Dryness

Dryness. It sounds like a skin problem, but in this case I am speaking of spiritual dryness. As one who sometimes suffers from the skin sort, I can attest that the spiritual kind can be every bit as aggravating and irritating. To top it off, I can't quite figure out where to scratch, and soothing lotion can be difficult to find.

I keep thinking I will figure this spirituality thing out some day and become accomplished, an expert. Yet that never seems to happen. Perhaps this is God's way of breaking down my over-dependence on thinking and intellect. Dryness reminds me of a deep longing that cannot truly be satisfied by knowledge or information. Dryness reminds me that relationship with the divine, like intimacy with another human being, does not necessarily emerge from the same sort of efforts that produce good grades, a promotion at work, or other sorts of "success."

Not that effort and intention don't matter. They do, but neither human intimacy nor divine union are primarily matters of achievement or tasks to be mastered. They are states requiring trust and vulnerability, opening oneself along with giving oneself. For reasons I don't fully understand, these are sometimes easier and sometimes more difficult for me.

In that sense, there is a seasonal nature to spiritual dryness, at least for me. Just as my skin bothers me mostly in the dry air of winter, my spiritual dryness has times when it rages and times when it troubles me not at all. These seasons are less predictable, but there is reassurance in knowing that spring will eventually arrive.

I sometimes wonder if people for whom faith is mostly about believing the correct essentials, agreeing with the appropriate doctrines, experience the sort of spiritual dryness that I do. Is their faith more manageable and less capricious? Or are their demons simply different: doubt or crumbling certainties rather than unfulfilled longings?

Regardless, dryness reminds me that divine union, like intimacy, should not be taken for granted. It is a remarkable gift, and as such, it will never really be "under my control."

Sermon: Impossibly Alive

Luke 20:27-38

Impossibly Alive

James Sledge                                                                                                   August 9, 2015

I belong to a Facebook group called “Happy to be a Presbyterian.” It has a lot of pastors and others interested in the church who post sometimes interesting articles and discussion topics. The other day someone shared a blog post entitled, “Death Is Not the End Because Jesus Offers Us Eternal Life and Happiness.” The post itself contained nothing particularly memorable. I likely never would have even looked at it except for th3 note that accompanied it. It read, “I really deliberated on whether or not I should post this week’s article here because I know that many of you do not believe in resurrection or the afterlife. However, I decided to post it anyway since the PCUSA embraces a wide range of views—including those of members who do believe in the resurrection.”

By the time I first saw the post, there were already close to a hundred comments, and there was a pretty intense debate underway as to what exactly someone must believe in order to be Christian. The discussion never got out of hand, but it did get a bit testy at times. Considering how central the resurrection of Jesus is to Christian faith, some might find it surprising this was a big point of contention. Perhaps even more surprising was the fact that the person who originally posted the article assumed his belief in eternal life to be a minority one among Presbyterians.

But perhaps no one should be surprised that people of faith struggle with their understanding of resurrection. It is a topic that is barely explained in the Bible. Our gospel reading today is the only place where Jesus tackles to subject directly. In fact, a great many notions about resurrection and eternal life come, not from the Bible, but from such disparate places as Greek philosophy or fanciful speculation by Christians unsatisfied with Scripture’s unwillingness – or perhaps inability – to explain things. A lot of people want details and mechanics.

The Sadducees in our reading today are focused on details and mechanics, but not for the same reasons many Christians are. They employ mechanics to emphasize the absurdity of believing in resurrection. I wonder if the often absurd mechanics of resurrection and eternal life imagined by some Christians aren’t a big reason that educated or progressive sorts of Christians sometimes struggle with this subject.

Sermon: The Holy Ones

1 Peter 1:13-16

The Holy Ones

James Sledge                                                                                       August 2, 2015

Many letters in the New Testament are addressed “To the saints who are in such and such a place.” Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians opens, "To the church of God that is in Corinth, to those who are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints.”

As many of you know, the term “saints” is used differently that it often is today. The notion of saints as super-Christians is not found in the Bible. In the New Testament, all the faithful are referred to as "saints." But lest you think the term “saint” just a different way of saying “Christian,” the word is often translated “holy.” And so it is possible to read those New Testament letters, "To the holy ones who are in…” or “to those called to be holy ones.”

The biblical idea of holiness is probably more nuanced and multifaceted than many realize. It includes notions of purity and righteousness, but it also speaks of being consecrated, set apart for a special purpose. Holiness is a kind of distinctive mark that designates people for a special task.  And this distinctiveness is supposed to reflect in some way the distinctiveness of God. Our reading from 1 Peter emphasizes this, quoting God’s voice from the Old Testament. “You shall be holy for I am holy.”

One other thing about holiness, or at least about saints, the holy ones; in the Bible they never occur in the singular. There is no Saint so and so. There is no one described as a saint, no holy one, other than Jesus. It is always corporate, a designation for the community of faith. Individuals have specific calls and tasks, but only the community is called “the saints.” In that sense, “saints” and “the body of Christ” are very nearly synonymous.

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Words, Words, Words

On Monday evening, our group of pastors traveling through Turkey were guests in the home of a Muslim family in Izmir. The two older sons are grown and have moved away. (One is in  America and one is a professor at a Turkish university.) The third son, Yusuf (Joseph), was much younger – late elementary school age perhaps – and he was the only one of the family who spoke any English. Of course, like any respectable boy that age, he preferred to be anywhere but in a crowd of adults, most of whom he’d never laid eyes on, and he didn’t say much.

The meal was a traditional Turkish one, served in courses. There was a delicious lentil soup, followed a dish of eggplant, potatoes, meat, followed by rice and green beans, all of this accompanied by homemade bread and side dishes of salad from the family garden, something made from yogurt, mint, and cucumbers, and a wonderful eggplant salad made with smoked eggplant, yogurt, and spices I couldn’t quite identify. Then we retired to the living room where we were brought plates of fresh watermelon, and lastly, the end to most Turkish meals, a small glass of hot tea.

We feasted like kings and queens with our hosts scurrying about in a kitchen cramped by the nine of us, quickly removing one bowl or plate and replacing it with another. The husband, Baha, did most of the talking, but both he and his wife, Binnur, were incredibly enthusiastic in their hospitality. Conversations were interesting, with Bilal, the Fairfax, VA imam who is leading us in our Turkish odyssey, having to translate back and forth.

It was a remarkable evening, with many touching moments, but a couple stand out. The first happened over introductions. This family has hosted groups like ours many times before, but we were something of a novelty. With the exception of Bilal, all of us are Christian pastors. They had never hosted pastors before, and when they learned of this, Baha called us “friends of God” repeatedly and excitedly. And he spoke of seeing the light of God in us.

But I think the moment that touched me the most was when Baha said how rich he was because they were able to host us. That’s not how I usually hear people use the word “rich.” Perhaps there were some issues with translation, but I don’t think so. He and his wife were treating us like royalty, and he felt enriched and blessed by the opportunity to do so. It was an amazing demonstration of the biblical call to show hospitality to the stranger, a call I have often found to be considerably more evident among those of Islamic faith.

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A hectic schedule and the lack of reliable WiFi in our hotel has led to a delay in finishing this post. In the meantime we have again dined with a Muslim family. This family was younger and the evening somehow felt a bit different. One colleague spoke of the previous night being “moving” but this meal being “fun.” Yet one constant remained: the remarkable level of hospitality that genuinely felt joy and gratitude for the opportunity to host us.

As I reflect on these two evenings (we have another in a couple of hours), I’m struck by the connection that we made at these dinners despite significant language barriers. More striking, this connection achieved despite the difficulty understanding each other’s words happened  between people who are sometimes divided by words.

I suppose that all faiths, in an understandable attempt to more fully understand that faith, use mountains of words to explain and detail the essentials of faith, to make sense of our faith stories and how they are to impact our lives. Yet so often our words become our fences, the lines we draw around our group that leaves others on the outside. Too often our words become weapons to say who’s in and who’s out. For Christians, our great commands are about love, yet we have often had little trouble telling others that our loving God is happy to damn them to hell for all eternity if their words don’t match ours.

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I’m reading a wonderful, historical novel that takes place in Turkey at the end of the Ottoman Empire and the early days of the Turkish Republic, Birds without Wings, by Louis De Berniers. I ran across this quote in it. “(T)he first casualties of a religion’s establishment are the intentions of its founder. One can imagine Jesus and Mohammed glumly comparing notes in paradise, scratching their heads and bemoaning their vain expense of effort and suffering, which resulted only in the construction of two monumental whited sepulchres.” (pp. 142-143, Kindle edition)

The observation is perhaps a bit harsh, but not without its truth. When we Christians forget about the command to love neighbors, along with Jesus’ teachings that broaden the neighbor to include even our enemy, then we inevitably misuse and abuse his words and words in general.

Since I’m quoting folks I’ll throw in another by Barbara Brown Taylor. “(I)n an age of information overload . . . the last thing any of us needs is more information about God. We need the practice of incarnation, by which God saves the lives of those whose intellectual assent has turned them dry as dust, who have run frighteningly low on the bread of life, who are dying to know more God in their bodies. Not more about God. More God.” (An altar in the World, p. 45)

Said another way perhaps, Not more words about God, not more words, but more God. Of course it's taken me a whole lot of words to say that.

Muslims, Confederate Flags, and Guilt by Association

As I write I'm sitting in the airport terminal, waithing to begin my journey to Turkey. I'm traveling with a group of pastors on a trip sponsored by the Institute for Islamic and Turkish Studies, or IITS, in Fairfax, VA. Members of my congregation recently broke the Ramadan fast with worshipers at the IITS mosque. It was a delightful evening with great food and the most wonderful company and hospitality.

Because of my relationship with the folks at IITS, the recent attack on a Navy recruiting center in Tennessee that killed five servicemen left me with a second, heartbreaking reaction. After the initial shock and sadness that such a tragedy had occurred, I immediately thought of the good people at IITS and countless other Muslims like them. Because the attacker was Muslim, some Americans with declare all Muslims guilty by association. This seems so unfair to my friends, and I can only imagine the pain it causes them.

Speaking of guilt by association, I have a number of Facebook “friends” who claim that the Confederate battle flag is not tainted by its association with a war to preserve slavery, hate groups such as the KKK, or the fact that so many southern states raised it over capitals and incorporated it into their state flags to protest the civil rights movement. And in an interesting oddity, those most vocal in defending the Confederate flag are often the same people condemning all Muslims for the actions of a few.

What is it that makes us humans so good at dividing ourselves into different groups, then assuming the worst of those whose group is different from ours? What makes us willing to believe the absolute worst about those who are different than us while at the same time excusing terrible actions by members of our own group as aberrations?

For me as a Christian pastor, such questions are even more troubling because religion is often heavily invested in the “we’re in and you’re not” game. We Christians, whose greatest commands are about love, can be downright hateful to those we deem on the outside. Clearly some Muslims have similar issues.

As I finish writing, I am now in Istanbul, brought here by a Muslim imam, and experiencing the warmth and hospitality of all those I've met. It is interesting being in a place where I'm the minority, whether the measure is language, ethnicity, or religion. Surely my being a Christian American carries with it a number of guilt by association issues for people here. But based on my limited experiience so far, perhaps not. Regardless, I look forward to the coming week and the chance to continue pondering those things that divide us, as well as looking for those things that bind us in a common, shared humanity.

Taking the Bible Seriously - Two Different Idolatries

The next day an evil spirit from God rushed upon Saul, and he raved within his house. 

1 Samuel 18:10

I encounter very many "liberal" and "progressive" Christians who have a tenuous relationship with the Bible. (I'm not speaking of pastors so much as regular church members.) This is usually not because they haven't read Scripture, but rather because they have. At least they have read it enough that they have encountered sufficient terrifying or troubling texts that make them question the Bible's validity.

You don't need to look very hard to find such texts. From rather minor things such as the ban on eating shrimp or wearing clothing made of two materials to appalling commands to kill children who curse their parents and to conduct genocidal slaughter of a land's indigenous inhabitants, the Bible contains a large number of verses likely to make most people squirm. Ignoring the Old Testament doesn't help very much either. Women should remain silent; slaves should obey their masters; "accept the authority of every human institution." (I've always been confused by Christians who speak of infallible Scripture in one breath and in the next insist the right to bear arms must be maintained in case we need to overthrow the government.) There is plenty to make you squirm in the New Testament.

You would think that after all these centuries Christians would have arrived at some generally accepted notions of what to do with the Bible, but this seems not to be the case. Even stranger, many who've decided they can no longer accept the Bible's authority, appear to have accepted the literal, inerrant model of some fundamentalists as a norm. And some liberal Christians I talk to struggle to accept Scripture because they think doing so means reading it this way.


It may come as a shock to some, but reading the Bible literally is a modern phenomenon. It took the Protestant elevation of Scripture combined with 19th century scientific advances for some to embrace a doctrine of inerrancy. The problems with such a doctrine are many. For one, Scripture makes no such claim for itself. The passage from 2 Timothy 3:16, "All scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching..." is often quoted on this topic, but inspired and inerrant are quite different things. And of course, the writer is referring to the Old Testament only. The New Testament did not yet exist.

Notions of literalism and inerrancy also make it difficult, if not impossible, to let Scripture have its own say. For example, the synoptic gospels, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, place Jesus' cleansing of the Temple during the last week of his life. But John's gospel has this at the beginning of Jesus' ministry. If we are committed to a doctrine of inerrancy, we now must commit to explaining away this discrepancy. At such a point, this doctrine has now become more treasured than the gospel witness itself.

Or look at the quote from today's reading in 1 Samuel where God sends an evil Spirit to afflict Saul. Do evil Spirits come from God? In much of the Old Testament they do. In Exodus, Pharaoh repeatedly changes his mind about letting Moses and the Hebrews go because God "hardened Pharaoh's heart." For much of ancient Israel's history, they had no notion of an evil counterpart to God. Indeed their radical monotheism argued against such a thing. And so evil that at a later date might be attributed to "the devil" is attributed to God.

As I said, the problems with inerrancy are many, as well as obvious. Maintaining a belief in it requires a blind faith in the doctrine itself, which of course is idolatrous. The doctrine was devised to protect the authority of Scripture, but its many failings may have done more damage to the idea of biblical authority than science or secularism or anything else ever did. So then how do we lay claim to some sort of legitimate, biblical authority?

Perhaps that verse from 2 Timothy can be of help. "All scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching..." Inspired; what does that mean? I looked up inspired and found this: "aroused, animated, or imbued with the spirit to do something, by or as if by supernatural or divine influence." If a poet is inspired to write some incredible verses or a musician to pen a spectacular score, we do not mean that the finished product has nothing to do with poet of composer. Inspiration does not overwhelm the person. 

Hopefully my sermons are occasionally inspired, something more than just my thoughts and reflections, but on those occasions when God does speak through me, I am not obliterated by such inspiration. I do not simply become stenographer or parrot. My voice is still there, my perspective, my biases, and so on. So too the writers of Scripture are presumably present in their writings, along with their context, perspective, and so on. The inspiration is divine, but it does not swallow up the author.

The inspiration is divine. This is a critical thing to remember, for if some Christians have tended to claim too much for Scripture, some have tended to claim far too little. In the process, some liberal and progressive Christians have engaged in a different sort of idolatry from that of their inerrancy counterparts, an idolatry of reason. This idolatry sets up my own judgment as final arbiter and acknowledges no authority outside of self.

This poses an entirely different problem for faith. If inerrancy requires one to embrace a God of genocide and slavery, this second idolatry risks doing away with God altogether, or at least any insights into God not readily apparent and palatable to me. At some point such a move rejects the idea of revelation altogether. But if God cannot be other than I imagine or conceive, then God gets created in my image.


Faith is damaged by an overly simplified, black and white, "God said it and I believe it" mentality. But it is equally damaged by a refusal to acknowledge any biblical authority. If I do not engage with and wrestle with the Scriptures, if I do not allow the Bible to have some sort of claim on me and my life, then I am may be many things, some of them good and noble, but I am not seeking to be a Christian, a person who seeks to live in faithful relationship with the God revealed in Jesus.

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Sermon video: Caught Up in the Conspiracy

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Caught Up in the Conspiracy

Philemon 8-19

Caught Up in the Conspiracy

James Sledge                                                                                       July 12, 2015

The practice of referring to “books” of the Bible probably is a bit misleading, never more so than with the “book” of Philemon. I once had my answer on a seminary quiz marked incorrect because I wrote that a particular quote from Paul was found in Philemon chapter 1, verse so and so. I guess Professor Achtemeier would have marked down Brian McLaren as well. His chapter for today says our Scripture reading is Philemon 1:8-19, but in truth, Philemon has no chapters. It’s a one page letter, less than 500 words.

Like most letters in the New Testament, it is occasional and particular in its content, but this one is also personal, speaking primarily to one individual, Philemon. The exact circumstances aren’t known because Paul has no need to explain it to Philemon. But it seems that Paul is writing on behalf of a slave, Onesimus, who apparently belongs to Philemon.

The first seven verses of the letter are introductory, warm hellos and recollections of service together in the church. It seems Paul is charming Philemon a bit before he gets to the point of the letter which goes something like this. “I could command you, but I won’t. I’m giving you a chance to do the right thing on your own. Receive Onesimus, not as a slave but as a beloved brother, and free him so that he may return and work with me.”

As I was reading this letter, I imagined Paul living and writing it in our day. What if Philemon was an active leader in his church but also a CEO. Might Paul write, “I could command you but I won’t. I’m giving you a chance to do the right thing on your own. Treat Onesimus, not as an employee, a human resource, but as a beloved brother. Pay him a living wage so he may can stop working three jobs and help me.

But what makes Paul think he can make this sort of request? Or that he could have made it a command in Christ? Just who does he think he is?

It’s important to realize what a life altering thing it is for Paul to be “in Christ.” For Paul, this is not about getting to go to heaven. Paul has become a “new creation” in Christ. He has been transformed in ways that completely change how he lives in the here and now. Those who are in Christ live now as citizens of God’s new day, no longer recognizing the world’s division of Jew and Gentile, male and female, slave and free, CEO and employee.

The Brian McLaren chapter that uses today’s verses from Philemon is called, “The Spirit Conspiracy,” and I love that title. As Paul well knew, the gift of the Spirit that is given to the Church does join us to a conspiracy, a movement to radically alter the world, to begin conforming it to what Jesus called the kingdom of God.

Back in Jesus’ day, there were many who hoped that he would be a conquering Messiah, that he would cast out the Romans and institute the wondrous day of peace and harmony foretold by prophets. No doubt they were crushed and confused when those Romans instead executed him, and for many, hope that he was the Messiah disappeared.

In our day we understand that Jesus is not a military Messiah, but far too often this has led Christians to conclude that Jesus is apolitical, concerned only with forgiving sin and getting people right with God before they die. But declaring Jesus a non-political Messiah requires ignoring the very core of his message.

Sermon video: Downward Mobility

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Downward Mobility

Philippians 2:1-11

Downward Mobility

James Sledge                                                                                                   July 5, 2015

A number of our youth recently went on a mission trip. Working with the Pittsburgh Project, they helped elderly residents with limited income make badly needed repairs or improvements to their homes. This is the second year our youth have gone to Pittsburgh, in large part because those who went last year has such a profound experience.

Similar experiences have been shared by countless other youth groups, college groups, adult groups, and intergenerational groups who’ve taken mission trips to all manner of locations to do all sorts of work. Rarely, have I heard anyone complain about their experience on such trips. Even though the accommodations may have been incredibly spartan, even though the weather may have been horrendous, even though the work may have been hard and strenuous, people talk about how moving the experience was, how much it impacted their faith, how life changing it was.

We live in a culture that bombards us with messages of needing more, of striving to get ahead, of leading a life that others can only dream about. Yet I’ve almost never heard anyone tell me that their faith blossomed or their life changed because they got that bigger house or nicer car, got that promotion everyone else wanted, or got into that highly selective college. People may get immense satisfaction or benefit from them, but they don’t talk about them in the same sort of language they use for those times when they sweat and work in the most difficult conditions, forming relationships with people very unlike those they usually meet.

“The Spirit leads us downward.” That’s the opening sentence in Brian McLaren’s chapter entitled, “Spirit of Service.” It seems totally at odds with the upward mobility focus of our culture, yet it is the experience of those mission trips.

Guns and Other Idols

From time to time I see a post on  Facebook talking about how guns aren't the root cause of all the gun violence in America. They speak of growing up with guns, being taught to respect them, and never using them in ways that create a danger to others.

I can appreciate such a stance because I had that sort of experience growing up. I was raised "in the country," as they say. My father taught me to shoot with a .22 caliber rifle. When I was a teenager I saved up my money and bought a shotgun, but I never really cared much for hunting, so I eventually got rid of it.

I've had the opportunity from time to time to do a little target shooting, and I've enjoyed it. But I don't own a gun and have no plans to do so. In general I avoid guns in large part because I don't want to be part of a culture that has become more and more idolatrous over the years. Respect for guns has turned into veneration of guns, and I see that as a problem.

It's by no means the only such problem in our country. Some might say there's been a similar progression in the realm of income and possessions. Making a decent living and providing for one's family has increasingly become an obsession about having more. Consumerism is an idolatry that is much more tempting to me personally than gun obsession is, so I won't claim that those who worship at the altar of the 2nd Amendment are somehow worse than me. Still, I think it's worth naming idols for what they are.

My theological tradition, with includes Presbyterians, Reformed, parts of the UCC, and a few others, traces its peculiar brand of Christianity back to John Calvin in Geneva, Switzerland. Calvin was adamant on a number of things. One was the absolute sovereignty of God. And another was the human tendency toward idolatry, our propensity to organize our lives around things other than God. These things need not be inherently evil in order to become our idols. In fact the very best idols are not. Family, country, church, even the Bible, can all become idols, things that occupy a place that belongs only to God.

In America, with our focus on individual freedoms and rights, the self often becomes an idol. The worship of guns and wealth and possessions may all be subsets of this idolatry of self, which is likely why Jesus says that no one can become his follower without denying oneself. "Deny yourself and take up your cross," is a familiar command to many Christians, but not one we're all that inclined to take too seriously.

That said, I do think that there is a distinction to be made between the idolatry of guns (and likely some other of "my rights") and that of the more widely practiced idolatry of wealth and possessions. The idolatry of consumerism has been fully named in our society. Its allure may be strong, but many people of faith have recognized it for what it is and struggle against it as an alcoholic struggles with drink. I'm not sure the same can be said for the veneration of guns.

However, one thing is painfully obvious to me. John Calvin was certainly correct that we humans are remarkably skilled at devising things other than God to serve.

Sermon video: Functional Unitarians and Unflattening God

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Functional Unitarians and Unflattening God

Ephesians 4:1-16

Functional Unitarians and Unflattening God

James Sledge                                                                                       June 28, 2015

I had a theology professor in seminary who was fond of saying that nearly all of us are functional Unitarians. We may sing Holy, Holy, Holy on Trinity Sunday and baptize people in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, but when it comes right down to it, we reduce God to one person of the Trinity.

It is possible to do a Unitarianism of the Son, begining every prayer with “Jesus we just ask you…” Quakers and others sometimes reduce God to Spirit. But I think by far the most popular choice is a Unitarianism of the Father.

Many open their prayers with “Heavenly Father” or even “Father God.” In fact this form of Unitarianism is so pervasive that” God” and “Father” become virtual synonyms in a way that never happens with Jesus or the Spirit. Just look at the hymnals in our pews. They have various sections, seasonal ones for Advent, Christmas, Lent, sections for baptism and the Lord’s Supper and other parts of worship. And there are sections for the Trinity labeled “Holy Spirit, Jesus Christ,” and “God.”

I realize that for many the Trinity is some esoteric doctrine with no real connection to faith, but it seems to me that we flatten and diminish the incredible mystery of God when we reduce God to one thing, when we require God to conform to our conceptual  limitations.

We humans have a tendency to think that unity or oneness means sameness. That is why sports teams and armies wear uniforms, a visible display of sameness. When Christian missionaries first went to Africa, they assumed that converting people the faith meant making them look and act like Christians in America and Europe. In Ghana and Congo they insisted that pastors wear black robes in stifling heat and import pianos or small organs for playing Western hymns. No indigenous instruments or music allowed.

Thankfully we eventually saw the arrogance of this, yet functionally, we still struggle with this need for sameness. There are successful multi-cultural congregations in America, but they are few. Many more are mostly one race, one socio-economic group, one political leaning, and so on. And I have to think such sameness impacts our images of God.

Our reading from Ephesians speaks a lot about unity and oneness. There is one body, one baptism, one faith, one Lord, one Spirit, one God and Father of us all. There is unity in the Spirit and the unity of faith. However the one body is marked not by sameness but rather diversity. The body is a complex organism working together for a common goal, and in this it somehow mimics that complex relationship that is God.

Trouble in Paradise

Now during those days, when the disciples were increasing in number, the Hellenists complained against the Hebrews because their widows were being neglected in the daily distribution of food. 

 Acts 6:1

Acts depicts an idyllic community of love and sharing that emerges in the wake of Pentecost. Present day Christians who assume that God is fond of capitalism are often uneasy when they read its description. "All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need." But Acts lets us know that there were always threats to this community. First we hear of hoarding by the couple Ananias and Sapphira. And in today's reading, we read that Hellenist widows weren't faring as well as Hebrew ones.

There aren't many details in the story, but one thing is clear. Hebrews get better treatment than Hellenist. (This seems to be a division within a church that is entirely Jewish, some who able to worship and pray in Hebrew and/or Aramaic, and some who can speak only Greek.) The problem is quickly resolved as Stephen and others are selected to lead this service. But it points to a problem that has plagued the Church from its infancy, fights and divisions about boundaries, about who's in and who's out, about the requirements for inclusion.

Despite statements about there no longer being Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male or female, about all becoming one in Christ, the faith has been remarkably good over the years at coming up with grounds for and exceptions to genuine unity. In today's reading it is cultural and language differences, but that is just a start.

In the book of Genesis, the Tower of Babel story is a mythic explanation of how humanity became divided. But in the Pentecost story of Acts, the gift of the Holy Spirit undoes this division. Yet we in the Church keep honoring the old curse rather than living into the new day of the Spirit.

The struggle for full inclusion in the Church by LGBT people is a very current example of the curse's persistence. But division over race is America's most profound experience of this curse, and one we seem unwilling to confront fully.

It is easy, and often convenient, to forget the deep, religious roots of American racism. Slavery in the Bible was not racially based, and thus was more fluid than the US version. American slavery required that Africans be less than fully human to justify slavery as a status conferred at birth, and the Church was more than willing to help in this effort. It succeeded so thoroughly that even many abolitionists assumed that freed slaves would never be able to take their place as full citizens in America.

Slaveholders actively discouraged slaves from becoming Christian, for obvious reasons. And when the Civil War brought an end to slavery, it hardly brought an end to deeply held and religiously buttressed ideas that those of African descent were not full human partners. I think many would be surprised at the number of people who still hold to such ideas. But even for those who do not, the legacy is still a curse on our society.

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In the aftermath of the Emmanuel AME Church murders, there are signs of Pentecost-like possibility. People have reached across the divide to say, "We are one!" But there are others who are waiting and hoping for things to go "back like they were." And if people of faith do not seize this moment, inertia and long standing practice will be on the side of those who prefer the curse of division to the new community of love Christ proclaims.

The writer of Acts cast the Apostle Paul as his leading hero, and Paul struggles mightily to push the Church beyond the boundaries it had inherited from Judaism. It is well past time for the Church in our day to actively struggle against the boundaries and divisions and inequalities that we inherited and have too often helped maintain.

Last Thursday, the Rev. Tawnya Denise Anderson, a PC(USA) pastor, posted a blog entitled, "'Allies,' the Time for Your Silence Has Expired." She spoke of white friends and their willingness to listen and offer sympathy toward the plight of black America. But then she said, "White allies, I thank you for your thoughtfulness in this regard. Now allow me to be your stopwatch; Time’s up." And she went on to share a Facebook post of a colleague who she said captured her thoughts. "If you love me and mine, fight for me. If you are unwilling to fight for me, clearly there is no way we can walk together."

Too often the white church's work to break down the curse of racism has looked a bit like the advocacy of country club members who insist that these things take time, that the best way to go about it is gently to convince more and more members that being more open is a good idea. Very rarely has the white church been willing to act like the Apostle Paul, who fought the church leaders in Jerusalem and risked his very life to remove the boundaries that Christ had made meaningless.

Very often, we white Christians have been unwilling fully to acknowledge how pervasive the curse of racism is. Perhaps because to do so would be to demand more action and more confession of our own willful blindness and culpability than we can handle. 

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When Acts tells us about how divisions began to sow trouble in the Church's post-Pentecost Paradise, it is a segue into the story of how Paul and others took on the biggest division for the early Church, that between Jew and Gentile, and eventually overcame it. We Americans have a division problem of similar magnitude, one with roots in the churches we attend and serve. Surely Christ is calling us to do everything we can, to struggle and to risk, until we truly live into our oneness in Christ.

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A Sermon That Didn't Get Preached

This is the draft of a sermon I intended to preach last Sunday... before the murders in Charleston were committed. But rather than just toss it. Here it is.

Proverbs 4; James 3:13-18 

James Sledge                                                                                                   June 21, 2015

Some of you may be familiar with H. L. Mencken’s take on the Puritans. He wrote, “Puritanism: The haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be happy.” And just in case you didn’t know it, Presbyterians are close theological relatives of Puritans. Presbyterian was the name chosen by the Reformed Church in Scotland, while the Reformed Christians in England were called Puritans.

People of faith are known for a few “Thou shalt nots,” and I suspect most people recognize the need for some of these. When we had the Deacons’ picnic a couple of weeks ago, a group of us was talking about how the church was a great location for the event except for the closeness to Broad Street. About that time a soccer ball got loose and rolled into the street, a child close behind. Immediately shouts of “Stop! Don’t go after it! Don’t go in the road!” came from all over. A few, well-placed “thou shalt nots” are sometimes necessary.

Parents usually know something about shalt nots and other prohibitions. Children may disagree, but most parents don’t see their primary purpose as ensuring children experience a healthy dose of unhappiness. “Yes, ice cream tastes great, but no, you cannot eat it for breakfast, lunch, and supper. Yes, it would be wonderful to be able to fly like Superman, but no, you may not tie a cape around your neck and jump off the roof.”

Certain prohibitions and shalt nots are essential to create some safe boundaries within which a child can go about the business of figuring out how to be a reasonably healthy, well-adjusted, contributing member of human society. But the rules are not goals in and of themselves. They are simply a framework to help along the way.

In the weeks following Pentecost, we have been talking each Sunday about how the Spirit equips us for life as followers of Jesus. The last two weeks we’ve spoken of loving God and of loving neighbor. Many are familiar with the words Jesus spoke about what is most important for walking in the way of God, how we should love God with heart, mind and soul, and how we should love our neighbor as ourselves. But what, exactly, does it mean to love others as we love ourselves? Do we even know what it means to love ourselves?

Very often, self love is understood as catering to my preferences, giving me what I want. But as any parent can tell you, indulging wants and desires is far from a foolproof guide to happiness. Eating ice cream all day long or jumping off the roof turns out to have some real negative consequences. Parents who allow their children to do such things might rightly be regarded as not loving those children at all. Children, it seems, can have faulty ideas about loving themselves, as can I.

Sermon: Anger to Action?

Psalm 22:1-11; James 3:13-18

Anger to Action?

James Sledge                                                                                       June 21, 2015

I had a sermon all prepared for today. It continued our series connected to Brian McLaren’s book and talked about becoming spiritually mature, moving beyond juvenile versions of faith that get overly focused on rules or doctrines meant to guide us to maturity, and moving toward maturity, toward the spiritual wisdom James talks about in his letter. But then the shooting in Charleston happened.

When I heard the first new reports, it wasn’t clear exactly what had happened. But as more information came in, I first hoped it wasn’t as bad as it sounded, that it wasn’t as evil as it sounded. But as the reality of it kicked in, I just felt numb.

But that began to shift toward anger. The first anger was petty and selfish. “Now I have to write a new sermon.” But that was quickly replace by anger that this had happened again. Another mass shooting. Another example of America’s horrible culture of guns and violence.

And then there was the racial component. Race, the issue we wish would just go away. The issue we think will somehow just fade away eventually. But here it is again, in all its ugliness, from a young man who grew up in what was supposed to be post racial America.

I felt anger toward the culture that nurtures such racism. I grew up in North and South Carolina. There is much I love about both states, and there have been real changes from the segregated days of my childhood. But there is still much deeply ingrained racism.. The N-word is common speech in many areas, and resentment toward blacks is deep for some.

Proper southern culture that disdains this racism nonetheless supports it. The governor of South Carolina in one breath condemned the shooting, offering heartfelt condolences and prayers for the victims and families and church, and in the next breath defended the Confederate flag flying on the grounds of the SC Statehouse.

I’ve heard all the arguments about how the flag is not about hate, but about southern heritage and pride. But a heritage of what? Pride in what? In a war the South started that cost more Americans their lives than World War II did. In a war fought to keep some human in the chains of slavery. I’m angry at a culture that imagines it can venerate those who fought such a war, can send black children to schools named for people who thought they were sub human, and it not have any hate connected to it.

And speaking of politicians, I’m angry that another mass shooting has happened, and the politicians will wring their hands and over condolences and prayers and then do absolutely nothing about an America awash in guns.

As I stewed in my anger, I even felt anger toward the Church, not Emmanuel AME Church but the church at large, because it too will wring its hands and offer its prayers and then do nothing. I’ve been in the church business now for over 20 years, and I’ve learned that I’ll get calls and emails if we sing a song people don’t like, if we change something about the worship service or the children’s programs. But no one ever calls or emails after a shooting or some other huge tragedy and says, “We have to do something.” Maybe it just seems impossible. Maybe we’ve just become cynical and think we can’t change anything other than the hymns or the children’s programs, but that alone is enough to make me angry.

And truth be told, I am angry at God, angry that God allowed this to happen, angry that God doesn’t stir up the church or the world to make things better.

But of course I knew I could not stand here today with nothing more than, “I am grieving. I am angry.” True there is a long tradition of lament in the Bible, by some counts psalms of lament are the most common sort of psalm. But even they usually have an element of hope, and I am a minister of the gospel, one called to proclaim good news.

Sermon video: Anger to Action?

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

What Belongs to Whom?

You've probably heard a conversation between children that went something like this. "Hey, you're sitting in my seat." To which comes the reply, "Well I don't see your name on it anywhere."

Perhaps a parent wrote your name in items that you took to school with you. I still have my name in dress shirts that get taken to the cleaners. I've known people who divvied the furniture in their home by letting children and grandchildren put their names on the pieces they wanted.

"Show me a denarius," says Jesus. "Whose head and whose title does it bear?" Whose name is on it? Jesus, as he so often does, asks a question in response to a question. This time it was a question about whether Jews should pay taxes to the emperor, an especially loaded question for any would-be Messiah. To answer "Yes" offered support to the occupying Romans, but to say "No" would risk arrest for inciting rebellion. It's a carefully crafted "gotcha" on the part of Jesus' opponents.

Jesus parries his opponents, though some of his technique is hard for modern readers to notice. It starts when his opponents are able to show Jesus a denarius, a coin that not only had a picture of the emperor but included the inscription, "Tiberius Augustus Caesar, Son of the Divine Augustus." Such a coin was blasphemous to Jews and a violation of the second commandment, yet Jesus' questioners apparently have just such a coin on them.

Finally Jesus answers them, though not exactly. "Then give to the emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that are Gods." Jesus doesn't say which is which, but any good Jew who knows her psalms is well aware that "The earth is the LORD's and all that is in it, the world, and those who live in it." (Psalm 24)

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The second question in the Presbyterian Study Catechism asks, "How do you live by the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ?" The answer begins, "I am not my own. I have been bought with a price." (See 1 Corinthians 6:19-20) Someone else's name is on me, and on everything and everyone else.

This has huge implication, impacting everything from what I do with "my" money and "my" time to how humanity cares for the earth, yet the individualism of our culture often seems to obliterate such notions, even among those who profess the faith. I find it incredibly odd that some of the politicians most prone to trumpet their Christianity seem to think that the earth is ours to use as we see fit, that the disappearance of vast numbers of species is unimportant. Never mind that God "gives to the animals their food, and to the young ravens when they cry," (Psalm 147) and "not one sparrow is forgotten in God's sight." (Luke 12)

And if we belong to God we also belong to one another. We are not independent agents free to do whatever is best for us and us alone. Yet I saw this headline in the Washington Post earlier in the week. "Rich Californians Balk at Limits: 'We're Not All Equal When It Comes to Water.'" The attitude of some in the article seemed to be, "If I have the money to pay for it, the hell with any problems it causes for others." No wonder Jesus was a lot more popular with the poor than he was with rich folks.

The more money we have, the more stuff we start to put our names on. Do this with enough stuff and you may start to think it really is yours and yours alone. Get wealthy enough and you may even start to think you are different and better than regular people. You may not put "divine" or "Augustus" next to your name (unless, perhaps, you're Donald Trump), yet you may well begin to imagine that you matter more than other people do.

"Give to the emperor the things that belong to the emperor, and to God the things that belong to God," says Jesus. He also says that following him requires self denial, giving up possessions, and losing one's life. He actually asks me to give up things that I've written my name on. Just who does he think he is?

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Sermon video: On One-Anothering

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: On One-Anothering

Acts 10:34-48; 1 Corinthians 13:1-13

On One-Anothering

James Sledge                                                                                       June 14, 2015

One Sunday, right after Shawn and I first got engaged, we were sitting in a pew at her home church, First Baptist of Gaffney, SC. We were beginning to think about the actual service, and Shawn mentioned wanting to use the famous Bible passage on love that was our scripture for this morning. So I grabbed a pew Bible and started looking for it. This was long before I ever thought about being a pastor, and I didn’t know exactly where to look. I thought it might be one of Paul’s letters, but I searched and searched without finding it.

Turns out my scant biblical knowledge was only a part of the problem. That pew Bible was a King James version, and in place of the word “love” it had “charity.” And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.

Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it? “Charity” isn’t really the best translation, but discovering that word was my first hint that Paul never imagined that his difficult letter to a troubled and fractured congregation would become a staple at weddings. Not that Paul’s words are bad advice to newlyweds, but he has a larger community in mind.

Paul was not happy when he wrote the Corinthians. He’d received reports of quarrels and divisions in the congregation, and he sees that as a clear indication that the Corinthians have not yet grasped the full meaning of their faith.

We humans are remarkably skilled at dividing ourselves into groups, clustering into clumps of those who are like us. We get started as toddlers on playgrounds and only get more sophisticated at is as we grow older. This likely served some evolutionary purpose in our ancient past, but now it seems more a curse. We tend to fear and distrust those who are different from us, and we presume that our group is better than their group. It’s a problem that afflicts even our most noble undertakings. Just consider the connotations of that word “charity.” Very often it is something that we do for them.

But I Don't Wanna Be Weak

Three times I appealed to the Lord about this, that it would leave me, but he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness." So, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities for the sake of Christ; for whenever I am weak, then I am strong. 

2 Corinthians 12:8-10

Paul's words about God's grace being sufficient, about power made perfect in weakness, are much quoted in Christian circles, thought I'm not sure that means many of us believe such things. Whenever I am weak, then I am strong? Really? Is that why I make such efforts to hide my weaknesses, to project strength and certainty? And I don't think I'm the only one. 

Think of all the phrases that speak to situations with competition, conflict, difficulty, or struggle. Bring your A-game. Never let them see you sweat. You can do it. Man up. Don't tread on me. Speak softly and carry a big stick. I can't think of any that say, "Boast in your weakness."

Over the years, I have seen that the more bluster I use, the more I try to project power and might, the more I usually end up regretting things later. Yet that still hasn't made me want to embrace weakness. It still hasn't made me willing to be vulnerable in the face of people who frighten me, or worry me, or who I think might cause trouble if I don't stop them.

It's rarely a good idea to treat a single scripture verse as though it was an end all and be all. Indeed there are other scripture verses that call us to be bold or strong or courageous. Yet clearly Jesus exemplified the sort of weakness Paul speaks of here. Jesus was brave and steadfast in the face of difficulties, even in the face of death, but he did not employ power or might to deal with them. He employed what looked to all the world like weakness.

I wonder if one area where church leaders would do well to display "weakness" more isn't in the area of faith itself, to be more vulnerable and forthcoming about our own doubts and faith struggles. There is already a tendency for people to assume that pastors are some sort of spiritual titans. And quite often we are more than happy to feed such assumptions. I wonder if we worry that showing our faith weaknesses might damage our pastoral reputations. Or maybe our projections of spiritual strength are for our own benefit, to ward off our own fears.

On some level, my fear of being weak or showing weakness is about trusting my own abilities over the power of Christ working through me. But given how often I mess things us, it seems strange that I haven't leaned this lesson a little better by now.

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The Pastor Is In

I recently started the practice of keeping Monday afternoon office hours at the local Starbucks. I've even made myself a little sign in the manner of the one Lucy used in old Peanuts cartoons. Mine reads, "The Pastor Is In."

These new office hours are supposed to get me out where I'll bump into folks, both church members and others. I have seen quite a few members who I would not have seen had I been in my church office. It hasn't yet happened, but I envision someone asking me a theological question, wanting to know about the church and same sex marriage, or having some other spiritual issue to explore.

I suppose I think it would be a bit cool to be the "Starbucks pastor," and so I found it somewhat irritating when all the non members who approached me today were people looking for financial assistance. Some already knew me, another didn't, but regardless, they were interrupting my chance for someone to ask me a stimulating theological question.

I suppose I would have been among those who told the blind man to be quiet in today's gospel reading. Jesus was headed to Jerusalem, to the important events about to take place there. He didn't have time for a blind beggar. Or so everyone but Jesus seemed to think.

What exactly does it mean to be a pastor? For that matter, what exactly does it mean to be a Christian? Sometimes my notions get interrupted by God's.

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Acting like Foreigners

Then Jesus asked, "Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?"

I'm certainly no foreigner. I'm a native. I was baptized as an infant, brought up in the church, had Bible stories read to me by my Father, and rarely missed worship on Sunday until heading off for college.

I had my away time, but it's not like I every forgot my native tongue. For a time I was quite content without going to church on Sunday, but I never renounced my citizenship. In time, I became active at church again. At some point in my mid 30s, I even felt a "call" to attend seminary and become a pastor. And for the entire time, from birth to this moment, I've been Presbyterian.

Natives have a different perspective than do foreigners. We know things they don't, but they notice things we miss. And in the story of Jesus healing 10 lepers, being a native seems to be a negative. The foreigner returns to give thanks and praise God, but the other 9, presumably natives, continued on to get their certificates of cleanliness from the priests. (That's required somewhere in the rules of Leviticus.) Either that or they just went home.

You have to think those natives were happy, even grateful, with how things turned out. But Jesus had sent them to the priests and the rules required the priest to certify them as clean and they ought to do as the rules said. Besides, Jesus was likely to have moved on by the time they could have returned to say thank you.

And just look at the way that foreigner came back yelling and screaming and throwing himself on the ground. Natives have a little better sense of decorum. We know how to keep this faith thing presentable and respectable, "decently and in order" as we Presbyterians like to say. No yelling or flopping on the ground.

I've occasionally spoken with religious foreigners who've told me how intimidating it can be to attend a worship service populated mostly by natives, people who know all that stuff they don't know.  We do have a facility with the language that foreigners don't, but we may not really know all that much. (It's not unlike how people applying to become US citizens learn a lot more about American civics and government that most natives ever knew.)

But we natives don't dare act like foreigners. Pastors can be the worst. We don't dare act like we don't know what's going on, like we don't have it figured out. I rarely hear church members being open about their doubts and faith struggles, but I almost never hear it from pastors. That makes it difficult to make comparisons, but I dare say I have as many doubts and as many days when I question the wisdom of even believing in God as the next person. But I'm a native and a leader of natives. I'm not supposed to act that way.

If things get bad enough in my life, I can cry out for help, just as the native lepers did in the story. But once things get back to normal, I part company with the foreigners and act like a native again. I don't know if that's what happened with the lepers, but it makes sense to me.

I read this recently in Rachel Held Evan's latest book. "I often wonder if the role of the clergy in this age is not to dispense information or guard the prestige of their authority, but rather to go first, to volunteer the truth about their sins, their dreams, their failures, and their fears in order to free others to do the same. Such an approach may repel the masses looking for easy answers from flawless leaders, but I think it might make more disciples of Jesus, and I think it might make healthier, happier pastors."

I wonder if we don't need to start acting more like foreigners.

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