and goodwill, some gatherings with family or friends, and a bit of nostalgia. For hate is strong and does mock the angel song; and it’s more likely to rain than snow on Christmas.

A lot of people think that our world is in a horrible mess, that things are bad and getting worse. Many observers suggest that this presidential campaign looks different from some previous ones because so many voters are worried, anxious, and afraid. That’s why calls to “take our country back” or “make America great again” resonate.

Without minimizing the real difficulties facing our country and world, a lot of people in history would probably love to change places with us. Mary, Elizabeth, and Zechariah lived in a day when many children did not make it to adulthood, when disease often decimated whole communities, when most people lived in poverty while a handful lived in grandeur.

In Mary’s day the local governments was a puppet for Rome, and Rome dealt harshly with the slightest threat to Roman authority. Common criminals could be dispensed with the swing of a sword, but any who dared challenge Roman power would die an excruciating death on a cross situated in a very public place so everyone would get the message.

Our world has lots of problems, but the world Jesus was born into surely had at least as many. All those problems make Mary’s words sound naïve, hopelessly optimistic, or perhaps downright crazy.

When Mary launches into her song, she says that God has scattered the proud… brought down the powerful from their thrones, lifted up the lowly… filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.  Really, Mary? Have you looked around at the world?

Sermon video: What Should We Do? - Ethical U-Turns

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: What Should We Do? - Ethical U-Turns

Luke 3:7-18

What Should We Do? – Ethical U-Turns

James Sledge                                                   December 13, 2015 – Advent 3

Who invited John the Baptist to the Christmas party? The big day is less than two weeks away. If your house isn’t yet decorated, what are you waiting for? Trees are up, presents are already wrapped and under many. Most everyone is starting to get into the Christmas spirit. Congregations are starting to sing Christmas carols. And into the midst of the joy and cheer of the season comes John the Baptist.

I once tried to find a Christmas featuring John. I couldn’t, but leave it to the internet to correct such an omission. This one says, “Merry Christmas, you brood of vipers! Now repent!”

Of course Advent always has a big dose of John. We may be in a Christmas spirit, thinking about angels, a baby, and shepherds, but John screams, "You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruits worthy of repentance.” He speaks of an ax poised at the tree, of judgment and unquenchable fire.

Yet in our Scripture reading, people have sought out John. They seem to think he has good news in the midst of their troubled world. They do not run off when he calls them snakes and demands fruits of repentance. They simply ask, “What then should we do?”

What should we do? The question has been asked countless times. Three years ago, in my first December as pastor here, the Sandy Hook school shootings occurred just days before the third Sunday in Advent. Questions about what to do were everywhere. But little was done.

I had several church members ask me the question again right after the Charleston church shootings this year. A few suggestions came up, some online resources were shared, but then…

Charleston seems a long time ago. Cruel terror attacks have continued regularly around the world without us much noticing, but the Paris attacks jarred us, in the middle of a modern, Western democracy. Then came the Planned Parenthood shooting and then San Bernardino. And the question echoes over and over. What should we do?

For many Christians, our first response it to pray. That is certainly appropriate. To pray, to lift up those in San Bernardino or Paris or Beirut or Charleston; to hold them in the only embrace we can offer at that moment, is the closest thing to a hug we can give. Progressive Christians sometimes underestimate or even dismiss the power of prayer. Still, “thoughts and prayers” can feel like something to do without doing anything.

A colleague posted this on her Facebook page the day after the San Bernardino shootings.

Prayers are ringing hollow. Arguments on how to solve what seems to be an "American" problem go round and round with nothing changing. Many of us are weary, numb, and feel helpless to put a stop the madness. I'm afraid we have simply rolled over and accepted that murder is a given part of our national landscape. Oh well. We aren't the only culture ever to have done so. Power and violence are not the same thing, but too often they go hand in hand. Collective outrage doesn't seem to be doing a damn thing!

Blame whoever or whatever you want to blame. What scares me the most is that it really doesn't matter. Pray. Get angry. Write a letter. Send a check. It won't really matter until... until what? That's what I'd like to know.[1]