Today's gospel reading speaks of Jesus as the fulfillment of words spoken by the prophet Isaiah. "Here is my servant, whom I have chosen, my beloved, with whom my soul is well pleased. I will put my Spirit upon him, and he will proclaim justice to the Gentiles. He will not wrangle or cry aloud, nor will anyone hear his voice in the streets. He will not break a bruised reed or quench a smoldering wick until he brings justice to victory. And in his name the Gentiles will hope."
The term "Gentiles" doesn't have a lot of meaning for many of us, but for the Jews of Jesus' day, it designated them, those folks, people not like us. Jesus was a Jewish Messiah, and yet he calls his Jewish followers to reach out to those folks, to the Gentiles. It was not an easy task, and one of the first big fights in the Christian movement was over how to relate to these Gentiles. Many Jewish Christians thought that for Gentiles to join them in the Church, they needed to become more like Jews, to adopt the customs and practices of Jews.
That fight was settled long ago, but we Christians still have our Gentiles. We don't call them that. We call them the unchurched, secular people, spiritual but not religious, and so on. They are our neighbors, and more often than not, we would love to have them join us in our congregations. But we do expect that they will become like us, adopting our customs and practices.
As one thoroughly vested in the institutional church, I'm wondering just what it means to hear that in Jesus' name the unchurched, the secular folks, and the spiritual nomads will hope. And I'm wondering how I'm supposed to be a part of that hope.
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In today's gospel reading, Jesus is having problems with religious folks. That's hardly worth noting seeing how often it happened. Maybe we've just become numb to it after hearing it so much, but there is something rather odd about how much Jesus runs afoul of the religious authorities. We sometimes obscure this by viewing the Pharisees and others as some sort of corrupt monsters. But in truth, they were part of a Jewish reform movement, and they probably functioned in many towns a lot like the local Protestant pastor once functioned in small town America.
Maybe we don't pay much attention to how Jesus troubled religious authorities, and how he violated the plain reading of Old Testament laws, because pastors such as myself are also "religious authorities, working to maintain a religious apparatus, to hold together some sort of consensus about what it means to be God's people. And folks like Jesus cause a lot of trouble when they show up at the church.
What are we to do with this Jesus who shows up proclaiming news so good that religious rules and customs can't be allowed to get in the way? Especially for me, a pastor who is part of religious institution, employed by one of its congregations, what does it mean to proclaim and follow someone who so often infuriated those trying to manage the religious institutions of their day?
I don't think such questions are unique to our time. I suspect that those who work in the church, as well as many church members, have always had occasions when the call to serve God gets distorted into serving the church. And the two are not one in the same.
I've always heard and believed that the most dangerous idols -- meaning anything that becomes a substitute for God -- are those that get dressed up in religious clothing. I'm not saying that the church is an idol, but it certainly can become one.
Lord, help me serve you; help me follow Jesus, even when that means running afoul of the church.
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I hear and read a lot about burnout in the church. Pastors burn out and leave their pastoral vocation. Church officers, leaders, and volunteers burn out and step back from committees or boards or programs. Yet Jesus says, "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest." How to reconcile burnout in the church with Jesus' promise of rest?
Now granted Jesus says in other places that following him is difficult. He often asks us to stand at odds with prevailing culture, to love our enemies, to serve God before self, to reach out and embrace people different from ourselves, and so on. But Jesus seems to think that this should not leave us frazzled and feeling as though we are saddled with an impossible task
I know that I sometimes "stress out" because I measure things by the success dominated standards of our culture. But Jesus doesn't call us to be "successful," at least not according to the world's terms. Rather, he calls us to be faithful. Sometimes faithfulness is hard work, but it is a good sort of hard work that leaves you tired yet satisfied. And I think that the key in all of this is doing what Jesus calls us to do, which is not necessarily the same thing as doing the institutional tasks that often come to dominate congregational life.
What is Jesus calling you to do? Jesus has work for each of us, but it is work that soothes and satisfies the soul. "For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." What gentle yoke does Jesus have for you?
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In today's gospel reading, Jesus condemns those towns where he has done great "deeds of power," but the people have not turned to him. It's easy for me to point fingers at the failure of others who see God at work but don't respond. However, I've noticed a similar tendency in my own life of faith.
If you are like me at all, you sometimes want God to speak clearly, to make plain what God would like you to do. I've complained to God on many occasions about how I could use some clarity. Yet when I get indications from God about what I should do, those moments when events and inner feelings point to some clear direction, I often hesitate. And as time goes by, the clarity fades. Sometimes I even become convinced that my earlier clarity was a mistake, a misunderstanding on my part.
You see this on a bigger scale sometimes when people have had profound faith experiences. Out of such experiences they may commit themselves to some work, get very involved in church work or some sort of cause. But often the initial excitement wanes over time.
When I look back over my life, I can recall quite a few moments when God was vividly present, when that presence led me to do things such as leave a career and go to seminary. Yet it seems that I have real capacity to lose contact with those times and events. It seems that my faith can lapse into a "what have you done for me lately" mode that robs those moments when God spoke clearly of a continuing power in my life.
Lord, keep me connected to all those times you've come powerfully into my life.
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A Stewardship sermon from John 20:19-23: We sometimes imagine that it takes towering people of faith to do great things, but in this reading, Jesus sends out trembling, frightened disciples to be his representatives in the world. He sends them just as the Father sent him. They certainly don't look ready, but Jesus seems to think that, with the Spirit's help, they'll do fine.
I grew up in the South where, even today, religion is more a part of the culture than in my current home of Columbus, OH. The Columbus Marathon is this Sunday, and it will cause significant difficulties for those trying to attend worship here because the route passes close by on three sides of the church. This never would have happened in Charlotte or Raleigh, NC. Such an event would have been scheduled on a Saturday so as not to get all the church folks upset.
Sometimes I find myself a bit agitated by how little the culture in Columbus acknowledges the Church. I like to run an occasional 5k race, and I am astounded how many of them are on Sunday mornings rather than Saturday. But despite this, I am convinced that the fast fading era when attending church on Sunday was expected of respectable citizens did more harm to the Church than it did good. Especially in post WWII America, church became one hallmark of good citizenship, and in the process Christianity bargained away some of its authentic identity in exchange for the culture sending us worshipers on Sunday.
This strong connection between church and social respectability that was part of my upbringing seems hard to reconcile with Jesus' words in today's gospel passage. "Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword... Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me." Jesus speaks in the hyperbole common to the Middle East, but still, he clearly does not understand following him to mean supporting the status quo.
It is a real challenge for me, in my personal faith journey, to put Jesus above all else. My "all elses" are likely different from yours, but we probably share a few. Financial security is fairly high on my list. And while I am willing to be a bit "out there" with regard to some social justice issues and such, I still want to be respected and well thought of by people in my congregation and in my community. When I get other people mad at me it's usually because of bad social skills or from wanting things done my way, not because I'm so intent on following Jesus.
I wonder what the Church might look like if people like me worried less about whether or not the culture made it easy for us to worship on Sunday, and focused more on living a faith where absolutely nothing would come between us and following Jesus.
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In today's gospel reading Jesus says, "A disciple is not above the teacher, nor a slave above the master; it is enough for the disciple to be like the teacher, and the slave like the master." That's a curious phrase, "It is enough." After all, we live in a world where there never seems to be enough. And I'm not only talking about our consumerist society, so focused on acquiring things. I'm thinking of my own faith life.
I am a pastor because, at one point in my life, I became absolutely convinced that God was calling me to do this. At age 35 I disrupted my family's life, left my career, and went to seminary in order to follow Jesus. But when it comes to actually being a pastor, I'm not sure that "it is enough... to be like the master." Jesus wandered about Palestine, collecting a small cadre of followers. He never made it all that big by my standards. He didn't make much money, didn't have a nice house, and he certainly was not an influential member of his community. The movers and shakers of his day did have him executed, you may recall.
And yet I expect that my call should leave me reasonably well off financially, with a decent retirement account. I have some expectation of a "career ladder." I started in a smaller congregation and moved to a bigger one. Strange the way that when God calls a pastor to move it's almost always to a church that pays a higher salary.
"It is enough... to be like the master." Jesus says it in other ways. "Take up your cross and follow me... Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." Man, following Jesus is hard sometimes. But Jesus promises that somehow, "It is enough... to be like the master." Lord, help me know and trust that it is enough.
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Spirituality is all the rage these days. Go into a bookstore and you will likely find a large assortment of books on the topic. Some will be Christian, some Jewish, some Buddhist, and some with no connection to any particular religion. I think it is wonderful that many Christians are rediscovering spiritual practices such as lectio divina, fasting, meditation, and so on. However, I sometimes find that much of this modern spirituality is almost solely focused on the individual.
I thought of this while reading today's passage from 1 Corinthians. The congregation at Corinth apparently loved to excel in spiritual practices and to acquire spiritual gifts. And speaking in tongues seems to have been one of the most esteemed gifts one could receive. But Paul, while he never condemns speaking in tongues, insists that spiritual gifts should be for the building up of the community of faith. For Paul, spiritual gifts and practices that only build up the individual are not nearly so important as those that build up the church.
Clearly some spiritual practices are, by their very nature, intensely personal. Times of private devotion and prayer should be a part of every life of faith. But there is a difference between personal and individualistic. Personal spirituality is wonderful when it serves to undergird a life of faith, but personal spirituality should not be an end in itself.
Perhaps that is a good way for me to evaluate my own spiritual life. How is my personal spirituality helping me to answer God's call for my life, nurturing me so that I can do the work God gives me?
How does your spiritual life support your life as a person of faith?
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If you have the occasion to attend weddings on a regular basis, then you probably know as well as I do that today's reading from 1 Corinthians is quite popular at marriage services. That's hardly surprising, considering Paul's soaring language on love, culminating with "And the greatest of these is love."
Many years ago when my wife and I were planning our wedding, we pulled out one of the pew Bibles in her hometown church to find Paul's words on love. I was something of a nominal Christian in those days, but I had a pretty good idea of where these verses were. Yet not matter how much I looked, I could not find them. I chalked it up to my own lack of biblical literacy, but I later discovered that I was looking in the right place. (I thought it was in 1 Corinthians but didn't know what chapter.) But the pew Bibles in that Southern Baptist Church were the old King James Version, and the word "love" never appears in 1 Corinthians 13. The chapter ends this way. "And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity." It is charity that never ends and charity that is patient and kind. (Actually it isn't patient but rather it "suffereth long.")
Western culture is enamored with love, but we often don't mean it the way the Bible does. Charity may not be the best translation, but the love spoken of by Paul is not the love of passion or feelings that most couples mean when they choose these words for their wedding. Rather this is the love that God has for the world, the love that causes Jesus to endure the cross, the love that leads him to say, "Father forgive them" while he is on that cross.
The love of passion is a gift from God, but many marriages would probably last much longer if couples focused a bit more on the sort of love Paul describes in 1 Corinthians. But even more, a lot of the partisan division and nastiness so common in our country could be greatly reduced if we realized that Paul is speaking more about our daily life with our neighbors than he is about marital relationships.
When Paul writes the Corinthian congregation, he is worried because he has heard of divisions and factions in that church. And he is not dispensing marital advice but advice on living in community when he speaks of love as kind and patient; not envious, boastful, arrogant, or rude; not insisting on its own way; not irritable or resentful. What might happen if we all took those words to heart in our day to day encounters with others, especially with those others who drive us crazy?
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A stewardship sermon from Hebrews 11:39--12:2 - Hebrews seems written to a congregation that is feeling inadequate and needs encouragement. And its author insists that we are connected to all the faith heroes of the past, that our struggles "perfect" or "complete" theirs. So too in our individual congregations, when we do our part, when we persevere, we perfect of complete the faith and work of those who went before us.
