Sunday Sermon - "Joining the Parade"

Musings on the Daily Lectionary

Growing up I learned the story of young Jacob stealing his older brother Esau's birthright. But I'm not sure that it registered what a true scoundrel Jacob was. He not only stole Esau's birthright but, with the aid of his own mother (talk about dysfunctional families), he tricked his father into giving him the blessing intended for Esau. Yet despite all this, the story in Genesis makes it clear that God's promise runs through Jacob, this trickster and scoundrel.

I'm not always sure what to make of this, but one thing is certain, God's blessings and plans take a circuitous route that I would never have chosen. That probably recommends that we all exercise a great deal of humility when it comes to deciding who is and who isn't a part of God's plans.

The same sort of problem crops up with Jesus. In today's reading from John, the fact that Jesus comes from Galilee prevents people from being able to embrace him as Messiah. They are sure that nothing good can come from Galilee, not to mention prophecies saying the Messiah would come from Bethlehem. But in John's gospel the issue is not whether Jesus is from Bethlehem or Galilee. The issue is that Jesus comes from God, and so arguments about earthly origins miss the point.

It seems to me that both Jacob and Jesus emphasize that "God moves in mysterious ways." And so whoever we are and however we tend to interpret the Bible, any arrogance that is certain we've gotten it right may well cause us to miss what God is up to.

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Sunday Sermon - "Joining the Parade"

Luke tells a different version of Jesus calling his first disciples than Matthew and Mark do. In Luke, Jesus has been to Simon's house prior to this. Apparently Simon "knew" Jesus but didn't quite realize who he was. But when he does, Jesus calls him.

Feb 7 sermon.mp3

Luke 5:1-11

Joining the Parade

James Sledge -- February 7, 2010

I suspect that many of you have a picture in your mind of Jesus calling his first disciples. I know that I do. In my picture Jesus begins to teach, to proclaim God’s coming kingdom right after he is baptized and then tempted in the wilderness. As he travels along the shoreline of the Sea of Galilee, he encounters a few fishermen. “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people,” Jesus says. And they drop everything and go after him.

In this picture there is simply something about Jesus and his invitation that draws these fishermen from their old life to a new one. It is incredibly dramatic. One minute they are making a living by fishing. The next minute, a stranger speaks to them and they are forever changed. And I think this picture has had a significant impact on the idea of evangelism as a dramatic event where one meets Jesus for the first time and is changed forever.

My picture of Jesus calling his first disciples comes straight out of Matthew and Mark’s gospels. But today we heard a very different story from Luke. Over the years Christians have often tried to harmonize these stories, but I think that misses the point. The gospel writers were often less concerned with telling precise history and more concerned with making a point. Luke writes for a different audience and paints a very different picture than Matthew and Mark, one that may actually have more contact with some of our lives.

To see Luke’s picture, we need to step back a bit and glimpse the entire canvas. As with Mark and Matthew, Jesus has been baptized and tempted in the wilderness. But then he has begun his ministry, taught in his home synagogue at Nazareth, come to the region of Galilee and healed a man with an unclean spirit. Then Jesus has visited Simon Peter’s house, cured his mother-in-law of a high fever, and then cured throngs of sick who were brought to him there. Jesus has become a well known rabbi, followed by adoring crowds prior to inviting Simon, James, and John to follow him.

In Luke’s picture, Simon already knows about Jesus, has already met him as he finishes a long night’s work with nothing to show for it. But then Jesus asks to borrow his boat. Surely Simon is tired and wanted to say, “No.” But after all, Jesus had cured his mother-in-law.

Luke seems uninterested in what Jesus taught the crowds who gather on the shore. He skips over that, moving quickly to where Jesus tells Simon to put out into deep water. Once again, Simon would rather not, but he obeys this remarkable rabbi. In an instant there are more fish than anyone has ever seen before. And suddenly, Simon is frightened by Jesus. Suddenly Simon wants to be far away from Jesus. Simon has met Jesus before and knows about his ministry, but all of a sudden Simon senses that he is in the terrifying presence of God. Simon, a rough, uneducated, hard living and swearing, dirty and sweaty fisherman, finds himself where ritually purified priests fear to tread, and all he wants to do is escape. “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!”

I feel safe in saying that there is no one here today who has never heard of Jesus. Fact is, it is pretty near impossible to grow up in the United States and not know something about Jesus. You may like him or not; you may believe in him or not, but you’ve heard about him.

Now obviously people come to a lot of different conclusions about Jesus based on what they’ve heard and know. For some Jesus is an ethical teacher without parallel. For others he is some sort of divine magic trick that gets them into heaven when they die. For still others he’s a miracle worker. He’s known by all sorts of names and labels: Prince of Peace, Savior, Lamb of God, Son of God.

To one degree or another, most all of us know Jesus, perhaps a lot like Simon knew Jesus before that fateful day in the boat. Most of us have bumped into Jesus here and there, but more often than not he stays pretty far away from our everyday lives.

If we take Luke’s picture of Jesus calling the disciples as any sort of guide, it seems that we can be familiar with Jesus, that we can know Jesus and our lives still go on as they always have. But if we meet Jesus like Simon did, encounter in him the fullness of God with the power to transform; if he becomes real enough that we’re not sure we want him standing right next to us, then life may very well never be the same again.

It’s easy enough to like Jesus, to be a fan of Jesus. It’s like being a fan of anything else. On facebook, the online social networking site, you can become a fan of all sorts of groups, people, and causes simply by clicking on the onscreen button. I’m a fan of a number of causes, a few musicians, a magazine or two, and I’m even a fan of Krispy Kreme Doughnuts. But it doesn’t mean much. I don’t necessarily send any money to the causes, or go to the musician’s concerts, and I can’t remember the last time I bought a Krispy Kreme Doughnut.

More often than not, being a fan is about being a spectator, and that asks not a bit more of me than I feel like giving. Sometimes my relationship with Jesus is a lot like that. But when you run into the awesome, holy presence of God, that’s something else altogether. It’s dangerous, and people almost always come away from such encounters changed.

The crowds that listen to Jesus from the shore liked him, were even enthralled by him. But most of them went home the very same people they were before. Not Simon. Simon may have been a fan before, but suddenly things changed. Simon’s first instinct was to flee. Getting too close to God is dangerous. Simon knew those stories from the Old Testament. Whenever God shows up something happens, and it is never something the person wants. And Simon is right. Jesus tells Simon that from now on he’ll be catching people, and Simon’s life is never the same again. He’s a disciple now. His days as a spectator are over. And I’m reasonably certain that Jesus wants to say the same thing to us that he says to Simon. Jesus isn’t looking for fans or spectators. Jesus calls disciples.

In his new book, Donald Miller tells the story of a rather odd family from San Diego. This family was sitting around one New Year’s Day when one of the kids complained about what a boring day it was. Bob, the father, agreed and they decided that New Year’s was one of the more boring days of the year, and they began to toss out ideas to rectify this situation.

One of the children suggested holding a parade. This being much cheaper than an earlier suggestion to buy a pony, Bob quickly endorsed the idea. They began to think about costumes and getting some balloons. The parents planned a cookout in the backyard afterward and the kids started to invite their friend and neighbors to watch.

But then Bob thought how it is much better to be in a parade than to watch one. And so he quickly made a rule. No one would be allowed to watch the parade, but anyone could march in it. A few neighbors agreed and so the first parade was held. As they marched down the street the few spectators were converted into marchers and at the end a dozen or more folks enjoyed the cookout.

Ten years later, the parade has hundreds of participants. People who have moved away fly back to take part, planning vacations around the event. At the most recent, they invited the neighborhood mail man to be the grand marshal, and he showed up in full uniform, leading the parade by tossing envelopes up into the air. Behind him were hundreds of people wearing costumes, carrying banners and flags, and not a soul was sitting on the curb. After all, no one is allowed to watch. There are no spectators at this parade.[1]

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[1] Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2009) pp. 233-236.

Musings on the Daily Lectionary

In today's verses from Hebrews, the writer recounts great acts of faith from heroes of Old Testament days, but then adds, "Yet all these, though they were commended for their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better so that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect. Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses..."

My congregation repeats the Apostles' Creed most Sundays, saying that we believe in "the communion of saints." Saints here speaks of all those in Christ, not some sort of super Christians, and the creed is saying that we are all joined together. Together we form a great arc through history. The faith of saints long dead impacts us, and our faith affects them.

Yet we modern American Christians have turned our faith into something that is largely individualistic. Despite what we may say in a creed, we tend to view faith as something personal between us and God. And I think it is such thinking that allows people to participate in a congregation, do a little mission work down at the homeless shelter, then make business and political decisions with no thought as to how those decisions square with the teachings of Jesus.

Our associate pastor preached a sermon recently that honed in on the line in 1 Corinthians 12 where Paul speaks of believers as one body saying, "If one member suffers all suffer together." Yet in our individualist view of faith, others are so disconnected from us that their suffering is usually easy for us to ignore, and it has little impact on how we live out our faith.

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary

I first heard of this when my father read me "Bible Stories" as a small child, and we studied it as children in Sunday School. But I've never really understood why anyone would tell this story to a child, the story of Abraham preparing to kill his son, Isaac.

I've never been sure what to do with this story. Is Abraham to be blessed by God only because he passed this "test?" The angel says, "Because you have done this, and have not withheld your son, your only son, I will indeed bless you, and I will make your offspring as numerous as the stars of heaven and as the sand that is on the seashore." But this promise had been made by God to Abram long before this event. Was there some fine print in the covenant that said Abram would have to prove himself for the promise to be good?

I'm not sure it is possible to read this story as a straightforward account of actual events and not be left with some truly disturbing images of God. God comes off as nearly sadistic. After all, if God truly "knows the heart," why the need for any test at all? And God is the one who recruited Abraham for this role, who had uprooted his life and took him away from family.

I find this text disturbing, but I know that many Christians find my questioning of the text equalling disturbing. If, like me, you grew up in a Protestant church culture that revered the Bible, it can be difficult to challenge the obvious, plain meaning of a biblical account. But I am convinced that we, like Jacob, must wrestle with the God we meet in the pages of Scripture if we are to be blessed and changed (although we may find ourselves with limp; see Genesis 32:22-32).

Is this story a "legend" about Abraham told to demonstrate his remarkable faith? Is it a story of a pious man who thought he heard God tell him an impossible thing and in his religious zeal set off without even considering that he might be wrong? Surely he might well have followed the advice given in 1 John 4, "Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God."

Whatever is actually going on in this story, God's promise to Abraham and Sarah, the promise present in the boy Isaac, seems to be in serious peril. But in the end, God intervenes, and the promise is preserved. Does that happen only because Abraham performs well enough in his test? That seems out of character with the God who had made the covenant with Abraham, and surely with the God we meet in Jesus.

I wonder, what picture or image of God and God's character do you have? Where does it come from, and how do you handle those places in Scripture that seem contrary to your image? Where do you find yourself wrestling with God?

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary

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.

So begins Psalm 12. In every age there are times when the world seems to be going to pot, when people are abandoning the ways of God. The psalmist sees that happening in his time. Which is not to say that they people of his day weren't being religious. If other biblical passages are any guide, people continued to go to the Temple, to make their offerings, and to participate in the festivals and celebrations of the faith. The prophets regularly complained about those who confessed God with their lips but failed to live as God commanded.

The same sort of thing can be said in our day. More attention is given to religious symbols and observances than to how people live. There is a facebook group insisting that this is a Christian nation, and people rally around nativity displays and displays of the 10 Commandments. Yet our culture seems to value consumerism, greed, individualism over any biblical designs for society.

Regardless of the age or situation, there are times when it is easy to sing along with the psalmist. "Help, O LORD, for there is no longer anyone who is godly." But the psalmist does not make the move that some of us want to make. The psalmist never says, "It's hopeless." The psalmist never writes, "The whole world's going to pot." Instead the psalmist proclaims a word from God, "Because the poor are despoiled, because the needy groan, I will now rise up."

I think that one of the great challenges of faith is to trust that God is still sovereign, that God still controls human destiny, even when things look bad. It is so easy to make faith about nothing more than one's personal spiritual state, and in the process deny that God is the God of history. O God, help me trust that you bend all things to your will.

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Sunday Sermon - "Act Like Family!"

Musings on the Daily Lectionary

"I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty." So says Jesus in today's verses from the gospel of John. No doubt the familiarity with these words has numbed many Christians to the oddness of this metaphor. What does this mean? What in our personal lives of faith and spirituality is described by never being hungry and never being thirsty?

Certainly my own spiritual life can get pretty dry at times, and I can feel empty. How do such experiences fit into what Jesus says?

I don't have any neat answers to such questions. And sometimes I think that the trite formulas spouted by some Christians are more of an impediment to deep faith than they are a help. Faith needs to wrestle with doubt, with feelings of God's absence, with questions of "Why?" if it is going to grow and mature.

So I won't offer a one size fits all interpretation of today's words on hunger and thirst, but I will speak of my own experience. Often times my own spiritual dryness is connected to barriers I set up between me and Jesus. Sometimes these barriers have nice, religious clothing such as my work as a pastor. Serving a religious institution is not always the same thing as following Jesus, and sometimes I need to make a concerted effort to draw close to Jesus once more.

What are the things in your life that get in the way? In my case, they are rarely things which seem patently evil or opposed to God. The best barriers, like the best idols, usually appeal to our religious and spiritual hungers.

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Sunday Sermon - "Act Like Family!"

1 Corinthians 13 is most often heard at weddings, but it is not an ode to love, certainly not romantic love. Paul is lecturing wayward children, admonishing them for engaging in petty divisions. The behavior of the Corinthians is not unlike that of siblings engaged in all out rivalry. And the Corinthians could surely see themselves in all those things "love is not."

Jan 31 sermon.mp3

Good Books

A member of this congregation was browsing through the church library today, looking for something good to read. I happened by and she asked for suggestions. I had to admit that I don't know the contents of our library very well, but like a lot of church libraries, you have to wade through a good bit of junk to find the good stuff.

I helped her find something but agreed that it might be helpful to post a list of "suggested readings." I'm going to do just that, but first I'd like your thoughts. What are some good books that every person of faith should read?

Musings on the Daily Lectionary

In today's reading from John, Jesus continues to speak to the religious authorities. Jesus notes that they "search the scriptures." The problem is not that they don't know their Bible. They know it exceedingly well, and in their minds, Jesus can't be doing the work of God because he violates Sabbath, because he claims authority no human can claim. Jesus says that he will not condemn them when they stand before God, rather, "your accuser is Moses, on whom you have set your hope." (Jesus uses "Moses" is a metaphor for the Law as he was thought to have been the author of the first 5 books of the Bible.)

What a curious thing. Jesus says that those who know their scripture forward and backward, who seek diligently to live according to what it says, will be condemned by the very Law they revere.

I've not met many serious Christians who don't in some way seek to follow the Bible. We Presbyterians say it is "the unique and authoritative witness to Jesus Christ..." and "the rule of faith and life." Yet even among Presbyterians, we come to wildly different conclusions about what Scripture says. Is it possible of us to be ones who "search the scriptures" and yet then find ourselves condemned by those same scriptures?

Surely Jesus give us a huge warning about any arrogance or certainty regarding our particular interpretations. But still we must read and interpret Scripture if we are to be people of faith. And in this task I think we would be well served by doing the best we can to let Jesus be the lens by which we read the Bible. After all, to be Christian is to claim Jesus as the truest revelation of God and God's will for us. Christians do not worship and serve the Bible. We worship and serve God whom we have encountered in Jesus. Our desire is not to follow the Bible, but to follow Jesus. For me, the Bible is the unique, authoritative, and inspired guide to doing just that, but it is still only a guide. And if I use it to justify something that Jesus would not condone, then surely the Scripture condemns me in the very same way Jesus says it condemns those religious authorities in our reading today.

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Musings on the Daily Lectionary

In today's gospel reading Jesus addresses his critics who are upset at his healing on the Sabbath, and who are even more incensed that Jesus has called God "My Father." This marks the opening conflict between Jesus and the religious authorities, laying out themes that will repeat throughout John's gospel.

Jesus response seems odd to me in a way. He says he's only doing what God shows him to do, that he can do nothing on his own. It's not really developed here, by I hear echos of similar statements in John where the amazing works of Jesus are seen as self evident. How could he be doing some of what he does if he's not empowered by God in some way.

To me, this raises an interesting question about who is and isn't doing God's work. Very often, we use doctrinal litmus tests to weigh whether or not someone is sufficiently Christian. In my own denomination, we continue to struggle and fight over the issue of whether or not to ordain gays and lesbians. Within these arguments, I've heard it said that it doesn't matter how much evidence there is that God is doing great things through a particular person. If that person is in a gay relationship, the church cannot tolerate that.

I realize that issues of biblical interpretation can be complex and difficult, and that people of deep faith can come to very different conclusions, but at times it seems that we are more interested in our positions and the labels that go with them than we are in the work of God.

And so in my denomination there are many conservative churches who won't support the mission budget of the denomination because that denomination is "too liberal." And many liberals won't support the aid work of agencies they deem "too conservative." And very often, these decisions are not based in any way on the mission work or aid in question. They are only about philosophical or theological labels and divides.

I don't have any easy answers to this situation, but it gives me some pause about the way I sometimes label and judge others.

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