Sermons and thoughts on faith on Scripture from my time at Old Presbyterian Meeting House and Falls Church Presbyterian Church, plus sermons and postings from "Pastor James," my blog while pastor at Boulevard Presbyterian in Columbus, OH.
Today's lectionary has more readings than usual because of Maundy Thursday. Today Christians worldwide will gather to remember and to share the bread and cup. And as Paul writes, "Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread."
I often lament the fact that many Christians seem to think of every Lord's Supper as a reenactment of Maundy Thursday. The early Church clearly did not. It was a "joyful feast," a foretaste of the heavenly banquet. But tonight is different. Tonight, while the promise of a feast is still present, we are centered around God's love in Jesus, a love that was willing to risk everything for us.
There is much that divides Christians. We come in many shapes and sizes with varied theologies and practices. Sometimes we act as though being a real Christian means agreeing with our practices and theology. But tonight the focus moves off us as we remember. Tonight we recall that each one of us is embraced in God's love, not because we got our theology or practice correct, but because God so loves the world.
Today's reading from Hebrews contains some of my favorite words in Scripture. "Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God." I have always been drawn to these words even though my faith has often been lived out in the most private and individual ways. Despite my typical, American individualism, I long for this sense of community, a community that is bigger than those I know, one that reaches back in history linking me with all the faithful of the past.
At a recent men's prayer breakfast, a church member led us in a discussion about loneliness, focusing on how men seem to have more problems with this. I certainly have experienced this myself. My own introversion combines with a drive to be competent and successful in ways that often minimize relationship. Yet over and over the Bible talks of our faith in terms of community and relationship. Hebrews even speaks of our actions benefiting faithful people of the past, saying in the verse that precedes today's reading, "... so that they would not, apart from us, be made perfect."
Despite my own personal, individualistic tendencies, I feel strangely warmed and drawn to this notion of true community, a communion of saints that transcends all boundaries. And what better time than Holy Week, as Christians throughout the world focus once again on the events in Jerusalem all those years ago, to remember that we all are made one in Jesus, and we're all in this together.
Zion stretches out her hands, but there is no one to comfort her; the LORD has commanded against Jacob that his neighbors should become his foes; Jerusalem has become a filthy thing among them. The LORD is in the right, for I have rebelled against his word;
So go today's opening verses from Lamentations. Lament is a fairly common form in the Bible. People cry out to God in distress. Sometimes they even rail against God. But not here. Here the writer looks at suffering and says, "This is my doing. I brought this on myself."
I want to tread carefully here because some will hear me say that it is fine to blame the victim. I do not want to say that at all, but I do think that our culture finds it increasingly difficult to say, "Look at the terrible mess I've made. I am getting just what I deserve."
We have little trouble pointing out others' failings and assigning blame, but we are disinclined to take much upon ourselves. All the world's troubles are their fault.
I think I've mentioned before something Martin Luther is supposed to have said. It goes something along the lines of, "When you find yourself before the judgment seat of Christ, plead your faults, not your merits." Luther is speaking of opening ourselves to God's limitless grace and mercy. But if we follow Luther's advice, some of us won't have anything to say.
I like to think myself deserving of all the good I experience and horrible undeserving of and wronged by the setbacks and tragedies of life. I wonder how often I close myself off from God's grace in the process.
Today's reading from Mark has always bothered me just a bit. Jesus goes up to a fig tree, hoping to find something to eat. But finding nothing, he curses it. Yet the gospel clearly states that "it was not the season for figs." Why curse a tree for failing to bear fruit out of season?
Today's reading got pointed out to us in seminary as an example of one story sitting in the middle of another so that they interpret one another. Here Jesus curses the fig tree, then we see him cleanse the Temple, and then we happen by the fig tree again and see that it has withered. While the fig tree episode has its own lesson on prayer, it also seems to provide a commentary for the Temple cleansing. Is the Temple apparatus here condemned for failing to bear the fruit it is meant to bear? Does in season or out of season have anything to do with the failure of the religious institution of that day?
If you do a little research on the money changers and sellers at the Temple, you'll discover that they were not doing anything all that terrible. Churches that operate Christian bookstores or offer credit card giving are doing similar things. But then we local congregations are often better at being religious institutions than at being houses of prayer.
If Jesus sauntered by our church one day, looking for fruit, what would he find? Would the season matter? Things to ponder.
I'm not preaching today, which is a relief in some ways. I like preaching, but I'm never sure what to do on Palm Sunday. The lectionary has an incredible amount of scripture for today. One set of readings is focused on Jesus' procession into Jerusalem, and the other covers the Passion. (If one read them all, there would be no need for a sermon.) In fact, my lectionary labels today Palm/Passion Sunday.
I don't know if this was always the case, or if it developed because of the tendency for modern Christians, especially Protestant ones, not to attend church services on days other than Sunday. And so without some Passion today, many move directly from "Hosanna!" to "Christ is risen!" We know the cross happens somewhere in between, but why dwell on that?
Every year I must decide how much the Passion gets to rain on the Palm Sunday parade, and I've learned from experience not to neglect the Palm part too much. It makes me wonder what the members of Paul's churches thought of his focus on the cross. In his first letter to the Corinthian congregation he says, "But we proclaim Christ crucified..." and just a few verses later, "For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified."
Curious how Paul saw the crucified Christ as good news, but we often view it as "a downer." I once leaned a wooden cross against the manger during Advent. You'd have thought I'd set the communion table on fire. We wear crosses round our necks and we hang them on the walls of our sanctuaries, but for some reason we don't like to pause for long at the cross.
The cross makes no sense without the Resurrection, but the Resurrection becomes triumphant bluster without the cross. Easter is God's affirmation of the cross. It is God's yes to the self giving, self emptying life Jesus leads and calls us to live. Wave the palms. Shout Hosanna! But don't forget why Jesus enters Jerusalem, and don't forget to wonder what it means to follow this sort of king.
In today's gospel Jesus says, "How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!" Curious, Jesus seems to see wealth as an impediment to the true life God created us to live, but most of us worry regularly about maintaining and/or acquiring wealth. Even my denomination worries about how the market is doing. After all, a lot of pastors' retirements are invested there.
This has been said so many times that it sounds like a broken record (for those who remember records). But Jesus spoke about the faith problems associated with money and greed more than any other issue. Interesting how most Christians have decided the focus is better placed elsewhere.
I'm reasonably sure that Jesus doesn't demand everyone take a vow of poverty. But I am also absolutely certain that Jesus considers money to be the biggest single obstacle to a life of genuine faith. Money itself isn't inherently evil. (The Bible does not say "Money is the root of all evil" but rather, "the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil.") But our desire for it and our worries about it often stand directly between us and God.
In the Lord's prayer, Jesus tells us to ask for enough bread for the day. And in another teaching he tells his followers not to worry about what they will eat or wear or drink. Instead we should work for God's kingdom and trust God to provide what we need.
Like a lot of people, I sometimes lament that God so often seems hidden, that God rarely speaks loudly and clearly to me or to the Church. People in the Bible heard God speak, and some of them got to hear God speak through the person of Jesus. But now we seem to be dealing with echos, with the written reports of long ago conversations. Why doesn't God speak more clearly now?
The thought sometimes occurs to me that if God is speaking, I might be to busy striving and worrying to hear it. But can I trust God enough to stop, to be still, to quit worrying and listen?
Today's gospel includes the famous episode where the disciples try to stop people from bringing their children for Jesus to bless. But Jesus glares at his disciples and says, "Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it."
It's a beautiful picture; Jesus welcoming and placing his hands on these children. But what does it mean to receive the kingdom "as a little child?" We can rule out notions of childhood sweetness and innocence. Children were not perceived this way in Jesus' time. But that still doesn't answer the question.
I won't claim to know the answer, but I'm partial to the idea that as children they can only receive it. They cannot do anything to get it. Children in 1st century Palestine didn't have disposable income and weren't considered to be full persons. No part of the economy was focused on them; no advertising aimed at them. They were totally dependent.
I don't know about you, but that is the last thing I want to be. I want to be competent and to accomplish things. I want to be independent, not dependent. I want to earn, not receive.
I suppose it is humorous in a rather tragic way that I would prefer a mess of my own making to the gift of God.
When Moses first goes to Pharaoh and speaks to him on behalf of the LORD. (The capitalized LORD is used to avoid saying God's personal name, Yahweh, which is what is actually written in the Hebrew text.) But Pharaoh says, "Who is the LORD, that I should heed him and let Israel go? I do not know the LORD, and I will not let Israel go."
The events that follow - competitions between Moses and the Egyptian priests, the plagues, and finally the Passover, are all related to these opening words from Pharaoh. Will Pharaoh recognize the LORD? Will Pharaoh ever acknowledge that the LORD is God and heed God's command?
In some ways, this is THE question. Will we recognize and acknowledge that the LORD is God? I generally give lip service to this, but like Pharaoh, when push comes to shove I often act in other ways. I live as though this were not true. I live as though I was Lord of my own life. I follow Jesus when it suits me or when it is convenient, but not if it will cause me difficulty or make me look silly or cause people to laugh at me.
"Who is the LORD, that I should heed him?" Not just a question for old Pharaoh.
In today's reading from Exodus, we hear a portion of Moses' "call story." Moses has encountered God at the burning bush where God announces plans to free Israel from slavery, with Moses as the point guy and God's spokesperson. Moses tries to wrangle out of the job. "O my Lord, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor even now that you have spoken to your servant; but I am slow of speech and slow of tongue."
Moses' objections to being called by God are typical. Most people in the Old Testament who are called for some task at first object, although Moses takes this to extremes rarely seen. This "Surely you don't mean me" sort of objection is quite similar to that often heard in the church when people are asked to serve as leaders, teachers, or volunteers of any sort. "O surely you don't want me. I'm not very good at ________."
Determining if a call is really from God can be difficult, but if my experience is any guide, our objections often betray a fear that we are on our own. We think our work succeeds or fails purely on our skills and talents. Thriving churches have more talented and effective leaders and volunteers. Struggling churches less so. And God seems not to be part of the equation at all. I wonder, just what is the church if it's nothing more than the people assembled there?
There's no audio of the sermon today. Video will be available tomorrow. In the meantime, here's the text of the sermon.
John 12:1-8
A Tale of Two Disciples
James SledgeMarch 21, 2010
What is the most extravagant thing you ever did?Think about that for a moment.Try to recall a time when you lost all restraint, all worry about budgets or paying bills and engaged in wild extravagance.Most of us have occasionally splurged on a car or a vacation or a gift.But I’m talking beyond that.I’m talking about forgetting all prudence, all worry about tomorrow, about uninhibited extravagance.
Truth is, I can’t really recall ever engaging in that sort of extravagance.I’m too careful, too frugal, too practical.Oh, I’ve sometimes been more extravagant than usual.I’ve given a gift I couldn’t afford or bought something costly I didn’t need.But that’s not what I mean by extravagance.It’s not the sort of thing we see from Mary in our reading this morning.
Extravagance of this sort unnerves us just a bit.Our extravagances are rarely so uninhibited and they often have ulterior motives.I think of most of the really big gifts I’ve seen made to churches over the years, and more often than not, they have strings attached.
We’re not always sure how to respond to genuine, extravagant generosity.If a person of modest means gives $100,000 to her church, asks for anonymity, and doesn’t care what happens with the money, the discussion in the church governing board will be very interesting.There will be a lot of suspicion.There will be a hunt for ulterior motives.And then there will be a lot of fighting over what to do with the money.
In a commentary on today’s gospel, I read an interesting story about extravagance.It happened at a stewardship conference attended by a group of pastors.A conference leader spoke of making an offering directly to God, eliciting little excitement among the attendees.But then he pulled a $100 bill out of his wallet and set it on fire.Now he had everyone’s attention, and everyone seemed a bit nervous.Someone commented on the legality of burning US currency, and someone else joked that if he was throwing away money that perhaps he had a few more hundreds.
But the speaker responded, “Do you not understand?I am offering it to God, and that means it is going to cease to be useful for the rest of us.”[1]
My giving tends to be more utilitarian.I would prefer my donations fund missions and help to the poor rather than buy toilet paper or vacuum cleaner bags.And I will keep a record for my taxes, and I will carefully consider whether or not I can afford such a donation in the first place.
But in our reading today, Mary throws such caution to the wind.She pours out an incredible amount of extremely costly perfume onto Jesus’ feet.It cost 300 denarii which is something on the order of 30, 40, maybe even $50,000 by today’s standards.
Surely everyone in the house that evening was stunned.In the similar stories in Matthew and Mark, the utilitarian objection comes from all the disciples, but in John, Judas alone speaks.“Why was this perfume not sold… and the money given to the poor?”But the narrator lets us know that Judas in not motivated so much by concern for the poor.He’s the treasurer, and he’s not above taking some for himself.
Bad Judas!But then again, if someone showed up at the church and dropped off a $75,000 piece of religious art that looked stunning in our new chapel, I know that I might be inclined to wish she had sold it and given us the money instead.Think of all the good we could do with $75,000, including paying my salary.
I’ve heard this story of Mary and her costly perfume many times.I preached from it on a number of occasions.But I don’t think I had ever noticed before how Mary and Judas, despite how differently they come off in this episode, are both depicted as disciples, and besides Jesus, as the primary actors in the story.
Our reading occurs shortly after Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. That event has drawn so may cause the Romans to crack down.And so they devise a plan to have Jesus arrested and killed.This causes Jesus to withdrawn from public view, but Passover is approaching.Will Jesus come into the open for the festival?Now, only six days out, five days before the Passover lambs are slain, Jesus comes to Lazarus’ home for a dinner.
Mary is there.She isn’t listed as one of Jesus’ official disciples, but she seems to understand what the others do not.Before Jesus ever teaches his disciples to wash one another’s feet, she washes Jesus’ feet.And though the twelve have not yet grasped that Jesus will soon die, Mary anoints him for burial.
Her act is extravagant beyond measure.We are not told how it was she had this expensive perfume.How many years had she saved to buy it?And what had she originally planned to do with it?Was it an investment of some sort?Or was it something she was saving for some unknown special event, like a hundred year old bottle of French wine awaiting a moment that justified uncorking it.
Whatever her original plans, the perfume is now used up in one fell swoop.Out of gratitude to this one who raised her brother, out of an overwhelming sense of love for this man, as the only way she can think of to appropriately say what may be her last goodbye, she willingly expends it all in one great act of extravagant love.Mary never speaks in the passage, but her actions bespeak a discipleship deeper than that of any of the others.
And then there is Judas.Yes, he is the bad guy.He is even announced by the narrator as the one who was about to betray him.And yet he is also called, one of his disciples.Perhaps this is so obvious that I’d never noticed it before.But despite what Judas will do, he remains one of Jesus’ disciples.Jesus rebukes him, but he has rebuked Peter and others in similar fashion.The gospel of John speaks of Satan entering Judas when he goes to betray Jesus.Judas will move away from the light and be caught up in darkness, and yet he is presented to us here, despite that darkness, as one of Jesus’ disciples.
The fact is, there are only two disciples depicted in our reading for this morning.One is Judas, this tragic failure of a disciple, and one is Mary, who though not a member of the twelve, comes across as the ideal disciple, totally committed to Jesus, understanding what is about to happen, yet still giving her all to Jesus.
All of us here today are disciples, or at least considering becoming one.In some way we’ve felt a pull toward Jesus.In some way we’ve heard him calling us to follow.Given that, I suppose we are all seated at the table between Mary and Judas.I like to think that I am a bit closer to Mary.But my life with Jesus is not nearly so extravagant, and I can’t help wondering what it is that separates these two disciples.What is it that accounts for their very different behavior?
There’s all sorts of speculation about why Judas betrays Jesus.Perhaps it was simply the money.Others assume Judas was forcing Jesus’ hand, hoping that when he was arrested he would employ his power to overthrow the Romans. In either case, Judas would seem to view Jesus as a means to an end… which would make him like a lot of modern Christians who hope Jesus will give them “their best life now,” or will get them into heaven.
Mary, on the other hand, simply seems to be in love with Jesus.She gives herself to him with an extravagance that can only be motivated by love.Perhaps her love springs from Jesus’ bringing her brother Lazarus back from the dead, but whatever the reason, she has moved far beyond any calculations about what she can get from Jesus.In gratitude and in love, she gives extravagantly.
For a lot of people, Christianity is about belief, about morality, about being good, about helping others.Nothing wrong with any of those things, but you’ll never fall in love with morality.I’m not sure you can fall in love with any concept.But if we actually encounter God’s love in the person of Jesus, perhaps we could fall in love with him, and give ourselves to him with an extravagance that can be born only of love.
[1] William Carter in Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009) p. 142
The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?
The Psalms are filled with such assurances. In 1 John, in the section that tells us "God is love," we hear that "perfect love casts out fear." Or as Paul writes to the church at Rome, "If God is for us, who is against us?" Over and over the Bible assures us of God's care, God's love, God's provision. So why do we know so much fear?
I see lots of fear in the Church. Congregations are afraid because of shrinking numbers, an increasingly secular culture, and shrinking budgets. The same issues keep me awake some nights, and can motivate my actions. In recent years, my Presbyterian denomination has gotten more and more interested in evangelism, but all too often this interest seems to be motivated by fear. "If we don't learn to do evangelism, we will die."
For me, fear is largely a product of not having very much trust in God. My congregation's successes or failures are all about how well I lead them, how well we run our programs, how inspiring we make our worship, how well we connect with our community. And rarely as we discuss such issues do we ask ourselves, "What is God calling us to do? What does faithfulness look like?"
I don't often ask such questions because I am so focused on the human element, on what I do, on what other staff and leaders do. Our discussions and arguments about what we should do are usually focused on pretty trivial matters. What time should worship start? Should we do peppier sounding hymns? What color should the carpet be? And if a stranger were to wander into one of these discussions, I wonder if she might ask, "Where is God?"
Today's lectionary has more readings than usual because of Maundy Thursday. Today Christians worldwide will gather to remember and to share the bread and cup. And as Paul writes, "Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread."
