A Life that Matters

Those of low estate are but a breath,
    those of high estate are a delusion;
in the balances they go up;
    they are together lighter than a breath. Psalm 62:9

Some years ago, there was a supposed feud between David Letterman and Oprah Winfrey, and Dave had included Dr. Phil (who got his stardom via Oprah) in some of his snarkier jabs. When Dr. Phil showed up as guest on Letterman, the two engaged in a relatively light-hearted battle of wits, with Dr. Phil perhaps coming out on top.

At one point in the banter, when Letterman complained about Oprah not liking him, Dr. Phil responded with a piece of wisdom he credited to his father. "You wouldn't worry so much what people thought about you if you know how seldom they did.'' It was one of the better zingers of the night.

When we are infants, we have good reason to assume we are the literal center of the universe. A swirl of activity accompanies our every cry. There's a bit of guesswork on parents' parts regarding just what we need, but someone generally responds to any indication that we are in any sort of want or distress.

As we grow, we realize that our grand self image is an illusion, though we never totally abandon it. We still tend to prioritize our needs over those of others, our family's over others, our group, community, state, nation, etc. over others, and so on.

This factors into our religious behavior. Jesus may speak of loving neighbor as ourselves, but we generally shift that to loving neighbor after ourselves, if we've got any leftover time or money. We also expect God to be attentive to our individual needs. And while God may well be able to hear the prayers of billions simultaneously, there is something a bit odd about my praying for the light to stay green until I get through it while the poor and oppressed, people the Bible tells me are God's special concern, struggle just to survive.

The above quote from Psalm 62 is something of a corrective. On the scale of cosmic significance, none of us really moves the needle. Feathers weigh more. It's not that God doesn't love each of us deeply. Rather it is about helping us discover what it means to be fully human. Just as no good parent would let a child grow up thinking he was the center of the universe, we cannot become who God creates us to be if we imagine we are created simply to be recipients of God's love and care.

In the Presbyterian Church's Book of Order (a part of our constitution), there is a brief section speaking to the core tenants of our theological tradition. Following a paragraph on God's sovereignty, there are several bullet points, the first reading "The election of the people of God for service as well as salvation." In other words, God loves us in order to orient us toward others, to make the neighbor, as well as God, the center of our universe.

It would seem that only when we learn to live "as one who serves" (Jesus' self description in Luke 22:27), will we contribute something of significance as God measures things.

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Sermon: Ordinary Pentecost

1 Corinthians 12:1-13

Ordinary Pentecost

James Sledge                                                                           June 8, 2014, Pentecost

This may come as a shock to some of you, but church congregations are not always kind, loving, supportive communities where everyone gets along. While there is much kindness, love, and support found in congregations, there is also conflict, fighting, and even downright nastiness. Again, my apologies if I just shattered your image of the Church.

Churches find an amazing variety of things that provoke disagreement and division. Some we import straight from the surrounding culture, dividing along lines of wealth, race, political leaning, age, and so on. But we also divide over churchy things: doctrine, worship style, who can be leaders, and so on.

The Apostle Paul deals with most all these in his little congregation at Corinth. At times these Corinthian Christians sound remarkably modern: individualistic, relativistic, divided between haves and have nots, and intensively competitive with one another. Of course we don’t actually hear from them, having only Paul’s side of the conversation. He’s apparently received a letter from some of the folks there along with some first-hand reports, and Paul is not at all happy with what he’s read and heard.

So Paul writes to the Corinthians, and the moment he concludes with introductory niceties, he brings up the topic of division in the congregation. And almost the entire letter features Paul exhorting, explaining, cajoling, correcting, and flat out blasting these folks as he tries to set them straight.

Now the Corinthians’ problems are a bit different from those afflicting many present day churches. Their problem isn’t declining membership or loss of influence in the culture. They are growing, but Christianity is new and never had any cultural influence. Being new, this congregation is an exciting, exuberant place. Most everyone is a new believer who has been caught up in the Jesus movement, and there is a palpable sense of spiritual energy.

Corinth was a fairly cosmopolitan place, and this church has lots of educated, diverse people in it. If we could have visited there, we would probably have said it was a gifted, impressive congregation. But Paul thinks that this giftedness has become a problem.

Us vs Them

Despite all the statistics regarding church decline, the vast majority of Americans still profess some sort of Christian faith. So why do we seem to hate each other so? Why do we act as though anyone who disagrees with us is our enemy. And even if that were true, didn't Jesus tell us to love our enemies, too?

Today's reading from Ephesians says this. "And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with which you were marked with a seal for the day of redemption. Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice, and be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you." So how was it we decided this didn't apply to some neighbors? (Both conservatives and liberals seem equally good at demonizing their neighbors on the other side.)

I read a column recently that suggested American politics has become dysfunctional in part because the Cold War ended. Without a common enemy, we turned our animosities toward one another. The September 11 terrorist attacks briefly united us around a common threat, but Al Qaeda turned out not to be terrifying enough to keep us united.

Now I don't know if I want to lay all the blame for our toxic partisanship on the Cold War's demise, but it does make a certain sense. We humans seem to have an innate fear of "the other," of those who are different from us. And once we label that other an enemy, demonizing them and seeing them as sub-human, un-American, or dangerous makes it much easier to hate them. No need to discuss or consider the viewpoints of such folks.

Yet Christian faith is about becoming one with the other through Christ. Elsewhere in Ephesians it says, "For (Christ) is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us." This is referring to a Jew versus Gentile divide and hostility, but that was simply the primary dividing line the early church faced. We have our own.

The scariest part about hostility between groups is that we start to think things would be better without "them," whoever we mean by "them." We decide that we don't want them in our denomination, our neighborhood, our government, etc. Our world would be so much better if they simply ceased to be. At that point, no matter how "right" our views may be, we've ceased to be a true church, a true community,  a true society. You might even say we've ceased to be truly human because we've defined human as "like us" rather than as the beloved children God sees when looking at every single one of us, and every single one of them.

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Reminded of Our Calling

Earlier today I was flipping through the new Presbyterian hymnal, looking at the hymns it recommended for weddings. (My wife had asked if I had any thoughts on good hymns for our daughter's upcoming wedding.) One of the suggestions was a baptism hymn entitled, "I Was There to Hear Your Borning Cry." As hymns go, it's a newbie, written in the 1980s, but I've heard it sung a few times and like the tune. I began to read the verses, but tears made it difficult.

I'm not certain what caused the tears. I suppose it was some intersection of thinking about a child now grown along with the notion of God always there alongside. If it gets used at the wedding, I doubt I'll be able to sing it.

That hymn and its impact on me were still fresh when I read today's lectionary passage from Ephesians, where the Christians at Ephesus are urged to "to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called..."  And I thought about my life and my family and my faith and how easy it is sometimes to live life without much sense of God there alongside or with much appreciation of loved ones. How easy it is to neglect those relationships, to take them for granted and fail to nurture and tend them. That goes equally for family relationships and the divine one.

I life worthy of the one to which I am called surely requires a certain attentiveness that I do not always practice. The busyness of work and life can push off to the sides the very things that life is all about. Jesus says the core of our lives is about love, love of God and of neighbor. (I'm pretty sure family gets counted in the neighbor part.) Yet I often find myself preoccupied with things that are not about loving God or neighbor, not even those closest to me. I get focused on tasks and addressing all the things that make me anxious, many of which are totally out of my control.

A life worthy of the calling to which you have been called... I wonder if the words of the hymn struck me so because they reminded of my truest calling, everyone's truest and deepest calling, which at its core is about love.

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Sermon video: Holy Waiting

Audios of sermons and worship are available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Holy Waiting

Acts 1:6-14

Holy Waiting

James Sledge                                                                                       June 1, 2014

Back in my days as a corporate pilot, I would tell people who asked about what I did for a living that I flew planes for free, but I got paid for waiting. Corporate pilots tend to take the executives somewhere early in the morning, then sit around all day. You get good at waiting.

A lot of airports had movies you could watch. Some had sleeping rooms where you could crash after an early morning flight. Me, I read a lot; I carried my running gear. Some pilots carried golf clubs. We found ways to make the time pass quickly until the return trip home.

However, passengers could make the time pass more slowly. With a 5:00 pm departure time, I would start getting ready around 4:00; file flight plans, get ice, coffee, and any catering we might have. And then I would hope the people would get there somewhere near 5:00. When they didn’t show until 7:00, those two hours often felt longer than the entire day.

After one early morning flight, the CEO said, "I’ve a quick meeting then  need to get right back. I’ll be here no later than 9:30 am." And so I didn't get out my running shoes or book. I got the plane fueled, refilled the coffee and ice, filed a flight plan, and began to wait. I waited and waited and waited. At lunchtime, I thought about running out to grab a bite but didn't dare. If I left, I knew he would show up, ready to leave that instant.

Around 6:30 that evening he walked in. "We ran a little late," he said. "Oh really," I thought . But of course I didn't say it. I just smiled and said something about that being the whole point of having your own airplane.

How many of you enjoy waiting? How many of you relish the thought of a trip to get your driver's license renewed, or a little quality time in the doctor's waiting room? At least with smartphones, you can catch up on emails, read the paper, or do something productive. Because what is worse than simply waiting and not knowing how long the wait will be?

That's where our scripture story leaves the disciples this morning. Easter is 40 days past. The disciples have seen the risen Jesus repeatedly, and he’s continued to teach them about the kingdom, about the coming of God's new day. And he has also told them to sit tight, to remain in Jerusalem and wait for the promised gift of the Holy Spirit.

Yet after all the time they've spent with Jesus, both during his ministry and in the 40 days since Easter, the disciples still seem confused. "Lord is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?" All that post resurrection continuing education, and they still think Jesus will toss out the Romans and bring back the glory days of King David?

“Don't worry about such things,” Jesus says to them and to us. You're obviously not quite ready, but you are going to be my witnesses in all the world. You will be empowered by the Spirit, and then you will be able to act and live and speak in ways that let people see me in you.

Then Jesus is gone, and the disciples really don't know what to do. They stand there staring up at where they last glimpsed him. I wonder how long they would have just stood there staring if angels hadn’t showed up. Then they go back to Jerusalem. And there they wait. But they don't just wait. They wait, together, the whole community. They devote themselves to prayer, together.

Doubting Disciples

If you're the churchy sort, you probably know that today's gospel reading contains the final verses from Matthew. You may also know that it's often called "The Great Commission" because here Jesus commissions the disciples, and through them the Church, for their work.

As you might imagine, the passage comes in for a fair amount of attention. I've read it countless times, and a couple of things almost always come to mind when I encounter it. The first is the disciples' doubt. They have gone to the mountain in Galilee as they were instructed in order to meet the risen Jesus, and now they do. And Matthew tells us, "When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted."

I had to translate this passage from the Greek as part of a seminary assignment, and I still remember discovering that there is no "some" in the Greek. Perhaps it can be implied, but my translation said, "When they saw  him, they worshiped; but they doubted." And the professor didn't correct me. But whether some or all doubted, their doubt still pretty amazing. It's one thing for me to doubt. I never watched Jesus be executed and then saw him walking around. But these guys did. And they doubt? Interesting.

The other thing I most always think about when reading this passage is what Jesus actually does and doesn't tell them to do. He tells them to make disciples, and he goes on to explain that this gets done by baptizing folks and by "teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you." But nowhere in this does he make any mention of belief.

I think the reason I so often notice doubt and disciple making in this passage is because they seem somewhat at odds with my experience of church. True, I encountered a fair amount of Jesus' teachings growing up in the church, and there was some expectation that one should follow these teachings. Still, I got the distinct impression that the real core of Christian faith was about "believing in Jesus." Faith, believing in Jesus (sometimes understood as not doubting) was what got you the divine seal of approval. And so the church's work was to create believers.

Now I won't suggest that being a disciple doesn't require a certain amount of belief, some level of trust or faith that Jesus' ways are the right ones. But the ending of Matthew's gospel depicts a Jesus less concerned about doubt and more concerned about what we do. Jesus seems to prefer doubting doers over adamant believers.

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May 18 sermon video: The Kingdom Comes

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

May 11 sermon video: A Glimpse of What's Possible

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

God of the Land

I recall reading a statement some years ago about how many a plan to read the Bible from beginning to end had faltered amidst the pages of Leviticus. Today's verses could certainly cause such a problem, not because they contain a numbing list of rules and cultic regulations, but because they feature a disturbing picture of God. God speaks of turning against a disobedient Israel and utterly destroying them. There are gruesome images of adults eating their children, which may contain hints of actual events when Israel starved while under siege by Assyrians or Babylonians.

I don't know how literally to take God's threats here. Perhaps they are a bit like those of an exasperated parent driving the car and shouting, "Don't make me stop this car and come back there!" After all, the passage ends on something of a hopeful note. If they humble their hearts and make amends, God will remember the covenants of old.

But what truly struck me in the passage was neither God's threats nor the hope that these threats might change Israel's behavior. Rather it was God's statement that "the land shall rest, and enjoy its sabbath years." It helps if you know that God not only commanded Israel to keep a weekly sabbath where Israelites as well as their animals received a day of rest (a remarkable concept in the ancient world), but God also commanded a 365 day-long sabbath for the land every seventh year. God, it seems, is concerned not just with people, but with animals and with the land itself.

It's striking how much this is emphasized in today's reading. "Then the land shall enjoy its sabbath years as long as it lies desolate, while you are in the land of your enemies; then the land shall rest, and enjoy its sabbath years. As long as it lies desolate, it shall have the rest it did not have on your sabbaths when you were living on it." Apparently one of Israel's failings has been not caring for the land God had entrusted to it.

Very often religious folks argue about insiders and outsiders, about whom God favors. A lot such religious arguments are only slightly more sophisticated versions of little children arguing "Mom likes me best." Interesting how, in today's verses, God doesn't pick one human child over another. God's most tender words are directed at "the land."

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Sermon: The Kingdom Comes

1 Peter 2:1-10

The Kingdom Comes

James Sledge                                                                                       May 18, 2014

What is wrong with the world? Have you ever asked yourself that question? How could you not. Think of the terrible things that have happened, just in the last month or so. Hundreds of Korean students were killed when a ferry capsized while the crew did little to save them, and it seems there was negligence and malfeasance on the ferry company’s part.

Hundreds of school girls have been kidnapped in Nigeria by terrorists opposed to Western styled education. They’ve threatened to sell the girls as wives or slaves, and the Nigerian government did almost nothing, refusing help from the US and others, until a social media campaign created international outrage.

In Syria, shortly before an exhibit of children’s artwork was to go on display, bombs were dropped on the school. Teachers and children were killed, adding to a death toll now surpassing 150,000 people. And there is no end in sight.

What is wrong with the world?

In our own country, the economy seems to be in permanent doldrums, and the vulnerable suffer the most. Hunger and homelessness are increasing, yet our political process seems paralyzed. And the very people who yell, “This is a Christian nation,” argue for cuts in food stamps and Head Start, despite God’s repeated command to care for the poor and vulnerable.

What is wrong with the world?

Not that this question is new. It is likely as old as humanity itself. The second of the two creation stories in Genesis, the Garden of Eden story, is not really an account of events or an attempt to record history. Rather it is theological reflection, in story form, on a fundamental theological and anthropological question: What is wrong with the world?

Israel’s answer to this question is one that Jesus embraced, that shaped his life and ministry, and shaped how his followers understood his death and resurrection. Unfortunately, this answer has often been forgotten Church. Jesus became about personal salvation and getting a ticket to heaven, disconnected from his central message that was addressed to the question, What is wrong with the world?

Israel’s answer did not really try to explain how it was the world got so out of kilter, but it did address why. The problem is that the world simply refuses to accept the sovereignty of its creator, the lordship or rule of God. Israel, and the first Christians, did not understand heaven to be a place where people could go when they died. Rather it was the place where God did reign supreme, where God’s sovereignty was unchallenged. And Israel awaited and longed for the day they were sure would come, the day when God would reign supreme on earth as well. This was sometimes known as the kingdom of God, or kingdom of heaven.

When Jesus begins his ministry, he declares that God’s kingdom had come near. And this coming day is central to the prayer he teaches his followers. “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as in heaven.” In other words, reign supreme on earth as you currently do in heaven. Fix what is wrong with the world.

On Being Different

Salt and light. Jesus speaks of his followers being both. Both may have had a bit more oomph as metaphors in Jesus' day. Light is still light, but we don't know much of real darkness. We live in such a brightly lit world. We also know about salt as a seasoning, but not so much as a preservative. Oh, we've encountered cured ham and such, but salt is not nearly so essential to life thanks to refrigeration, canning, freezing, and such.

What strikes me about these metaphors is their distinctiveness from what they season, preserve, or illumine. Salt is able to do its work because it is something very different from food. So too light is distinct from the world in which it shines. Both do their work because they are different from the earth and the world Jesus says they are to salt and illumine.

I grew up in a time when being a Christian was simply part and parcel being a citizen. There was little about it that spoke of a distinctiveness, that transformed and gave life to what it touched. Instead Christian faith became about maintaining the status quo. Not that churches did not do a great deal of good, good that sometimes had powerful, life giving impact and so was salty. But being Christian was often simply about fitting in, about being like everyone else.

But Jesus says we are to be different in ways that give life to the world. We are called to be distinct, to be an alternative to the world around us. Not in some holier than thou way, and not in a way that says, "You'd better become like us or you're gonna get it." We are called to be different and distinct in the manner of Jesus, who enjoyed, perhaps even preferred, the company of the poor and the outcast.  We are called to be like Jesus, who gave himself for the sake of others, with little thought as to whether or not they deserved it.

Come to think of it, following just these two examples would probably be enough for a Christian community to look very different from the world around it, and so to be salt and light.

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