Sermon: Seeing Visions and Dreaming Dreams

Acts 11:1-18 (Revelation 21:1-6)

Seeing Visions and Dreaming Dreams

James Sledge                                                                                       April 28, 2013

Longer ago that I like to admit, I spent a year as a high school history teacher. One day in World History class we covered a unit of European history that included the Protestant Reformation. As we discussed Martin Luther and his church reform attempts that led to a split with the Roman Catholic Church, a young woman in the class raised her hand.

She was a popular student, a cheerleader, and she had a confused, befuddled look on her face. “Mr. Sledge, do you mean that Roman Catholics are Christians, too?” I have no recollection of how I responded to her. All I remember is how stunned I was by her question.

In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have been. This was Charlotte, NC in the early 1980s, and in much of the South, Catholics and Jews were somewhat rare until the late 20^th century. This young woman was from a rural background, and she likely knew of Catholics only by stereotype. To her they were those strange people who worshiped the pope rather than God. They were, in some fuzzy sort of way, an enemy, and so naturally they weren’t Christian.

Now clearly this student’s understanding of Catholics was rooted in bigotry that seems almost comical in this day and age. But of course us versus them divisions are a part of just about everyone’s life. We may laugh off some as harmless, like those connected to sports teams or colleges, but many are not.

Racial divisions are still a huge problem for our country. And right now, our partisan, political divide seems to be a particular curse. Having contrasting political parties and ideas can be a wonderful thing, bringing different perspectives to difficult issues or problems. But when the other side becomes a “them” whom we demonize, declare an enemy, and dismiss as evil, the beneficial side of such divisions largely disappears.

For the early Christians, the division between Jew and Gentile was the ultimate us versus them. Jews could not even eat with Gentiles, which caused huge problems as Gentiles began to hear about the risen Jesus and wanted to join the movement. It’s hard to appreciate in our day, but those first Christians did not think they had stopped being Jewish. They did not think they had started a new religion. And so when Gentiles wanted to join, they had to become Jewish first, males be circumcised, abide by Jewish dietary restrictions, and so on.

Impractical Advice

If you check out Bibles online or in a bookstore, you are likely to run across something called a Life Application Study Bible. As the name suggests, this study Bible is less about traditional Bible study and more about how to apply the Bible's teaching in everyday life. I saw a plug for this Bible that touted it for providing excellent "practical application."

In a similar manner, pastors are often encouraged to make their sermons "more practical," usually meaning something akin to what the Life Application Study Bible advertizes. How I am to apply this teaching in my daily living?

This certainly seems a noble, sincere desire to live faithfully, but the project is sometimes made difficult by the very impractical advice that Jesus offers. "Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you... love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return." Really? This is practical advice?

I suppose there is practicality in that such behavior has a reward. "Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked." Of course just what this reward is remains unspoken. Perhaps it is being declared "children of the Most High," to become like God in being "kind to the ungrateful and the wicked."

If you've ever been involved in a mission or ministry that tries to help people, you've likely encountered some very people who are very grateful for such help. But no doubt you've also encountered those who have no gratitude, who instead are bitter and insulting, demanding to know why the help isn't more.

I'll admit that such times can test my desire to help. If people don't appreciate it, why offer it. But then there is that terribly impractical advice from Jesus. "Do good... expecting nothing in return," not even gratitude. After all, God is "kind to the ungrateful and the wicked." You sure that's a good idea, God? It's certainly not very practical.

We humans like to measure things on practical terms, and on some level, we express most everything along these lines. "Falling in love," may not be immediately thought of in practical terms, but the relationships that emerge from it are usually contractual on some level. I'll stay with you, keep loving you, stay married to you as long as it makes me happy, makes me feel good, provide for me, etc. Even seemingly altruistic things like environmentalism have a practical side. We're preserving the planet for our children. And it's a lot easier to engage people in saving tigers or pandas than it is snail darters. Most of us will never receive any joy or experience any awe from observing the latter.

I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this train of thought, but faith, at some level, is surely about taking a certain path or living a certain way without be able to see obvious, practical advantages to such actions. I suppose a reward of being called "children of the Most High," of discovering our own godliness, has a kind of practical appeal. But I wonder if it can really be experienced through practical, contractual means. It seems to me that is only discovered or experienced in the act of total surrender to God that doesn't really seek any reward.

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Strange Sort of Blessing

There's little wonder that Matthew's more spiritualized version of the Beatitudes is more beloved than those found in Luke. Not only does Matthew's "Blessed are the poor in spirit" become "Blessed are you who are poor." But Luke also adds a corresponding list of woes or curses. “But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation." Not hard to see why no one ever labeled these verses from Luke the "Be Happy Attitudes."

What does it mean to speak of God's blessing or favor on those who are poor and God's curse on those who are rich? And especially for well-off, suburban, American Christians, what does it mean? How are we to reconcile our near obsession with possessions, our desire to acquire more and more, and our portfolios designed to "build wealth" with these words from Jesus? If wealth is such a curse and poverty a blessing, why do we so want to be rich and so fear being poor? And if they are indeed blessed, why do we denigrate the poor so in our society.

I don't have a nice, neat answer to such questions. I find them quite troubling, although I think that argues for spending more time with them rather than dismissing or ignoring them. I say that in part because the God I meet in the Bible quite regularly acts counter to convention, in surprising and baffling ways, and in ways that upend human plans and my expectations. As the prophet Isaiah says, "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the LORD."

We would prefer it otherwise. We are forever trying to create God in our image, but God seems intent on someday having us mirror the divine image. Perhaps that is why many of us are so drawn to Jesus and yet find it so difficult actually to follow him. We see in him our truest calling, what it is to be fully human. But we're comfortable where we are, and so we'd rather convert God.

I'm no different. I'm drawn to Jesus, even enamored by him. But I keep hoping he didn't mean a lot of what he said. I guess it's a good thing that God's seems to be infinitely patient and merciful.

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Sermon video: Hearing and Following

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Sermon: Hearing and Following

John 10:22-30; Psalm 23

Hearing and Following

James Sledge                                                                                       April 21, 2013

Harry was expecting a call so he picked up the phone without checking the caller ID and found himself talking with a pollster.  He thought about hanging up but he recognized the polling organization as a legitimate one, so if it didn’t take too long…

“I a few questions on political issues,” the voice said.  “But first, are you a person of faith? And if so, are you Jewish, Christian, Muslim, or some other?” 

Harry was an active church goer, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to announce that to some stranger on the phone.  “If I say Christian do I get lumped in with Pat Robertson and Joel Osteen?” Harry asked, “because I’m not that kind of Christian.  Will you assume I’m a Republican, pro-life and pro-gun because I’m certainly not that kind of Christian.”

The pollster tried to assure Harry that he wouldn’t be lumped in with anyone, but Harry was rather enjoying the inversion, with him asking the pollster questions.  “If I say that I’m a Christian will you assume that I don’t want my kids being taught evolution in school?  If I say I’m a Christian will you think I’m one of those people who are sure we are in the end times, or that Obama is the anti-Christ?”

Harry was starting to get worked up, and the pollster was trying to calm him.  “Sir, I didn’t mean to upset you.  I’m not trying to link you to anyone or any group.”

Harry thought for a moment and said, “I have an idea.  Why don’t I just tell you a little about myself and how I live?  Then you can decide if I’m a Christian.  I’m against the death penalty.  I pray for my enemies.  I went on a mission trip to Haiti. I think the federal budget needs to prioritize the needs of the poor, the sick, and most vulnerable.”

“Sir, sir,” the pollster said, trying to get him to stop.  But Harry continued, and finally, in frustration, the pollster hung up.

Although a devout Christian, Harry knew that people mean a lot of different things by that label.  Jesus is in a similar situation in our gospel reading this morning, except for him the label is “Messiah.”  “If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly,” some people ask Jesus.  But Jesus doesn’t give them the straightest answer.  He is almost evasive, and I think that’s because the label Messiah, or Christ, was more problematic than helpful.

A Terrible Week... and a Dream

I've been leading a study of Genesis this winter and spring, and today we were looking at the story of Joseph. It's a complicated story, nothing like the one I remember from childhood Sunday School days where Joseph was a cardboard cut-out hero in a "coat of many colors."

In the actual events found in the Bible, the dream of God creates a great deal of tension, aggravating already difficult relationships between siblings. Joseph's brothers go so far as to attempt to kill him. They end up backing off that plan but still sell him as a slave, seemingly jeopardizing God's dream. But the story will eventually prove otherwise.

I find myself wondering about dreams in a week that has felt more like a nightmare to this point. The events of the week, the bombing at the Boston Marathon, fire and explosions in West, Texas, ricin laced letters mailed to the president and others, and the total inability of Congress to do anything meaningful against the scourge of gun violence in this country, all make a solid case for cynicism and for the foolishness of dreams. Worse, these events make it easy to dismiss those who march for peace, against guns, or for social programs rather than huge military budgets as naive idealists who just don't understand how the world really works.

Trouble is, followers of Jesus are called to be dreamers. We are bearers of a dream Jesus called the Kingdom, a new realm or dominion where wolves and lambs lie down together. Jesus says that the dream has drawn near in him, and when the Church is born at Pentecost by the gift of the Spirit, Peter says this is fulfillment of the prophet Joel's dream, a day when God's Spirit is poured out on all people, "and your sons and your daughters shall prophecy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams." O to dream some dreams.

I've always love the old John Lennon song "Imagine." Some people of faith dislike it because it asks us to imagine no heaven, no hell, no religion. Both those are the easy things to do. They are not the reasons Lennon embraces the label others use to dismiss him, "a dreamer." It is imagining no greed or hunger, all people living together as one, that makes him a true dreamer. And such dreams put him squarely in the company of prophets and a Messiah, people who speak ridiculous dreams and call us to share them with the world.

As a terrible week draws, hopefully, to a quiet close, there is much evidence that speaks of the foolishness of dreams. But if ever we need dreams, it is now. And if the church will not be the bearer of dreams it is called to be, then, no doubt, God will find others to carry the dream forward.

Pour out your Spirit, O God.

Believing in Jesus

I've told the story many times about Dr. Paul "Bud" Achtemeier leading a devotional during a faculty meeting at Union Theological Seminary (now Union Presbyterian Seminary) back in the mid-1990s. I attended these meetings as a student representative, and one of the professors typically offered a short devotion at the beginning.

Dr. Achtemeier was a preeminent New Testament and Pauline scholar, and on that particular day he was reading a passage from Paul's letter to the Roman church. Naturally he was reading from the Greek New Testament, translating to English as he read. I have no recollection of what the passage was or what he did in the devotion that followed. What I do recall is a rather lengthy pause when he finished reading, after which he said, "I'd never seen that before."

I've long cherished that moment and the idea that a brilliant man who spent his professional life teaching and writing about Paul could still discover something fresh and new when he looked at the Bible.

Someone on Twitter provided me an "I'd never seen that before" moment the other day. It had to do with an event often reported in the synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), one seen in today's gospel reading. The "demons" that Jesus encounters and "casts out" of people know who Jesus is. They regularly say, as they do in today's passage, "You are the Son of God."

Now I was well aware of demons and the devil knowing exactly who Jesus is the synoptic gospels. But what the that Twitter post made me notice for the first time was that these demons profess Jesus as the Messiah, the Son of God, without it changing them in the least. They are not "saved" or transformed one tiny bit by their knowing and acknowledging this truth.

What struck me about this was, in an "I'd never seen that before" kind of way, that these demons performed the very thing oft times cited as the core of Christian faith, believing that Jesus is the Messiah or Christ and the Son of God.

Out of this notion of faith, many Christians view atheists as the antithesis of faith and as threats to faith because they do not believe in God, because they refuse to profess what the demons do. But in these gospel stories, the enemies of God have no problem believing.

So then, what is it that moves someone from believing to real faith?

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Where Is God?

I've debated whether to write anything today. (It's depressing to recall that I've had this same debate on previous occasions.) What to say in the face of senseless violence? What to say following yet another act reminding us that things we want to take for granted cannot be? What to say in the face of questions with no easy or good answers?

Twitter and Facebook were awash yesterday in "pray for Boston," prayers that continue today. It's hardly surprising that people of faith would seek comfort from that faith. But the appeal to faith raises its own uncomfortable, difficult questions that the cheesy faith platitudes sometimes offered don't do justice. One more reason I debate writing anything today.

Still I know that some will expect it. And then one of today's lectionary passages seemed to encourage it. The reading from 1st John opens this way. "Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God." Is this part of an answer to the question of where God was yesterday?

Yesterday many people posted a quote from Fred Rogers of PBS's Mr. Rogers fame. (He was an ordained Presbyterian pastor by the way.) In it he recalls times when he would see scary things in the news and his mother would say to him, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping." Surely helping is a form of loving. Surely it is a way that God is experienced, is known, and is made known.

That does not answer the question of why God does not simply overpower evil and wipe it away. And Christians face that same question when we look at the cross and its "foolishness," as the Apostle Paul called it. Why does God confront the brokenness and terrors of this world with a cross? Why not a full frontal assault? And once again, cheesy platitudes about the cross and Jesus' "sacrifice" don't do such questions justice.

I don't have the best answers to why God acts as God does, but one thing seems clear. Despite our continued insistence that evil can be conquered and overcome by force, God meets evil with love. It makes no sense by our reckoning. But in the inscrutable ways of the divine,"God's foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God's weakness is stronger than human strength."

And according to today's epistle reading, we come to know this God when we love others. This is Mr. Rogers' "Look for the helpers," but it is more. It is a defiant act that says we will trust God's foolishness and weakness over the ways of power and violence. Even in the face of violence and evil that seem beyond comprehension, our response will be to help and to love. We will not let evil turn us from the promise and hope of love, for through love we were "born of God," and as we love, we draw near to and know God." And right now, I really need that.

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Spiritual Junk Food?

What is it that constitutes Christian faith? Is it believing certain things, or is it more than that? Today's reading from 1st John speaks of us abiding in Jesus and him in us. Then it adds this, "And by this we know that he abides in us, by the Spirit that he has given us."

There is nothing particularly stunning about this statement. The early Christians understood the Spirit to be something given to all believers, not just a few at Pentecost. John's gospel especially focuses on the idea that Jesus' return to the Father allows him to become present to all via the Spirit. His presence is no longer limited by bodily constraints, but is now able to be with everyone. And today's epistle reading clearly understands that faith is confirmed by this experience of the Spirit.

But our reading today adds a caveat. If you have a spiritual experience, make sure it is the Spirit. "Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God."

We Presbyterians have tended to be uncomfortable with the Holy Spirit and spiritual experiences. We're about as rational, studied, and reasonable sorts of Christians as you will find. But even we have needed to learn some spiritual language of late. Spirituality is such a hot topic that it is now quite common to find classes on contemplative prayer and discernment in Presbyterian churches. And there is a growing desire on the part of many for worship that is less informational and more experiential (although few churches have done much to satisfy this longing).

However, I wonder if many of us, from those who long for more spirituality to those who are suspicious of or even frightened of more it, aren't a bit ill-equipped to "test the spirits." How are we to tell what is "from God" and what is something else altogether?

I have met spiritual junkies who seem to relish spiritual experiences for their own sake. They long to be touched deep inside, but such touches do not necessarily lead them to anything beyond wanting more such touches. At the same time I know many traditional church folks who resist the spiritual currents in the church today by insisting they are spiritually fed by traditional church practices. But when pressed, some of them sound a bit like the aforementioned spiritual junkies. They find a particular style of hymns or music touches them deeply, and so they want more of that.

But what if we were to test these spirits? Perhaps the better question is, how are we to test these spiritual experiences? I don't know that there is one right answer to this question, but one simple test seems very helpful to me. If my spiritual experience does not equip, propel, lead, entice, inspire, etc. me to follow Jesus, to continue his ministry on this earth, then there is a problem. Not that spiritual experiences shouldn't warm my heart, fill me with a deep serenity, or any other number of such things. But if that is all my experience provides, then I have not discovered the bread of life, I have found spiritual junk food.

I hasten to add that I know many people with vastly different spiritual practices whose varied spiritualities nurture them in equally committed discipleship. I do not begin to presume that there is a correct way to be spiritual or a spirituality that works for all. But I also know that there are many things that touch me or move me which are not of God. And so whatever sort of experiences or practices I identify as feeding me spiritually, I need to make sure they are the sort of food that leads to true life.

So how do you "test the spirits" that touch or move you?

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Sermon video: Do You Love Me?

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Sermon: Do You Love Me?

John 21:1-23

Do You Love Me?

James Sledge                                                                           April 14, 2013

“Do you love me?” Has anyone ever asked you that question? They don’t come much more freighted than this. If you hear this question from a spouse, partner, lover, friend, child, or parent, what thoughts go through your mind as you consider your answer? “Do you love me?” is rarely an innocent question. It is more than a simple query for information.

The question could be manipulative. I could arise from a place of hurt and doubt. It could arise from hope that another will say, “Yes.” But regardless of its origins, almost all such questions assume that love has a shape to it, that it is lived out in some way. Sometimes this subtext is even spoken. “If you loved me, you would…” or “If you loved me you would not…”

“Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” There is plenty of subtext to Jesus’ question. Peter had earlier spoken of his great love, presumably greater than the other disciples, when he professed his willingness to die for Jesus. But in the face of danger, he had folded, had even denied knowing Jesus. Surely “Do you love me?” was a terrible question for Simon Peter.

But this passage is about more than Peter and his restoration. Jesus’ threefold questioning does seem to undo Peter’s threefold denial. But on a larger level, this passage is about the Church and its ministry, about how the Church will live in the world now that Jesus has died and has been raised. In that sense, Jesus’ question to Peter is a question to every follower. “James, Diane, Bill, Mary, Sam, Dawn, do you love me?”

There is a problem here, though. I’m afraid we hear Jesus’ question very differently than Simon Peter does. For Simon, there is really no question that he does love Jesus. Just look at his buffoonish behavior when he realizes who the man on the beach is.

Faith is such a serious, somber business, we often miss the humor of Peter unable to wait for the boat to get to shore, plunging into the water. But not before he takes a moment to make himself presentable by putting some clothes on. I’m sure he looked most presentable, dragging himself out of the water, clothes dripping wet.

We rarely look so foolish as Peter. We don’t plunge headlong into the water. We form committees. We study all options.  Not that Peter’s impulsiveness is always a good thing, but it comes from a different place than much of our religious behavior. Simon is so enamored, so in love with Jesus, that he acts in ways that are ridiculous, and so Jesus’ questions to him are less about whether he loves and more about what shape that love needs to take.

But Jesus isn’t so viscerally real and present to me as he was to Simon Peter. Very often, Jesus is a collection of teachings, a way of living, a call to action, but not someone I can fall in love with, not someone I would make a fool of myself for. And so that question, “Do you love me?” doesn’t touch me as it does Peter. Do I love you? Well I’m not exactly sure. I love your ideas. You’ve got some great points. But love you? I don’t know.

Conversion and the Other

Perhaps because individualism is such a big part of the American ethos, American Christianity is often highly individualistic. Yes, people come together in church congregations for worship, fellowship, mission, and community. But faith and salvation are often understood in a very personal, even private sort of way. In the stereotyped version of this, I am saved because of my interior, personal disposition toward Jesus. No other person required.

This stands in rather stark contrast to the biblical witness. Certainly scripture shows a personal encounter with God in Christ, but it does so in a very corporate context. Some of the conversions reported in the book of Acts speak of a person's entire household being saved. This includes spouse, children, in-laws, servants, and slaves. Many of these people made no personal decision. They simply found themselves caught up in a corporate salvation event.

The gospel reading for today does not feature conversions, but it does speak of repentance, of turning toward God and being forgiven. But when John the Baptist speaks to those coming to him for baptism, he insists that their repentance doesn't count for much without a corporate element.

Every one of the "fruits worthy of repentance" that John describes is about others, about helping them or refusing to harm them. And this should hardly surprise us. Today's reading is part of Jesus' story, the same Jesus who cannot separate love of  God from love of neighbor. For John the Baptist and for Jesus, faith may be personal, but it is never individualist. It never exists apart from the Other.

I've recently been inspired by a colleague, Steve Lindsley, to preach a sermon series based, in part, on a book titled Five Practices of Fruitful Congregations. And just this moment it struck me that all but one of the practices are directed away from self. Passionate Worship is directed toward God. Extravagant Generosity is toward God and others, and Radical Hospitality and Risk-Taking Mission and Service are directed toward other people. Only Intentional Faith Development has a prominent inward focus.

Most all of us have heard people speak of "going to church." And indeed that describes the primary activity that sometimes marks individualistic, American Christianity. Much like going to the movies, people go to church and get something that they like, that makes them feel better, etc. But John and Jesus keep asking us, "What about the Other?"

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