rebeccassermons

Waiting -- Greyfriars Bobby

Sat, 21 Feb 2026 00:01:54 GMT

Romans 8:25

Waiting on the Lord

Many years ago, almost too many to count, I had the opportunity to study the Old Testament at the University of Edinburgh. That means that I had the opportunity to live in Scotland for a time -- so I am here to tell you that there is more to Scottish culture than kilts and bagpipes.

There is the Scottish national dish -- Haggis to be precise. In case you’re unfamiliar with Haggis, it is made from the liver, heart, and lungs of a sheep. They pack them into the sheep’s stomach, toss in a little oatmeal, and boil it. I only tried it once. Once was enough.

Then there’s the Scottish national flower – the thistle. You see thistles everywhere -- on flags, coats of armor, dishware. They were once even featured on the currency. I would have thought that heather would have been a better contender for the Scottish national flower -- it is everywhere, and it’s much less prickly -- but no one consulted me.

Then there’s the Scottish national poet, Bobby Burns. Burns wrote in Old Scottish. I actually picked up quite a bit of Old Scottish during my time in Edinburgh. I pride myself that I can recite much of his poetry by heart. Old Scottish is unintelligible to the modern ear, but the Scots still love him. I used to walk past the Scottish National Gallery of Art on the way to class. You could peer in the front door and see the famed portrait of him. If you’re unacquainted with his work, he wrote, To a Mouse. To a Louse. And, I kid you not, Address to a Haggis.

And then, of course, there’s Greyfriars Bobby. I guess you could call Greyfriars Bobby the Scottish national dog. Grayfriers Bobby was a good Scottish breed -- the Skye Terrior. He and his master were inseparable, and after his master’s untimely death, Greyfriars Bobby remained at his master’s graveside -- day in and day out -- for 14 years, until he himself died. Greyfriars Bobby is a testament of devotion and loyalty not just to the Scottish, but to everyone. A statue of Greyfriars Bobby stands in the heart of town.

At the funeral of his master, when the casket was being lowered into its final resting place, Greyfriars Bobby gave way to grief. He whined, whimpered and pawed at the grave. Beyond his grief, however, Greyfriars Bobby settled into a daily routine. Every day, when the 1:00 gun was fired, a man by the name of William Dow, who had befriended Grayfriers Bobby, picked him up at the cemetery. They strolled together to a local coffee shop, where Grayfriers Bobby ate his daily meal. After a bit of socializing, they strolled back to the cemetery. Greyfriars Bobby settled back onto his master’s gravesite and watched the sunset. There were attempts to lure Greyfriars Bobby away from his master’s graveside, especially in inclement weather, but they were fruitless. Greyfrirs Bobby refused to leave.

Greyfriars Bobby is all the proof I need that dogs go to heaven. Do you really think that he when arrived at the Pearly Gates to be reunited with his master, Peter, who Jesus entrusted with the keys to bound and to loose, turned him away on the grounds that he was a dog? That makes no sense to me. And I’m sure it made no sense to Peter.

There’s a lesson we can learn this morning from Greyfriars Bobby. And lest you register skepticism that there’s a lesson we can learn from dogs -- this is the whole point of the book of Ruth – that we can learn lessons in unexpected places. Ruth was a despised foreigner. She was feared. She was suspected. She was accused. Yet there were lessons that the people of Israel learned from her. There are lessons we can learn in unexpected places. At least that’s what the Bible proclaims. And it’s not just Ruth. It’s Ruth, yes. But it’s also the Good Samaritan; it’s the Magi, it's the Roman Centurion, it’s the Canaanite woman, it’s the Ninevites, it’s the Ethiopian eunich, it’s Cornelius. And if the Bible hits you over the head with something that many times, and you still refuse to accept it, you’re just being stubborn. There are lessons we can learn in unexpected places. And the more unexpected the place, the more important the lesson. Sure, there’s a lesson we can learn from Greyfriars Bobby about loyalty and devotion, but there’s also a lesson we can learn from him about waiting for someone.

Because if you think about it, we are all waiting for someone. Every one of us. It could be someone who is angry with us – someone who holds a grudge against us, someone who dislikes us, someone from whom we are estranged.

It could be someone who is stationed at a far-flung corner of the earth -- someone who is called to serve and sacrifice, someone who has placed himself in harm’s way, someone we may never see again.

It could be someone who has fallen prey to an addiction – someone who is facing an uphill battle, someone who has made strides only to fall back, someone whose potential and possibility are under siege.

And it could be, like with Greyfriars Bobby, someone that we lost – someone who is irreplaceable, someone who enriched and defined our lives, someone who spared us from loneliness and aimlessness.

We are all waiting for someone. And so, we can learn a lesson from Greyfriars Bobby, and it is this.

Yes, for a time we grieve their absence. We weep. We mourn. We despair, even. We do all these things…for a time. But then we must get back to the business of living. As Langston Hughes reminds us, Life is for the living. We must get back to the business of living – of caring for others, of speaking the truth, of practicing fairness, of sacrificing for others, of sharing our abundance, of striving for peace – of doing the best we can to prove, day by day, that we have heard the upward call of Jesus Christ. While all the while we are waiting for someone.

But here’s the thing. We don’t wait in vain. Because we wait, ultimately, through Jesus Christ -- so we wait for our eternal home in heaven where those for whom we wait are waiting for us. And we will know that joyous reunion that Greyfriars Bobby and his master now know. Amen.

Easter: Mary Weeping

Fri, 20 Feb 2026 17:44:29 GMT

John 20:1-18

But why? Why did Mary stand weeping outside the tomb? There is, of course, the easy answer. Mary stood weeping outside the tomb because, arriving at the tomb, she discovered that Jesus’ body had been stolen.

But that’s the easy answer. Easy answers are, as often as not, simplifications; and simplifications are, as often as not, distortions. So, let us look beyond the easy answer and ask again, Why did Mary stand weeping outside the tomb?

Mary was one of those people whom nature had favored. And nature does play favorites -- that much is undeniable. Mary was tenacious, discerning, steadfast, spontaneous, courageous – not to mention brimming with natural affections. Yes, she was one of those people whom nature had favored, but sometimes that is not enough. Mary had a bad start in life, and that tends to temper even nature’s most generous gifts.

When Jesus first encountered Mary, she was not of sound spirit. She was afflicted and tormented. But Jesus performed a miracle that recalled her to life. She became his passionate and devoted follower. It would seem that her past was behind her. Like with so many others Jesus encountered, Mary had been lost and now was found.

But this only led her to the foot of his cross. She had endured the entire spectacle. Dark men – petty, jealous, and scheming -- closed in on him. They subjected him to a farce of a trial, and this only as a formality. They intended to see him executed from the very beginning. The disciples, for their part, panicked and scattered. What if they were next to be targeted? But not Mary. She abided with him those endless hours as he hung on the cross right through to his death agony. She watched from a distance as Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus deposed his body from the cross and laid it in a tomb.

Mary was shattered. She was traumatized. She was devastated. She was forced to endure the unthinkable – the death of one deeply beloved, and to malicious violence.

But Mary was not entirely bereft. She still had his body. She could cleanse and anoint it, bestow upon it what loving care she could. And going forward she could become that person – the one who visits the graveside, the one who keeps memories alive, the one whose tears are never exhausted. In time she would achieve a sort of notoriety for it, but it’s the kind of notoriety no one wants.

But she arrived at his tomb only to discover that his body had been stolen. So why did Mary stand weeping outside the tomb? She stood weeping outside the tomb because she had hit rock bottom.

I have never hit rock bottom. If dread keeps it at bay, dread has done that much for me. But I have seen others who have. It’s a terrible thing to witness, much less to experience. A kind of derangement takes hold. They aren’t recognizable. They aren’t themselves. This is why Mary couldn’t add up two and two. She peered into the tomb and saw two angels robed in white raiment. Why are you weeping? They asked. Now they didn’t ask because they wanted to hear her theory about the graverobbers. This was not the sense of their question. Woman, why are you weeping? They were asking to convey that there was nothing to weep about. And it was the same thing when the resurrected Jesus asked the same question. Woman, why are you weeping? There’s nothing to weep about. I am alive. I am here. I am with you. Dry your tears. But Mary had hit rock bottom, so it didn’t add up.

But then Jesus said something. Something cataclysmic. Something earth shattering. Something beyond description and explanation. And something right under our noses. If there’s one trait we all share, one thing we are all good at, one thing we are all GREAT at, it’s not seeing what’s right under our noses. Jesus called her by name. Mary! he said.

And suddenly the truth broke in on her. Dimly, but at the same time, and paradoxically, with crystal clarity. She knew. She knew how we know most deeply – in our bones, in our guts, in our hearts. This man so beloved by her – her teacher, healer, leader, friend….he was much more than that.

He was the one that time could not bind, the one that darkness could not thwart. He was the one over whom death had no dominion. He was the one she declared him to be. He was the Lord.

And he called her by name .

Rock bottom? There was no rock bottom. There was only hope, consolation, meaning, purpose, direction, relief, and rejoicing. From his height to her depth, he called her by name. Rock bottom? She now had good news to proclaim, and she proclaimed it for all she was worth.

Friends in Christ, her good news is our good news. No matter what you’ve done, what you are doing, or what you will do. No matter how low you fall. No matter how deep you sink. No matter how bad you’re stuck. His deliverance has your name on it. His triumph has your name on it. His love has your name on it.

So let us call him by name – Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.

Do You Come In Peace?

Fri, 20 Feb 2026 17:23:56 GMT

I Samuel 16:4-5

Matthew 5:9

To set the scene for our Old Testament lesson -- Tension was rife. Anxiety was rife. Dread was rife. And why? It was because there was conflict, and conflict produces tension. Conflict produces anxiety. Conflict produces dread. And let’s not pretend that it doesn’t.

The hold outs among us might stick their chests out and assert that conflict has no effect on them -- that they are immune from conflict. But personally, I’m a bit skeptical. As I’ve mentioned before, in my various vocations and avocations, I have been subjected to psychological tests. And not just a few of them. And one of the areas that is tested is how you react to conflict – whether you are conflict tolerant or conflict intolerant.

According to the tests, I am conflict tolerant, as conflict tolerant as one can be. According to the tests, there is nothing that makes me more comfortable, and more relaxed, and more at ease than conflict. Conflict? Bring it on. There’s nothing I relish more. At least according to the tests.

But why is it that in the face of conflict, I become preoccupied. I can’t get it off my mind. I become sleepless. I toss and turn at night. And I feel an enormous sense of relief when the conflict is resolved. So, in my own experience at least, conflict produces tension. Conflict produces anxiety. Conflict produces dread.

And that leads us back to our Old Testament Lesson. Talk about conflict! But to understand it, we must back up a bit. In fact, we must back up quite a bit. We all know that Moses received the Ten Commandments atop Mt. Sinai. We all know that with the Ten Commandments in hand, Moses wandered with the people in the wilderness for forty years toward the Promised Land. But we might not all know what happened next.

What happened next is that Moses died. Moses was succeeded by Joshua, who conquered the Promised land. And after that? The people settled onto the Promised Land. Since the people were comprised of twelve tribes they settled into the Promised Land accordingly. Each tribe deployed itself on a parcel of land. And they all lived happily ever after. Or not.

Problems emerged in short order. The tribes did not get along. Surprise, surprise, the strong tribes picked on the weak ones. Why is it that at all times, and in all places, the strong pick on the weak? But that’s another question. Bottom line, there was disunity among the tribes.

Beyond that, they were twelve tribes who each deployed itself on a parcel of land. But they were surrounded by enemies, enemies that had not been wandering around in the wilderness for the past 40 years. Enemies who were trained to fight. So, the people were threatened from within and from without.

The closest thing that they had to a leader was Samuel, so they demanded of Samuel a king, a king to unify them and protect them from their enemies. Samuel listened to their demand and anointed King Saul.

King Saul was the man of the hour. He was a standout. He stood head and shoulders above all others, was strikingly handsome, and teamed with charisma. He was clearly meant to be. So once again, they all lived happily ever after. Or not.

There was something wrong with Saul. Now sometimes when there is something wrong with someone it’s obvious, it’s easy to name – as in the case with addiction, or physically abuse, or mental illness. But sometimes it’s not obvious. Ask twelve scholars what was wrong with Saul, you’ll get twelve different answers. For whatever reason, he proved not to be the stuff of it. He had some fatal flaw. Was it his temper? Was it his jealousy? Was it his paranoia? Was it his anger? Was it his desperation? Because all those things can prove to be fatal flaws. In that last analysis, it doesn’t matter what was wrong with King Saul – simply that there was something wrong with him.

Predictably, those closest to him saw it first. But no one else was inclined to believe them. They believed what they wanted to believe, what was easiest to believe. And this is how it goes. The ones closest see it first, and no one is inclined to believe them. Moveover, they didn’t want to face the fact that King Saul was one big false start. But King Saul had some fatal flaw. And fatal flaws are fatal. King Saul deteriorated. It became increasingly difficult to deny.

Conflict was brewing. It was not yet open conflict. Soon it would be and in terms too horrific to describe. But rumors were circulating. The atmosphere became charged, and not in a good way. Not one knew just how the thing would play out, but everyone sensed that it would not end well.

And that brings us to our Old Testament Lesson. Samuel arrived in Bethlehem, unannounced, unexpected -- in full vestment and with full retinue. What did he want? Why did he single them out? What had they done wrong? Was he there to exact vengeance? In a spark would they all be dead?

To set the scene for our Old Testament lesson -- Tension was rife. Anxiety was rife. Dread was rife. And why? It is because there was conflict, and conflict produces tension. Conflict produces anxiety. Conflict produces dread.

And so, the people approached Samuel with a question. It was the right question. It was the key question. It was the decisive question. It was this question: Do you come in peace?

If you remember one thing about this passage, if you remember one thing about the whole book of Samuel, remember this question. Do you come in peace? Because the people’s question to Samuel is the people’s question to us.

Do we come in peace? In the face of conflict do we come in peace?

Do we come in peace, or do we come bearing blame for things for which we know we are full well complicit?

Do we come in peace, or do we come exacting retribution demanding an eye for an eye?

Do we come in peace, or do we come rehearsing old grievances, resentments, jealousies, and grudges?

Do we come in peace, or do we come pressing our advantage -- power up, poised to defeat?

Because the people’s question to us is also Christ’s question to us? Do we come in peace? Have we gone that extra mile for the one who has burdened us? Have we turned the other cheek? Have we declined to let the sun set on our anger? Have we made peace with our accusers? Do we come in peace?

For Christ declares that the peacemakers would be blest, and that through them, but only through them, would his kingdom grow. Amen.

The Widow's Mite

Fri, 20 Feb 2026 17:12:01 GMT

Galatians 5:22-23

Luke 21: 1-4

Permit me to boast on my sons Herry and Adam for a bit.

We recently vacationed in Door County. We had never been before. Door County is a really awesome place. It’s stunningly beautiful. There are endless fun things to do. And everyone is in a great mood because everyone is on vacation.

We were seated at a restaurant. A spirit of bonhomie pervaded the place. I noticed a particularly jovial family at a table nearby. The family resemblance made it clear that the family was comprised of a matriarch, her two sons, and her two sons’ wives. The star of the family, however, was their dog. That’s another really awesome thing about Door County. Dogs are permitted in restaurants. Seated at their feet was a Cane Corso with an official looking harness that closely resembled a uniform. On it was embossed the name Zeus. You may not know anything about Cane Corsos because they’re a rare breed. They happen to be one of the oldest breeds. They served as auxiliary warriors in the Roman Empire, so you can imagine how impressive Zeus was. And he was perfectly trained, staring nobly and impassively ahead of him. What a great family, I thought to myself.

But suddenly a minor disaster struck. One of the women picked up her purse upside down and its entire contents fell out, including countless coins which went rolling in every direction.

It was as though the boys were seated in ejector seats. They sprang into action chasing down her purse contents and her coins. “Why thank you!” the woman exclaimed, surprised. Her husband called out, “Let the boys keep the coins.” “They aren’t doing it to be rewarded,” I said. “They are doing it because I am raising them up to be Good Samaritans.” “Let them keep them anyway,” he persisted. “They won’t accept them,” I said. And they didn’t. The woman then thanked them again profusely. They boys said, “You’re welcome,” and we returned to our respective meals.

A couple minutes later, my daughter May whispered in my ear, “Mom, that woman is beaming at us.” I looked up. She was beaming at us. I am not used to being beamed at. It is a little embarrassing. Her husband said, “Would you like to pet Zeus?” “Yes!” we all exclaimed. “Zeus, free,” he commanded. Zeus dutifully arose and, oozing noblesse oblige, suffered himself to be petted.

The woman who had been beaming at us came over and said, “Your boys just made my day.” “You hear so much on the news about how horrible everything and everyone is.” “Well, you made my day,” I returned. “You validated what I am trying to teach my boys, namely that being helpful and respectful goes a long way with people.” From there we chalked up a conversation. “Where are you folks from?” I asked. “Elmhurst, Illinois,” they answered. My jaw dropped. “Where are you folks from?” they asked in return. “Elmhurst, Illinois,” I said. I was raised in Elmhurst, Illinois and lived there for over fifty years before moving to Wisconsin recently.

All of a sudden, our encounter became a God thing.

Because coincidences are as often as not God things. The Bible talks all about signs. It says they’re real. And one sign is a coincidence. Lest you think I am naïve or gullible on this score, I have Soren Kierkegaard is on my side. And who is Soren Kierkegaard, you might ask? Soren Kierkegaard is one of the greatest theologians that Christendom has ever produced. Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Paul, Irenaeus, Tertullian, Augustine, Athanasius, Luther, Calvin…Soren Kierkegaard is every inch their equal. And Soren Kierkegaard once wrote, “Coincidence is the divine incognito.”

I am done boasting on my sons, and even though I love boasting on my sons, there is moral to this story. It is this. You don’t need to move heaven and earth to be a good Christian. You don’t need establish world peace or discover a cure for cancer. You just need, within your sphere of influence, to reflect love, joy, peace, patience, forbearance, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

Because think about Jesus for a moment. Did you ever wonder why he taught so often in simple parables? It’s because his audience was the people of the earth, the Am ‘Haaretz as the Bible calls them. The people of the earth were kind of a combination of peasants and farmers. They were the common people. And Jesus didn’t teach them in his parables to overthrow Rome and establish the New Jerusalem. He taught them that they were the salt of the earth. He taught them not to worry so much about the things of this life. He taught them to seek after the kingdom of God. He taught them that their efforts mattered. He taught them to let their light shine.

And speaking of Jesus, let’s reflect a little about our New Testament lesson. No, let’s reflect a lot about our New Testament lesson. Because it’s dumbfounding. Jesus was at the temple. Now the temple was a place of massive import. It was at the heart of Jerusalem. It was steeped in historical, political, and religious significance. It was a magnificent building. It was a place to be, so everyone was there. There were the religious authorities, the Sadducees, who presided over the sacrifices. There were those who made the sacrifices. There were pilgrims from all over the Diaspora. There were the people who came to be seen -- the rich and the powerful who made their flamboyant donations to the treasury. There were the people who came to gape at the rich and powerful as they made their flamboyant donations to the treasury. The place was, to put it mildly, a hub of activity. It would be hard to find the story line amidst all that activity. It would be like trying to find the story line at Time Square. But Jesus didn’t have any trouble finding the story line.

The story line was poor, elderly, widow who made her way to the treasury to donate her pittance. I am surprised she had the temerity to be there in the first place poor -- elderly widow. She was of such negligible consequence, amidst all those other players. Imagine her standing in line with the rich and powerful. Probably what emboldened her is that she knew she was utterly invisible. But she wasn’t invisible to Jesus. To Jesus she was the story line.

Her donation might have been small. It wasn’t going to get a wing of the temple named after her. But that’s not the point. The point is that she gave freely with the little she had. She gave faithfully with the little she had. She gave generously with the little she had. And that was enough for Jesus.

And we too can be enough for Jesus if we emulate her example. Amen.

Palm Sunday - The Power of Understanding

Fri, 20 Feb 2026 17:04:57 GMT

Luke 19:29-41

The first Palm Sunday, was, to put it mildly, a travesty.

Yes, the people cheered him. Yes, the people praised him. Yes, the people honored him. But as a military deliverer. The people were at the time occupied by the Romans. Occupation is something that we as Americans have never experienced and likely never will, but you never know. History has taken some strange turns. At any rate, occupation is something we’ve never experienced, but we can imagine it if we try hard enough.

An enemy conquers us. And conquers means conquers. New York City, Chicago, Los Angelos, Washington D.C. all in ruins. Our military vanquished. Our institutions decimated. And so, we surrender to our enemy. Our enemy establishes a military presence and takes complete control. We are without rights. We are persecuted and violated with impunity.

So, the people were at the time occupied by the Romans. They were desperate for a military deliverer. Jesus was, by that time, the man of the hour, so they took Jesus for their man.

Now Jesus could not have made it any clearer that he was not a military deliverer. He made no secret to his disciples that he had come, rather, to die. In fact, he spelled it out in detail on countless occasions. He did not spell out all the details – that his death would be a sacrifice for human sin. He trusted that they would eventually piece that together. But he made no bones about the fact that he had come to die.

There’s this.

Then he began to teach them that he must undergo great suffering and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed.

And there’s this.

Jesus and his disciples went on from there and passed through Galilee. He didn’t want anyone to know it, for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “I will be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill me.

And there’s this. Note the detail.

He took the twelve aside again and began to tell them what was to happen to him, saying “See, we are going to Jerusalem, and I will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn me to death; then they will hand me over to the Gentiles. They will mock me, spit on me, flog me, and kill me.

But despite all this, the disciples took him for a military deliverer. Everyone took him for a military deliverer. Denial is when you hear what you want to hear and see what you want to see. So, everyone was in denial.

And their denial was utterly impregnable. If it were not, the whole scene would have tipped them off. Jesus processed into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey. Donkeys were symbols of humility. Where was his steed? Where was his chariot? Come to think of it, where was his armor? Where were his weapons? Where was his army? And yet they cheered him. And yet they praised him. And yet they honored him as a military deliverer. A complete and utter travesty.

And how do you suppose that made Jesus feel? Once again, you can imagine it if you try hard enough. How would you feel if, with everything at stake, you were willfully misunderstood? Sad? Frustrated? Lonely? Hopeless? One thing is certain. It would add to your burden. Yet flip that on its head for a moment. How would you feel if you were fully understood? Happy, Relieved? Grateful? No longer alone? It would lighten your burden.

And here’s the most amazing thing in all this. They had the power to add to his burden or lighten it. This is Jesus Christ we are talking about – he who the Psalms praised, and the prophets foretold. The Alpha and the Omega. The King of Kings. The Prince of Peace. The Word Made Flesh. The Son of God. They had the power to add to his burden or lighten it. And so do we.

When we understand that he came to die and that his death was a sacrifice for our sin, his burdened is lightened. And not just because we understand him, but so that when we do understand him, he can bequeath to us eternal life.

So, ride on, ride on in majesty, and implant in our hearts this Palm Sunday the true nature of that majesty. Amen.

Pharaoh's Daughter

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Wed, 03 Aug 2022 21:05:43 GMT

Exodus 2:1-10

Pharaoh, King of Egypt, enslaved the People of Israel.

It was not out, as you might assume, out of cruelty. It was, rather, out of judiciousness. The People of Israel were not Egyptians. They were foreigners. They were the rough equivalent of what we today would call the undocumented. So now as then they were deemed to be threats.

Add to this that the People of Israel grew increasingly numerous, as numerous even as the Egyptians themselves. This intensified the threat. In those numbers they could simply take over. Or Egypt’s enemies could induce them to fight for them, as a kind of built in fifth column. Pharaoh, King of Egypt, had to act. And so he enslaved the People of Israel. It was the judicious thing to do.

But his judiciousness was not rewarded. In slavery, unpredictably, their numbers only increased. Pharaoh’s patience with the People of Israel grew thin. Judiciousness then crossed over to cruelty. He ordered the Hebrew midwives to murder the infant boys as they delivered them. That would thin their ranks. But the Hebrew midwives refused to do so, and with their refusal, civil disobedience was born. They chose to heed God not man.

But Pharaoh King of Egypt was not so easily undone. He ordered his army to search out the infant boys and throw them into the Nile. Thereafter, cruelty no doubt took on a life of its own.

Pharaoh King of Egypt rightly ranks with the likes of Caligula, Nero, Hitler, Stalin, and Mao. One wonders why it is that so many who rise to power become murderous and maniacal tyrants. The human cost - the suffering and misery and despair and tragedy -- are unimaginable and incalculable.

Against this backdrop, a woman from the house of Levi gave birth to a healthy and beautiful infant boy. It would normally be the occasion for celebration and joy, but it was for her the occasion for anguish. When a child is born, a mother’s first instinct is protectiveness. But how could she possibly protect him? She thought desperately at first that she could hide him, and she did so for several months, but that could not go on forever. He could any day be discovered. The lesser of two evils was to abandon him to his fate. So she plastered a reed basket with bitumen and pitch, and she cast her hope upon the water.

Low and behold, the daughter of Pharaoh happened upon the basket. She peered into it, beheld the crying infant, and she had compassion.

The daughter of Pharaoh has never received the appreciation and respect she deserves. She is, inexplicably, overlooked. What she did was exemplary. Normally when people enslave others, they find justification for it. The enslaved are not deemed the equal of their enslavers. They are deemed subhuman. Slavery, therefore, is a necessity. More than this, it is morally right. That’s what the South advanced in this country, after all. But the daughter of Pharaoh did not fall prey to justification. She had compassion. And she acted upon that compassion.

Here is an important reminder. It is not enough to have compassion. To have compassion, or any other altruistic emotion for that matter, does not make you a good person. You must act upon it. If you have compassion and you do not act upon it, that makes you decidedly less than a good person. As Martin Luther King, Jr. famously declared, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”

And here is something truly astounding. Her act was to adopt him. That was, to say at the least, a courageous thing to do. It certainly would not have put her in good stead with her father. I can just imagine it. “Father, I have a surprise for you. You have a new grandson.” Such an announcement could only have dumbfounded him, but his confusion would have given way to horror as she went on, “I have adopted an infant boy from among your slaves.”

If nothing else, we can now set the record straight. We can give Pharaoh’s daughter the appreciation and respect that she deserves. But we can do more than that. As I said, she is exemplary, and so we can follow her example. We can show compassion to those who have cast their hope upon the water.

Yes, a mother forced by dire circumstance to give her child up for adoption, hoping that her child will be loved and cherished.

But too, one with an atypical identity, hoping to be accepted for who he or she really is.

One of a different race, creed, or income level seeking to relocate, hoping not that she will be welcomed, for that would be too high a hope; but hoping she will be at least be tolerated.

One who has transgressed, hoping he will be forgiven.

One who has something difficult to impart, hoping she will be understood.

We can show compassion for those who have cast their hope upon the water. For someone greater, much greater than Pharaoh’s daughter did the same.

“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on us!”

“My daughter has just died. Come and lay your hand on her, that she may live.”

“Even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.”

“Jesus, come before my son dies.”

“Lord, if you choose, you can make me clean.”

“Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David, for my daughter is tormented by a demon.”

“Lord, have mercy on my son, for he is an epileptic and suffers terribly.”

“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom”

They cast their hope on him. And he showed compassion for them all. And when we cast our hope on him, he will show compassion for us -- unlimited even by a cross. Amen.

Reach Out!

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Wed, 03 Aug 2022 18:12:03 GMT

II Samuel 7:18-24 II Corinthians 5:1-10 Luke 19:1-9

I attended a funeral recently. It was for my high school math teacher. He was one great guy. Everyone loved him. He taught math at my high school for forty years, and he also coached wrestling. By the time he retired, he had become something of a legend in his own time. The funeral was upbeat, not like so many funerals that are so very sad. He lived a full and long life, and we gathered to celebrate that. But for one man – a classmate of mine who wrestled for him. He was absolutely devastated.

I approached him in the parking lot after the funeral and asked if he was okay. He broke down. “That man was everything to me,” he said. “I was O.K. so long as he was in the world.” Then he shared his story. His mother died when he was very young. His father was a physically and emotionally abusive alcoholic. By the time he was in high school, he was far down a bad road. He hadn’t the support to do well at school, so he didn’t. He was very angry, so he was a behavior problem. The only friends he could make were kids like himself, so he hung out with a tough crowd. And he had begun to dabble in drugs. He was pretty much a lost cause at the age of sixteen.

Enter my math teacher. He approached him one day out of the blue and told him he could tell by his gait that he was born to wrestle. This could only have been a ruse to intervene. Even I, who knows nothing about wrestling, am suspicious that you can identify one born to wrestle by his gait. At any rate, the ruse worked. He intervened. And he made him into a great wrestler. On top of that, he made him into a great young man. His advice, understanding, and support were unwavering. He helped him to deal with his past in such a way that it didn’t destroy him. He filled his present with new found responsibility, purpose, structure, and discipline. And he paved his way to a future. After graduation he went to college on a wrestling scholarship and eventually became a doctor. “I feel so lost,” he concluded his story. “What am I going to do now?”

While he was sharing his story, I could not help but think how hard life can be. We here are generally prosperous and privileged, so we can afford to put up a front. But behind that front life can be hard. Because it’s out there -- loss, abuse, addiction, and a host of other afflictions. It’s enough to make you lose your way. And as I said, we here are generally prosperous and privileged. What if the loss, abuse, and addiction are compounded by poverty or racism? Then it’s all but a foregone conclusion. Your way is lost. Yes, life can be hard. Life takes casualties. Lots of them. It can make us feel helpless and overwhelmed. We want to make things better, but what could we possibly do?

The answer is no farther away than my late math teacher. What could we possibly do to make things better? We could reach out, like he did. And what is in view here is not merely a good example, although we must never underestimate the power of a good example and must always strive to be one. But there’s more in view than that.

It has to do with the Bible. The Bible may seem like a forbidding book. For one thing it’s thousands of pages long. It makes War and Peace look like a short story. For another thing, it’s unimaginably ancient. The Bible’s story begins 2,000 years before the Common Era. I just read that a sizable portion of millennials don’t know what the Holocaust was. To them that’s ancient history - a mere 75 years back. The Bible is more than 4,000 years back. That’s unimaginably ancient. For yet another thing, it traffics in extremely complicated and sophisticated theology, plumbing in its unfolding the depths of such mysteries as our nature, the predicament that our nature has landed us in, and the means of our redemption. And it does so all the while purging itself of false starts or conclusions. So it may seem forbidding.

But at the same time, ironically, the Bible lends itself to succinct summaries. Here’s one: God lives. Here’s another: Good triumphs over evil. And another: Love triumphs over fear. And another: Practice universal justice. And another: Love one another. And here’s one that’s right on point: Reach out. The Bible can be summarized in just two words. Reach out.

Think about it. That’s what God did. God reached out. God reached out to Abraham and told him that from him would one day issue a nation, and not just any nation, but a nation that would somehow bless all the nations by bestowing upon them redemption. God reached out to Moses and bequeathed him an ethical law so that God’s people could bear his righteousness. God reached out to David and told him that from his descendants would emerge one who would embody that redemption.

And that one in the fullness of time emerged. God reach out to his son. He told him that if he would make a great sacrifice, the greatest sacrifice, it would be the means for all people to reach out to one another. In a real way. A way that advanced God’s own being and cause. And his son made that sacrifice.

And in his brief ministry that preceded that sacrifice, he reached out to everyone. And I mean everyone. Lepers. Prostitutes. Beggars. Even a bitter little man perched up in a sycamore tree.

So reaching out is not just a good example. It is nothing less the mechanism that God that employs to bestow redemption.

Yes, life can be hard. Paul knew this. “We would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord.” But Paul goes on. “So we must make it our goal to please him, whether we are at home in the body or away from it.” And this means reaching out.

“I feel so lost now. What am I going to do?” asked my grieving classmate. I told him that his coach had already showed him what to do. I told him to reach out.

Amen.

Martha And Mary

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Tue, 02 Aug 2022 21:58:53 GMT

Ephesians 2:13-14 Luke 10:38-42

Jesus was always one to bring the party. All he had to do was show up, and lots of others showed up too -- eager for engagement, eager for excitement, eager for something new. It was little wonder. Here at last was someone who had something to say. Something different. Something provocative. Something truthful. Jesus had a way of uttering truths that had never been uttered before, but at the same time, were strangely recognizable.

And it was happening once again. Once again, Jesus had brought the party. He showed up at the house of Mary and Martha, and suddenly the place was filled with men who immediately took their place at his feet. This gesture was an indicator that they were ready and willing disciples. They wanted him to teach them. And so he began to teach.

That was Martha’s cue. She sprang into action. After Jesus’ teaching, it would be fellowship hour, and as we all know, fellowship hour is predicated upon food. And in ancient times, you couldn’t rely on your reserves from Costco. Feeding a room full of men was labor intensive. Animals had to be slaughtered and dressed. Bread had to be baked. Water had to hauled. Martha went directly to work, expecting Mary to fall in place behind her. But what did Mary do? She went and sat at Jesus’ feet with the men -- shirking her role, defying expectations, and leaving Martha to shoulder the burden alone.

I can imagine Martha’s frustration. I can imagine her passive aggressive attempts to get Mary back in the kitchen. Staring daggers at her from the threshold. Uttering loud sighs as indicators of her strain. Dropping pottery on the floor to startle Mary to awareness. But Mary took no notice. None whatsoever. Martha should have counted to ten. How much strife could be averted if we could all just remember to count to ten, or perhaps twenty. Martha for her part shot like a rocket from outrage to outburst. “I’m doing all the work in here Jesus, while Mary has yet to raise a finger. It’s hardly fair. And have you even noticed? Do you even care?”

And there was doubtless more to it than the fact that Martha had to provide all the hospitality on her own. There too was the fact of what Mary was doing. She not day dreaming or singing idly out the window. She was sitting at Jesus’ feet. She was in there with the men. Martha was doubtless chagrined and embarrassed that Mary did not know her place. It certainly did not reflect well on the family.

But Jesus did not vindicate Martha. Jesus chastised her, “Martha, Martha,” (and when someone says your name twice, wait for some kind of a correction to follow) “Why are you so distracted and stressed and scattered? Let it go. Mary’s right where she should be.”

We’re left to wonder how Martha felt at that point. I bet she wasn’t happy. She simply didn’t get it or she would not have reacted that way in the first place.

Now normally this text is interpreted as a caution against busyness. Martha with all her busyness is a prototype that we should avoid. Not that productivity is a bad thing. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop after all. But there’s a certain kind of busyness that’s not good. It’s when we become enmeshed with worldly or personal concerns and address them with obsessive application – application that mixes with pride, competition, insecurity. It becomes a kind of self-perpetuating force. And it causes us to lose all perspective. It causes us to become disoriented. We forget that we’re supposed to be at Jesus’ feet – his disciples, listening to him.

And this is a fair enough interpretation, but I think there’s something else here. An elephant in the living room. Mary was right where she should be. She was at Jesus’ feet, his disciple, listening to him. But Mary was, obviously, a woman. Women did not seat themselves at the feet of rabbis. Women were not disciples. All they needed to know was taught to them by their mothers. Women did not sit side by side with men learning. It was unheard of. It was forbidden. And yet Jesus told Martha that Mary was right where she should be. Her place was with the men.

Really Jesus? A woman’s place is with the men? Really Jesus? In first century Judaism? Jesus was a revolutionary and a radical, and don’t ever forget it. All down through history and even to this day there has an unspoken and inviolable code. It could be expressed as a variant of a line from the wedding ceremony. What society has divided, let no one unite. And Jesus was saying the polar opposite. A women’s place is with the men.

Think about what this means by extension. Women, your place is with the men. Men, your place is with the women. Whites, your place is with blacks. Blacks your place is with whites. The wealthy, your place is with the poor, and the poor, your place is with the wealthy. The powerful, your place is with the powerless. The powerless, your place is with the powerful. The old, your place is with the young. The young, your place is with the old. Jesus was smashing down all dividing walls. His disciples are to be completely and utterly integrated.

This is simply too radical, simply too revolutionary. But that’s who Jesus was. This is why he brought the party. It’s because he spoke God’s truth. Disciples are to be completely and utterly integrated, and this in service to humankind that is to be completely and utterly integrated. That all should be one. But this is so radical and revolutionary that it is very seldom approximated. It’s too hard.

But is it really? Is it really that hard to forge the way? Is it really that hard to reach out? Is it really that hard to cross the aisle? To be vulnerable? To be risky? To be open? To be accepting? To be understanding? One thing’s for sure. It’s a lot easier than hanging on a cross in faith it could be so. Amen.

Independence Day - Fairness

Sun, 26 Jun 2022 18:28:03 GMT

Matthew 20:1-16

Avi, May, Gao, and I recently returned from our roadtrip to Tennessee. Normally, food militant that I am, I don’t allow them to drink soda pop, but in my largesse I deemed our vacation a special occasion during which the rules could be bent. Accordingly, at our first restaurant stop, I ordered them all a soda pop. I waited to hear their expressions of delight, and even more so their expression of gratitude for my freewheeling beneficence, but I waited in vain.

“Why does Avi have so much more ice than me? It’s not fair,” May began. I glanced at their glasses. That waitress must not have kids, I thought to myself, because Avi had tons of ice and May just a few melting pieces floating pathetically at the top of the glass. “Avi, share some of that ice with your sister,” I requested. “But that’s not fair,” protested. “On our last vacation when we were allowed to have soda, May had more ice than me, and you didn’t make her share it.” “But that’s still not fair to me this time,” May quasi- reasoned. Gao, a quick study, caught on to the dynamic in no time. “Why is my straw orange?” she complained. “Theirs are purple and pink. Why did I have to get the orange one?” “Well there you have it,” I pronounced. “May has little ice; Gao has an ugly straw color….Life has been, in different ways, equally unfair to both of you, so that’s fair.” At that point, they weren’t quite sure what I was talking about. I wasn’t even sure at that juncture what I was talking about, but it halted the momentum of the conversation. Before Avi had the chance to realize that she had gained the high ground over her sisters, a little girl walked by with her mother. As she passed by I heard her say, “Why do they get soda when I had to have apple juice. No fair.” The other mother and I exchanged knowing glances. Misery really does love company.

Perhaps I am serving some kind of penance of just desserts, because I remember having like conversations with my parents when I was about their age. More likely though, it is probably safe to generalize that children have a keen sense of fairness, albeit one driven by self-interest.

But I would submit that really they are little different from us adults. We too have a keen sense of fairness, ours too driven by self-interest. We just give expression to it in an adult manner, a manner more discrete and subtle. It is a measure of our character, I suppose, the extent to which our sense of fairness is not driven by self-interest. The poet Thomas Grey recognized something like this when he wrote, “Each to his suffering, all are men, condemned alike to grown -- the tender for another’s pain, the unfeeling for his own.”

Yes, child or adult, self-interested or not, we all share a sense of fairness. The philosophers, naturally, have argued over where it comes from. As far as I can make out, they argue that it is either a posteriori, or subsequent to experience – something we learn from our environment; or a priori, prior to experience – something which preexists our environment. And of those who argue that it is a priori, they argue further over whether it derives from our nature or derives from that which transcends our nature. Being a Christian, I believe it’s the latter. But again, regardless where it comes from, we all share it.

This accounts for the fact that Jesus’ parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard is one of his least popular parables. Quite frankly, it offends our sense of fairness.

The owner of a vineyard went to the marketplace at first light to hire laborers for the day. He agreed to pay those he found there one denarius, a fair day’s pay for a fair day’s work. At nine he returned to the marketplace and encountered more laborers waiting to be hired, so he hired them too, promising to pay them what was right. He returned again to the marketplace at noon, three and even at five, an hour before the workday ended. Each time he hired the laborers he encountered there.

When the workday was over, he ordered his manager to pay the laborers in the reverse order in which they arrived. To those who had worked just an hour, he gave one denarius. They must have been overjoyed to have earned a day’s wage in an hour, but no less overjoyed than the laborers who had worked all day, for they having worked ten times longer were now entitled to nearly ten times that wage. But as it turned out each laborer, regardless of when he arrived, received just one denarius. So the laborers who had worked all day complained. “It’s not fair.” But the owner of the vineyard merely responded in effect that he was within his right. It was his money, and he could do what he wanted with it.

The owner of the vineyard perhaps was within his right, but he wasn’t fair. I wonder what would have happened it I had taken that line with my sons, “It’s my money and I can do whatever I want with it.” I too would have been within my right, but I wouldn’t have been fair. Is Jesus teaching us that it’s this way with God? No wonder it’s an unpopular parable.

But in fact, it is an unpopular parable because it is a misinterpreted parable. Everyone seems to miss one point, but it’s the key point. Jesus is teaching not about the marketplace but about the kingdom of heaven. “The kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers.” Jesus is teaching about the age that he would soon inaugurate by his Holy Spirit, roughly but certainly not perfectly manifested by his church.

And what Jesus is teaching is that our sense of fairness in the marketplace, which he so very brilliantly evokes so that we may be en guarde against it, does not apply in the church. It doesn’t matter how late in God’s salvation history you join the church. When you join, you receive the same benefit. You receive the Holy Spirit – a spirit of unity and equality in him, a spirit that rejoices the more that are included, a spirit that is as generous and loving as he was.

What is in fact unfair is when those who joined the church earlier in God’s salvation history lay claim to special benefits, even the right to exclude or subordinate latecomers. Yet despite Jesus’ teaching, this has happened from the beginning. The very first members of the church, the Jewish Christians, claimed special benefits and attempted to exclude then subordinate the gentile Christians. And it has happened ever since.

Anywhere, within the church, you see one type or class of person laying claim to special benefits and excluding or subordinating another type or class of person, usually a type or class of person different from their own, then by one pretext or another, and insidiously, it’s usually an appeal to scripture, then this unfairness is likely funding it.

And it’s ironic, because those who perpetrate this unfairness overlook that they are too latecomers to God’s salvation history, whatever type or class of person they are. We are all latecomers to God’s salvation history. Look at the date. Jesus is teaching that the church simply does not work the way of the marketplace, that we must be aware of this and adjust our perspective so the church will be more fair, thus more happy and harmonious.

And if you think about it, there is another place this applies. It applies to our nation. Again, we are all, at least most of us, latecomers to America, latecomers to citizenship and participation in the American dream. Yet often we who have nothing more than two or three generations on others, again because they are a different class or type of people, lay claim to special benefits and attempt to exclude or subordinate them.

American belongs equally to all who want to be citizens and to participate in the American dream, to everyone American can possibly accommodate. And when we become aware of this and adjust our perspective, we and the nation will be more fair, thus more happy and harmonious. Amen.

Pentecost

Fri, 03 Jun 2022 18:20:00 GMT

Acts 2:1-11

As much as I like to run and bike and swim, I must confess that I’ve never taken much of an interest in spectator sports. Since so many people have told me over the years that I’m crazy not to like them, I’ve given some thought as to why I don’t. I’ve formulated a theory that since I have a bad sense of direction and often mistake my left for my right that my spatial perception is impaired, and I can’t process properly what’s happening on the field or court. But in the last analysis, who can account for likes and dislikes? All I know is that spectator sports of whatever kind make me bored and restless, petulant even. So I don’t watch them, and no one expects me to any more.

Some years back though I felt certain I’d have a change of heart. It turned out that a son of mine was pretty good at football and was predicted to make a sizeable contribution to his high school team. I wouldn’t so much be watching a spectator sport, I thought. Rather, I’d be watching my son, my own flesh and blood, my pride and joy. Surely this would override my impaired spatial perception. But by the first game, I discovered I was wrong. I guess there are limits to maternal devotion. Before the first quarter was over I was bored and restless, petulant even. But of course I could scarcely beg off of his games. What would my son think? Never mind my son, what would the other mothers think? There’s no peer pressure like the peer pressure of other mothers. So I determined to make a heroic sacrifice and attend his games.

I learned quickly never to sit near the dads. They tracked every play and second guessed every call. They’d have zero tolerance for my like. I therefore sat with the other mothers, chatting occasionally to pass the time.

One night, there was a lull in the chatting, and I happened to glance out on the field. Just then all the stars aligned. The opposing team was about to score a touch down and win the game. It was all but a done deal. They were on the 10 yard line, and there were two minutes left. They threw a pass to a player in the end zone, and suddenly from out of nowhere someone soared high into the air and intercepted the pass. It was my son. Before anyone knew what was happening, he was on the move, dodging and ducking, zigging and zagging. Soon he outmaneuvered the pack, and was running, like I’d never seen him run, down the field. Three players were in hot pursuit -- gaining and gaining, but just as they were at his heels he somehow widened the distance between them and then left them behind.

By this time, I was on my feet. I was screaming at the top of my lungs. My eyes were bulging out of my head. I was jumping up and down. And I was not the only one. When he scored the touchdown there was rampant joy and hysteria. You’d think Christ had just numbered us among the sheep. When I went down to congratulate him he was talking with his coach. “I didn’t think you had it in you,” his coach said. “I didn’t,” my son replied. “The group spirit somehow carried me down the field.” I guess there was that one day I took an interest in spectator sports.

All this was, as I said, some years back. My son lives on his own now in New York City. I think life is a bit tougher than he thought it would be. He lives paycheck to paycheck working very hard at a job he doesn’t like much, though he knows he’s lucky to have a job at all. Being at the epicenter of the economic meltdown, he has many reminders of the high unemployment rates.

We spoke recently and happened to reminisce about that football game. “It was such a big deal to me at the time,” he said, “but in the long run it was nothing.” “It wasn’t nothing” I said. “It was an accomplishment.” “Maybe,” he said, “But it didn’t change anything for me.”

It’s hard growing up, I thought, as I listened to him. At least when you’ve been grown up a long time like most of us, you accustom yourself to life’s limitations and disappointments. Though as I reflected upon his words later, I realized that, disillusionment aside, he had a point. Even if it had somehow changed something for him, it would have just deferred the question. Because if you think about it, how can anything that is IN the world and OF the world really change the world? In the last analysis, it’s always going to be the same old story, and the same old story will end the same old way.

It’s like old Ecclesiastes from our Old Testament lesson realized. “A generation goes, and a generation comes, but the earth remains forever….What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; There is nothing new under the sun.” There is nothing new under the sun. That’s how my son felt, and how we may be tempted to feel from time to time or all the time. But it’s not true. It’s not right, and it’s not true. There is something new under the sun. It began the first Pentecost, and the apostles prove it.

Take the apostle Peter. There’s nothing in the record about it, but there’s no doubt in my mind that he was once in the spotlight. He was the leader. He was the one with the charisma. He was the one who took charge. But then life caught up with him, and before he knew it all that was left was a caricature of his former self; all that was left was his half cocked attempt to assert himself before those who now took little notice of him. All four gospels capture the same embarrassing portrait. Some of them even go so far as to make apologies for him.

Look what spectacle he made of himself at the Transfiguration. Jesus went with some of his disciples to a mountain top. Suddenly he was transfigured and there appeared at his right hand Moses and at his left Elijah. Some great epiphany was at hand! What did Peter say? He said, “Boy it’s sure good that I’m here.” It was sure good that he was there? There stood the Son of God and standing in his midst the Father of Prophecy and the Father of the Law, and it was sure good Peter was there? And why? So he could build each of them a little tent.

And he made a like spectacle of himself at the foot washing as well. It was the night before Jesus’ execution. The disciples were gathered together with Jesus in the upper room. Premonition hung in the air. The disciples awaited from Jesus some sign, some cue, some signal. Jesus arose and removed his outer robe. He poured water in a basin and began to wash their feet. He sought to symbolize in his actions what he before he departed wanted his disciples to learn -- that servants are not greater than their masters, nor messengers greater than the one who sent them. But when Jesus got to Peter’s feet, Peter refused to let Jesus wash them. Jesus assured him that he would come in time to understand what he was doing. Peter continued to balk. When Jesus insisted, Peter said he would permit it only as part of a full body wash. At this point I’m surprised that the evangelist John did not record the rolling of Jesus’ eyes.

And these spectacles were nothing compared to the spectacle he made of himself after Jesus’ arrest. Just prior to his arrest, he proclaimed to Jesus, and I quote, “Even though I must die with you, I will never deny you.” And we all know what happened after Jesus’ arrest. He denied him not once, not twice, but three times.

Jesus may have given Peter a special place of honor among the disciples, but it was not for any merit on Peter’s part. That wasn’t the way Jesus operated. It was because he looked at Peter and all people with compassion and forbearance. He saw that a special place of honor among the disciples was what Peter earned but needed.

But then came Pentecost. The disciples were gathered again in the upper room when suddenly it was just as we heard described. There was the rush of a violent wind. Divided tongues as of fire rested upon each of them. We just heard it described, but we didn’t hear described what happened next.

Peter had never been much of an orator, and that was probably for the best. What he said in private dialogues was bad enough; forget public speeches. But suddenly he was a great orator, and his words backed a punch. In his very first sermon, which is the very first sermon recorded in the Christian Church, he stood before the same crowds who had executed Jesus for a messianic imposter and declared to them that David himself had foreseen that the messiah would be the one that death could not hold. “Let the entire house if Israel know with certainty,” he concluded, “that God has made him both Messiah and Lord, this Jesus whom you crucified.”

And that was just the beginning. Peter too was never known for his bravery. Just the opposite, he was known for his cowardice. But when questioned by the religious authorities about a miraculous healing he had performed, he stood before them his chest out, his head held high, and as brave as any man, and declared, “…let it be known to all of you, and to all the people of Israel, that this man is standing before you in good health by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, whom you crucified…The stone that the builders rejected has become the corner stone. There is salvation in no one else.” And when they demanded that he henceforth keep silent about Jesus Christ, he went on. “Whether it is right to listen to you rather than God, you must judge, but I cannot keep from speaking about what I have seen and heard.” The religious authorities were so confounded they let him go on his way.

There was indeed change for Peter and change for his world. Into the degenerate Roman world there came through the apostles something new! It was not change from within which is no change at all, but change from above, change from the Spirit of Pentecost. It was in and of God’s world. It was the Spirit of the Pentecost.

Friends in Christ, first the bad news. We don’t have it in us. We might think for a time that we do. We might hope for a time that we do. We might have our triumphs. But we don’t have it in us. We can make nothing new under the sun.

But now the good news: But the Spirit of Penetcost has entered history. And by it and through it we do have it in us. We can make something new under the sun. We can do nothing less than bring heaven to earth. This is the good news for Pentecost. Amen.

Memorial Day - The Ultimate Goodness Of Being

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Mon, 30 May 2022 18:28:16 GMT

Deuteronomy 11:26-28

As a pastor, I get asked quite a bit about the meaning of the cross. It’s a hard question. My father, who was a pastor before me and who is buried in these sacred grounds, devoted his whole life to the question. He tried to write a book about it, but he could never finish it. It was a hard question for him too, and he was a brilliant man.

In fact, it has been a hard question for the Christian Church. The Christian Church down through the centuries has come up with four separate theories about the meaning of the cross, but all of them have holes in them. Even C.S. Lewis, when pressed on the question said that we Christians aren’t exactly sure how the cross works, but we’re just sure that it does. I think about the meaning of the cross a lot - when I wake up in the middle of the night; when I am out for a walk; when I feel the weight of my own sin.

This much I think I can say for sure. Jesus bore his cross as a willing sacrifice. The New Testament makes that crystal clear. Jesus bore his cross as a willing sacrifice. He knew how badly he would suffer. The Romans made sure everyone knew that. He did it anyway. And there’s the thing. It would make no sense at all that he did if Jesus did not have faith in the ultimate goodness of being. So in a strange and mysterious and paradoxical way, you could even say that on the cross Jesus testified to the ultimate goodness of being. And he was vindicated. God resurrected him. The result was that God’s cause was advanced in history in a way it never was before and never will be again.

Today is Memorial Day Sunday. We are called to remember and honor all of the soldiers who died on the field of battle. I am a student of World War II. I have been studying it pretty much my whole life. I will take it any way I can get it - histories, documentaries, biographies. There have been some fine dramatizations of it. My favorite is the miniseries Band of Brothers. If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it. I warn you though it’s very vivid. So vivid that I can’t watch parts of it. I have to cover my eyes. The toughest scenes to watch were of the fighting at Normandy, fighting done by men who were still boys, really - 18, 19 years old. They bore the brunt of a world war. And what I can’t even watch they had to live.

If you think about it, those soldiers had something in common with Jesus. They made a willing sacrifice. And the suffered too, boy did they ever suffer. But it didn’t stop them. Though again, it would make no sense at all if they didn’t have faith in the ultimate goodness of being, and the reality and worth of freedom and equality and just peace. And the result, again, was that God’s cause was advanced in history.

This makes those soldiers nothing less than Christ figures. Now they may not have believed as we believe. But it really doesn’t matter. God works through his own people to be sure, but he works too through people who are not his own. Think of Ruth the Moabite. Think of Cyrus of Persian. Think of the Roman Centurion. Think of the Samaritan or the Syro-Phoenician woman.

Willing sacrifices made in faith in the ultimate goodness of being. It would appear to be the very mechanism of redemption.

And friends, this all has application for us, if we want to be even remotely worthy of them. We are now called to make willing sacrifices in faith in the ultimate goodness of being in advancement of God’s cause in history.

This means we don’t get to live lives of ease or complacency or aimlessness. This means we don’t get to hoard our time and resources. This means we don't get to take shortcuts through life, short cuts that, ironically, get us nowhere. All of that needs to be sacrificed. Instead we, need to enact our belief in the primacy of justice, the primacy of peace, the primacy of truth ,and above all the primacy of love. No matter what it costs us.

Moses was dying. So he gathered the people around him. What were his dying words? What did he tell them? He told them that each and every day they had a choice. They could choose the way of blessing, or they could choose the way of curse. That's our choice too each and every day. We can choose the way of curse. We can deny the ultimate goodness of being and find no higher meaning than selfishness and hatred and cynicism and suspicion and fear, and in so doing make everything we touch all that much worse, or we can affirm the ultimate goodness of being and find higher meaning in everything, in every breath we take, and in so doing make everything we touch all that much better. Each and every day it’s our choice. Let us pray to God that our choice honors him, his son, and the fallen soldiers we gather here to remember. Amen.

Corona

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Tue, 17 May 2022 18:11:36 GMT

Hebrews 11:1-3 Matthew 8:1-17

I just read to you seventeen verses from the gospel of Matthew. Seventeen verses and literally countless miracles. Jesus cleansed a leper. Then he healed a Centurion’s servant. Then he healed Peter’s mother-in-law. Then he cast out demons of many who were possessed. Then he cured all who were sick. Seventeen verses and literally countless miracles. So what’s up with Jesus’ miracles? I’d wager most of us have never come to terms, precisely, with what we think about them.

So what if I put you on the spot? What if I asked you point blank, “Do you believe that Jesus’ miracles really happened just as they’re written?” You’d probably answer yes. But you’d probably answer yes because you figure it’s the “right answer,” and you don’t want to come off as faithless, or skeptical, or cynical, or doubtful, or impious. What if instead I allowed you to answer by secret ballot? You might well answer differently. You might well answer, “No.”

Because we live in a scientific and secular age after all; a scientific and secular age, that, if it can’t quite disprove miracles, certainly puts no stock in them. It may surprise you that one of the most influential theologians of the twentieth century put no stock in them either. His name is Rudolf Bultmann. To the question, “Do you believe that Jesus’ miracles really happened just as they are written?” - He answered an emphatic “No.”

His most famous account of what really happened had to do with Jesus’ multiplication of five loaves of bread and two fishes into enough food sufficient to feed a multitude of 5,000. What really happened, Bultmann theorized, was that Jesus inspired everyone to share the food they already had. But there’s a problem with this. The problem is the gospels - all four of them. They don’t record that Jesus’ inspired everyone to share the food they already had. They record that Jesus performed a miracle. If it really happened the way Bultmann theorized, why didn’t they just record it that way? Why didn’t they just record that Jesus was an inspiring man?

In fact, the gospels don’t record that Jesus was particularly inspiring. His own disciples tripped over themselves his entire ministry. He was continually correcting and rebuking them. And talk about correcting and rebuking, think of the religious authorities. All he ever did was correct and rebuke them. He was so “inspiring” to them that they killed him.

So to return to the question at hand, why would all four gospels engage in subterfuge? Why would they engage in subterfuge, not just with regard to the loaves and fishes, but with the countless miracles throughout them? That seems rather far fetched. No, you can’t really get around the fact that all four gospels record that Jesus performed miracles. And they go beyond this. They explain how it could be so.

It begins with the fact that Jesus was the Son of God. This is to say he was possessed of God’s own essence. This is to say he was possessed of the essence that called creation into being. This is to say that he could command creation’s function.

Now that’s a bold claim, but the entire Bible makes bold claims. Don’t get me started on the apostle Paul. But it’s a bold claim that makes perfect sense if you think about it. If the supernatural realm can not intervene in the natural realm, then what in the world are we Christians playing at? If the supernatural realm can not intervene in the natural realm, then there’s no resurrection. Then Jesus has changed absolutely nothing, and that’s demonstrable. The whole point is that the supernatural realm has intervened in the natural realm -- that God has entered into time and history, into your life and into mine.

So the gospels explain how it could be so, and they also explain why it was so. Jesus performed miracles to show what God stands for. In the case of the miracles I just read, he performed them to show that God stands for healing, wholeness, restoration, restitution -- for abundant life, abundant life that we experience proximately in the here and now and abundant life that we will experience ultimately in the hereafter.

Makes sense to me. Sounds intellectually defensible. So maybe the gospel writers actually know what they are talking about. Maybe there’s a reason that the Bible is the most influential book in human history, and it formed and sustained Western Culture before Western Culture became so worldly wise that it turned on it.

That brings us to coronavirus, because all roads lead to coronavirus these days. All of this has application to our own times. It has to do with what I just said; it has to do with the fact that God stands for healing, wholeness, restoration, restitution, for abundant life, abundant life that we experience proximately in the here and now and abundant life that we experience ultimately in the hereafter. Because from this we can extrapolate a rule: What we ultimately anticipate, we presently approximate. Let me repeat that: What we ultimately anticipate, we presently approximate.

And as we look around us, who do we see during these times of coronavirus, that is presently approximating? Precisely the doctors, nurses, health care workers, and all those on the front lines of this disease. They are more than brave, selfless, dutiful, and skillful. They are advancing the divine cause. They are performing miracles.

But this disease is more than physical. It has a spiritual component as well, because it is attended by fear, loss, anxiety, and despair. That’s where the rest of us come in. That’s where we can advance the divine cause. That's where we can perform miracles. We can tender support, encouragement, comfort, hope, service, and love.

It’s nothing more than what the writer of the epistle to the Hebrews wrote. We can, all together, see the things promised and welcome them from afar. Amen.

Take Responsibility

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Mon, 16 May 2022 20:20:18 GMT

Amos 6:4-7 I Corinthians 1:20-25

“Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?”

Paul’s right about one thing. God has made foolish the wisdom of the world. Put another way, there’s no such thing as the wisdom of the world. The wisdom of the world is then an oxymoron.

How about the wisdom of the world that youth and beauty are to be prized and pursued at all costs? Really? Then why is it that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, “had no form or majesty that we should look at him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him?”

Or how about the wisdom of the world that wealth proclaims status and worth? Really? Then why is it that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, was born in a stable and was buried in a borrowed tomb?

Or how about the wisdom of the world to look out for number one? Really? Then why is it that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, “gave himself up for us as….a sacrifice to God.”

The lesson here, obviously, is that we should not accept the wisdom of the world as the gospel truth. Just the opposite, we should be suspicious of it. We should question it, assess it, judge it, and, by and large, reject it.

Nowhere is this more true than with regard to the wisdom of the world that responsibility is a bad thing. “Responsibility? The less of it the better!” This is what the wisdom of the world would have us believe -- that responsibility is for chumps and drudges, and the cleverest among us have escaped it. They are sipping margaritas from dawn till dusk on a tropical beach without a care in the world.

God has definitely made foolish this wisdom of the world...at least according to the Word of God. There are certain things that the Bible consistently condemns. One is hypocrisy. Another is hardness of heart. And another is complacency -- complacency -- being excessively at ease. If you think about it, complacency is the opposite of responsibility.

Consider this morning’s Old Testament lesson. The prophet Amos was addressing himself to a society just like ours -- a prosperous society that was afflicted by social injustice. In Amos’ day, as in ours, there were the haves, and there were the have nots. The have nots were defenseless, resourceless, and vulnerable, so they fell prey to social injustice.

For example, in Amos’s day there was an institution called debtor prison. If the have nots found themselves in debt, which was often, their debtors could march them to debtor prison. The jailer would pay off their debt, and the have nots would then work off their debt to the jailer in debtor prison. Naturally such an institution was in no way regulated, so abuse was prevalent and egregious. For the smallest of debts, the present day equivalent of a few dollars, the have nots would remain in prison for years, in conditions you don’t want to hear about; but you could say that debtor prison made Alcatraz look like the Four Seasons. Often whole families were incarcerated. If this isn’t social injustice, then I don’t know what is.

And what was the response of the haves? They had no response. They passed the debtor prison day by day on the way to shops or social events. So they knew it was there. Still, they had no response. This is because they were complacent. In Amos’ words, “they lounged on beds of ivory, sang idle songs on their harps, anointed themselves with the finest oils, and drank wine from bowls.” They took no responsibility for debtor prison or anything else for that matter. Amos blasted them for it as only Amos could. No, the Bible doesn’t think much of complacency. It thinks much of responsibility. It’s heroes evince as much.

God called to Abraham and told him to leave his country and his kindred and his father’s house and venture to a new land. What if Abraham had said no; said that he was at ease in his country and kindred and father’s house? But instead, Abraham took responsibility. He ventured to a new land.

God called to Moses and told him to leave off his life in Midian and return to Egypt to rescue his fellow Israelites from slavery. What if Moses said no, that he was at ease in his life in Midian? But instead, Moses took responsibility. He returned to Egypt and rescued his fellow Israelites from slavery.

God called to David and told him to leave behind his flocks and to forge the nation of Israel. What if David said no, that he was at ease following his flocks? But instead, David took responsibility. He forged the nation of Israel, forged its capitol Jerusalem to boot.

Where would we be if the Bible’s heroes evinced complacency instead of responsibility? I am not sure, but it would not be a good place. I don’t even want to think about it.

We could even remove these considerations from the Bible entirely. Where would be if surgeons did not take the responsibility to acquire and execute highly sophisticated skills in order to save lives? Where would we be if the military and police did not take the responsibility to keep us safe? Where would we be if explorers of all kinds did not take the responsibility to broaden our horizons? Again, I am not sure, but it would not be a good place. I don’t even want to think about it. What good there is in our society has been through people who have taken responsibility.

And beyond that, responsibility is good too for the individuals who take it. This is because it is through responsibility that individuals find the meaning they do in life. This is as true as a mathematical equation. Say you take the responsibility to care for an elderly parent. The meaning you find in life will correlate to that. Say you take the responsibility to rescue or advocate for animals. The meaning you find in life will correlate to that. Say you take the responsibility to agitate for social improvement and progress. The meaning you find in life will correlate to that. Responsibility and meaning. The two go hand and hand. And another thing is true. The more responsibility you take, the more meaning you will find. That too is simple math.

But returning to the Bible, one more thing is true. If you take divine responsibility, you will find divine meaning. That brings us to Jesus Christ, the Son of God. He assumed the most divine responsibility and found the most divine meaning, for he assumed divine responsibility for human sin and found divine meaning in human redemption. With him as our guide let us forswear the wisdom of the world, and embrace responsibility. Amen.

Unsung Heroes

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Mon, 16 May 2022 18:15:18 GMT

Luke 23:50-56

I would like to talk to you this morning about Joseph of Arimathea.

Doubtless, you just stifled a yawn. Doubtless you just thought to yourself, “Joseph of Arimathea? Really? With all the tribulation in the world today? She’d like to talk to us this morning about Joseph of Arimathea? Who the heck is Joseph of Arimathea, anyway? I barely even heard of him.”

But yes, I would like to talk to you this morning about Joseph of Arimathea. He is featured in our gospel lesson, after all. So I will give you a moment to stifle a few more yawns, then I will proceed to talk to you this morning about Joseph of Arimathea.

Actually, we don’t know that much about him. We know that it is highly likely that he actually existed. We know this because he appears across all four gospels. When someone or something appears across all four gospels, that makes it fairly indubitable. This is because of John’s gospel. Mathew, Mark, and Luke are pretty much the same gospel. This means they depended on each other. Not John. John is independent of them. A full ninety percent of John is absent from the other three. So if something appears across all four gospels, it’s highly likely it happened. So it’s highly likely that Joseph of Arimathea actually existed. Beyond that, all that is known of him is what is recorded in the short paragraph all four gospels devote to him.

They tell us that Joseph of Arimathea was a member of the “Council”. That is to say, he was a member of the SanHedrin. The Romans permitted the Jews to govern themselves, and they did so through the SanHedrin, which was composed of their religious authorities.

It was the SanHedrin that found Jesus guilty of blasphemy and condemned him to death. But Joseph of Arimathea, to quote, “didn’t agree with their plan or action.” In other words, he saw through them. He saw through their jealousy. He saw through their resentment. Above all, he saw through their outrage. They, like so many people today, lacked the moral and mental clarity to know when to be outraged. Joseph of Arimathea, for his part, knew when to be outraged. He was outraged by the SanHedrin. He realized they had just lynched an innocent man. Joseph of Arimathea had admired Jesus, but what could he have done on his behalf in the face of the SanHedrin? Nothing. Nothing as yet anyway.

As Jesus hung dead on his cross, he approached Pontius PIlate and asked him for his body, Mark's version adds the word “boldly” to his request. He approached Pilate “boldly” and asked for his body. Mark is right to add the word. Because think about it. Pilate sentenced Jesus to death, assumedly, because he judged that Jesus deserved the sentence. In asking for Jesus’ body, Joseph of Arimathea was in essence challenging Pilate’s judgment. It was an act of subversion, really. In other words, he was putting himself at risk. Fortunately, Pilate’s indifference to the whole matter won out.

Joseph of Arimathea then proceeded to remove Jesus’ mangled and bloody corpse from his cross. Try to imagine that. This would have involved crow bars, ladders, and lots of sweat. But above all it would have involved a mangled and bloody corpse. We have a native aversion to corpses. It’s hard enough for us to glance at them when they have died of natural causes. That’s why we dress them up with makeup and wigs and make them into mannequins. That’s all we can handle. What Joseph of Arimathea handled was downright sickening.

And he didn’t need to do any of it. He didn’t need to do any of it because he was rich. He must have been rich because when he removed Jesus from the cross, he wrapped him in linen. Linen was exorbitantly expensive in those times. So he was rich, and the rich generally are freer to do what they want to do and not constrained to do what they need to do. He didn’t need to do any of it. No one else in the world bothered.

Finally, he laid Jesus in his own tomb; again, a rich man’s tomb, hewn from rock. And for his efforts, Joseph of Arimathea set the stage for the resurrection of Jesus Christ. He set the stage for the resurrection of Jesus Christ -- an event, the event, that transfuses worldly tribulation with divine triumph.

To say the very least of him, Joseph of Arimathea was a hero. He was one who advanced the good. He was one who defended the truth. He was one who set the example. He was one at the ready to sacrifice. He was one who made the world a better place, Yes, Joseph of Arimathea was a hero, but at the same time, he was an unsung hero. We stifle our yawns at the mention of his name.

And here’s the whole point. There should be no unsung heroes, in the past or in the present. That expression should not even exist. Could we be so dull, so indifferent, so blind, so careless, so complacent, so jaded, so selfish, that we do not notice the heroes that we have been bequeathed and that surround us?

Because read theologically, and a Christian must read everything theologically, they can only be God’s gift to us. They can only be God’s gift to us because for their contributions they redeem worldly tribulation. So we must be ever alert to them and endow them with the honor they deserve. We must sing their praises at the top of our voices.

One of my favorite people, Fred Rogers, who himself was an unsung hero until recently, knew this well. He once said, “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’” Amen.

Baptism Of Christ

Wed, 12 Jan 2022 19:27:53 GMT

Matthew 3:13-17

The virgin birth, the angelic host, the adoring shepherds, the star of Bethlehem, the wise men from the East… – the portents of the great destiny to which Jesus was born. But of what followed these portents, the Bible tells us almost nothing. One wonders how Mary and Joseph shared with their son that he had been born to a great destiny, and how he bore that knowledge those long years in Nazareth as he waited in obscurity for that great destiny to come to pass. But one is left to wonder.

The Bible tells us only that when Jesus was a young man of some thirty years, the prophet John the Baptist appeared in the Judean wilderness with an urgent proclamation. John proclaimed that the people must repent of their sin, and as a sign of their repentance, be baptized, for God’s messiah was coming.

News of John’s proclamation must have stirred something within Jesus. Jesus must have sensed that John’s proclamation had to do with him, that the great destiny to which he was born was now to be made known to him. And so he summoned himself from the life he was leading in Nazareth and went down to Judea to be baptized by John.

And of course, Jesus was right. Upon his baptism, the heavens opened, the Holy Spirit descended upon him, and the voice of God declared, “You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.” The great destiny to which Jesus had been born was thus made known to him. Jesus was God’s messiah. But that was not the fullness of that which was made known to Jesus at his baptism. The voice of God also made known to him that the vocation of God’s messiah was to sacrifice himself for human sin.

For you see, the “the Beloved” of God, and the vocation of “the Beloved” of God had been described by the prophet Isaiah some five hundred years earlier. Isaiah foretold that God’s Beloved, when he came, would be held of no account, would be oppressed and afflicted; would be despised and rejected by humanity; and finally would be cut off from the land of the living -- but that his wounds would be wounds for the sake of human transgression; his punishment would be that which would make humanity whole; and that out of his anguish, he would see light. Yes, at his baptism, the great destiny to which Jesus had been born was made known to him, and too how that great destiny would be wrought.

And it is through what was made known to Jesus at his baptism – that he was God’s messiah whose vocation it was to sacrifice himself for human sin -- that his ministry must be understood.

For instance, immediately after Jesus’ baptism, he was led by the Holy Spirit into the dessert to be tempted by the devil, but tempted how? Clearly, he realized, tempted not to sacrifice himself for human sin. Recall with what the devil tempted him – worldly dominion, the ability to save himself from peril, to deliver himself from need. But Jesus withstood the devil’s temptation, “Away with you, Satan.”

Jesus then called twelve disciples, but why? To attempt to teach them that he was indeed God’s messiah whose vocation it was to sacrifice himself for human sin; to teach them so as to prepare them, to teach them so that they would someday teach the world. Recall his continuous attempts to get through to his disciples. His first time: “Then he began to teach his disciples that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed… He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and rebuked him.” And his second time: “They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son of Man is be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him….But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him.” And his third time, this time in graphic detail: “They were on the road, going up to Jerusalem, and Jesus was walking ahead of them. He took the twelve again and began to tell them what was to happen to him, saying, ‘See, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death; then they will hand him over to the gentiles; they will mock him, and spit upon him, and flog him, and kill him; and after three days he will rise again.”

Recall Jesus’ words to James and John near the end of his ministry when they blindly made a bid for preeminence in Jesus’ coming kingdom, “You don’t know what you’re asking; are you able to be baptized with the baptism with which I have been baptized?” Jesus never did get through to his disciples. He was left to hope and trust that in the giving of the Holy Spirit they would recall his words and recover their meaning.

The night before Jesus was crucified he instituted a ritual meal. But why? So his sacrifice for human sin, his broken body and shed blood, could be commemorated by his disciples, as it is to this day. He then went to the Garden of Gethsemane where he threw himself to the ground in anguish and prayed to his father to find another way. But why? Because the immediacy of his sacrifice for human sin made it dreadfully and terrifyingly real to him. It is one thing to consider your death abstractly or from a distance, quite another when it is squarely before you.

Yes, it is through that which was made known to Jesus at his baptism – that he was God’s messiah whose vocation it was to sacrifice himself for human sin -- that his ministry must be understood. And it is something we must guard and keep very close, for a number of reasons. Principally, of course, because we affirm with the witness of the New Testament and the Christian Church throughout the ages that the cross of Jesus was no mishap or accident, but “according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God.” It is the mystery that lies at the very heart of our faith – The cross of Jesus, on which God’s messiah sacrificed himself for our sin.

And too we must guard and keep it very close because it underscores the utter greatness of the man we follow. Jesus was a man, vulnerable in the face of suffering and death, like us. Yes, in Jesus the fullness of the Godhead was pleased to dwell, but as the apostle Paul explained in his epistle to the church in Philippi, In Jesus, God emptied himself, humbled himself, and was born in human likeness in the form of a servant. God was hid within Jesus. But we don’t need Paul to affirm that Jesus was vulnerable in the face of suffering and death. If Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane was not enough, recall Jesus on his cross, broken and shattered in body and spirit – “Eli, Eli, lema sabbachthani.” “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” And as a man, vulnerable in the face of suffering and death, amidst all the clamor and turmoil of his ministry and as lonely as he must have been in the knowledge, he bore what was made known to him at his baptism with faith and obedience, bore it through to its bitter conclusion, for our sake.

And finally, we must guard and keep it very close because it bears upon our understanding of our own baptisms. For as St. Paul explained in his epistle to the church in Rome, it is through our baptisms that we become beneficiaries of Jesus’ sacrifice for our sin. “Therefore,” Paul declared, “we have been buried with Jesus [through our] baptism into death, so that just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the father, so we too might walk in newness of life.”

And the benefit we receive from Jesus’ sacrifice for our sin, we learn too from Paul, is newness of life. It is newness of life, by which we know that Jesus sacrificed himself for our sin. It is newness of life by which we know that his sacrifice for our sin has too overcome the death our sin has merited us. It is newness of life by which we know the great destiny to which we were born is eternal life with God. It is newness of life by which we know Jesus will return and swallow all of creation in his glory; and newness of life, friends in Christ, by which our lives and all life have hope.

And so, how are we to respond to all that inheres in the baptism of Jesus for us? How are we to respond? By simply receiving the newness of life with which our baptisms have made us beneficiaries and by growing in that newness of life in his truth, less for our own sakes than the sake of our larger world, which needs his truth now more than ever. Amen.

Epiphany - Signs

Thu, 06 Jan 2022 19:19:50 GMT

Matthew 2:1-12

What in the world would have induced the Magi to embark upon the journey described in this morning’s gospel lesson?

There were countless practical reasons not to. For one thing, the journey was a very long one – from Sheba to Bethlehem was hundreds of miles. And they could hardly hop on a plane. They had rather to hop on camels – slow moving beasts for such a distance. The journey could have taken them weeks, perhaps even months.

For another thing, the journey was a very uncertain one. They didn’t know whether they’d find their way or even where, in particular, they were going. Moreover, there were few road or maps. They had but a star to guide them. A star. This meant too that travel by day was out of the question. They had to make their way by night.

And too, the journey was fraught with perils -- the first and foremost being the peril of nature. They were at the mercy of wild animals, and indeed the Bible documents people being mauled by lions, bitten by snakes, and stung by scorpions. What’s more they were traveling through desert regions. They were at risk of dying of thirst, and again the Bible documents that this was not unheard of.

And then there was the peril of wicked men, like King Herod. We know from the Bible as well as contemporary life that there is nothing more perilous than wicked men. Wicked men discern no morality and acknowledge no law – hence their depravity and cruelty and recklessness. Look what King Herod did, for instance, to the innocents of Bethlehem. He ordered them massacred lest they grow up to threaten his crown.

And if these reasons weren’t enough for the Magi not to embark upon that journey, there are plenty more. Scholars still debate among themselves exactly who these Magi were – whether they were astrologists or wise men or kings or magicians.

But whoever they were, they were not outlaws or desperadoes. They were men of considerable eminence. And men of eminence normally uphold the status quo. The status quo has profited them, after all. There was no profit to be had in risking the status quo, in rocking the boat over some gambit.

Furthermore, they were not even the subjects of the King that they were seeking. Nothing of his reign would ever have the slightest effect upon them. Add to that that the rightful subjects of the King that they were seeking were not particularly fond of foreigners. If truth be told, they were downright xenophobic. The Magi weren’t particularly wanted in those parts.

And so, let us return to the original question. What in the world would have induced the Magi to embark upon that journey? There were countless practical reasons for them not to.

I have my own explanation. Could it be that somehow, someway, dimly, vaguely, the Magi perceived in that star a sign of the beckoning of God? For God is a God who beckons in signs – The manna, the quail, the blooming rod, the fleece, the still small voice, the babe wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger, the sign of Jonah. It may sound far-fetched, but I can think of now other plausible explanation for the Magi to embark upon that journey.

And if this is true, friends, then it’s altogether possible that God beckons us in signs. It could be anything – a star, yes, or a rainbow. But too it could be a child in poverty, a stranger in need, a widow in mourning. It could be a lie we all know to be a lie. It could be a coincidence that we doubt is only a coincidence. It could be anything. As with the Magi, it is ours to perceive in the signs in our lives the beckoning of God; ours to perceive, and then ours to embark upon a journey.

Of course, there are countless practical reasons not to. The journey could take a long time. It could take the rest of our lives. You know how it is with these things. Way leads on to way. You get to one horizon only to see another. It could be uncertain. We have no idea where we’ll end up – only the general direction we are heading. That’s not the best game plan for a journey. And of course, there are perils. The journey would probably lead us through dangerous terrain. Most journeys of any distance do. And then there are today’s Herods, hating the truth because it opposes and accuses them. And let’s face it, it’s pretty comfortable right where we are right now. There are countless practical reasons for us not to, but let’s return to the Magi for a moment.

There was not one practical reason for them to embark upon that journey, and not one practical reason for them, at their journey’s end, to have felt, as they did, perfectly justified in having done so. After all, the “King” that they journeyed to behold was poor, lowly, wrapped in rags, and born to a peasant girl, who in other circumstances they would have taken no notice of.

Yet, upon beholding that King, some strange truth broke in upon them; a strange truth about the nature of ultimate sovereignty, about the nature of ultimate power, about the nature of ultimate existence. They could scarcely have conceived the fullness of it, yet they felt its force fully enough to fall on their knees and pay homage to him and offer him gifts. They felt its force enough to steal away in defiance of King Herod and in allegiance to him.

No doubt they left him changed men. No doubt too that they had no regrets about their journey. I guess it’s safe to conclude that the practical course is not always the best one.

A New Year has now dawned upon us. I could say glibly or tritely it promises to be a great year, but this would not be right. It promises more realistically to be a challenging year. A challenging year for us, yes, with weather systems run amok, with political turmoil, with international tensions, with all the frets and fears and failures we all harbor and bear; but so much worse for so many others, especially those across the world those ravaged by violence and poverty.

But our God will send signs to beckon us, and we must be vigilant to perceive them and courageous to embark upon impractical journeys, that through us in this coming year his way of truth, his way of justice, and his way of love is accomplished through us. This is the word of God for Epiphany. Amen.

Martin Luther King, Jr. Sunday - Persecuted Prophets

Wed, 05 Jan 2022 19:28:00 GMT

Jeremiah 19:14-15, 20:1-2

“Then Pashur struck the prophet Jeremiah and put him in the stocks that were in the upper Benjamin Gate of the House of the Lord.”

This morning’s Old Testament lesson would seem to indicate that the prophet Jeremiah was not well received. Indeed, such was the case. The prophet Jeremiah was not well received. In fact, that is putting it mildly. The prophet Jeremiah was not only beaten and set in stocks by the priest Pashur. He was thrown into a muddy cistern. And when I say muddy, he sunk up to his waist. There he was left for dead. He came within a hair’s breadth of being lynched by an angry mob. Even his own family conspired to kill him. And these were just the physical assaults. There too was the derision. The king himself flouted him publicly in the most egregious way. The people jeered at him whenever he passed. Yes, to put it mildly, the prophet Jeremiah was not well received.

This is because the prophet Jeremiah made an unpopular demand upon Israel. He demanded that Israel integrate belief with practice or face the judgment of God. And to make matters worse, he made the demand by exposing, accusing, and threatening, and in the most angry and denunciatory terms. Here is but a small and, believe it or not, relatively mild dose of the man; this to those who gathered at the Temple for worship: “Hear the word of the Lord, all you people of Judah, you that enter these gates to worship…Thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel: Amend you ways and your doings, and let me dwell with you in this place. Do not trust in these deceptive words: ‘This is the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord.’ For if you truly amend your ways and your doings, if you truly act justly one with another, if you do not oppress the alien, the orphan, and the widow, or shed innocent blood… and if you do not go after other gods to your own hurt, then I will dwell with you in this place….. But there you are, trusting in deceptive words to no avail. Will you steal, murder, commit adultery, swear falsely, make offerings to Baal, and go after other gods…and then come and stand before me in this house which is called by my name, and say, ‘We are safe!’ – only to go on doing all these abominations? Has this house, which is called by my name, become a den of robbers in your sight? You know, I am watching, says the Lord. God now to my place that was in Shiloh, where I made my name dwell at first, and see what I did to it for the wickedness of my people Israel.” Shiloh, of course, had once been Israel’s central shrine until it was destroyed by the Philistines.

Exposure, accusation, and threat in the most angry and denunciatory terms, but at the same time the irrefutable truth. But Israel wasn’t having it, for essentially two reasons. For one, it was the prophet Jeremiah’s form. No one like exposure, accusation, and threat, especially in the most angry and denunciatory of terms. It is unpleasant. It is uncomfortable. It is offensive. And because it is, it became easy for Israel to view the prophet Jeremiah’s form as the problem and to overlook his content.

And too, Israel, Israel believed at least, was not really so bad as all that. After all, Israel was God’s chosen people -- God, by the way, who was, “slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love…forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin….” Sure Israel had its warts and freckles, but who doesn’t? Compared to its pagan neighbors -- those uncouth, unclean, barbarians -- Israel was the most enlightened and advanced nation there was. Israel was as good as it gets. Why couldn’t the prophet Jeremiah see it that way -- as a cup half full scenario -- and keep his big mouth shut?

Martin Luther King, Jr., for all the fanfare he now receives every January, was not well received either, and again, that is to put it mildly. It was for him about how it was for the prophet Jeremiah. As King himself described it, “Due to my involvement in the struggle for the freedom of my people, I have known very few quiet days in the last few years. I have been arrested five times and put in Alabama jails. My home has been bombed twice. A day seldom passes that my family and I are not the recipients of threats of death. I have been the victim of a near fatal stabbing. So in a real sense I have been battered by the storms of persecution. I must admit that at times I have felt that I could no longer bear such a heavy burden….”

And too it was because King made the same unpopular demand upon America as the prophet Jeremiah had made upon Israel. King demanded that America integrate belief with practice or face the judgment of God. He demanded that the freedoms that inhered in the Constitution that declared all to be equal and that inhered in the Bible that declared all to be created in the image of God be afforded to African Americans.

And King did not even expose, accuse, and threaten, at least not with the same anger and denunciation as the prophet Jeremiah. This was because standing between King and the prophet Jeremiah was Jesus Christ, who had shown that God’s cause was to be won by redemptive suffering. And so King substituted for anger and denunciation non-violent resistance – boycotts, marches, and sit-ins – through which he and the African American people indeed learned the way of redemptive suffering.

But America, like Israel, wasn’t having it, again for the same two reasons that Israel wasn’t having it. It viewed the problem as King’s form and overlooked his content. They disliked his demonstrations. They were chaotic, dangerous, and frightening. What’s more, they were illegal. African Americans should just wait for the wheels of justice to turn, America declared, wait for the legislature and judiciary to act. They would have their equality in due time.

King countered that unjust law was no law at all, and that the African American people had been waiting for 340 years. “I guess it is easy”, he wrote, “for those who have never felt the stinging darts of segregation to say, ‘Wait.” But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate-filled policemen curse, kick, brutalize, and even kill your black brothers and sisters with impunity; when you see the vast majority of twenty million Negroes smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society, when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six year old daughter why she can’t go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television and see tears welling up in her little eyes when she is told that it is closed to colored children, and see the depressing clouds of inferiority begin to form in her little mental sky…when you have to concoct an answer to your five year old son asking in agonizing pathos: ‘Daddy, why do white people treat colored people so mean?”…When you are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading white and colored, when your first name becomes boy, when your wife and mother are never given the respected title Mrs,…then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait. There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over…..”

But America believed, grant King his eloquence, the larger problem was still his demonstrations. And what’s more, he needed to do something about that perspective. American wasn’t really as bad as all that. American believed itself too God’s chosen people, compared to its neighbors the most enlightened and advanced nation there was. It had, after all, fought a war to end slavery. America was as good as it gets. So why didn’t King see it that way, as a cup half full scenario, and keep his big mouth shut?

But the reason that prophets, whether from Israel or America, don’t see it that way is because they see it through God’s eyes, God’s eyes that penetrate pretext and evasion, indifference and indolence, fear and weakness, eyes that will neither slumber of sleep until there is equality, freedom, and justice for all the people he created.

Prophets are not well received, and they probably never will be, but history does have a way of vindicating them. Martin Luther King knew this. “One day the South will recognize its real heroes,” he wrote, “….They will be old, oppressed, battered Negro women, symbolized in a seventy two year old woman of Montgomery, who rose up with a sense of dignity and with her people decided not to ride the segregated buses….They will be the high school and college students….courageously and nonviolently sitting at lunch counters and willingly going to jail for conscience’s sake. One day the South will know…these children of God were standing up for the best in the American dream and the most sacred values in our Judeo-Christian heritage carrying our whole nation back to those great wells of democracy which were dug deep by the Founding Fathers in the formulation of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence.” King was dead right. History has vindicated them all.

All this makes you wonder how we would have received King had we been a church in the separate but equal south of the fifties and sixties? Would we have overlooked his content for his form? Would we have believed that we really weren’t so bad, that we were as good as it gets? And it makes you wonder how we would receive a prophet today. Perhaps our prayer, as we honor Martin Luther King, Jr. should be that God raise up another prophet of social justice, so that we may prove that we stand ready to vindicate him. Amen.

Martin Luther King, Jr. Sunday - Birmingham

Wed, 05 Jan 2022 19:19:38 GMT

II Corinthians 6:2-6

Birmingham, Alabama was just like any other city in the Jim Crow South. It was segregated. But perhaps the word “segregated,” as negative as are its connotations, is something of a euphemism in this particular case. Segregation can be taken simply to mean separation. Locker rooms are segregated. Dormitories are segregated. This means that men and women have separate facilities -- separate, but equal, to coin a loaded phrase.

But of course, this was not what was going on in the Jim Crow South, nothing of the sort. It wasn’t as if there were separate but equal facilities for African Americans and White Americans. It was that African Americans were not permitted the use of White American facilities. Libraries, stores, parks, schools, restaurants, rest rooms, swimming pools, transportation, hotels, amusement parks, houses, apartments, and of course, churches. African Americans were not permitted the use of these facilities, or if by rare exception they were, that use was severely restricted. Needless to say, African Americans had nothing comparable of their own.

And how was this so-called segregation enforced? By signs, mostly - “White” and “Colored.” Now you may say to yourself? Signs? What kind of enforcement is that? Signs can easily be ignored or defied. If someone put a sign saying “No Calvinists” at my health food store, I’d go in anyway and read them the riot act to boot. And after all, African Americans comprised, depending on the count, a third to a half of the population in the Jim Crow South. How could such egregious discrimination be enforced by signs?

Well, truth be told, especially when African American discontent in the Jim Crow South began to grow, there was some concern among White Americans that signs were not enough. So in Birmingham for example, to give the signs additional muscle, eighteen unsolved bombings took place in African American neighborhoods. I don’t know about you, but if I were an African American in Birmingham in those days, and there was the threat that my children, or any children, would be blown to pieces, I think I’d read (and heed) the signs.

In 1963, Martin Luther King, Jr. turned his attention to Birmingham. He began to organize peaceful demonstrations there. In short order, a judge ordered King to cease his demonstrations on the grounds that Birmingham had not granted him the required permits. King ignored the order and was thereupon imprisoned. A colleague who came to visit him brought him a local newspaper. In it King saw a full page advertisement taken out by white clergymen declaring that his demonstrations were, and I quote, “untimely.”

King, in the margins of that newspaper, began a letter of response to that advertisement. When he ran out of space in the margins, he continued the letter on toilet paper, until he was at last supplied with a notepad. King’s letter, of course, was his immortal manifesto, “Letter from Birmingham Jail.” In it, he argued for the “timeliness” of his demonstrations. There were, basically, two fronts to his argument.

The first front of his argument was that it is easy enough for those who are not suffering from social injustice to tell those who are to be patient, to wait. And of course, King is irrefutable here. It would be like telling someone who is dying of thirst to be patient, to wait, while you yourself are sitting right beside a well; or like telling someone who is starving to death to be patient, to wait, while you’ve just come from a feast. It’s rather hypocritical, insensitive, and indifferent. It’s rather hardhearted. It’s rather cruel. Allow me to quote King at some length on this point:

“For years now I have heard the word "Wait!" It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity. This "Wait" has almost always meant 'Never." We must come to see, with one of our distinguished jurists, that ‘justice too long delayed is justice denied.’

We have waited for more than 340 years for our constitutional and God-given rights…Perhaps it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging dart of segregation to say, "Wait." But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate-filled policemen curse, kick and even kill your black brothers and sisters; when you see the vast majority of your twenty million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society; when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six-year-old daughter why she can't go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her eyes when she is told that Funtown is closed to colored children, and see ominous clouds of inferiority beginning to form in her little mental sky, and see her beginning to distort her personality by developing an unconscious bitterness toward white people; when you have to concoct an answer for a five-year-old son who is asking: "Daddy, why do white people treat colored people so mean?"; when you take a cross-county drive and find it necessary to sleep night after night in the uncomfortable corners of your automobile because no motel will accept you; when you are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading "white" and "colored"…, when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at a tiptoe stance, never quite knowing what to expect next, and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of "nobodiness" -- then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait. There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over, and men are no longer willing to be plunged into the abyss of despair. I hope, sirs, you can understand our legitimate and unavoidable impatience.”

The second front of his argument was that to ask African Americans to be patient, to wait rested upon the false premise that social justice is evolving by some kind of natural process; that it wasn’t something that must be struggled for. Again, to quote King, this time with much greater brevity: “Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of men willing to be coworkers with God.”

And when King was freed from the Birmingham Jail, he continued the struggle for social justice there. That struggle reached its nadir when children aged six to sixteen joined in the demonstrations in place of their parents who could not risk the loss of their livelihoods. The response of the Birmingham police was to throw the children in the Birmingham jail. Before long, the jail was packed past capacity with nearly 1,000 children. When other children continued to demonstrate and there was no room left for them in the jail, the police turned their power hoses upon them. The force of the hoses snapped their bones and washed their small bodies down the streets.

And this lost Birmingham its war against African Americans. By this time the press had turned its attention to Birmingham. Photos of the persecuted children spread throughout the country and the world, which together convulsed in moral horror. The process of integration in Birmingham was then haltingly begun. The signs began to come down.

Birmingham, Alabama turned out to be the turning point in the Civil Rights Movement. It was where Martin Luther King Jr. taught the Jim Crow South and teaches us here today that the immoral course is to tell those suffering from social injustice to be patient, to wait; and the moral course is to join the struggle to achieve social justice.

Martin Luther King Jr., was undeniably, from a secular standpoint a visionary, and from a Christian standpoint a prophet. He gave a face to wisdom and conviction and courage. His leadership changed the course of this nation in a worthy direction. That, of course, is why we honor him each year on his birthday.

But there’s one compliment that can’t be bestowed upon him. It can’t be said he was original. He himself again and again decried his own originality. He insisted he was merely following the Bible. And indeed he was.

Just consider just our New Testament lesson. Paul had founded a church in Corinth, Greece, and from his letter to that church it appears that the minute he left Corinth, they screwed everything up. It’s little surprise really. The barriers between Jews and Greeks were impenetrable. You can’t overcome a cultural barriers of that magnitude with a little evangelism. What the church in Corinth errantly took from Paul was that if Christians were justified through Jesus Christ, at the end of the age and then alone they would be saved. Between now and then, it was pretty much business as usual. Justification through Jesus Christ functioned basically as a “Get Out Of Hell Free” card.

Paul wrote to the church at Corinth that if that’s how they viewed justification through Jesus Christ that they were justified, “in vain.” “Now,” Paul declared, “is the favorable time." What Paul tried to impress upon the church at Corinth is that justification through Jesus Christ was a call to active service in the here and now. It was a call to stand up and be counted. It was a call to accomplish salvation in that place and time. It was a call to timeliness. What King did really was to make the Bible come alive in the Jim Crow South.

And on Martin Luther King, Jr. Sunday, may he inspire us to make the Bible come alive in our time as well. Amen.

Mother's Day - One Size Does Not Fit All

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Mon, 27 Dec 2021 19:28:17 GMT

Jeremiah 31:31-33

My grandmother, God rest her soul, was an expert bargain hunter. That woman really knew how to pinch a penny. And expertise, in bargain hunting and everything else, requires years of experience, such that a thing becomes second nature. My grandmother over the years developed a seemingly innate sense of the precise value of a diamond in the rough. And her reputation preceded her. She had only to arrive at an estate sale or auction or garage sale, and the crowds parted and let her have her way. She always walked away with what she wanted at the price she wanted. No one could rival her.

I like to think that in my own small way I am a chip off the old block. I like to think that I too am an expert bargain hunter. After all, I watched the master at work. I am always trolling for a steal. I even schedule my morning run around garbage pick-up days to potentiate the discovery of treasure discarded in the parkway. Of course,garbage is the ultimate bargain because it’s free.

Last week then, I had to run to a discount store for a few “essential” necessities, and I made my usual pass down the clearance aisle. To my delight and excitement, last year’s swimming apparel was marked 75% off. I was in need of beach wraps for the girls for the upcoming season, and it seemed truly a case of “seek and you will find” because there were three of them - all one size fits all. At the sale price they were five dollars, and since I had the remains of of a gift card from the store, I only had to shell out two dollars for all three beach wraps. A fair day’s work, I congratulated myself.

Yes, I was feeling good about my achievement until I got home and had the girls try on the “one size fits all” beach wraps. My girls, though they are the same age, happen to be very different sizes. One girl is on the tall side, one girl is on the short side, and one girl is of medium height, after the fashion of The Three Bears. The beach wrap for the girl on the tall side fit her like a sausage casing. It was so tight that within seconds she had laceration marks around her neck. The beach wrap for the girl on the short side, was, so to speak, swimming on her. It was so big on her that it formed a train behind her. Of course the beach wrap for the girls of medium height actually fit her, but she claimed it was “lame,” so my achievement was a bust, and I was out two dollars.

I did learn one thing from the experience, however. I learned that one size does not fit all. One size may fit the majority, but one size does not fit all.

And this applies to more than just clothing. In fact it applies to just about everything. It applies to the lifestyles we choose to adopt. It applies to the vocations and avocations we pursue. It applies to the way we configure our families. It applies to the company we keep. It applies to our fashion sense of lack thereof. It applies to the abodes we make our homes. It applies to the ways we enact our roles. It applies to if and how we create intimate partnerships. One size does not fit all. There is no one way to do and to be.

But there’s a problem with this, and it has to do with the fact that one size fits the majority. The majority then often expects that because one size fits them, that it must fit the minority too. And so they exert pressure upon the minority to conform - to deny that they are different, to deny their individuality, to deny their uniqueness. The minority is then at risk of being driven to a place of self denial and self contradiction to prevent being maligned or marginalized. Personally it seems ridiculous that people should be pressured to be what they are not.

And the ridiculousness becomes compounded when the Bible is conscripted to support what we can label the “one size fits all tyranny.” Because in fact, the Bible wants nothing to do with it. For one thing, look at the wide assortment of “sizes” of its characters: Ezekiel, who, in an era when long hair and beards were the style, shaved every hair off his head and face with his sword? And the Lord put him up to it. Or Hosea, who married a prostitute and embarked upon the quintessential non-traditional marriage? And again, the Lord put him up to it. Or Solomon, who took for himself a thousand foreign wives? And the Bible never faults him for it, only that he worshiped their foreign gods. And don’t get me started on Jesus of Nazareth. Suffice it to say that we worship him for his uniqueness. They’re simply not “one size fits all” kind of folks.

But more to the point, the overall message of the Bible wants nothing to do with the ”one size fits all tyranny.” There are places in the Bible where its truth breaks agonized and clear. Proof texting - or choosing a sentence here or there from the Bible to support your own preconceived biases (and those biases are usually formed of hatred and fear) - is always bad. But at the same time, there are places in the Bible which really manages to capture its overall spirit. “In Christ, God was reconciling the world to himself,” would be such an example. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” would be another.

And today's words from Jeremiah would be yet another. “This is the covenant I will make, says the Lord, I will put my law within them. I will write it on their hearts. “ Jeremiah envisions a new covenant between God and God’s people. A true covenant. The true covenant, a covenant written upon the hearts of believers.

But the timing of Jeremiah’s words was beyond strange, because the nation that had once been Israel lay before him in ruins. And Israel had not thought of itself as just any nation. Israel had thought of itself as God’s nation. The nation of Israel had been the very axis of Israel’s faith. But Jeremiah, the weeping prophet, shed no tears at the ruin of the nation of Israel. He declared that the axis of Israel’s faith would now be what it should have been all along = the hearts of believers.

What Jeremiah was saying was that the nation of Israel should never have been the axis of Israel’s faith in the first place. Nor should that axis have been any preexisting majority of any kind, - whether it be the nation, whether it be race, whether it be ethnicity, whether it be orientation, lineage, or stature.. But solely the hearts of believers, wherever they came from, whatever they looked like, whoever they happened to be. This, Jeremiah was saying, would be how God would covenant with God’s people. This would hardly seem to buttress the “one size fits all tyranny.” As I said, the Bible wants nothing to do with it.

Today is Mother’s Day, the day, obviously, on which we honor the institution of motherhood. And so, what application has all (or any) of this to the institution of motherhood? It has plenty. Too long, I think, we have held an idealized view of the institution of motherhood in ways that are sentimental or nostalgic or anachronistic. We have envisioned the ideal mother as Betty Crocker rolled into June Cleaver rolled into Laura Petrie - rather one size fits all. But whenever there exists a one size fits all mentality, there is too the threat of the "one size fits all tyranny.”

Let us turn again to the biblical character to see if the mothers of the Bible fit this mold? There are the mothers of Bethlehem who wept inconsolably as Roman soldiers massacred their infant sons. There is Elizabeth who struggled with infertility her entire life until she was finally granted a son in her old age, a son she would live long enough to see beheaded. There is Hagar who along her her son Ishmael were driven from their home into the desert where Hagar begged God that she not be forced to witness her son die from thirst. And of course, there is Mary, a poor teenager who found herself pregnant, and who came to learn that the son she bore would be lost to her for the sake of the redemption of humankind. Hardly one size fits all.

And let us turn too to the axiom that we may derive from the Bible’s overall message, that relationships must take root not from any preexisting majority, but between sympathetic hearts of individuals.

And let then reconsider the institution of motherhood - set the ideal against reality, so that we may honor the woman who is raising children by herself, the woman who has been forcefully separated from her children by the law of the land, the woman who balances and juggles her vocational calling with the demands of child rearing, the woman unable to conceive who becomes a surrogate mother to the children in her sphere, the woman whose children have moved on and left her with a hole in her heart, the woman who exigency drove to give her child up for adoption, the woman who adopted that child, the woman who has lost a child, the woman who is raising her children's children. And yes, too, Betty Crocker and June Cleaver and Laura Petie as well.

The point is, on Mother’s Day, we are called to honor all women who are possessed of a mother’s heart, and that depth of love that can only spring form the source of all love -- the God of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Christmas Eve - The Night Sky

Mon, 20 Dec 2021 19:19:43 GMT

Matthew 2:7-12

The Three Magi. We know nothing about them really. We don’t even know what Magi are. Magi is the Greek word that appears in the oldest biblical manuscripts, but we don’t know how to translate it, so we don’t know what it means. Scholars infer that The Three Magi were wise men or astrologers or kings, but those are just scholarly guesses. And we don’t know their names. Tradition in time gave them the names - Balthazar, Caspar, and Melchoir, but there is no hint of their names in any historical record. No, we know nothing about The Three Magi really. We don’t know what they are. We don’t know their names. For that matter, we don’t know their race, their creed, their nationality. Nothing.

But we have something in common with them nonetheless. In fact we have something in common with every single human being past and present. We have all gazed into the same night sky. And it’s a marvelous thing, the night sky - the beauty of it, the immensity of it, the mystery of it. It fills us with awe and wonder. But at the same time it can fill us with unease. Because beneath the night sky, we feel so small. Long ago the night sky may not have made us feel so small. Long ago the night sky was seen as a glorious backdrop that God bequeathed his most glorious creature who stood poised at the very center of his cosmos. But science has punctured that conceit. We do not stand poised at the very center of God’s cosmos. Science has now discovered two hundred billion galaxies. There could

even be two hundred billion more than that. So we don’t just feel so small. We are so small. We are tiny. We are minuscule. We are ants. Worse, we are protozoa. Worse, we are molecules. Worse, we are atoms. If there was something smaller than atoms that is what we would be. And something that small is insignificant. It doesn’t matter.

But the problem is that we matter to ourselves. We matter to ourselves, and we matter to each other. We dread all the bad things out there that can and do befall us - all the catastrophes and tragedies of life. We don’t feel insignificant, but the night sky forces upon us that we are. How could we possibly matter? How could we possibly matter amidst two hundred billion galaxies?

It would take a miracle.

One obscure night, 2023 years ago, that miracle occurred. We sentimentalize that night. We infuse it with the aura of a fairy tale. This is a big mistake. There was nothing fanciful about that night. An impoverished teenage girl nine months pregnant journeying a hundred miles on the back of a donkey. No woman that pregnant should be traveling at all much less in that way. And with no better escort than her new husband, confused and struggling to come to terms with what was happening. Then to give birth in a stable - no light, no heat; not even a blanket for her newborn baby. Sharing the space with livestock. Children can be served the fairy tale version, but we are not children. There’s one word to describe the whole affair, and that is lowly. But here’s the miracle. Into that lowliness, the God who authored the night sky, became incarnate in his son Jesus Christ, so that God could show us, even and especially the lowly among us, that we matter. We matter so much that he sanctioned for his son a cross so that through it God could show us that regardless of how hateful and cruel and ignorant we can be, God means to bestow his own eternity upon us.

And this miracle could only make any sense if God is a God of love -- love that is so infinite and vast and unfathomable that in our best and finest moments we can but get but the merest glimpse of it.

Christmas is finally here. It’s always such a fun season. One good time after another. But to associate Christmas with this is to sell it woefully short. Christmas is a celebration to be sure, but it is the celebration of the miracle that we matter to God. We matter to God. But as the Bible reminds us, miracles often come with strings. If we matter to God, God should matter to us. If he does not, what does that say about us? May our lives in the coming year offer abundant proof that he does. Amen.

Advent - Mary's Here Am I

Fri, 10 Dec 2021 19:27:07 GMT

Luke 1:26-38

I was at a holiday gathering last week with a group of women friends I made around the time our children were born. My eldest is now in her thirties, so we have been friends for a good long time. Now that our children are grown, we don’t see each other as much as we did when they were young. In those days we saw each other nearly every day. We needed each other’s company and support during the uniquely taxing business of raising young children. And besides, were interesting to no one except each other. Raising young children, the all important questions have to do with the likes of nursing, naps, teething; and, of course, those tiny little developmental milestones that at the time seem so significant. Who else would find all that interesting except another mother of young children?

There’s been much water over the damn since then. Most of us, at least those of us who did not adopt a second round of children, are now empty-nesters. Some of us have remained at home. Others of us have retooled and rejoined the work force. One of my friends became a pediatrician. It’s no surprise. She is smart and driven, scientifically minded; and she loves children.

When I saw her at the gathering I asked her about the ongoing drama in which she was involved wither receptionist. She hired as her receptionist a woman whose husband had died recently. Having been a wife and mother nearly forty years, she was lonely and aimless and hoped that a job would help her to reconnect to life, would bring her some structure and purpose. She was a very decent person, but did not belong I that position. She talked on and on to patients, and worse, did have a sense of appropriate sense of confidentiality. In this day and age, that can get you into trouble. She drove my friend increasingly up the wall, but big-hearted as he was, she couldn’t bring herself to let her go.

“I finally let her go,” my friend said, “And those were, without question, the hardest words I’ve ever had to say in my life. “I have to let you go.” “Those words wouldn’t be hard for me at all,” said another friend, whom I would describe as self-assertive and driven to control all that is in her sphere of influence. Appropriately, she is a crossing guard. “Anyway, it was for her own good,” she said. “Why treat her like she is exempt from reality and responsibility?” That’s no favor to her overall. The hardest words for me to say,” she said, “are ‘I’m sorry.’ I had to apologize to someone last week, and I’ve vowed never again to be in the wrong so I’ll never have to apologize again.” “Good luck with that,” I said. The conversation then shifted to word that are hard to say. What we came up wit was about what you’d expect, - “I love you.” “You hurt my feelings.” And, above all, ‘No.’”

As the conversation proceeded, I found myself biting my lip. My friends, have, on more than one occasion, on several occasions in fact, informed me that I have the annoying habit of not offering my own opinion, which would probably be annoying enough, but instead offering the biblical witness’ opinion on the subject. “The biblical witness would label that double minded,” I’d say. Or, I’d say, “The biblical witness would take issue with that sort of apathy.” Or, “The biblical witness forbids this kind of idle chatter.” I can’t think why they find it so annoying.

I was itching to offer the biblical witness’ opinion on the hardest words to say, but, as I said, I had been warned that I was annoying. Of course, when people warn us that we are annoying, it doesn’t automatically remove the desire to continue to be annoying. I really wanted to have my say. Suddenly, I thought of a brilliant ploy. Instead of simply offering the biblical witness’ opinion on the subject, I asked a preliminary question. “Are you interested in the biblical witness’ opinion on the subject?" I asked. If they said no, that would certainly not reflect very well on them. They were churchgoers, after all. And if they said yes, I could have my say.

I can boast my ploy was brilliant, of occurs, because I am really only in effect boasting on the Lord. I borrowed the ploy form m. If you recall his exchange with the chief priests and elders, they asked Jesus, “By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority.?” Jesus said to them, ‘I will also ask you one question; if you tell me the answer, then I will also tell you by what authority I do these things. Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin? And they argued with one another, ‘If we say from heaven, he will say to us, “Why then did you not believe him?’ But if we say, ‘Of human origin,’ we are afraid do the crowd, for all regard John a prophet.” Thanks to the biblical witness, I had my friends between a rock and a hard place. I finally had my say.

According to the biblical witness, the hardest words to say are, “Here I am.” Here I am – the words with which God’s prophets answered God’s call to witness to him.

“After these things God tested Abraham. God said to him, “Abraham!” And Abraham said, “Here I am!” Moses was keeping the flock of his father-in-law Jethro; he led his flock beyond the wilderness, can came to Horeb, the mountain of God. Then the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire out of a us; he looked, and the bush was blazing, yet it was not consume…God called to him out of the bush, ‘Moses, Moses!’ And Moses said, “Here I am!” “The Lord called, ‘Samuel, Samuel.’ And he said, ‘Here I am!’ “The Isaiah heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? And Isaiah said, “Here I am!”

But why should these be the hardest words to say? If you think about it, the answer is not long in coming. It is because witnessing to God is terribly difficult work and generally not welcomed by the world. And the words, “Here I am,"represent a kind of reporting for service, represent a kind of front end commitment to witness to God, come what may.

And indeed, it was not easy on the prophets. God called Abraham to leave everything he knew, to go from his country, his kindred, and his father’s house to an unknown land on which would some day exist the nation he would father. And when Abraham at the age of one hundred finally fathered a son, God demanded his sacrifice as a s test that Abraham’s faith was in the God who could do the impossible, and not in Abraham’s own flesh and blood. Abraham passed the test, and God spared his son, but only imagine Abraham’s anguish as he raised that knife to his son’s neck..

Or Moses, a humble man, slow of speech, slow of tongue. God called him to enter the court of the most powerful man in the world and demand the release of his enslaved countrymen; and then to lead them, they who gave no evidence of being God’s people at all, for forty years through the wilderness to the threshold of their Promised Land.

Or Samuel, whom God called to preside over the newly found institution of the kingship, an institution that Samuel had renounced and resisted for all he was worth, and then stand by and watch as the king that God had called him to anoint generated into a madman – jealous, paranoid, murderous.

Or Isaiah, who was called too to prophesy to kings, kings from whose line God had be this time declared the Messiah would come, but who only encountered faithless kings who refuse to listen to the word of God and led the nation to the brink of destruction. Yes, “Here I am” must have been the hardest words to say.

All of this renders nothing less than amazing, nothing less than mind boggling, what we heard in this morning’s gospel lesson. A young woman, little more than a girl really, of no imaginable note – obscure and undistinguished; and probably too, like most of her people, rather poor – was visited by the angel Gabriel who said to her, “’Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end. May said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?’ The angel said to her, ‘The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy, he will be called the Son of Man….’ Then Mary said, ‘Here I am.’”

And with those words that young woman, with nothing but her faith, added herself to the company of the great prophets of Israel – absent, of course, any pride or arrogance, absent any self-assertion whatever, and absent too any self-abnegation, any evasion or irresponsibility because of her low and unlikely station, and knowing it had not been easy on those who had responded this – with nothing but her faith, she added herself to the company of the great prophets of Israel.

And it was not easy on her either. In fact, it may have been harder on her than it was on any of them: to be made pregnant our of wedlock, to give birth in a stable in a distant land, to live in obscurity for nearly thirty years, waiting, wondering what was in store for her son, then as her son finally embarked upon his ministry to hear him say and do things that she didn’t anticipate and couldn’t comprehend, and things that caused him to make very dangerous enemies, then to witness her son, her beloved son, tortured to death on a cross. I’d say that young woman proved herself the equal of the great prophets of Israel.

Here I am. Such hard words, and such a hard life that inevitably issued from them. One wonders whether any of them had any regrets about saying them. The biblical witness does not say if they did or not, but I, at least, am certain that they did not. I am certain because that same faith by which they said those hard words – by which they reported for service, by which they made front end commitment to witness to God come what may – makes regret impossible.

For faith does not seek ease or comfort; not does it require outcomes. Faith simply holds fast to God’s promises and makes witness to him. It is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Faith need not receive the promises, because it sees them from a distance and greets them. Faith then banishes regret.

Friends in Christ, God may not have called us to witness to him in such clear and commanding ways. He may not have spoken to us through a burning bushy, or through his angel Gabriel, but he has just as surely called us to witness to him. He was called us through the waters of baptism by which we have received the Holy Spirit. It is now ours to respond, “Here I am,” But the prophets who have gone before us, and we may consider Mary among them, prove that the hardest words we will ever say are too the greatest words we will ever say and live. Amen.

Advent - John The Baptist

Fri, 10 Dec 2021 19:27:05 GMT

Amos 9:1-4, Matthew 11:1-6

Listening to the oracles of the prophet Amos feels a bit like staring down the barrel of a shot gun. Amos’ message is that because the people of God fail to practice social justice, fail to uphold human dignity, and fail to promote impartial equality, God’s punishment will be their destruction. Actually, listening to the oracles of the prophet Amos feels a bit worse than staring down the barrel of a shot gun. It’s feels like staring down the barrel shot gun just before the trigger is pulled.

And so, I, personally, would advise that we do what anyone would do who is staring down the barrel of a shot gun just before the trigger is pulled. I would advise that we run for our lives. Run as fast and as far away as we can – past Isaiah, past the Psalms, past Job; past Samuel, past Ruth, past Joshua, past Exodus until we finally arrive, heavily winded, at the book of Genesis – a safe distance; twenty nine books away.

But no sooner than we begin to catch our breath do we discover that we are out of the frying pan and into the fire. It’s every bit as bad as Amos. “And the Lord saw that the wickedness of humankind was great in the earth, and that every inclination of the thoughts of their hearts was only evil continually. And the Lord was sorry that he had made humankind on the earth, and it grieved him to his heart. So the Lord said, “I will blot out from the earth the human beings I have created – people together with animals and creeping things and birds of the air, for I am sorry I have made them.”

The writer’s message is that because the people of God are hell bent upon rampant and escalating disunity and violence, God’s punishment will be their destruction. Again, the feeling of staring down the barrel shot gun once again just before the trigger is pulled, so I advise we once again run for our lives. The problem last time is that we ran in the wrong direction. We ran backward. We should have run forward. The only problem is that we have to get past Amos. And so we must pace ourselves so that we have the strength to sprint when we draw near him.

Best, perhaps to rest up for a bit in Deuteronomy. But no. There’s no rest in Deuteronomy. “I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that you will soon utterly perish from the land that you are crossing the Jordan to occupy; you will not live long on it, but will be utterly destroyed.” The writer’s message is that because the people of God refuse to love him, refuse to honor him, refuse to obey him; because they instead adore and glorify the profane culture that surrounds them, God’s punishment will be their destruction.

We now find ourselves at a good news and bad news juncture. The bad news is that we have to get moving again. The good news is that the New Testament is only thirty four books away. I guess in point of fact, that’s bad news too. Thirty four books, and some of those books are really long. We find ourselves then at a bad news and bad news juncture. But it’s do or die.

But arriving, near collapse, at the New Testament, who do we encounter at its gates but John the Baptist? He is clearly in league with Amos and Genesis and Deuteronomy. John’s message is that the because God’s people are sinners, they must repent, and they must acknowledge their repentance by a ritual cleansing of their sin in the waters of baptism. Because it’s judgment time. God’s messiah is coming. And their punishment will be their destruction.

Let’s face it. We can run but we can’t hide. Where ever we go we will feel like we are staring down the barrel of a shotgun just before the trigger is pulled. This is because we are attempting to flee from the central problematic of the Bible. That central problematic is this. We are God’s people, and we fall short. Whether it is as Amos has it, that our pursuit of social justice is too comfortable or exists not at all; or as Genesis has it, that we coddle our propensity for division and fan the warfare that ultimately results from it, or as Deuteronomy has it, that we place a higher value upon our nature and our culture than upon God, or as John has it, that we are all in one way or another sinners, the Bible’s central problematic is that we are God’s people, and we fall short. Per the apostle Paul, “We have all sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” We are God’s people, and we fall short, and the just verdict upon us all is punishment.

And this is precisely why John the Baptist was so utterly befuddled by Jesus. He had God’s people all prepped. God’s messiah is coming. His punishment will be their destruction. He was in line with the central problematic of the Bible. He was one of its greatest expositors.

But then, enter Jesus. The blind received their sight, the lame walked, the lepers were cleansed, the deaf heard, the dead were raised up, and the poor had good news preached to them. This couldn’t be God’s messiah. A man of mercy? A man of forgiveness? A man of compassion? A man who knew we fall short, but who understood our frailty and who loved us anyway? This couldn’t be the messiah. No wonder John the Baptist was confused. As John passed the hours in prison reflecting, he just couldn’t make any sense of it. And so he sent Jesus a message. “Are you the one to come, or should we look for another?” “Don’t look for another,” Jesus replied. “I am he.”

The central problematic of the Bible is that we are God’s people, and we fall short, and the just verdict upon us all is punishment. But the central problematic of the Bible is resolved through Jesus Christ, whose life, death, and resurrection proclaim to us that God’s mercy is greater than God’s justice, that God’s love is greater than God’s anger, that God’s victory is greater than our sin, that God is a God first and foremost a God of grace.

And so, we need not run from God. We need not run from ourselves. We need only receive the grace God so freely offers and receive with along with it the peace that passes understanding, peace that we acknowledge this second Sunday in Advent.

Grace and Peace to you all. Amen.

Advent - Snowflakes

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Fri, 26 Nov 2021 19:09:44 GMT

Genesis 6:11-22 Matthew 24:36-44

Snowflakes. If you aren’t connected to a college campus, you probably think that a snowflake is a tiny crystal of snow. If you are connected to a college campus, however, this word takes on new meaning. Snowflakes are students who are as fragile as their namesake. More particularly, Snowflakes are readily traumatized and offended. If a subject is raised, for instance, that involves exploitation, oppression, persecution, discrimination, suffering, violence, or any ism, Snowflakes meltdown.

And that brings us to another word. Trigger. If you aren’t connected to a college campus, you probably think that a Trigger is the mechanism that fires a gun. If you are connected to a college campus, however, this word too takes on new meaning. The meaning relates to Snowflakes. If a professor must raise a subject involving exploitation, oppression, persecution, discrimination, suffering, violence, or any ism -- things that may trigger a Snowflake to meltdown -- they are urged to issue Trigger Warnings so the Snowflake may evacuate the classroom.

In my own experience, Trigger Warnings are not feasible. I teach Bible, after all. Genesis to Revelation would issue in nothing but one unending Trigger Warning. After all, the Bible culminates in the crucifixion of the Son of God. But I would think that the same would hold true for most disciplines - certainly history, certainly literature, certainly biology, certainly psychology.

At any rate, one of the leading public intellectuals of our times is a professor named Jordan B. Peterson. Peterson has become a well known spokesman against Snowflakes and Triggers. His point is that college is meant to prepare students for life, and you don’t prepare students for life by making them weak, cowardly, and avoidant. You don’t prepare them for life by giving them to believe that life is too much for them to handle. You don’t prepare them for life by over-protecting and sheltering them. You don’t prepare them for life by teaching them that the proper response to life is to run, hide, and cower.

You prepare them for life by teaching them what life is, then by fortifying them with time tested convictions that are worth defending, by inspiring them with worthy examples, by encouraging them to assume responsibility for the burden of existence, and by warning them of the historical consequences of fear and ignorance. You prepare them for life by making them strong, courageous, and engaged.

It all makes you wonder why students actually opt not to be rightly prepared in life.

I guess the reasons that students opt not to be rightly prepared in life are the same as the reasons the rest of us opt not to be rightly prepared in life. It’s the course of least resistance. It is not easy to be rightly prepared in life. It’s downright hard to be rightly prepared in life, because it’s hard to do something as opposed to nothing. It’s hard to take action against an unrealized threat. It’s hard to forswear denial for realism. It’s hard to assume personal responsibility as opposed to relying upon others who have done so. We opt not to be rightly prepared in life, in short, because it is easy. But as Jesus teaches, “The way is easy that leads to destruction.”

Because the bottom line is that bad things happen in life. Even privileged people like ourselves are not exempt. Bad things happen in life, and they happen in every way possible.

They can happen to us as individuals; suddenly -- like a diagnosis, or an accident, or an attack. Or they can happen to us as individuals slowly -- like a toxic relationship, or a long and lonely end stage of life, or a debilitating condition.

Bad things can happen to us as individuals both suddenly and slowly; and they can also happen to us as collective people, again suddenly, like 9/11 or slowly, like climate change. Bad things can happen every which way. And if this doesn’t ring true, just wait.

Noah from our gospel lesson is proof of this. In fact, Noah is proof that it can be all of these things at once. The flood would happen to him and his family, and the flood would happen to all humankind. The flood would happen as spontaneously as storms do, but at the same time it would be a long time in coming. Humankind was riding for a fall. After all, “The LORD saw...that every inclination of the thoughts of the human heart was only evil continually.” The Lord does not let this magnitude of evil stand. It may have its day, but its day ceases to be. The Lord issues his judgment upon it. He always has, and he always will.

But Noah was prepared rightly for life. He was prepared for the flood. Yes, it was hard. It would have been easier not to build an ark. It would have been easier not to stock it. That’s what the rest of the world did, after all. But Noah was prepared rightly for life, and he sailed through the flood, and in the process saved humankind from extinction.

But here is the punchline for the first Sunday in Advent. “So it will be with the coming of the Son of Man. So it will be with the coming of the Son of Man.”

As the Son of Man came, the Son of Man will come. He will come to each of us, and he will come to all of us. He will come as he has portended, and he will come in the blink of an eye. Our gospel lesson orders us with great urgency to prepare for the coming of the Son of Man. And you think preparing rightly for life is hard? As hard as it is to prepare rightly for life, it is infinitely harder to prepare rightly for eternal life. Because this means that amidst the reality of life we must too demonstrate faith and righteousness, mercy and forgiveness; self-sacrifice, truthfulness, justice, peace, and for this first Sunday in Advent we too must demonstrate hope. We must be people he will recognize as his own. Amen.

Advent - Two Sides Of A Coin

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Fri, 26 Nov 2021 17:50:55 GMT

Genesis 3:8-12 Matthew 6:5-13

To tell the truth, I do not particularly like to record sermons. Delivering them in person was much more personal and relational. Recording them seems more like a production. But Covid 19 calls the shots these days, and it’s best for me, and for everyone else, to adapt to that reality.

And as I never tire of repeating, there are silver linings to everything. One silver lining to recording sermons is that I can’t tell if no one laughs at my jokes. And speaking of jokes, I’ll share an end-of-the-semester joke I just heard from a colleague of mine at Elmhurst University. I’ve got nothing to risk, after all.

A student sat down before a final examination that consisted of true/false questions. To the professor’s dismay, the student promptly removed a coin from his pocket and started tossing it then marking the answer sheet. His method of answering the questions allowed him to complete his exam before his fellow students. When the professor began to collect the exams at the end of class, the student again got out his coin and began tossing it feverishly. The professor, now thoroughly chagrined, asked the student what in the world he was doing. “Checking my answers,” he said.

Regardless whether you laughed at my joke, it points up an obvious truism. Coins have two sides. But is the truism really so obvious? So often we act as though coins have only one side.

Case in point. There’s one thing we all have in common -- everyone of us. We have all been wronged. We may have been wronged by our parents as children, or as adults for that matter. We may have been wronged by our siblings. We may have been wronged by our friends. We may have been wronged by our spouses. We may have been wronged by our coworkers. We may have been wronged by someone totally random, like a drunk driver or a criminal. Everyone one of us has been wronged -- neglected, abused, insulted, betrayed, harmed, misunderstood, falsely accused, gossiped about, etc., etc.

And we bear wounds from this -- wounds of indignation and outrage, wounds of hurt and sorrow. These wounds are painful, and they’re slow to heal, if they ever do. Because it’s hard to get over being wronged. It’s hard to put it to rest. It’s always lurking just beneath the surface, and surface it does. So we dwell on it; we analyze it, we relive it again and again. But that’s just one side of the coin. Coins have two sides.

Because there’s another thing we all have in common -- every one of us. We have all wronged others. It is harder for us to acknowledge this side of the coin. It makes you wonder why this is. According to the Bible, it’s our nature. Look at Adam, the distillate of us all. “ The woman, whom you gave to be with me, she gave me the fruit, and I ate.” It wasn’t my fault. It was the fault of the woman . And who gave me that woman in the first place? It’s our nature. We evade our guilt. We make excuses for it. We project it onto others. But it’s also our nature to know that it’s our nature, to know deep down that we are guilty.

At the end of the day, we can’t evade it. Not just because deep down we know it, but because to evade it is to evade the words of Jesus Christ, and the words of Jesus Christ in the Sermon on the Mount. Even if you aren’t a Christian, evading the words of Jesus Christ in the Sermon on the Mount is a pretty gutsy move. Regardless of your convictional persuasion, do you really think you know better than him?

Jesus, as we heard in our gospel lesson, was taking on the Pharisees. The Pharisees were the religious elites of Jesus’ day. That’s hard to believe, because to hear Jesus tell it, they actually used to stand on the street corners and pray dramatically as a kind public performance as if to say to passers by, not to mention God, Feast your eyes upon my righteousness ! Of course Jesus took them on.

Jesus then went on to teach his followers how to pray - He taught them The Lord’s Prayer, which we’ve all prayed thousands of times. What about that one line? “ Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.” The word debt has nothing to do with money. The line means, precisely, forgive us for those we have wronged as we forgive those who have wronged us. Jesus knew it. We are wronged by others, and we wrong others. The coin has two sides.

It’s the last Sunday of Advent. You’ve been warned Sunday by Sunday throughout Advent to repent. There’s no escape for it. It’s all over the lectionary. First, we are confronted by apocalyptic images depicting a final judgment as a motivation to repentance. Then we are confronted by John the Baptist. screaming his lungs out on the subject. Then we are confronted by Jesus himself declaring, “... The Kingdom of God has come near. Repent, and believe in the gospel .”

There’s no escape for it, in the last analysis, because it’s the whole burden of Advent. And when we admit to ourselves and then to God that we’ve wronged others, it puts the fact that we have been wronged by others into clearer perspective. It makes us more forgiving of those who wronged us and more regretful for wronging others. And this is the fertile soil for repentance.

And why are repentance and Advent two sides of a coin, so to speak? It is something of a downer after all, and completely antithetical to society’s yearly Advent bombardment - blaring music, glaring lights, and above all crass inducements to consume. It is because to deny repentance it to deny the cross of Jesus Christ. It’s the reason he was born in that manger, after all, to bear his cross, to die for our sin. So to deny repentance is to say to Jesus Christ, “ You might have died for others, but you didn’t die for me.”

A coin has two sides: Good news can be hard news. Amen.

Mother's Day

Mon, 25 Oct 2021 18:26:55 GMT

Luke 11:26-28

On my last trip to our family farm, I was out for a morning run on the beautiful and nearly untraveled country roads that surround it. Suddenly a preternatural howl pierced the air. I stopped dead in my tracks. My blood ran cold. I looked around me and saw nothing. I had no idea whatsoever what to do. As far as I know, there is no manual for what to do when you’re out in the middle of nowhere and a preternatural howl pierces the air. Come to think of it, the only manuals for what to do are for things you can pretty much figure out by yourself. My first response was irrational – “Demonic forces are abroad.” My second response was more in the direction of rationality – “It must have been the scream of a bird high overhead.”

I was about to continue my run when I heard it again. It was just as blood curdling as before, but it sounded slightly less preternatural. It was coming from a declivity to the side of the road. I grabbed a stick to arm myself and peered down. The howl was coming from a cat. It looked like the feline version of the Hound of the Baskervilles. It was scrawny and scraggly and mangy, its face grotesquely contorted as it let out another howl.

Then I saw what it was howling at. A huge raccoon was squared off against it; about a foot separated their faces. As far as I know, there is no manual for what to do when you’re out in the middle of nowhere and you encounter a huge raccoon squared off against a cat. One thing was certain. I couldn’t let nature take its course. The cat didn’t stand a chance. So I thrust my stick in the direction of the raccoon, trusting that it wouldn’t attack me, that my mere human presence would scare it away. But neither the cat nor the raccoon even noticed me, so intent they were with one another. I grabbed some stones and began to pelt the raccoon. After a few good shots, it ran off.

It was then I saw what was really going on. Under the cat there was a litter of three kittens, and a litter newly born. They were in a wet knot, their eyes shut tight. The cat had been driven, no sooner than having given birth, to protect her young. Suddenly, I felt kinship with the cat as a fellow mother. I felt grateful that I had never been driven to protect my young, but noted that if the day should ever come, the preternatural howl is an effective means.

I ran back to the farm for all that I was worth. My mom saw me barreling down the driveway and said, “Nice pace,” she said. “How was your run?” “Oh, unremarkable,” I replied. I didn’t want her to contravene my intentions. I procured a big box, some old towels, and heavy gloves, and jumped in my van. I returned to the fateful spot. There were by this time six kittens. The cat put up no fight as I lifted the new family into the box and relocated it to a safe corner in the barn. That cat and I have become soul mates. I swear she understands that what I did was from one mother to another.

And it’s true enough, really. My instinct as a human mother may be more developed and complex than hers, but our common instinct to protect our children is indeed a biological response that all mothers share. This is not to be reductive about the mystery and miracle of motherhood. It is, rather, to celebrate the mystery and miracle of motherhood as something that inheres in our biological beings.

Oddly enough, Scripture dwells very little on these matters. By deduction one could argue that the Old Testament at least jibes with what I have said about motherhood. The prologue to the book of Genesis declares that God created all that here is; that his creation bears his purposeful wisdom and order; and that it is good. Ergo, this biological mother love, you could call it, is created by God. It bears his purposeful wisdom and order and is good. It is something to acknowledge him for, and to thank and praise him for.

When we turn to the New Testament for its teaching on motherhood, again there is not much to go one. But what’s there is something of a mood wrecker. Recall for instance this morning’s gospel lesson. Jesus was out among the people – teaching, challenging the religious leadership of his day, as he was want to do. A woman in the crowd, called out to him with unbridled enthusiasm, “Blessed is the womb that bore you and the breasts that nursed you.”

But Jesus, in what can only be construed as a rebuff, rejoined, “Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and obey it.” And it is not only here that Jesus had distressingly forceful and seemingly hostile things to say about motherhood. How about these words from the very next chapter of Luke’s gospel, “Do you suppose I came to grant peace on this earth? I tell you no, but rather division. They will be divided – father against son, mother against daughter….”

The New Testament teaching on motherhood may constitute one of the few times that Christians, who in my experience, and to my dismay, seem eager to bypass the Old Testament to get to the New, given the choice would probably opt for the teaching of the Old Testament. But of course, this is Jesus speaking and so we must, as he always put it, have the ears to hear him. So what does Jesus mean by these difficult teachings?

Jesus, rest assured, does not speak as one hostile to motherhood. Jesus in his ministry showed great compassion to mothers. When a widow had lost her only son and his body was being carried from the house, Jesus, deeply moved, comforted her and raised her son from the dead. When a Gentile woman, a woman of a people traditionally hostile to the Jews, begged Jesus to cure her daughter, he did so.

And Jesus clearly loved his own mother. In one of the most poignant passages of the whole New Testament, Jesus, nailed to his cross and seeing his anguished mother at his feet called to his beloved disciple, “Behold your mother.” Jesus, dying, wanted to ensure that his mother would be cared for, and so entrusted her to his beloved disciple. Jesus affirmed motherhood, and he loved his mother.

But there is something that Jesus valued more than any familial tie, and that is the kingdom of God; the kingdom to which he has called us to become citizens. That kingdom first. That kingdom foremost. That kingdom with no prior or higher allegiances. Indeed, that kingdom as the interpreter of all other allegiances. One must not put his hand to the plow and look back. One must not even stop to bury his dead, so urgent and utmost was Jesus’ call to the kingdom of God. And that kingdom is founded upon God’s love – a love that transcends familial ties, a love that shows no preference or partiality; a love that is all encompassing and all embracing – a love that is universal.

Jesus knew the human heart so well. He knew that love such as a mother’s could easily tend toward interest in her own children to the exclusion or at the expense of others. In the zeal of her love, she could make her family the thing in itself -- clannish, self-contained, and closed off – a proud bulwark over against others, rather than the place where her children learn the love of the kingdom of God. It is here that Jesus spoke a cautionary word to mothers.

The Christian mother then will discipline the tendency of her love, the tendency rooted in her biological mother love, so that it is controlled by the love of the kingdom of God. This means that she will strive to raise children who will love not only within the family, but who will reflect the love they have received in the family out to others – out to those who are in such great need of love – the poor, the ailing, the heartbroken, the hopeless, the lonely, and even out to their enemies.

The love of the Christian mother has been created by God at the deepest level of her biological being, but as that love is recreated by the love of the kingdom of God, it is set free to be what love is meant to be and what true love is – that is boundless. As the Christian mother opens her heart to the boundless love of the kingdom of God, she might well be amazed by the depth, breadth, and height of love she finds there, and what can be accomplished for her children and for her world through it. Amen.

Mother's Day - Shoulder the Burden of Existence

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Mon, 18 Oct 2021 11:27:07 GMT

This is a subtitle for your new post

As all we Mothers here know, motherhood can be really taxing. This is because micromanagement can be really taxing, and motherhood necessarily involves micromanagement. Motherhood involves more than micromanagement, of course. Mothers must impart to their children the big picture: convictions -- and the values and morality that arise from them that become the basis for character and integrity. But that’s not at the expense of micromanagement. Our drills are probably similar: Make your bed. Get dressed. Your shirt’s on backward. Finish your breakfast. Take your vitamins. Turn off your screen. Find your shoes. Brush your teeth; wash your hands; comb your hair. Flush the toilet. Let the dog out. Put your homework in your backpack. And all this before 8 am. Before most people have made their coffee, you are ready for a coffee break.

When a mother keeps this up day after day, month after month, year after year, she develops a kind of sixth sense about her children. She knows them better than they know themselves. She knows what they will do before they do it. She knows what they will say before they say it. She knows what mistakes they will make before they make them. Because she’s been there every step of the way. In this way a deep kind of intimacy forms. There are different kinds of intimacy, but one definitely comes of a mother’s micromanagement of her children. Doubtless this applies to other forms of caregiving as well. If you want to achieve intimacy with someone - care for them.

Yes, motherhood can be really taxing, because micromanagement can really be taxing, but that’s not the hardest part about motherhood. The hardest part about motherhood is letting go of the intimacy that forms as a result of it. Because children grow up. And as they do a mother must let them do for themselves as much as they can possibly do. She must give them as much independence as they can possibly handle. She must let them fend for themselves as much as they possibly can. Because a mother must prepare her children to grow up and to shoulder the burden of existence.

Letting go of intimacy is hard enough in and of itself. This is because intimacy is integral to contentment and fulfillment and its loss potentiates loneliness and emptiness, but letting go of intimacy so that children may shoulder the burden of existence? That is all the harder because it involves risk to her children. This goes against a mother’s very biological instinct. A mother’s biological instinct is to protect her children, at all times and at all costs -- with her life if needs be. What mother would not give her life for her children? Keeping them under the wing is not nearly as hard pushing them out of the nest.

But the alternative is worse. I’m no fan of Sigmund Freud, but he did get the Oedipus Complex right. It describes the mother who refuses to allow her children to shoulder the burden of existence. She makes her children weak and dependent and fearful, never fully and rightly formed, because shouldering the burden of existence is required for that. And this, so that she can in one way or another prey upon them.

No, as hard as it may be, she must push them out of the nest, knowing that life can be dangerous and deadly. And it is particularly hard for mothers whose children grow up and shoulder the burden of existence by placing themselves in harm’s way so that the burden of existence may be more bearable for the rest of us - men and women of the armed forces, fire fighters, police officers, international aid workers. As a mother, I can hardly imagine what they must endure. It would be like the full reality of life, from which we can and do largely insulate ourselves, staring you in the face at all times. No, I can hardly imagine it.

But I know someone who could -- someone who could more than imagine it; someone who lived it. She happens to be the most famous mother in the world - Mary, the mother of Jesus.

Mary knew from the even before his birth that there would be something unique about her son, knew that he would be the recipient of special divine favor. And as he grew to manhood he proved it. He spoke God’s truth and enacted God’s power through his miracles. How great must have been her maternal love.

But she didn’t know the fullness of it. She didn’t know that it was his chosen destiny to die on a cross to reconcile God to humanity and humanity to God. She didn’t know because he didn’t tell her. He told his disciples. And a few others discerned it. So why didn’t he tell her? It can only be because he knew it would have been even more agonizing for her if he had. How could she live with such knowledge? Nonetheless she could not escape standing at the foot of his cross, witnessing her beloved son shouldering the burden of existence so that the burden of existence would forever be infused with divine light. Yes, Mary can relate to all mothers and we to her.

My father once took me to see a sculpture by Michelangelo called the Pieta. He told me I might be standing before the greatest sculpture that humankind has ever produced. It depicted Jesus, deposed from his cross, his lifeless body cradled in Mary’s arms. Michelangelo’s technique was flawless -- pure genius, because it’s Michelangelo after all. But I think the reason my father thought the sculpture was so great is because it captured the deepest meaning of motherhood.

You know sometimes, even on this day, especially on this day, we tend to trivialize motherhood. We imbue our mothers with nostalgia and sentiment. And that’s ok. That’s just what happens on holidays. But we must not forget that the deepest meaning of motherhood is found in her self-sacrifice, and as this is the case mothers reflect the face of God out into the world. Rudyard Kipling got it right. He wrote, God could not be everywhere. Therefore he made mothers. Amen.

Eastertide - The Shadow Of The Cross

Sun, 26 Sep 2021 18:27:48 GMT

John 20:19-31

Generation to generation, the various players in the human drama appear and reappear. They were certainly all there in the shadow of the cross.

First, there were Jesus’ disciples – the eleven who were still alive anyway. They, for the most part, were in the far distant shadow of the cross, because when Jesus was arrested, they took their gambit for a bust and scattered to save their own skins. Peter was the only exception. He fashioned himself the first among them and took pride in the fact, so he followed the proceedings from a distance. When someone recognized and questioned him, however, he outright denied Jesus three times, cursing and swearing for good measure.

These are the decent people -- the people with good intentions, the people who make an effort. They know the truth, but they can’t quite go the full distance with it. When there is something at stake for them – something difficult, something costly, something unwanted, something risky -- they retreated back to their safety zones -- be it for a lack of faith or a lack of will power or a lack of courage – probably a measure of all three -- they just can’t overcome their self-interest. We should be able to recognize these people pretty well, since we bear them so close a resemblance -- hopefully, the other players less so, for they are rather less sympathetic.

There were the religious authorities; the ones who demanded Jesus’ execution. They had their pretexts of course -- their rationales and justifications. Jesus had laid claim to divine authority. This was blasphemy, and blasphemy, it was well established, was a capitol offense. Moreover, Jesus was putting them all at risk of Roman reprisal by the sensation he was creating. It could easily be mistaken for an uprising. But none of these were the real reason they demanded his execution. The real reason was their invidious indignation that Jesus had attempted to usurp their authority; worse, that he postured as though his authority preempted their own. He was no religious authority; just the opposite. He was one against whom the religious authorities took aim. For his audacity and effrontery, he would pay with his life.

These differ only in degree from many religious leaders today who think that simply because they are religious leaders, they have a monopoly on God’s truth. They have accordingly assumed the judgment seat, and while they aren’t in the execution business, they are in the exclusion business. If one of those they excluded attempted to turn the tables on them with even a drop of Jesus’ prophetic fury, I assure you there’d be no turning of the other cheek. Quite the contrary. There’d be hell to pay.

Then there were the political functionaries, in particular Pontius Pilate. Somehow, he thought he could wash his hands of his complicity in Jesus’ execution after his form thrust interrogation of the religious authorities, which he did more to satisfy his curiosity than to right a wrong. To be sure, he sensed injustice; but he allowed the wheels of injustice to turn.

These are the bureaucrats, those who elevate the process over the outcome. Something may come along from time to time to attract their notice, but never sufficient for them to overturn the process. The process rolls on and rolls over whatever or whomever is in its way. And so, they become automatons, and like all automatons, ethically dull. If they retain any ethical imperative at all it is one of self-preservation, which merely functions to perpetuate the process.

Then there were the foot soldiers – the Roman Centurions. They nailed him to the cross then hoisted it into place. While he hung there above them, they divided among themselves the clothing they had stripped off of him. As they prepared to divide his tunic, they discovered it was seamless. Rather than compromise its value, they decided to mix business with pleasure and cast lots for it.

These are the enforcers. It’s only natural that they must, to an extent, objectify the victims of their enforcement, but that objectification often goes unchecked, and they grow coarse and brutal, sometimes even sadistic. At the end of the day they can end up more criminal than their victims.

And of course, we can’t forget the crowds. They lined the streets of Jerusalem and hailed Jesus with joyous enthusiasm as their coming king. But days later their enthusiasm took a different tone as they screamed for his execution.

We may recognize these people fairly well too. They are the general public. They stand ever poised to react to whatever comes down the pike. They actually stare eagerly down the pike, because this is where the rubber hits the road for them – reacting to whatever comes down the pike. Ironically, though, their reactions are completely arbitrary. This is because their reactions are not really their own; they are the product of spin doctors or propagandists. But this gives them no cause for concern, no more than a straw is concerned for the wind.

They were all there in the shadow of the cross, the various players of the human drama, acting out their roles with predictable consistency. Yet for all their variety, they had one thing in common. They were all beyond redemption. All of them. What excuse had any of them? While any man hung on a cross above them much less the Son of God? What possible excuse? Ignorance? Stupidity? Indifference? Hypocrisy? Disintegration?

Yet for that matter, what excuse have we – his disciples, the religious leaders, the bureaucrats, the enforcers, the public, and all the rest -- the various players of the human drama who act out our roles with predictable consistency in the shadow of the cross in this generation? What excuses have we? We can only own that we too are beyond redemption.

But the funny thing, or maybe it’s not so funny at all, is that Jesus himself didn’t think so. He didn’t think any of us is beyond redemption. Yes, he cast the shadow of the cross upon all of us, but it was the shadow of his redemption. And why? The answer is very simple. Because like his Father, he loves us. Because like his Father, he forgives us. Because like his Father, he wants us to give us a new life and a new beginning. Because like his Father, he wants to redeem us.

And if that’s hard to believe, look how it played out for the first disciples. A few days after Jesus’ execution they were together again in the upper room. Each would have preferred to be alone in his shame and humiliation, but for their fear. What if Jesus’ executioners would next come after them? There was safety in numbers, so they huddled together in the upper room behind locked doors. They knew darned well they were beyond redemption.

Then Jesus resurrected appeared to them with his old familiar greeting, “Peace be with you.” And he breathed upon them his Holy Spirit. They were then redeemed men who set out to redeem the world. They were new players in the human drama – and so may we be. This is the good news of Eastertide. Amen.

Basic Convictions

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Wed, 15 Sep 2021 11:38:10 GMT

Acts 2:22-24 Matthew 22:35-37

Times have changed in so many ways in the twenty five years since I started teaching Introduction to Biblical Studies.

It used to be that at the start of the very first class I would ask students to introduce themselves to the rest of the class by sharing their majors, their extracurricular activities, their perceptions of the Bible, and their faith backgrounds.

I never ask about their faith backgrounds anymore. As times changed, it struck me that the question assumed that they have, and that they should have, faith backgrounds. Twenty five years ago this was a matter of course. Students readily volunteered that they were Roman Catholic, or Protestant, or Orthodox, or Jewish. On rare occasions students might volunteer that they were agnostic or atheist, but this was no cause for judgment. It was a respectable answer because it denoted that they were thoughtful and questioning when it came to the large questions.

I asked the question in the first place because, innocuously, I wanted to know whom I was addressing so I could cater my lectures accordingly. If my students were preponderantly Roman Catholic, for example, I would elevate the texts that gave rise to the papacy and the veneration of Mary. But, as I said, the question came, through the years, to seem presumptuous.

Nonetheless, it didn’t stop me from liking to know whom I am addressing. So recently, rather than asking about their faith backgrounds, I decided to ask them instead about the basic convictions from which they operate.

The first student responded blankly that he didn’t know. I have noticed that when one student gives an answer, even though it is a thoughtless one, it gives the next student permission to give the same answer. Down they went like dominoes. All the students answered that they didn’t know. Not one knew the basic convictions from which they operated. Now, this, obviously, is not a good thing. But I don’t bring it up to elicit shock and outrage, so that we can commiserate together that the youth today are going to hell in a handbag.

Because I wonder how many adults when asked about the basic convictions from which they operate would answer that they don’t know. I’d wager a lot. I’d wager most. So the bottom line is that it is likely that most of us don’t know what we believe. And since belief is the precondition for action, most of us don’t know why we act. Socrates stated famously that the unexamined life is not worth living. That might be a bit extreme, but surely the unexamined life is a diminished one.

Because if you don’t know the basic convictions from which you operate, you tend to operate by default from impulses and impressions that are small and selfish.

One is, Is it fair to me? Your brother is and always has been down on his luck. He just can’t seem to cut it in life. And your parents give him money! You made the wise choices, and he gets rewarded. Or someone in your department gets a promotion. Admittedly he works hard. Sure, he has good ideas. But you’ve been there longer. Is it fair to me?

Another is, What will others think ? You have always done what was expected of you. You have always kept up appearances. Conventionality and propriety -- those are your bywords. Therefore, you have always, thank heavens, escaped the judgement of others. Then your son out of the blue informs you that he is dropping out of college to live in a yurt and rescue monkeys in the Amazon Rainforest. A noble decision, but you can only think of the disgrace. What will others think?

Another is, Are you on my side against those who have wronged me? Your husband leaves you after long years of marriage. Marriages are complicated things, but you go to a place of generalities that cast you as the victim -- I gave him the best years of my life! A few sentences into every conversation, you quickly segue to a rehearsal of your victimization in order to reinforce bonds and test loyalties. Are you on my side against those who have wronged me?

Yes, absent knowing the basic convictions from which you operate, you tend by default to operate from impulses and impressions that are small and selfish. And who wants to operate from impulses and impressions that are small and selfish? What person of any quality or import ever has?

Think of your exemplars; think of all those you look up to and seek to emulate. Perhaps they are family members. Perhaps they are teachers, coaches, or friends. Or perhaps they are writ larger. Perhaps they are political or spiritual leaders. Perhaps they are war heroes. Can you imagine any of them grousing, Is it fair to me ? Or fretting, What will others think? Or wheedling, Are you on my side against those who have wronged me ? If you could imagine such a thing, they wouldn’t be your exemplars. No doubt they know the basic convictions from which they operate.

At any rate, we are here at church, so let us turn our thoughts to our ultimate exemplar, Jesus Christ. What are the basic convictions from which he operated? To state that he knew them would be to state the obvious. He loved the Lord with all his heart and his soul and his mind. This means that he held fast to God’s truth, to God’s justice, and to God’s love. This means that he extolled mercy and forgiveness. This means that he forswore hypocrisy and hardness of heart. This means that he sought unity and peace across all divides.This means he looked confidently to God’s triumph.

And above all, this means he accepted that by the definite plan and foreknowledge of God he must bear a cross.

Yes, Jesus Christ, our ultimate exemplar, knew the basic convictions from which he operated. But it is not enough to state just this. Because Jesus Christ is more than our ultimate exemplar. We must think of him as such, but we must think of him as more. Jesus Christ was too the Son of God. So the cross he bore by the definite plan and foreknowledge of God was not merely an example of his faith and obedience. It actually changed something. It actually accomplished something.

Because Jesus Christ was the Son of God, it was within his power to carry our sin to his grave; it was within his power to rise triumphant from that grave; it was within his power to bestow his Holy Spirit into our lives. And this means that his Holy Spirit is with us here and now. So when he is the basic conviction from which we operate, he is indeed, fully and literally, the basic conviction from which we operate.

Because we are Christians, the basic convictions from which we operate are the very core of our lives. What’s more, we can carry them to our graves. Amen.

At Least I'm Not That Bad

Wed, 08 Sep 2021 18:27:33 GMT

Jonah 4:1-3 Matthew 4:18-23

As my children can and will attest, I am really bad at parking. I am not sure why. For some reason, for all of my life, I have never been able to park a car. I certainly can’t parallel park. That requires the most skill. Even if I were driving a Volkswagen Beetle, I would never attempt it. That leaves perpendicular and angle parking at which I am equally bad.

My children hate it when I try to park, which is about ten times a day. “Am I going to hit anything? Am I in the space?” I ask them, my voice choked with urgency and stress. My friends hate it when I try to park too. A neighbor and I recently arranged to share a bottle of wine at a local wine boutique. I told her I’d pick her up at 7:00. “No! No!” She insisted. “I’d be happy to drive. Or we could walk.” She offered. “Is it my parking?” I asked. “Yes.” She said. “Is it really that bad?” I asked. “Yes.” She said.

Last week I learned that at least I am not alone in the world. I was walking through a parking lot. I do a lot of walking through parking lots, since I always park far from the store where there are no other cars. Anyway, I was walking through a parking lot, when I discovered a car parked in such a way that it took up four parking spaces. A quarter of the car was in each of the four spaces. It was the worst parking job I had ever seen in my life. I waited around for a bit hoping to chalk up a friendship with the driver. No one showed up. “Oh well,” I said to myself as I made my way to the store, “At least I’m not that bad.” I found them to be consoling words. “At least I’m not that bad.”

When we consider the prophet Jonah from our Old Testament Lesson, we can all say, “At least we’re not that bad.” Because Jonah was the worst. You can’t be as bad as the worst. It’s grammatically impossible.

The Lord called Jonah to prophecy to the Assyrians. Now many of the prophets when the Lord called them to prophecy expressed reservations. Jeremiah springs to mind. “But I’m only a lad,” he protested. Moses springs to mind. “Who am I to go to Pharaoh?” he protested. Hosea springs to mind. “You want me to marry a prostitute?” He protested. But despite their reservations, they at least answered their calls and did the best they could.

Not Jonah. Jonah would have none of it. He had two solid reasons. For one thing, the job of a prophet is not an easy job. Speaking the word of God. In this world? And if you’re any good at your job, it spells persecution, though Jonah didn’t have much to worry about on that score.

For another thing, Jonah really hated the Assyrians. It’s pretty much what defined him - his hatred for the Assyrians. There are all sorts of people who are defined by their hatreds. Think of Neo Nazis. Think of the Klu Klux Klan. Think of the Skinheads. Such was Jonah’s hatred for the Assyrians. So he was not about to answer the Lord’s call and prophesy to the Assyrians, any more than a Neo Nazi would answer the Lord’s call and prophesy to the Jews.

Jonah decided to get out of Dodge. Assyria was East, so he headed west. He hopped on board a cargo ship and was soon sleeping like a baby in the hold. His conscience, it would appear, was at complete rest. But God was not about to let him get away with him. God hurled a mighty storm his way. God calms storms, but he also sends them -- often to wake you up to something you must do, as in Jonah’s case. When his fellow mariners learned that the storm was on Jonah’s account, they threw him overboard.

He should have drowned. Imagine being tossed into the waters of Hurricane Florence. Your chance of survival would be zero. But God, who is a God of unlimited resources, appointed a fish to swallow him and spit him out on dry ground. And God called him a second time to prophecy to the Assyrians. Considering who he was dealing with, God went easy on him. He had but one line to deliver, “Forty days more and Nineveh will be overthrown.” Realizing he had no choice, Jonah held his nose and delivered his line. Lo and behold, the Assyrians repented. And I mean repented. To a man, woman, and child, they covered themselves in sackcloth. They fasted. They wailed. So God decided that Nineveh would not be overthrown.

Then Jonah really showed his colors. His evasion of his call to prophecy was only the tip of the iceberg. He threw a temper tantrum. There’s nothing more unseemly than a grown man throwing a temper tantrum. I witnessed that recently as I was walking through a parking lot. It wasn’t pretty. “How dare you show grace and mercy to the Assyrians!” Jonah shook his fist at God. “How dare you be a God abounding in mercy and steadfast love!” After his temper tantrum he stormed off to sulk. He sat outside Nineveh cursing his fate and hoping that God would change his mind. When it became clear that he wouldn’t, Jonah, fuming, wished he were dead. To describe Jonah as infantile would be an insult to infants.

So, as I said, at least we’re not that bad. We’re not half that bad. What a buffoon that Jonah was. But here’s the point. God worked through him. The Assyrians repented. God made use even of him. And Jonah is not alone. God made use of Joseph’s murderous brothers. God made use of that schemer Jacob. God made use of a talking donkey, for crying out loud. That means God can make use of us. Sinner or saint, God can make use of us. He can make use of us all. It’s what he’s all about, after all -- working through sin to effect redemption.

No one believed this more than one Jesus of Nazareth. He could have picked anyone for his disciples. There were wise men in his day. There were brave men in his day. There were faithful men in his day. Look who he picked instead. Peter and Andrew, a couple of fishermen who were, to put it mildly, rough around the edges. We don’t know much about Andrew. The gospels give us little to go on as far as he is concerned. But Peter. Really? That guy didn’t know when to put a sock in it. He humiliated himself again and again, but it proved no deterrent. Then there was another couple of fishermen -- James and John, the Sons of Thunder. They weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed. After Jesus had spelled it out to them innumerable

times -- “I am here to die” -- right before death they put in a bid for preferential treatment. And then there’s Judas. He couldn’t quite add it up either. He was basically a terrorist who was frustrated that Jesus wouldn’t join the cause. Most of his other disciples, we know only by name. But there’s one thing we know about them all. They deserted him. The best man they had ever known. They deserted him in his hour of need. And God made use of them. Through them the church was founded. Through them Christendom arose. Through them billions of people today have found conviction and meaning and hope.

The Father Almighty, the Creator of Heaven and Earth can work through us - for us and for our world. May we rally to his cause. Amen.

Posthumous Apologies

Tue, 29 Jun 2021 12:52:47 GMT

II Samuel 18:9-15, 24, 32-36 Luke 8:1-12

Given the particulars of my domestic situation, I am not in a position to watch many movies, or at least many movies that are not animated. So that I don’t lose track of all the movies I’ve missed out on, every time a movie is released that I want to see but can’t, it goes on THE MOVIE LIST. Then, when the stars align just right, and I find myself with two hours free, I consult it. Since THE MOVIE LIST is in chronological order, it makes me aware that I am presently six years behind in my movie viewing, but this is down from eight, so my free time must be increasing. Presently, I am watching movies that were released in 2014. Last week, the stars aligned just right, and I watched a movie that you may remember called The Imitation Game.

In case you missed it, it’s about the mathematical genius Alan Turing who cracked the Enigma Machine. The Enigma Machine was an encoding device used by the Germans in World War II, and it was said to be uncrackable. Turing managed to crack it, and in so doing shortened the war by two years and saved more than ten million lives.

It was mind boggling to see his genius in play. I’d wager a mind like his comes along in about one in a million live births. Like most geniuses, he was, by the standard of more mediocre minds, eccentric. He also happened to be homosexual.

I loved everything about the movie. The story. The acting. The period. It was riveting. It was suspenseful. Mostly, it was thought provoking.

As thought provoking as the movie was, however, there was a postscript to it that, to me at least, was even more thought provoking. After the war, a police officer, by sheer happenstance, stumbled upon Turing and gratuitously investigated him. His investigation revealed that Turing was homosexual. Amidst great scandal, Turing was arrested and charged with gross indecency. He was given a choice. Chemical castration or prison. He chose to avoid prison. The chemical castration was so devastating to him that within a year he had killed himself. He had just turned forty. Just before the credits rolled, it was revealed that he was issued a posthumous apology by Queen Elizabeth II.

As I said, the last two minutes of the movie affected me more than the first two hours. There are some things that are so pervasively wrong that it’s unfathomable. After the service Turing rendered Britain -- service he, and he alone, could have rendered and which made him more than a war hero -- Britain turned and destroyed him with flagrant indifference, cruelty, and ignorance.

But what added insult to injury, for me at least, was the posthumous apology. I suppose the argument could be made on the one hand that the posthumous apology set the record straight. On the other hand, it left a bitter taste in my mouth. You kill someone you under the most horrendous and outrageous circumstances and then turn around and apologize after he’s dead? Better not to have killed him in the first place.

Of all that I could have taken away from that movie, what I took away was that posthumous apologies are too be prevented at all costs. To say that they are too little too late is the understatement of the century. Better to govern oneself with wisdom, courage, conviction, justice, and compassion in the first place, as challenging as that may be, which is what we are called to do anyway.

If anyone would have understood this, it was, of all people, King David. King David was a great man, one of the most influential men in human history. There’s no denying that. But he was a bad father, and there’s no denying that either.

As was the kingly custom, David had many wives and hence many children. His first wife bore him his first son who was named Amnon. Another wife bore him a son who was named Absalom and a daughter who was named Tamar. David doted upon his firstborn son Amon. He was the apple of his eye. But David was willfully blind to the fact that Amnon was rotten to the core.

Amnon developed a sexual infatuation with his half-sister Tamar, so he, with premeditation, raped her after which he viciously abused her and cast her out. When Absalom discovered what Amnon had done, he was, understandably, outraged. Aside from the violation itself, Amnon had ruined her life, just as Alan Turing’s life had been ruined. But when David learned of it, he treated it as a case of “boys will be boys.” He declined even to make mention of it to Amnon. He did absolutely nothing.

Absalom’s anger and resentment simmered until it boiled over, and he murdered Amnon. Forced then to flee, he continued to seethe. His father had sanctioned the rape of his own daughter and had turned him into an outcast and a murderer. Driven mad with rage, he raised a standing army and marched on Jerusalem. It’s then that David realized it. It’s then that David realized that he himself was at the root of it. He was to blame. He created Absalom.

He demanded that the rebellion be put down, but issued the order that at all costs Absalom’s life was to be protected. One of David’s generals thought he was being soft, so when he came upon Absalom by some fluke handing from a branch suspended by his hair, he took three spears and planted them in his heart.

"Oh my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would that I had died instead of you! Oh Absalom, my son, my son," cried David in devastation and despair when he learned of it. There it was -- David’s posthumous apology. A lot of good it did Absalom. And it did little more for David. Yes, posthumous apologies are to be prevented at all costs.

Makes you think about whether we will ever have to issue a posthumous apology -- admit our guilt when it’s too late, and the irreparable damage is done. Makes you think about whether there are those we failed to protect because we were too cowardly to take the risk, take the steps necessary. Makes you think about whether there are those we disliked or mistreated not because of anything in them, but because of pettiness or meanness in us. Makes you think about whether there are those with whom we could have been reconciled if only we swallowed our pride and took the first step. Makes you think about those who were bullied or harassed while we stood by. Makes you think about whether there are those we were too hard on. It makes you think. Heaven forbid it that it be the case.

You know, there’s one person we all owe a posthumous apology because, tragically, it’s all that we can give him, and that’s Jesus Christ. We owe him a posthumous apology, though of course he has already forgiven us. That was his promise from the cross, – “Father forgive them. They know not what they do.” But it is his hope that we will “go, and sin no more.” Amen.

Earth Day

Mon, 21 Jun 2021 18:27:58 GMT

Genesis 1:27

In all of my fifty plus years, I have only won one contest. There is a silver lining to this, however. My memory is not cluttered with countless ribbons and trophies and prizes, so I can recall the details of my singular triumph very vividly – as though it were yesterday.

The year was 1966, which put me at seven years old. A few years earlier Rachel Carson had published Silent Spring, and the modern environmental movement had been launched. My school hoped to raise the environmental consciousness of its students by sponsoring a poster contest showcasing environmental themes. I asked my mom if I could enter, and I detected a hint of maternal pride in her budding environmentalist when she said yes.

We went out and purchased a nice big piece of poster board, “Well, Becca,” my mom asked, “do you have ideas?” “Yes,” I replied emphatically, “I know exactly what I want my poster to say.” “What?” she asked, betraying another hint of maternal pride at my pro-activity and determination.

“DON’T BE A LITTER PIG,” I pronounced.

I could see my mother’s maternal pride dissipate just a tad. “Sweetheart”, she said, “That’s litter bug, not litter pig.” “But I want it to say Litter Pig,” I insisted stubbornly. My mother frowned. I’m sure she was thinking that it was not surprising that such a pig-headed child would demand to refer to a litter bug as a litter pig. “Do whatever you want,” she said, and she left the room.

I set to work. Using construction paper, pipe cleaners, glue, and a black marker, I created the ugliest pig ever depicted on poster board. The finishing touch was an angry unibrow above his snout in the shape of a “V.” I surrounded the ugly pig with used tissues, junk food wrappers, and even some cigarette butts from the ash tray. Remember this was 50 years ago. In those days most houses had such things. Then I scrawled my message across the top – “DON’T BE A LITTER PIG.”

When my teacher beheld my entry, I could tell she was aghast. She didn’t exactly call me an aspiring juvenile delinquent, but it’s clear that’s what she was thinking. She sang a different song, though, when two days later my poster bore the blue ribbon. I had brought glory not just to myself, but to my classroom as well. In hindsight, I can only think that the judge must have had a dark side. Or maybe he just felt sorry for the dark horse entry, or perhaps it’s better to say, the dark pig entry.

In the last analysis, I guess the poster contest succeeded in its aim. My consciousness of the modern environmental movement was raised. In the following years, I tried to follow news as best I could as it related to litter, air and water pollution, oil spills, toxic waste dumps, loss of wilderness, and the extinction of species. My mom got me a subscription to National Geographic. By the end of the decade, I was cognizant of the birth of the EPA, and the inauguration of Earth Day. I remember those days as days of hope – of new awareness, new wisdom, and new action on behalf of the environment. We were pointed in the right direction.

Sad to say, nothing came of it. We were pointed in the right direction. It was just as Rachel Carson had written: “We stand now where two roads diverge. But unlike the roads in Robert Frost's familiar poem, they are not equally fair. The road we have long been traveling is deceptively easy, a smooth superhighway on which we progress with great speed, but at its end lies disaster. The other fork of the road -- the one less traveled by -- offers our last, our only chance to reach a destination that assures the preservation of the earth.” We were pointed in the right direction, but we took the wrong one. Today, some fifty years later, not only do the aforementioned problems still exist, there is now a problem that may be added to them, a problem next to which all the aforementioned problems together pale; and that, as you all know, is Climate Change.

Climate Change has raised the stakes regarding the environment. It is no longer just a matter of the mess that’s been created; it’s a matter of survival. An environment so drastically and suddenly altered cannot properly sustain the life within it that has not had the time to adapt to those alterations. In ways we know and in ways we do not know, all life now stands threatened. If we do not act, swiftly, radically, and concertedly, God only knows what the consequence will be. Yet history gives almost no evidence of our capacity to do so. God can only be shaking his head in sorrow. It not as though God has not made amply clear to us what our right relationship with and responsibility to our environment is.

It is born first out of the awareness that God created our environment. It is God’s handiwork. It tells of God’s glory. God affirms it as good. But above all it is God’s and not ours. We are but a part of it -- though a special part. God gave us a special role in our environment, for God created us in his likeness and image. This means God created us able to know him, to be in relationship with him, and to act on his behalf with reference to our environment.

But alas, God also created us subject to sin -- subject to pride, subject to attempt to supplant God and enthrone ourselves in his place, subject to make ourselves the Sovereigns of Creation.

But God didn’t leave us in this place of contradiction. God sent his son to bear our sin. Jesus Christ was the one pride-less man, the one man who did not seek to supplant God, who rather than enthrone himself in God’s place, sacrificed himself in acknowledgement of God’s sovereignty. And he did so as our representative, for our benefit, so that our sin would no longer contradict us, so that we could rightly act on God’s behalf with reference to our environment, so we could take the right direction. And yet, though God has done all this for us, we have still chosen to make ourselves the Sovereigns of Creation, and we see where it has gotten us. We are forced to learn again in our own generation that deicide leads to suicide.

But the choice still exists. Through Jesus Christ our sin still no longer contradicts us. We can still act rightly on God’s behalf with reference to our environment. We can still be, as the apostle Paul put it, the “first fruits of the Spirit” for the sake of a creation which is groaning for redemption.

The modern environment movement may have proven ineffective in one sense, but in another it has not. What started out as a national movement, both here and in other nations, is becoming a global one which is beginning to unify the world. This is because despite all our divisions, it recalls to us all that there is one thing we all share in common -- the planet Earth. We now as a world, confront what has become the vital issue of our time. It’s on all of us and it’s on each of us to act - not to wait for things to get worse, not to wait for others to act first, not to wait for new products, laws, or campaigns -- but to act -- for the sake of the Earth, and for the sake of its creator. Amen.

Easter - Mary Magdalene

Mon, 21 Jun 2021 18:19:41 GMT

John 20:1-18

“Peter said to Jesus, 'Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.’ And so said all the disciples.”

But of course they did deny him. The disciples’ promises to Jesus turned out to be nothing more than tough talk - spoken in the abstract; spoken before the going had gotten rough. Jesus, after all, had not even been arrested yet. The disciples had no inkling that within a day, Jesus would be hanging from a cross. And so, they were full of tough talk. But when the going got rough, they denied him; all of them.

But Jesus was not abandoned entirely. There was another disciple who never left his side. Her name was Mary Magdalene. She stood by him through thick and thin. We know so little of the disciples, really, much less than we would like to know. Why did Mary Magdalene stand by Jesus? Unfortunately, the gospels don’t tell us.

They do tell us that when Mary Magdalene was in a state of spiritual and psychological torment, Jesus healed her. They do tell us that thereafter she followed him. They do tell us that she stood at the foot of his cross and was the first to visit his tomb. But they don’t tell us why. We can only but imagine.

For my part, I imagine the obvious. I imagine she stood by Jesus because she loved him. She loved him as people love their friends. She loved him as people love their deliverers. She loved him as people love their leaders. She loved him as people love their heroes. She loved him as people love their God. And she loved him with an intensity and passion that was unique to her temperament.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning once wrote: "I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise… I love thee with the breath, s miles, tears, of all my life! And, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death."

This is how I imagine Mary Magdalene loved Jesus. It’s no wonder, really, that she stood by him.

While the twelve were hunkered down in hiding, Mary Magdalene stood at the foot of Jesus’ cross. She was with him in his final agony as he cried out his last words to his father and died. And even after his death, she stood by him.

Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus are credited with Jesus’ entombment. They were brave men, and they did what they could for him in the time they had, but time was short. Jesus died on Friday afternoon, and it was necessary that he be entombed before nightfall, for the next day was the Sabbath, a day of rest. Their efforts could only have been harried and makeshift. And so, in the predawn of the day that followed the Sabbath, Mary Magdalene made her way to his tomb to see that Jesus was properly laid to rest.

Her shock and her grief must have been overwhelming. It would have been cold comfort to dress Jesus’ corpse, but cold comfort is better than no comfort at all. It was all she had left of him. When he died her love for him did not die too. Any of us who has lost a loved one knows this.

And so Mary Magdalene arrived at Jesus’ tomb. When she did, to her consternation she discovered that the stone had been rolled away and that his body was missing. She drew the likely kinds of conclusions. Someone had moved his body. It was not Jesus’ tomb, after all; it was Joseph of Arimathea’s. Some regulation was probably in play, or worse, perhaps someone had stolen the body. Jesus had been a controversial figure, after all. His enemies could yet be hatching all kinds of twisted designs. At any rate, his missing body only compounded her grief.

She ran to tell the disciples, but they turned out to be of little help. They rushed to the tomb, confirmed her story, but what were they to do about it? After all, in the last analysis it was only a missing corpse. They returned home. But Mary couldn’t bring herself to leave. Where did she have to go? After a time she looked again in the tomb, and this time she saw two angels. “Woman, why are you weeping?” they asked her. It didn’t add up, of course but with all that she had been through, she was hardly in a position to put two and two together.

But then, Jesus himself confronted her and asked the same question, “Woman why are you weeping?” By now it definitely should have begun to add up. She loved Jesus, dare I venture, more than any of his other disciples. She had been seeking after him. He now stood directly before her. But she mistook him for a gardener. Jesus finally put an end to her confusion. “Mary!” he cried. And at last she recognized him.

But how could it be that she did not recognize him? How could it possibly be? The answer is that she had been seeking after a dead man. In fact, all the gospel writers make plain that she had been seeking after a dead man. “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” declares the gospel of Luke. “I know that you are looking for the Jesus who was crucified,” declares the gospel of Matthew.

And the reason that the gospel writers make this plain is that they knew their readers would be prone to make the same error, that we ourselves would be prone to make the same error. Do we not ourselves seek after a dead man and so not recognize him? Do we not seek after a man who lived in Palestine some 2,000 years ago - a great man, an inspiring man, a man we admire more than any other and one we seek to emulate - a healer, a teacher, a prophet, who sacrificed his life for his cause? But by the same token, a man of history, not a man of the present day.

Or worse, do we not seek after a man who has been embalmed in the rites and rituals of the church? But what a tragic error this is! What the gospel writers want to make plain is that Jesus is not a dead man. If we seek after a dead man we will not recognize him. What the gospel writers want to make plain is that Jesus is alive, and eternally alive.

This means we should seek him where he lives – and where he told us he would be - among those who struggle for justice, those who are persecuted for righteousness, those who sacrifice for the cause of love; among the outcast, the destitute, the lost, and the sorrowful. And we should seek him knowing that his cause has proved to be victorious, and our strivings in his name are tinged with that victory. And when we recognize him, again by his word, we will have found the way, the truth, and the light. Amen.

Palm Sunday - Beneficiaries

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Mon, 24 May 2021 17:58:56 GMT

Matthew 21:1-11

We are all beneficiaries of the sacrifice of others. But then, we know this. We have certainly heard it enough. It’s built right into the calendar to make sure we do hear it. Take Memorial Day for instance. Or Holy Week for that matter. These occasions exist in large part in order that we hear that we are the beneficiaries of the sacrifice of others.

This was even the case way back in David’s day. We heard about it in our Old Testament Lesson. David at the time was not yet king. His predecessor Saul was king. Or at least Saul had been king. Saul had just been killed -- he along with his three sons -- on the field of battle. And as war is grizzly, so was Saul’s demise. His sons died first, and he was left alone badly wounded with his enemies descending upon him. So rather than allow his enemies to get their hands on him in his exigency and vulnerability, Saul fell on his sword. It was a kind death compared to what his enemies would have done to him.

When David got word of it, he wrote a lament. We don’t think of David as a great literary figure. This is because the language in which he wrote, Hebrew, is very difficult to translate into English. But a great literary figure he was. And that’s an understatement. He is comparable to Shakespeare. Quote any psalm, and I’ll bet David wrote it. The Lord is my Shepard? That’s David. So David wrote a lament to be intoned by the people year by year. How the might have fallen. Your glory, O Israel lies slain upon your high places. How the mighty have fallen. David was founding an occasion whereby the people would hear that they were the beneficiaries of the sacrifice of others. Yes, we know that we are the beneficiaries of the sacrifice of others, because we’ve heard it, and it’s been known and heard down the centuries.

But have we really heard it? Have we heard it the way that we’re meant to hear it? So that it is written indelibly on our hearts? So that it changes us, makes us better people, makes us more grateful and humble and selfless and aware. So that day by day we try to live up to their sacrifice?

I love miniseries. I have loved them since Brideshead Revisited came out in 1981. That’s the year I graduated from college, 40 years ago. I have been on the lookout for good ones since then. I recently googled the best miniseries of all time, and the answer was Band of Brothers. I’ve been watching it these last weeks. I highly recommend it if you haven’t seen it. It tells the true story of a corps of paratroopers who entered WWII on D Day. It follows them to the end of the war. Many things struck me about it, but what struck me most was that that particular sacrifice of which we are beneficiaries was made largely by very young men. Teenagers who were the age of my girls.

And the reality they confronted beggars all expression. They were never comfortable. They were never safe. They were never without fear. They were under continuous fire or bombardment. If they weren’t hit themselves, they saw their comrades hit. They dragged those comrades with their limbs torn off from the battle field. They held them as they died in shrieking agony. And not just one time. This was day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. Band of Brothers made me hear that we are the beneficiaries of the sacrifices of others like we’re meant to hear it.

But probably more often than not, we don’t hear it like we’re meant to hear it. It goes in one ear and out the other, like all the other rote phrases we are meant to internalize. Jesus knew this would be the case. This is why he was always calling out, Let anyone with the ears to hear, Listen! He wanted the people hear it as they were meant to hear it. But in his case, it did him no good. Even his disciples failed him.

It was immediately prior to Palm Sunday. Jesus took his disciples aside. He wanted them to hear that he was about to make a sacrifice of which they and they would be the beneficiaries. He wanted them to hear it like they were meant to hear it. See, he told them, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and scribes, and they will condemn him to death; then they will hand him over to the Gentiles to be mocked and flogged and crucified...” But they didn’t hear it like they were meant to hear it. Just the opposite, they turned a deaf ear.

Palm Sunday arrived, and Jesus entered Jerusalem on the back of a donkey, the same kind of animal that David rode. Crowds lined the streets, the disciples front and center. How they cheered! How they waved palm branches! And why? It was because they took him for a latter-day David who would throw off the Roman yoke and make the remnant of Israel into a great and mighty nation. The disciples, despite Jesus express warning, had no inkling that Jesus had come to Jerusalem to make a sacrifice of which they would be the beneficiaries. That’s why when he made that sacrifice they acquitted themselves so horribly, with the denials and betrayals and abandonment and panic.

It is Palm Sunday. We are on the cusp of Holy Week, the most sacred week of the year. Not much is expected of us, relatively speaking. We are not the young men of World War II. We are not Jesus of Nazareth going to his cross.

All that is expected of us is that we hear the way we are meant to hear that we are the beneficiaries of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. We are to hear as we are meant to hear all that he suffered from that sacrifice -- his tears at Gethsemane where he begged his Father to find another way, his abandonment by his disciples after his arrest, his farce of a trial by his own people, his betrayal by his best friend, his flogging by the Romans, his crucifixion, his cry of dereliction when he could bear his agony no longer. And we are to hear as we were meant to hear all that we received from that.sacrifice – mercy, forgiveness, courage, meaning, purpose, hope, new life, eternal life with him.

So hear this. Really hear this. We are the beneficiaries of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Mental Illness

Fri, 07 May 2021 18:19:52 GMT

Matthew 17:14-20

Apparently, there’s been a pendulum swing once again in the way primary schools are teaching mathematics. The good old fashioned, tried and true, common sense way that I grew up on is out. They are back to applied mathematics. It’s clear from the questions my son asks me when he is doing his homework. “How many dimes are in a dollar?” “Where are the dice?” “How many eggs are in a dozen?” “ How do I divide a pizza into quarters?”

This past week the question was, “What’s a trio?” You know, I said. “Like The Three Magi.” He gave me a blank stare. “The three what?” He asked. “Never mind”. I said. More evidence that my biblical illustrations are not for everyone. “How about The Three Stooges?” I proposed. Another blank stare. “What’s a stooge?” He asked. “Never mind that either.” I said. “How about The Three Musketeers?” I ventured. This made a trio of blank stares. What’s more, he began to get frustrated. “Ok, I got this,” I said, rising to the occasion. “The Three Little Pigs. The Three Bears. The Three Billy Goats Gruff.” I was finally on a roll. “Oh, I get it. It’s a group of three.” “Exactly!” I exclaimed.

Come to think of it, there’s another trio from the Bible that springs to mind -- the alien, the orphan, and the widow. In fact, this is the most prevalent trio in the Old Testament; the reason being, that according to the Old Testament, the alien, the orphan, and the widow are the three groups most vulnerable to social injustice.

It’s not hard to see why. Aliens are those who are forced by one pressure or another from their homeland. Then and now, wherever they seem to go, they are unwelcome. They are feared. They are suspected. They are resented. They are blamed. They are scapegoated. Vulnerable to social injustice.

And then there are widows. Back in the biblical era there was no such thing as an Oprah Winfrey or a Condoleeza Rice -- powerful and successful women making it on their own. Women back in the biblical era were wholly dependent upon men to survive. This is why the loss of a husband was often catastrophic for a woman. A widow had no means of support or protection. Vulnerable to social injustice.

And finally, orphans. Orphans need little explanation. Orphans are children whose families have either died or abandoned them, leaving them all alone to fend for themselves in life. Enough said. Vulnerable to social injustice.

So the Old Testament again and again offers this trio as the three groups most vulnerable to social injustice. Look out for them, the Old Testament demands. Intercede for them. Protect them. Care for them.

When we take the New Testament into account, the trio could well become a quartet, because Jesus adds one more group to the alien, the orphan, and the widow. Jesus adds the mentally ill.

Consider our Gospel Lesson. Jesus exorcised a demon from a young boy. A demon? But this is because in the biblical era, diseases that caused delusions, hysteria, mania, paranoia, hallucinations, depression, psychosis, and fits -- in other words mental illness -- were deemed to have been caused by demons. Treatment reflected this. Holes were drilled into skulls so that the demons could escape. The bottom line is when Jesus exorcised the boy’s demon, he was healing his mental illness.

And it wasn’t just here that Jesus exorcised a demon. Jesus exorcised demons more than he did anything else. As he made his way throughout Galilee, he encountered two who were demon possessed living among the tombs, then he encountered one who was demon possessed who was too mute, then he encountered one who was demon possessed who was both deaf and mute, then he encountered the demon possessed daughter of a Canaanite woman. He healed them all. He then commissioned his disciples to go out and do the same. This is because just as the Old Testament apprehended the vulnerability of the alien, the widow, and the orphan, Jesus apprehended the vulnerability of the mentally ill.

Yes, the mentally ill are vulnerable -- doubly vulnerable in fact. There is the vulnerability rendered by the disease itself -- the impairment of behavior and perception and personality. But too, there is the vulnerability rendered by the way mental illness has been “treated,” and treated down through history. There have been countless books written about historical treatments for mental illness. I’ve read as many as I can. I have loved ones who are mentally ill, so I am always seeking knowledge. Those who had holes drilled in their heads were the lucky ones. I will spare you the details of a book I read recently about treatment for mental illness in the Medieval Period. Although things have scarcely improved with time. I recently read another book about treatment for mental illness in the twentieth century. In hospitals and institutions, under the guise of science, treatment included being chained, starved, beaten, imprisoned, electrocuted, sterilized, experimented on, isolated, lobotomized, and murdered. It makes you wonder if those who imposed such treatments were not more mentally ill than their victims. And all this because they were afflicted by a disease, a disease over which they had no control or responsibility.

Yes, Jesus apprehended the vulnerability of the mentally ill, and this means we must too. The question then becomes, once we apprehend their vulnerability, what can we do? There are steps we can take. Personally, we can continue to raise our consciousness and the consciousness of those around us. We can enter into the struggle of the mentally ill people in our lives - regardless how messy it gets or how pointless it seems. As Shakespeare said, “Where there’s life there’s hope.” We can offer our support to those who are struggling with the mentally ill people in their lives.

As a church, we have recently entered into an alliance with the Fox River Valley Initiative which is organizing a coalition of local churches to press for legislation that provides treatment centers for the mentally ill which aim to keep them off the streets and out of the prisons, where so many end up.

There are indeed steps we can take. But is it enough? No of course not. It’s not enough. Especially considering it from a historical perspective. Especially considering the mentally ill down through the centuries and the barbaric treatments they endured. No and no again. It’s not enough.

But that’s ok. Because we are Christians. This means we are called to embrace the lost cause. We are called to fight the losing battle. We are called to the exercise in futility. Because in truth there are no lost causes or losing battles or exercises in futility. Every effort we make on behalf of Jesus Christ reflects his ultimate victory out into the world. We must never lose sight of this fact, or lose faith in it. And all those who have suffered and died the insane ravages of mentally illness are, through him, free from their disease and eternally restored to who God created them to be. May God bless the mentally ill, and may God bless our efforts on their behalf. Amen.

The Mystery Man

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Tue, 27 Apr 2021 19:08:04 GMT

Jonah 1:1-10 Mark 14:43-52

Who is that mysterious man? The one at the end of the account that I just read.

Jesus had just been betrayed by Judas and arrested by an armed mob. Utter chaos ensued. The bystanders had no idea what was happening, much less what they should do.

One bystander assumed that the armed mob was on the wrong side of the law. It looked to him like an innocent man was about to be lynched. (In fact, an innocent man was about to be lynched, but the armed mob was on the right side of the law, at least the letter of the law.) At any rate, the bystander drew his sword then drew some blood. He wanted to fight it out, like they did in the Old West.

Jesus stepped in and quelled the mounting pandemonium. He addressed himself to the armed mob. “Why all your self-important drama? If you wanted to lay your hands on me, you know I’m to be found in the Temple every day. Why the middle of the night? Why your torches and weapons and rough housing? But go ahead. Do what you came to do.” To the ears of the twelve, this sounded like Jesus was acquiescing to the legitimacy of his own arrest. They panicked, fearing for their safety, thinking they could be next. They scattered as fast as they could.

Enter the mystery man. The armed mob assumed he was a disciple too, since he appeared to have been following Jesus. This one they wouldn’t let get away. So they grabbed him. But he wiggled out of his cloak and ran off. So who is that mystery man?

The account doesn’t tell us, but it does give us three clues about him. Number one is that he was wearing a linen cloak. Linen was very expensive and prestigious in those days, and so he had money enough to buy status symbols. We can conclude from this that he was rich. Number two is that he was young. So we can guess at his type. Plenty of his type around today. He was likely something of a hot shot. And number three, he ran away.

Now running away is generally frowned upon. Granted, there are times when it’s the best course, like if a maniac is chasing you with a butcher knife or if you find yourself in the path of molten lava. But generally it’s frowned upon. It is deemed an act of cowardice. It is deemed an act of evasion. It is deemed an act of avoidance. It is deemed an act of denial. It is deemed an act of disobedience. It was certainly not to the disciples’ credit. Especially after they, a few hours earlier, all averred with Peter that they would die with him rather than deny him.

Come to think of it, it wasn’t to Jonah’s credit either. God had called him to prophesy. Now prophesy wasn’t and isn’t an easy gig. You have to speak God’s word to those who don’t have the ears to hear it. So the prophets were generally unpopular and often persecuted. But on the other hand, the prophets have gone down in history for that difficult gig. They fulfilled a great commission given them by God. People who fulfill great commissions given them by anyone tend to go down in history, but even more so if it’s a great commission given them by God. So it would be worth it. Not to Jonah. He ran away. The Lord didn’t let him get away with it though. We all know about his tenure in the belly of the giant fish.

But to return to the mystery man. He was rich. He was young. And he ran away. Not much to go on. So who is he?

Scholars puzzle over the question. In the last analysis, they don’t know. But I think I do. In fact, I am positive. He’s Mark, the writer of the gospel. It’s not unprecedented in the Bible for authors to make anonymous appearances in their works, and I’m sure that’s what is happening here. It’s Mark. Mark when he was a rich young man who ran away. But why then would Mark make an anonymous appearance in his gospel? The answer is not far in seeking. He did it so he could remind himself who he once was, and who he was now. He was, after all, the author of the very first gospel.

And there’s more to it than that. Mark wrote the very first gospel amidst the first persecution of the Christianity. In the year 64 C.E, Roman emperor Nero sought to expand his palatial complex and rebuild parts of Rome. So he set fire to Rome and scapegoated the Christians for it. This paved the way for their persecution. And it was as terrible as can be imagined. Christians were roundly thrown to the dogs, crucified, and burned alive. Both Paul and Peter were martyred during the persecution. It was amidst this persecution that Mark wrote his gospel. The original leaders of the church were dying. It was up to him. And so, as Christianity faced the threat of being stamped out, he assumed great personal risk to preserve it. Even if Nero killed them all, the gospel might live on. Mark became a very great Christian.

Bottom line: I guess you could say that Mark made an anonymous appearance in his gospel to illustrate that as a rich young man who ran away, God was not finished with him yet.

And what an important concept and reminder for us, that God’s not finished with us either. We are all works in progress, growing and developing into increasingly mature Christians. When I think of my “rich young man who ran away” period; when I think of some of the attitudes I held and things I did as a young woman, it makes me want to wince. Thank God he wasn’t finished with me yet, and thank God he still isn’t.

He uses all the blessings of our lives – our parents, our children, our church, our good deeds and examples, those who have sacrificed for us, to hone and groom us into who he created us to be. And in like manner he uses our curses -- uses our bad decisions, our setbacks, our failures, our losses, our fears. God is patient, and God is present, and God does not give up on us.

But there’s something else to consider. If he’s not finished with us, he’s not finished with others either. More to the point, he’s not finished with people you don’t like and who don’t like you -- the annoying neighbor, the exasperating coworker, the clueless relative, etc. This is precisely why Jesus instructed us to pray for our enemies and persecutors. And in fact, rather than let them get under your skin, this is a good way to think of them. God’s not finished with them yet. He’s working in them the same way he’s working in you.

In fact, there’s only one person in all of history that none of this applies to. Of course, it’s Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ with his perfect faith, his perfect love…And this is precisely why God is working in us: to conform us to his image. Amen.

Billy

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Wed, 21 Apr 2021 12:42:05 GMT

Amos 6:4-7 I Corinthians 13 Matthew 5:42-48

My son Nathan, when he was four or five, had an invisible friend. The name of his invisible friend was Billy. I never considered Nathan to be a particularly imaginative child, but when it came to Billy he was indeed a particularly imaginative child. When I was reading the Harry Potter series, I was continuously amazed that JK Rowling wrote a whole new world into existence. How did she come up with it? Where did it come from? So it was with Nathan and his invisible friend Billy.

“Where are you going?” I’d ask Nathan as he headed out the back door. “Out to play with Billy. Didn’t you hear him knock?’ “Oh, sorry, I didn’t,” I played along. “The dishwasher is running.” He’d come back in after an hour or two.” “Billy’s mom came over to get him,” he’d explain, “He had to go home.”

Billy even had a dog. The dog’s name was, oddly enough, Trollnot. How Nathan came up with the name Trollnot is beyond my reckoning.

I have to admit that when Billy first came into Nathan’s life, I found myself a bit concerned. This was before the Internet, but I did some old school research on the subject. It turns out my concerns were unfounded. Invisible friends are not harmful for children, just the opposite. They are beneficial. Make believe, fantasy - these things are good for children. Hence the enduring popularity of fairy tales. Above all, my research taught me that one must never deny the existence of the invisible friend. That would be to crush a child’s dreams.

But as Nathan and Billy’s relationship dragged on, to tell the truth it started to give me the creeps. Nathan came in one day and said Billy couldn’t play because he was in trouble with his mom. “What happened?” I asked. “He ran over Trollnot with his bike,” he explained. “On purpose,” he added, giving me a knowing look, as though we were in on a secret about Billy’s dark side. I was stunned. I was aghast. I was speechless. “Is Trollnot ok?” I managed to stammer. “No, he is not,” Nathan said. He said no more, and I didn’t ask. To this day I don’t know if Billy killed Trollnot or not. After that, I must admit, I wanted to deep six Billy. But I didn’t know how. It turned out I didn’t have to. Nathan deep sixed him himself.

One day Nathan’s uncle came by. He has been hearing about Billy for quite some time, but apparently I forgot to send him the memo that Billy was invisible. “How’s Billy?” he asked Nathan. “Billy’s dead.” Nate replied flatly. Nathan’s uncle was devastated. Tears welled in his eyes. “How did it happen?” he choked out. I took him aside and explained to him that Billy was invisible. “What???” he said, teetering between relief and outrage. It was Nathan’s way of finally putting Billy to rest, so to speak. Billy was dead. Nathan had outgrown him.

Billy. Nathan’s invisible friend. Billy wasn’t real, of course. But can we conclude from this that all things that are invisible aren’t real? No, we can’t. Clearly, some things that are invisible are not real. Like Billy. But some things that are invisible are very real. Like faith. Like hope. Like love. At least the apostle Paul writes as though they are. So some things that are invisible are real. One must consider the question case by case, I suppose.

Here’s something else invisible that is real -- the sins of omission. I’m sure you know them: It’s when you need to say something, but you don’t. It’s when you need to act, but you don’t. It’s when you need to make a decision, but you don’t. It’s when you need to bestow forgiveness, but you don’t. It’s what you need to share, but you don’t. It’s when you need to risk, but your don’t. It’s when you need to right a wrong, but you don’t. It’s when you need to affect justice, but you don’t.

And the sins of omission are particularly insidious precisely because we are tempted to think that because they are invisible they aren’t real. But they are real. They are the real result of denial, avoidance, laziness, apathy, cluelessness, and fear.

Let me give you an example of just how real they are. It hits uncomfortably close to home because it’s born of my own experience. Now I thought I had the sins of omission covered. I realize that even though they are invisible they are real, after all. That’s the first step. Most people don’t realize this. So I thought I had them covered. No room for improvement here!

There’s a very young woman who begs at a street light near where I live. And when I say very young, she looks to be about fifteen. She carries a cardboard sign that says she is homeless. Now there are various views on giving to beggars, but I always give to beggars.

People say they are probably not really homeless. But I don’t care if they’re not really homeless. They are still begging in the street. That’s not what you do when all is well. But this girl is definitely homeless. Her hair is matted. Her face is a dusky red that bespeaks exposure to the elements. Her hands are coarse, covered with cuts and scrapes, and filthy gray.

People say too that it funds their vices, but I don’t care if it funds their vices. Let’s admit it. We fund our own vices. Her vices might be all she has.

But mostly I give to beggars because it is Jesus’ express command to do so, and his express command to do so in the Sermon on the Mount. Always err of the side of the express command of Jesus over your own view.

I saw her last week, but I had no money. I should have known that she would be at that light, but of all the things I remember to prioritize, I failed to prioritize her. I gave her money if I happened to have it, then forgot about her. “Oh well, I will get her next time,” I thought with a pang of guilt. But then my conscience kicked in. “Not good enough,” my conscience imparted. So I drove to the bank and took about a number of twenty dollar bills, so I’d have some in store, and made a note to do so again in a few weeks. I drove back to the light and gave her a twenty with a note paperclipped to it that read, “Here’s my phone number. Call me anytime.” She called me that night. And I vowed then and there not to turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to those who are, to say the least, down on their luck. Because it’s a sin of omission.

I can think of something else that is invisible and real. The past. So let’s visit the past of Amos’ day. Apparently the sins of omission are timeless, for they abounded in his day. In our Old Testament Lesson Amos depicts the idle rich, and what a picture it is. They lounged on beds of ivory. Let that sink in. Ivory. They drank fine wine. They adorned themselves. They strummed on their harps. And that’s about all they did.

Outside their windows injustice and the misery that attends it abounded - debtor prisons jammed to the gills, due process under the law denied to the powerless, the poor victimized by the wealthy. The idle rich didn’t care. Their fellow humans all around them needed help and needed it desperately, but they didn’t care. They were enjoying their lives. But God was not enjoying their lives.

We are Christians. That means we believe that just as the people of Amos day have done, one day we will have to give an account of our lives - for the things we did, and for the things we did not. Let us do what we can and should and must. Amen.

Maundy Thursday

Fri, 26 Mar 2021 18:27:25 GMT

Ephesians 5:1-3 Acts 3:1-8 John 13:1-6

As newly called conscripts, Jesus’ disciples made up a decidedly ragtag corps.

Jesus’ first conscripts were Peter and his brother Andrew. Peter and Andrew were, as we all know, fishermen. It’s safe to conclude that Peter was the dominant brother. Peter was always the one to take the lead. He was always the first to speak up. And he was always right at Jesus’ side. In fact, for many key parts of Jesus’ ministry, Andrew was nowhere to be found. He was probably sick of being in Peter’s shadow all the time. No doubt he had been there his whole life long.

Jesus’ next conscripts were James and his brother John. Again, they were fishermen. James and John were nicknamed the Sons of Thunder. They must have been fishermen with attitudes. And their attitudes toward Peter and Andrew could only have been competitive. How could it be otherwise? Two sets of brothers? Both sets fishermen? One set nicknamed the Sons of Thunder? And in fact, James and John were known for being competitive. They once took Jesus aside and requested the number two and number three positions in whatever it was that Jesus was hatching. They weren’t even sure exactly what it was, but they were sure that they deserved to have higher positions than the others.

Jesus’ next conscript was Matthew. Matthew was not, thank heavens, a fisherman. Had he been a fisherman, it would have complexified group dynamics beyond confusion. Matthew was, rather, a toll collector. This, in fact, would have clarified group dynamics. The four fishermen now had a common enemy. Toll collectors were collaborators with Rome. Not only did they collect tolls from the peoples Rome occupied to pay for their use of Roman roads, but they were notorious for overcharging then skimming off the top. Where there is money, of course, corruption is in the wings. The fishermen may have had their personality flaws – birth order issues, delusions of grandeur, and the like -- but at least they were not traitors and thieves.

No doubt the plot thickened with the conscript Judas. Judas was a zealot. You could say that zealots were the opposite of toll collectors. Toll collectors were collaborationists. Zealots were insurrectionists. Zealots opposed Roman occupation with fanatical and violent zeal – hence the name zealot. Their modus operandi was guerrilla warfare. They were known to have mingled among crowds with daggers concealed in their cloaks with which they stabbed Roman sympathizers. This definitely discouraged Roman sympathizers. Rome, in turn, invented the crucifix to discourage Zealots. You can imagine the dynamics between Matthew the collaborationist and Judas the rebel - not exactly kissing cousins.

And then there were the rest of the conscripts – Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, James, the son of Alphaeus, Thaddaeus, and Simon. Not much is written about them, because there was probably not much to write. We could presume them to be slackers. All Thomas is known for, for example, is his doubt.

Yes, the newly called conscripts made up a decidedly ragtag corps. It’s a wonder they could be in the same room together. As far as I can make out, they had but one thing in common. They all hoped to get something out of Jesus. They had taken a risk in reporting for duty, albeit not much of one. They didn’t have that much to lose. A toll collector? A zealot? A quartet of fishermen? A handful of slackers? They definitely had more to gain than to lose. But none the less they had taken a risk in reporting for duty. None of them were quite sure what Jesus was establishing, but he was establishing something, and in taking a risk in reporting for duty, they had staked their claim.

And now it was payoff time. Jesus was finally getting down to brass tacks. He had made a name for himself throughout all the land through his provocative words and works. He had processed into Jerusalem to public accolades. He had captured the interest of every Jew in the city. The momentum made it certain. The disciples would now receive what they hoped to get out of Jesus. Visions danced in their heads – the fishermen, of prestigious appointments; the toll collector, of money; the zealot, of the overthrow of Rome; the slackers, of sinecures. Jesus had gathered them all together in one room. Their eyes were fixed on him with anticipation. And what did Jesus do? He washed their feet.

Peter, true to his personality, would have none of it. That was a servant’s job, and a servant’s most menial job - to wash feet caked with sweat and dirt and dust. Peter sat stupefied with horror as Jesus took off his outer robe and kneeled down before him, “Lord are you’re going to wash my feet?” he cried in dismay. Jesus persevered, saying, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” Jesus tried to impress upon his disciples again and again that even in their incomprehension they must trust him, but it was always for naught, as it was now. Peter declared defiantly, “You will never wash my feet.” But Jesus was not to be dissuaded. “Unless I wash your feet, you have no share in me.” Jesus was now threatening to disown Peter, and this was not lost on him. He repented immediately, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” But Jesus’ intention was not to be altered. And so, he washed their feet.

And when he had finished, he attempted to explain why he had done so. “If I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. I have set an example that you should do as I have done to you.” So that was it? That was what they were going to get out of Jesus? Jesus was nothing more than a servant, and they were expected to be the servants of a servant? There’s only one way it could have been any worse. They could have been expected to be the servants of a servant of a servant.

Had they had time to consider the matter, they would have surely decided to pack it in. First thing in the morning, it would have been back to the nets, back to the toll booth, back to schemes to overthrow Rome, back to the slacking. But they hadn’t time to consider the matter. Before the next day dawned Jesus was arrested by his enemies, and the chain of events was set in motion that would lead to his execution.

All this renders downright inexplicable that some few weeks later, Peter and John, no longer ragtag in any sense of the word, now in perfect harmony of purpose, were about the streets of Jerusalem healing in Jesus’ name. For instance, they encountered a crippled beggar at the gates of the temple, that same temple that Jesus had lately cleansed. Peter declared to him, “I have no silver or gold, but what I have I give you, in the name of Jesus Christ, stand up and walk.” And he did.

And not only were they healing in Jesus’ name, they had taken up Jesus’ cause over against his enemies. And when Jesus’ enemies began to persecute the disciples as they had Jesus, Peter with perfect courage of conviction, proclaimed, “If we are questioned because of a good deed done to someone who was sick…let be known to all of you, that this man is standing before you in good health by the name of Jesus Christ, whom you crucified, but whom God raised from death…. ‘the stone that was rejected by the builder, has become the corner stone.’ There is salvation in no one else.”

The disciples had become servants of the servant - and with no hesitation, reluctance, trepidation, or equivocation. Just the opposite, in fact. They were sure. They were enthusiastic. They were fearless. They were convicted. And so, what did the disciples come to learn between then and now?

They came to learn the qualitative difference between what they wanted to get out of Jesus and what Jesus wanted to get out of them. What they wanted to get out of Jesus was in service to themselves. It was, therefore, selfish. And it was worthless, really, of no real value or substance. It would live with them so long as they lived, and then it would die with them.

But what Jesus wanted to get out of them was service to humankind in his way of redemption. It was, therefore, selfless. And it was worthy, of real value and substance. And, yes, it would live with them so long as they lived, but it would never die, just as he never died. It was just like he had taught. It was a treasure hidden in a field which someone found and, in his joy went and sold all he had to buy that field. It was the one pearl of great value who someone sold all he had to buy.

And learning the qualitative difference between what they wanted to get out of Jesus and what Jesus wanted to get out of them, learning the qualitative difference between service to themselves and service to humankind in his way of redemption made all the difference in their lives.

And it makes all the difference in our lives as well. Friends, he conscripts us too to be servants of the servant; and so, “Be imitators of Christ, and live in love, as Christ loves us and gave himself up for us…” Amen.

Palm Sunday

Thu, 25 Mar 2021 18:27:22 GMT

Mark 11:1-11

Today is Palm Sunday, so called because when Jesus entered Jerusalem for the first (and the last) time, crowds lined the streets and waved palms in celebration. But “Palm Sunday” is not at all descriptive of the underlying reality of the event. It’s just some arbitrary free association with the event, by dint of the fact that there were palms there. In that vein, it could just as well be called Donkey Sunday or Cloaks Sunday. There was a donkey there, and there were cloaks. If the event were named properly - if it were named for its underlying reality - it would be called, “A Case of Mistaken Identity.”

It would be so called because crowds lined the streets and waved palms in celebration because they thought they were honoring a Davidic King who had come to recreate a Davidic Kingdom. It was a simple and obvious and clear-cut case of mistaken identity. Of course, Jesus was not to blame for it. He made it perfectly clear from the get-go that he was not a Davidic King who had come to recreate a Davidic Kingdom. Think back to the words that inaugurated his ministry: “Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God and saying, ‘The time is fulfilled, the Kingdom of God has come near…’” The Kingdom of God, not the Kingdom of David.

And as Jesus, early in his ministry, began to teach, his teaching focused exclusively upon the Kingdom of God: “The Kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground…and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how…” Or, “The Kingdom of God …is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds; yet…becomes the greatest of all shrubs…” Or, “The Kingdom of God is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.” Or, “The Kingdom of God is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.” The Kingdom of God, not the Kingdom of David.

And later in Jesus’ ministry, in his various exchanges, all of his references pointed to the Kingdom of God: “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the Kingdom of God.” Or, “It is better for you to enter the Kingdom of God with one eye than to have two eyes and to be thrown into hell.” Or, “Let the dead bury the dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the Kingdom of God.” The Kingdom of God, not the Kingdom of David. Yes, Jesus made it perfectly clear from the get-go that he was not a Davidic King who had come to recreate a Davidic Kingdom.

And furthermore, wouldn’t you think that if Jesus had uttered not one word about the Kingdom of David, and so many about the Kingdom of God; and if the Kingdom of God seemed totally incongruent with the Kingdom of David, that someone might have sought clarification on the matter? “Hey Jesus, what’s this Kingdom of God you’re on about?” ‘Hey Jesus, this Kingdom of God isn’t adding up.” “Hey, Jesus, what am I missing, here?”

This is especially true of his disciples. They were with him day by day -- moment by moment, even. Again, wouldn’t you think if his disciples had heard not one word about the Kingdom of David and so many about the Kingdom of God, and if the Kingdom of God seemed utterly incongruent with the Kingdom of David that they might have sought clarification on the matter? But not only did they not seek clarification on the matter, they willfully ignored Jesus on the matter again and again and again. Recall our lectionary text from last week.

It was immediately prior to Palm Sunday. Jesus took his disciples aside. He wanted to make crystal clear to them that he was not a Davidic King who had come to recreate a Davidic Kingdom, so he said to them: ”See, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and scribes, and they will condemn him to death; then they will hand him over to the Gentiles to be mocked and flogged and crucified...” This indeed makes it crystal clear. How could Jesus be a David King come to recreate a Davidic Kingdom if here were dead?

And the upshot of this impartation to his disciples? Immediately after Palm Sunday, at which crowds, the disciples front and center, honored Jesus as a Davidic King who had come to recreate a Davidic Kingdom, James and John approached Jesus privately. Since they assumed that he was a Davidic King come to recreate a Davidic Kingdom, they wanted to get their bid in first. “Teacher,” they said, “We want you to do for us whatever we ask of you,” they requested craftily. “What is it you want me to do for you?” Jesus replied. “Grant us to sit one at your right side, one at your left when you come into your glory.” They were seeking for themselves positions of preeminence in the Davidic Kingdom they thought Jesus had come to recreate. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” Jesus responded.

The bottom line: Palm Sunday should have been called “A Case of Mistaken Identity.” It should have been so called because it is the example par excellence that everyone, and I mean everyone, mistook Jesus’ identity. Everyone, and I mean everyone, thought he was a Davidic King who had come to recreate a Davidic Kingdom.

And how must Jesus have felt on Palm Sunday as the crowds lined the streets to honor a Davidic King who had come to recreate a Davidic Kingdom? How must Jesus have felt about this case of mistaken identity? He must have felt frustration. He must have felt consternation. He must have felt futility. He must have felt defeat – for these are some of the by-products of having felt misunderstood.

This is easy enough for us to imagine. We only need to imagine how someone would feel today if their identity was mistaken. Imagine the case of a parent and a child. A child, say a son, is shy, introspective, socially awkward – the kind of child who marches to the beat of a different drummer, the kind of child destined to be a late bloomer. But a parent mistakes his identity. A parent mistakes him for an alpha-male – an athlete and a straight “A” student, who will be a towering success when he grows up. How does it make the child feel? He’s lucky if he is sufficiently conscious to feel merely misunderstood. Likely he won’t put the pieces together for years, for now he just feels like he can’t measure up; he feels the pressure, and he feels inadequate and unhappy.

Or imagine the case of a marriage. A young couple settles into married life – like most young couples -- filled with vague hopes and dreams, not knowing, really what lay ahead. But the wife mistakes her husband’s identity. She mistakes him for her father, whom she’s idolized and enshrined all her life. Dynamics set in that are strange to him - like an agenda is being imposed upon him, like there are blind or undisclosed expectations that he is supposed to conform to. How does that make him feel? He feels misunderstood.

Yes, we can imagine from our own experience how someone would feel, and so how Jesus felt when his identity was mistaken. It’s an obvious point, really. He felt misunderstood, and, another obvious point - misunderstanding undermines relationship, destroys it even, in time, as it did in Jesus’ case, as he hung from his cross. And so, what a wasteful travesty; what a wasteful tragedy, when we repeat this error in our day, when we mistake anyone’s identity, much less the identity of Jesus. Jesus was not a Davidic King who came to recreate a Davidic kingdom or a worldly kingdom of any kind. Jesus came to found a whole new kind of kingdom, the Kingdom of God - the kingdom that calls God’s people to the transformation of worldly kingdoms through justice, through peace, and through love.

Maybe it’s true that we all see just what we want to see. May it be our prayer this Palm Sunday, then, that what we want to see is the Kingdom of God, founded by his son and our savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

Thanksgiving - Mustard Seeds

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Sun, 14 Mar 2021 21:45:46 GMT

Mark 4:30-34

Christianity is, as you doubtless know, the largest of the world’s religions. There are just under two and a half billion Christians in the world today which constitutes just under one third of the world population.

Did you ever really think about how Christianity got its start? We could all cite rotely that Christianity got its start through the disciples, but did you ever really think about it?

Because the disciples were nothing to write home about. We don’t know much about them, but what we do know is scarcely impressive. The most prominent of the disciples -- Peter, Andrew, James, and John were random fishermen. Levi was a random toll collector. We don’t know what the rest of them did or where they came from. They all have one thing in common though. They were all random picks.

Now if you went into a crowd and picked a person randomly, the odds are that that person would lack formation. That’s because most people lack formation. It’s always been this way. The prophet Hosea railed against it in the eighth century B.C.E.

Having formation of one kind or another is a good thing. Some people have formation around personality theory. They are interested in personalities. They are in touch with their personality and the personalities of those around them. It gives them something to go on, a way to perceive, to analyze, to understand. Some people have formation around psychology. They are interested in consciousness or lack thereof. They are in touch with the workings of the mind and its effect on behavior. Again, it gives them something to go on, a way to perceive, to analyze, to understand. There are countless ways to have formation -- the military, athletics, boy scouts….The highest and best kind of formation is religious formation, where people lay claim to ultimate convictions which shape the way they act in the world. Yes, having some formation of one kind or another is a good thing.

The opposite holds true too. Having no formation of any kind is a bad thing. Those who have no formation don’t know what they are about. They have no interpretive lens. They have little in the way of a moral compass. They are easily swayed by popular culture or the doings of those around them. And they are terrible in a time of crisis. They have nothing to fall back on.

The disciples were short on formation. This explains why they were how they were. For example, Jesus once sat them down and imparted to them expressly that his death was imminent, imparted to them further that his death would be nothing less than a vicarious atonement for human sin. Now if someone, and someone of authority, someone you respected, said that to you, don’t you think you’d at least give it some consideration? The minute Jesus’ back was turned they began bickering about who among them was the greatest. And this was not the exception. This was the rule. Read the crucifixion accounts. First, Peter swore by his life that even if the whole world denied Jesus, he never would. The next thing you know he denied him three times. The other disciples probably would have done the same, but they had all run away, all except Judas who hung himself.

Christianity got its start through such as these. Admittedly, they got a bump from the apostle Paul. Paul was a total genius. But that personality! Long on eruptions, short on self-control. If you really think about how Christianity got its start, it’s downright surprising. There’s one person though who wouldn’t be surprised -- Jesus Christ.

“The Kingdom of God is like a grain of mustard seed,” he taught, “which a man took, and sowed in his field; which indeed is smaller than all seeds. But when it is grown, it is greater than the herbs, and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and lodge in its branches.”

Jesus Christ wouldn’t be surprised. He wouldn’t be surprised at all. He foresaw that Christianity would get its start in this way. So he wouldn’t be surprised either that religious liberty got its start in this country through the Pilgrims. Sometimes we lose sight of the real story behind Thanksgiving. We get caught up in the family, the football, the feast. We might summon to our mind’s eye a glimpse of the pilgrims alongside the Native Americans celebrating the first Thanksgiving, but the real story behind Thanksgiving has to do with religious liberty. Imagine if we were forbidden to practice our religion. Imagine if in doing so we risked imprisonment or torture or execution. This was the Pilgrim’s reality. So they did a dangerous and desperate thing. They set sail for an unknown land in search of religious liberty. I’ve seen a replica of the Mayflower. The words seaworthy did not spring to mind. I was afraid to board it at dock. And indeed the vessel was not equal to the journey. It was cramped. It was cold. It was wet. It pitched and lunged. And it took nearly three months. By the time Plymouth Rock was sighted, most of the Pilgrims were ill, and it was November. Winter was fast upon them.

That first winter was devastating to the Pilgrims. It was particularly long and harsh, and the Pilgrims, weakened and inexperienced, were not equal to it. Even if they had been strong and experienced, they would not have been equal to it. How could they possibly construct a settlement and store up food for the imminent winter? The answer is they couldn’t. In fact, during that first winter, most of them died. By the spring they numbered somewhere in the forties. That’s all that remained of them. Yet that first Thanksgiving they exercised their religious liberty and gave thanks to God for their survival. Those forty odd souls were the mustard seeds of religious liberty in this country.

No, Jesus would not have been surprised. Jesus believed in mustard seeds. He wanted us to believe in them too. He wanted us to believe that, in ways we could never begin to imagine and in ways we will never live to see, our faithful efforts will one day yield a massive harvest. As hard as it may be to believe, he really wanted us to believe it, precisely so we would make those faithful efforts, precisely so they would yield that harvest.

Speaking of formation, my father had lots of it. Religious formation was his middle name. One of the good things about having formation, is you can pass it on to others. He passed his onto me. Throughout my entire life, when I came to him for advice, he would find a relevant passage of Scripture. He would read it to me. And then he could ask me a single question. Do you believe this?

For example, after I began the adoption process for my first child, I got cold feet. Worry overtook me. It was a big commitment, and a commitment come what may. Could I handle it? Could I afford it? And what about that trip? I came to my dad for advice. He opened his Bible and read to me these words. “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life…. But seek first the Kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all else will be given to you. Do you believe this?” He asked. “Yes,” I answered.

Jesus said, “The Kingdom of God is like a grain of mustard seed.” Do you believe this? Amen.

The Chaos That Confronts Us

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Sat, 20 Feb 2021 17:28:58 GMT

Genesis 1 Colossians 1:15-19 Luke 8:22-25

Genesis One. The Six Day Creation Account. You must have read it or heard it read a hundred times. But did you ever stop to think just what it was that God created?

On day one God enlightened some kind of primordial waters. Now this is hard to conceptualize. Try to imagine that there exists nothing but waters, nothing else at all. Now try to imagine that they are pitch black. Keep trying to imagine. Imagine that suddenly, they are made translucent with light, like a shallow bay in the tropics, whose waters are bright and shining. This is what God created on the first day. But there still existed nothing but waters.

On day two God inserted amidst the waters what you could envision as a dome that functioned as a kind of forcefield to hold the waters at bay. As a result there came into being the sky and the seas.

On day three dry land dry land in all its variety -- plains, hills, mountains, deserts, jutted up from the waters, and on it, vegetation in all its variety-- grass, trees, shrubs, flowers. And it was vegetation with seed, so vegetation that would perpetually bedeck the dry land.

Things were starting to take shape. From here, God needed merely to refine what he had thus far created.

On day four he refined the light, by creating the sun and moon for days and nights, and the stars for plotting the seasons. On day five he refined the sky and the seas by making them team with birds of the sky and fish of the sea. On day six he refined the dry land by filling it with all manners of beasts.

And further, on day six, God created humankind in his image. Of all his creation, humankind alone is deemed to have been created in his image. A great distinction, but a great enigma. What does it mean, exactly? How is humankind unique amidst all creation with regard to God? Humankind alone was created with God’s image writ within it, so that it could know him.

So there it stands. Genesis One. The Six Day Creation Account. But to return to the original question. Did you ever stop to think just what it was that God created? He created a cosmos that we can recognize, albeit not one scientifically accurate. But how could it be scientifically accurate? That would be anachronistic. It was written in the sixth century BCE, an even 2,000 years before the advent of science. God created the cosmos as the ancients understood it. Had this been written in this day, God would have created the cosmos as we understand it, according to The Big Bang Theory.

But far more significant than what God created is how God created it. God created it by imposing order on chaos, by attenuating the chaos day by day, until what was once chaos now stood as order.

So the bottom line is this. Imposing order on chaos is a divine act. Here is where we may find application for our own lives. For there has been no shortage of chaos this past year. We could practically entitle this past year: 2020, The Year of Non-Stop Chaos.

First and foremost, there was the chaos from Covid 19. All serious diseases create chaos. I remember the day when my father came home from the doctor. He was exactly my age at the time. He had been experiencing some symptoms, but nothing too serious. We can relate to that. We experience symptoms from time to time. We give it some time; live with it a while, see if it will pass. But if it doesn’t, we head to the doctor to get a diagnosis and a pill to pop. His diagnosis was stage four cancer with metastatic disease. There was no pill to pop for that. And chaos was created. Every illusion that we held of permanency and security was shattered. Every hope that we had for the future was dashed. Every sense we had of our self-identities was obliterated . All gone in the blink of an eye. So Covid 19 has created like chaos for those who were afflicted by it, and for their loved ones.

But that was just the start of it, because of the ripple effect. Chaos was created for doctors and nurses and other health care professionals. Chaos was created for all front line workers. Chaos was created for the educational system - teachers, students, administrators, and parents. Chaos was created for endless sectors of businesses - travel, tourism, restaurants, and theaters. Chaos was created for those who found themselves suddenly unemployed.

And Covid 19 wasn’t even the end of it. Unrelated civic disorder created chaos - a tumultuous presidential election, riotous protests from the left and right, exploding gun violence in major cities. So yes, there has been no shortage of chaos this past year.

And all of this was but layers upon the chaos that is created in everyday life - the loss that afflicts us, the betrayal that afflicts us, the unfairness that afflicts us, the abuse that afflicts us, the conflict that afflicts us.

But if you think about it, in an unwelcome way, in the past year we all shared something in common. We all tumbled together into the primordial waters. But God has shown us the way out. We must impose order on that chaos, and so create -- not the old order, mind you. That’s not the way it works. The old order is gone forever. When the old order descends into chaos, it can’t be replicated. That would be too easy. That would give us some clear direction. We must impose order on chaos and so create something new.

But there is more to be said. The fullness of it has yet to be mentioned. That fullness has to do with Jesus Christ. You know it kills me that so many scholars love to dress Jesus Christ down. Of course they are magnanimous enough to toss him a bone. They give him credit for being a prophet, a champion of social justice, or a fount of wisdom. But there is one thing standing in the way of their cogitations. It’s called the New Testament. The New Testament makes cosmic claims for Jesus Christ. And it’s not that tough to glean. He calmed the chaotic waters, after all.

God imposed order on chaos and so created the cosmos. And God in Jesus Christ took flesh to bring the cosmos to its highest expression. As we look to impose order on the chaos that confronts us, we must look to him. In him all things hold together. Amen.

Prayer

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Thu, 11 Feb 2021 20:50:25 GMT

I Samuel 1:3-11 Mark 14:32-52

This may be a terrible thing for a pastor to admit, but I often feel like my prayers just don’t cut the mustard.

For example, I tend to pray when I am needy or worried or scared; in other words, when I want something from God. So I begin to pray in this way, Please God, I need your help. But then I catch myself mid-prayer. I am sorry, God, to put you to the test. That was a bad prayer. Let me begin again. So I next begin to pray in this way, Please God, make me a more godly person -- make me more Christlike . But then I catch myself mid-prayer again. Sorry God, that was another false start. I am asking you to do the work. I need to do the work. I need to make myself more Christlike. That was another bad prayer. Let me begin once again. So I play it safe and pray The Lord’s prayer, thinking that I can’t go wrong with The Lord’s Prayer. But it feels wrong. It feels like I prayed it as a cop out because my more personal prayers were such poor performances. Then I give up. I figure at this point the Lord who neither slumbers nor sleeps is slumbering and sleeping. Do you see why I often feel like my prayers just don’t cut the mustard?

But even if I spoke, in Paul’s words, with the tongues of angels, as if God needs my prayers in the first place! God who spoke the cosmos into being, who set the stars in space. What does he need with my prayers? The prophet Isaiah declared that our righteous deeds are like filthy rags. Now the prophets could be somewhat hyperbolic, fixed as they were on sin, but even if our righteous deeds were something better than filthy rags, it can’t be denied that next to God we are less than specs. What does God need with the prayers we who are less than specs?

Misery loves company. Hannah’s prayers just didn’t cut the mustard either. O God, she prayed desperately and beseechingly, Give me a male child! Hannah, as we heard, was barren. And so she prayed for a child. But she prayed for a male child. This is because male children were prize possessions. They were of great value to their mothers. For one thing, they brought prestige. And the more male children you had, the more prestige they brought. For another, they provided future protection. Husbands provided present protection, but husbands often did not live long in biblical times. Future protection lay with sons. So she wanted a male child for prestige and protection. She didn’t pray for a female child. She didn’t want a female child. They were deemed the result of the mother’s failure, and so the source of embarrassment and disappointment. So it was a bad prayer. It was a “give me what I want for selfish reasons” kind of prayer.

But what of her promise to make her male child a Nazirite? That seems noble. Nazirites were those whose lives were consecrated and devoted to God’s service. But no. It was not to her credit. She was basically bartering with God. You give me what I want God, and I will give you what you want. You go first.

But, you may be thinking, I am too hard on poor Hannah. She was the product of her time, after all. I have thought a great deal about the products of their time. I am fixed on them, as a matter of fact. This is derived from my obsession with the novel Gone with the Wind. I listen to the Audible again and again after the fashion of painting the Golden Gate Bridge. No sooner do I end, then I begin again. All the characters of that novel were products of their time. Scarlet O’Hara was the product of her time. Melanie Wilkes was the product of her time. They upheld slavery. The North raised their consciousness that slavery was a great evil -- an evil great enough to wage a Civil War over it. You’d think they might at least give the matter some thought. But they hated the North for undermining their right to enslave. They lionized and idealized the Confederate cause. So is it ever an excuse to be the product of your time? In every age there have been people who knew better than to be the products of their time. Harriet Tubman was the product of her time too. So Hannah can’t be excused as the product of her time. It was a bad prayer.

So, I pray insufficient prayers. Hannah prayed insufficient prayers. Probably you do too. How could we not? But here’s the thing. In truth it does not matter. Because every time we pray to God we affirm his sovereignty. Prayer is the affirmation of the sovereignty of God. That’s what God wants from us. This, the Bible declares this from first to last. God wants us to affirm his sovereignty.

Surely Christ would understand all of this, as he understands all things. Think of Christ at the Garden of Gethsemane. His death squarely before him, and it was to be a slow and agonizing death. He was devastated. He was terrified. And he was alone. His disciples were fast asleep after he begged for their company to provide what cold comfort it could. Let this cup pass from me! He prayed. He had prepared to die. He knew that outcome awaited him. But now it was no longer an abstraction. It was at hand. His spirit was willing, but his flesh was weak. Let this cup pass from me! He prayed. But then, Thy will be done. An insufficient prayer then the most sufficient prayer ever prayed for it was the greatest affirmation of God’s sovereignty ever made.

Perhaps here then is the resolution to my feeling that my prayers just don’t cut the mustard. Perhaps here is the answer. If we end all our stuttering and rambling attempts at prayer, as did Christ, with the words Thy will be done. Our prayers will become sufficient and will lead us into ever deepening faith and obedience. Amen.

Anfectung

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Sun, 31 Jan 2021 15:04:27 GMT

Job 1:13-22 John 16:25-33

I spoke over the summer about my late friend Dean. My dad was his good and great friend for over fifty years, and when my dad died, I stood in for my dad as best as I could until Dean’s death this past spring.

Dean was no slouch intellectually. He earned an undergraduate degree in theology from Northwestern University and graduate degrees in theology from Yale University. So Dean knew his theology, but his true gift was as a wordsmith. He ended up in the perfect job. He was an editor at the theological journal The Christian Century , a position he held for sixty years.

Dean was not someone you would be keen to play Scrabble with, unless you liked to lose. My dad and I could hold our own with him, but when the Scrabble game came out at Thanksgiving, everyone else left the room.

1972 may not seem like a significant year for you, but it is in my family. 1972 is the year the game Boggle came out. Dean brought Boggle to Thanksgiving that year. Boggle allowed him to up his game, because in Scrabble you are limited to 7 letters. In Boggle your letters are unlimited. You can spell as long a word as you can.

A few months before he died, Dean was in a rehabilitation facility, and we were playing Boggle in the Recreation Room. A man asked if he could join us. “You really don’t want to do that,” I said. “This man may look innocuous, but he is not. He is as deadly as a shark. Trust me.” “I’ll take my chances,” he said, with naïve confidence.

The first word Dean spelled was Anfectung. “Nice one!” I said. “Wait a minute,” the man said. “What in the world is Anfectung?” It sounds foreign. “It’s German,” I said, “but it passed into English untranslated so in my opinion he gets credit.” “But what is it?” He persisted. “It’s when it feels like Satan is pummeling you,” I said. Dean continued, “The word was made famous by Martin Luther. It refers to times of spiritual affliction and trial and terror and despair.” At that point the man said he was throwing in the towel. “I told you he was deadly as a shark,” I called out after him.

Anfectung. I guess it’s an insider’s word. But it’s not an insider’s experience. It’s when life hits us; and hits us hard. It’s when we feel crushed under our burdens. It’s when we feel we can’t go on. It’s when we lose loved ones. It’s when we lose jobs. It’s when we develop health problems. It’s when we have accidents. It’s when we find ourselves mired in dysfunction relationships. It’s when we find ourselves in financial trouble. It’s when we learn we have been betrayed. It’s when we wake up in the middle of the night awash with existential dread -- thinking of all the bad things we’ve done; thinking of all the suffering and injustice and misery and violence have wracked existence. It’s when we fear death.

At any rate, the Bible gets Antectung. The Bible is not superficial. It doesn’t present us with fake people living fake lives. It presents us with real people with real lives living real lives. And this means it presents us with Anfectung.

Think about Job. The thing about Job is that he was a really good person. He had no bad karma. We tend to have this idea that if you’re a really good person, life will reward you. That’s the way it should be anyway. Such was not the case with Job. His servants were murdered and his livestock stolen when marauders fell upon them. Directly thereafter, he lost all ten of his children when their house collapsed on them. But that was not the end for Job. He fell victim to a horrendous wasting disease that covered him with weeping sores. To make matters even worse, his friends turned on him and said he really must not have been a good person all along, for God to visit all these afflictions upon him. “Let the day perish in which I was born! Why did I not die at birth, come forth from the womb and expire?” He cried out.

And then there is Paul. Truth be told, he was not as good a person as Job. In his early years he persecuted the nascent church, presiding proudly over the stoning of Stephan. But he turned his life around after he encountered the risen Christ along the road to Damascus. I guess it’s truer to say that Christ turned his life around. At any rate, he put his past behind him. And that’s when his troubles began. He was whipped, beaten with rods, stoned, jailed, and eventually executed. And Job and Paul aren’t isolated examples. God himself demanded that Abraham sacrifice his beloved son. Imagine how you’d feel in the wake of that demand.

David’s beloved son was murdered by his own general -- that after David had begged his general to protect him. Jeremiah was persecuted non stop over the course of fifty years. And what about Jesus for crying out loud? The Son of God. The one person in all of history who should have been loved and respected and honored and obeyed. The one person in all history who actually deserved to be worshiped. No, the Bible gets Anfectung.

And speaking of Jesus, in the morning’s gospel lesson, his death lay squarely before him. He, however, was more concerned for his disciples than himself. I suppose we can relate to this. As a parent a large part of the reason I hold life so dear is for the sake of my children. At least for now, they need me. I am irreplaceable to them. I couldn’t bear them to grieve my loss then navigate life without me. So Jesus tried one last time to do what he could for his disciples. He gave them twin assurances, first bad news and then good. The bad news: You will have tribulations. They come with life. You will have tribulations. But then the good news. I have already conquered the world. I have already conquered the world.

And on his cross he experienced the full gamut of Anfectung. Betrayal. Desertion. Injustice. Pain. Cruelty. Suffering. Loneliness. Desolation. And in his resurrection he overcame them for our sake, so that we can too, starting now and stretching into eternity. He has already conquered the world.

And he continued. When we believe this. When we really believe it -- in our hearts and in our minds and in our souls, then amidst our tribulation we will experience the peace that passes understanding.

Everyone should read C.S. Lewis. He is perhaps the greatest Christian apologist of the twentieth century. He was writing a letter to a dear friend who was dying a death that was particularly painful. Not surprisingly she experienced Anfectung. This is what Lewis wrote to her:

“Pain is terrible, but surely you need not have fear as well? Can you not see death as the friend and deliverer? It means stripping off that body which is tormenting you: like taking off a hair shirt or getting out of a dungeon. What is there to be afraid of? …. Has this world been so kind to you that you should leave it with regret? There are better things ahead than any we leave behind. Remember, though we struggle against things because we are afraid of them, it is the other way round—we get afraid because we struggle. Are you struggling, resisting? Don’t you think Our Lord says to you ‘Peace, child, peace. Relax. Let go. Underneath are the everlasting arms. Let go, I will catch you. Do you trust me so little?’"

Friends in Christ, do not trust him so little. Trust him much. Amen.

Cain and Christ

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Mon, 25 Jan 2021 19:28:25 GMT

Genesis 4:1-16 Hebrews 12:1-3 Matthew 5:21-26

A boss has an employee. He gives his employee an assignment - nothing overly difficult or complicated. Just the opposite, something fairly straightforward and routine. When the boss assesses his employee’s effort, he is not impressed. His effort, in fact, has been careless and inept. The assignment will have to be redone.

Now the productivity of the day is undermined. The assignment will have to be redone. This means the boss must take time from what he is doing to confront the employee and supervise him as he redoes what he should have done right in the first place. This makes the boss, understandably, frustrated and angry. He hired the employee and is paying the employee, after all, to help him not to hinder him.

And so he has it out with the employee. “There’s no excuse for this kind of slipshod work. You’ve wasted your time and mine. If you want to succeed around here, don’t let it happen again.”

The employee now finds himself at a critical juncture. He can do one of two things. As mortified and humiliated as he is, he can say to himself, “The boss is right. I have been called out on this kind of thing before. I need to examine my character to discover where I am falling short. I need to do better in the future, so this doesn’t happen again, and so I can succeed.” He can, in short, accept responsibility and improve himself and his performance.

Or he can do what he does do. As mortified and humiliated as he is, he can say to himself, “I hate my boss. If I could I would punch him in the face. What does this stupid assignment matter anyway? What does any of it matter? More proof that life stinks, as though I need more proof. Everyone treats me like dirt.” And he glowers and broods.

And it doesn’t end there. His mood does not improve. It won’t until he’s had a few drinks. His commute home is marked with road rage. He screams out the car window and blasts his horn. When he gets home, he’s still looking for someone to take it out on, so he kicks the dog and snarls at his wife.

His whole life, it seems to him, has been a chronicle of offenses and outrages. Being has not treated him well, so he has turned against being. He wants to wreak vengeance upon it.

I have just described a modern day counterpart to Cain. Being did not treat Cain well either. The story provides no chronicle of his own offenses and outrages, but the story does tell us about his big brother Abel. Abel was, simply put, a great guy, a real role model - earnest, conscientious, competent, and reliable. Some people just seem to be born that way.

We are all born with varying sets of givens. Some of us are born optimistic, some pessimistic. Some of us are born active, some passive. Some of us are born outgoing, some quiet. Some of us are born flexible, some stubborn. Some of us are born likeable, some not. Cain seemed to have been born with the short end of every stick.

Of course, he could have handled things differently. He could have named and accepted his reality. He could have come to terms with the fact that he had more to overcome, that things wouldn’t come easily to him. He could have struggled a bit more, worked a bit harder. He could have found some niche suitable to him. He could even have looked up to Abel, as everyone else did.

But instead, like his modern counterpart, he turned against being. The focus of his enmity was his brother, the embodiment of all that he was not. And when God demanded of both of them a sacrifice - it proved to be the trigger. Abel’s sacrifice was accepted, and Cain’s was rejected. Abel succeeded, and Cain failed. And it was God making the judgment. What better proof of the reality of the situation? Cain’s thoughts turned murderous. God knew it. So God issued him a dire warning.

Why is it that when we are the weakest, we need the most strength? Why is it that when we are the blindest, we need the most sight? Why is it that when we are the most vulnerable, we need the most power? “Master it.” God warned him. “Master it, and you’ll do something greater than your brother will ever do.” Instead, Cain wreaked vengeance upon being. Abel’s blood soaked the ground.

As jarring as this story may be, it should not be wholly unfamiliar to us. Cain is our spiritual ancestor after all. We are related to him. How reflexively our anger flares. How reflexively we feel the urge to retaliate. How reflexively we curse our fate. To some degree, at least, he’s in us all, and that means he’s all around us.

Thank God there’s a better way. There’s the way of Jesus Christ. If there's one thing Jesus taught us, it is that no matter how badly being treats us, we must never turn against it. We must always, at all times, every day and with every breath, affirm the ultimate goodness of being. We must affirm it, and we must strive to enact that goodness. That is nothing less than our entire business in this, “common mortal life.”

This was the meaning of the cross, after all, or at least one of its meanings. The meaning of the cross is inexhaustible, but if it means anything, it means this. On the cross Jesus bore being at its absolute nadir. Betrayal, brutality, injustice, cowardice, cruelty, all in the face of his righteousness. He bore all that , because he was affirming and enacting the ultimate goodness of being.

Moreover, it’s what he tried to teach before he bore his cross. Think of the Sermon on the Mount. And I mean it. Think of the Sermon on the Mount. Think of it a lot. Because it’s the greatest teaching of the greatest man. And what did Jesus teach in the Sermon on the Mount?

Don’t be Cain. Anger is bad. It’s the way of Cain. Put it to rest. The objectification of others is bad. It’s the way of Cain. Put it to rest. Dishonesty of all kinds, and this includes above all self-deception, is bad. It’s the way of Cain. Put it to rest. Retaliation is bad. It’s the way of Cain. Put it to rest. Don’t ever lose sight of God’s righteousness. Pursue that righteousness. And you will become righteous.

And how is it that Jesus could affirm the ultimate goodness of being The answer is easy. It’s because he had faith in this father, who is too our father.

So it’s our choice, as it was Cain’s. Sin lurks at our door, yet we may master it, for Jesus Christ is the pioneer and perfecter of our faith. Amen.

Lent - Jesus of Nazareth: Dead at 33

Mon, 18 Jan 2021 19:26:58 GMT

Matthew 4:1-11

As a pastor, you tend to have more experience with funerals and memorial services than most people. For one thing, you officiate at a lot of them. But too, you attend a lot of them. This is because you visit a lot of people in the hospital, and the outcome of hospitalization is, from time to time, death. I guess the bottom line is that as a pastor you tend to have more experience with funerals and memorial services than most people because you tend to have more experience with death.

I attended a funeral last week of a man I had visited in the hospital. He was the father of an acquaintance of mine from high school. She called and said that her father had fallen away from the church, but since he was hospitalized with a poor prognosis, she thought he might like to have a “spiritual” conversation with someone.

Something kind of saddens me about the fact that spiritual conversations are assigned to clergy. I am not sure why this is the case. Why can’t we have spiritual conversations with each other? I think it’s because we bring God into our day to day lives less and less. God is present in our day to day lives, so we should act like he’s present. We should bring God into our day to day lives more and more. But we don’t. So spiritual conversations have become difficult and unfamiliar and awkward.

At any rate, I asked my friend about her father’s diagnosis. “Brain cancer,” she said. No wonder he had a poor prognosis. When I entered his room we got right down to it. Poor prognoses will do that. “From where I’m sitting, if I had one wish it would be to choose the way I die,” he said. I thought how scary it is that we have so little choice over the conditions of our existence. “I am not afraid of dying,” he continued. “Not if the death is kind and gentle, anyway. But I am afraid to die of brain cancer.” “You’re not afraid to die?” I asked surprised. Because most people are afraid to die. “No, I’m not” he said. “You can’t say this yet, but I have lived my life. I have lived my life.” We prayed together for a gentle death, and God answered that prayer. It turned out he didn’t have to die of brain cancer. He died in his sleep shortly after my visit of a heart attack. At his funeral I felt immense gratitude that I had visited him. I think it’s because I was comforted to know he had not been afraid to die. As he said, he’d lived his life.

That’s something Jesus of Nazareth would never get to experience. That he’d lived his life. He was thirty-three when God called him. God called Moses through a burning bush. God called Isaiah through flying seraphim. God called Mary through the Angel Gabriel. And God called Jesus through John the Baptist.

John the Baptist was a prophet, and the bottom line with prophets is that God imparts to them some truth of his. What God imparted to John was that God was about to do something cataclysmic. So John got to work with cataclysmic fervor. He urged the people to prepare; to repent and to be washed free of their sin in the baptismal waters of the Jordan River.

Jesus found himself attracted by John. And so he made the journey to the Jordan River to be baptized by him. But it was not to be. At least not as Jesus had anticipated. For Jesus had no need to repent and to be washed free of his sin in the baptismal waters of the Jordan River. He was without sin. As it happened, John was but God’s lure. Because when John baptized Jesus, God called him.

And when God called people, he commissioned them at the same time. In Moses’ case, it was to get his enslaved countrymen out of Egypt. In Isaiah’s case, it was to proclaim the coming of a divine king. In Mary’s case, it was to bear the Son of God. And in Jesus’ case, it was to die for the sin of humanity.

At thirty-three. At the height of his vigor. At the blush of his youth. At the peak of his potential. When his whole life lay before him. When he hadn’t begun to live his life.

No wonder the temptation was so devastating for him. Because the devil tempted him to believe what he so desperately wanted to believe -- that his death for the sin of humanity was not necessary. The devil tempted him that his death would accomplish nothing. The devil tempted him that he indeed could accomplish something by, say for instance, commanding stones to be turned to bread. He could feed the hungry. And he could live past thirty-three.

Of course, if Jesus had succumbed to the temptation we would not know him today. He would have done some good in his life, like so many others have done some good in theirs. But he would have been forgotten. And he would have changed nothing. Not really. But Jesus did not succumb to the temptation. He held fast to his commission to die for the sin of humanity. I wonder, of all the anguished thoughts that passed through his mind as he made his way to that death, if one was that his life was cut so miserably short?

But why in the world did he do it? Why did he do it? Because he had a chance to change everything. To redeem us. To save us. To reconcile us to God. And the reason he wanted to change everything is because of his great and perfect love. For them. For us. For all who will come after us. Maybe, just maybe, it passed through his mind as he made his way to that death that the bigger the sacrifice the better, the more we would realize the extent of his love. What a man.

It's Lent. We’re supposed to give something up. What can we possibly give up? Some food product? Some vice? What can we possibly give up compared to what he gave up? What can we do? Anything would seem an insulting token. But, in fact, we can do plenty. We can repent of the sin for which he died. We can admit what we’ve done. We can admit our guilt. We can admit the damage we’ve caused. And this is hard. It’s terribly hard. Because if we really have done with our self-justification and denial, if we really face reality, it could break our hearts. But broken hearts are ok, because they’re softened hearts.

And we can accompany him from the moment he entered to Jerusalem till the moment he cried from his cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? We can stay by his side, not leave his side for a second. So he can witness our heartfelt efforts at sympathy and gratitude.

And more than accompany him. We can actually bind up his wounds and wipe away his tears. Because he told us where we would always find him -- among the poor, the persecuted, the brokenhearted, the hopeless, and the grieving.

It’s amazing, really, how powerful we really are, this Lenten season and always. Out of his darkness, we can make him to see light. Amen.

All Saint's Day - In Remembrance Of Me

Sun, 03 Jan 2021 19:19:37 GMT

Luke 22:14-20

Jesus said to his disciples, “I have earnestly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer.”

Jesus then took a cup and gave thanks. He passed it to his disciples and asked them to share from it. After that he took bread and broke it. Again, he gave thanks and passed it to his disciples to share. After they partook, he told them that the broken bread was a symbol of his body that would soon be broken. He told them that the cup was a symbol of his soon-to-be spilled blood.

And why? Why did Jesus “earnestly” desire to share that meal in that way with his disciples before his looming death? He himself provides the answer. “Do this in remembrance of me.” It was so that his disciples would remember him.

I think I know precisely why he wanted his disciples to remember him. I have thought long and hard about why a dying man would ask someone to remember him. This is because my father’s dying words to me were, “Remember me.”

My father’s cancer had grown terminal. We didn’t know how long he had to live, but he was in decline -- confined to his bed. He was at that time living on the family farm in Wisconsin, and I was living in Elmhurst, so when he called and asked me to make a special trip to see him as soon as possible, I sensed that he realized that the end was near.

“So this is it,” I thought. I wept all the way up. I thought that I could cry out all my tears so that my father wouldn’t have to be burdened by my grief. I have come since to learn that you never cry out all of your tears for a lost loved one. They are inexhaustible.

I got there and was actually relieved. He wanted to talk business. He asked me to be his literary executor, which meant that he was entrusting to me his articles, manuscripts, lectures, notes, and essays. “Do what you can with them,” he joked, as he gestured towards boxes and laundry baskets of paper. He had drawn up a codicil to his will. The required witnesses were present. In this way, I was able to forestall the real matter at hand.

But then suddenly everyone left, and I was alone with him. I broke down. “Remember me,” he said. I left his bedside. The codicil is dated five days before his death.

So, as I said, I have had good reason to ponder why a dying man would ask someone to remember him. I think I know. My father did not want me to remember him for all those papers that he produced – in other words, for his life’s work. Nor for any other of his life accomplishments, which were many. He wanted me to remember him as a way of perpetuating our relationship. If I remembered him, I would still have him with me. Death would not fully part us.

Because death is very cruel. It parts people who love each other, who need each other, who are indispensable to each other, who can’t be replaced. “Remember me.” My father was offering me what consolation he could.

This, I think, is too why Jesus asked his disciples to remember him. Yes, no doubt he wanted to be remembered for his teaching, for his works, for his faith, for his sacrificial death. But essentially Jesus wanted his disciples to remember him as a way of perpetuating their relationship. If they remembered him, they would still have him with them. Death would not fully part them.

But here’s the thing. Jesus was the son of the eternal God. Therefore death could not hold him. He rose to eternity. And he endured that death to promise and assure us that what his death accomplished, our deaths will now accomplish.

Therefore death has indeed lost its sting. When we are entrusted memories from our loved ones who have died, it is but temporary consolation that will give way to consolation beyond every imagining of joy.

The good news for All Saint’s Day is that we may cherish our memories of our loved ones who have died not with sorrowful loss but with hopeful anticipation. For we will be reunited. Thanks be for Jesus Christ, our way, our truth, and our life. Amen.

Transfiguration - Honoring The Moments

Tue, 08 Dec 2020 19:19:56 GMT

II Peter 1:16-21 Matthew 17:1-8

Many years ago, so many that it almost feels like a lifetime ago, my father and I -- possessed of similar temperaments and interests -- decided we’d ride our bikes to the Mississippi River. From our house that was a distance of about 125 miles, so we decided to do it in two days. We set out on a fine spring morning at the crack of dawn. As the hours passed and the day unfolded, for some reason I felt tireless. Even more, I felt superhuman. “How are you holding up?” my father asked me. “I feel really strong,” I replied. “That’s because there’s a thirty mile an hour wind at our backs,” he said. “Oh,” I said, with new found humility. It didn’t take the wind out of my sails though. How could it? A thirty mile an hour wind at your back is to a cyclist what a hole in one is to a golfer. At the halfway mark my dad said, “Let’s go on. We can make the whole distance fairly easily in these conditions.” And he was right. We approached the Mighty Mississippi just as the sun was setting in the west behind it. It was a glorious sight -- the perfect end to a perfect ride. It was just one of those magical moments, made all the more magical for having shared it with my father whom I idolized. “I wish it could always be like this!” I exclaimed. “Better,” he said, “just to honor moments like this.”

It’s funny how some remarks that are made in passing stay with us the rest of our lives. It’s almost as if they lie dormant until we reach that stage in life where we can make right sense of them. Then they spring to life again. As life caught up with me, I discerned that what my father was trying to convey in that remark was that, despite my wish, in fact it was not always going to be like this. That’s not how life is. Don’t wish for what can’t be. In other words, what my father was trying to convey is that we have to take the good with the bad. My father was right of course. I’ve come to understand and affirm his words. But I’d wager you’ve had moments in your life where you, like me, thought, “I wish it could always be like this.”

And so we must not fault Peter for having a similar reaction.

Things between Peter and Jesus had become a bit rocky. They had had a misunderstanding. But maybe that’s putting it too lightly. They had had a blowout, a major blowout. And Peter did not even understand why. Things had been right on course between the two of them. Jesus had established Peter as his right hand man, and Peter relished the role. He knew himself to be a man of decision, a man of action. He was gratified that someone recognized it.

But then Jesus turned on him, out of the blue, attacked and upbraided him before everyone. They had been conversing like always. “Who do people say that I am?” Jesus asked his disciples. “Some say John the Baptist,” they responded. John the Baptist, of course, had just been executed. Maybe, some fashioned, he was raised from the dead. “Others say Elijah,” they responded. Elijah, of course, never died. He ascended to heaven in a chariot of fire. Maybe, some fashioned, he had returned. “Others,” they responded, “say one of the prophets of old.” The disciples knew that none of these responses were right. They knew who Jesus wasn’t. But did they, Jesus wondered, know who he was? Peter declared, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” They knew. At least one among them knew. In response Jesus declared, “Blessed are you Simon, son of Jonah, for flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter and on this rock I built my church.” Peter could not have been more gratified. This is the kind of recognition that some people need, and Peter was that kind of person.

But Jesus and Peter had in fact been at complete cross purposes. Jesus affirmed Peter not to coddle his need, but to underscore how gratified he himself was that faith had led Peter to the right conclusion about Jesus’ true identity. Now Jesus could impart to them the fullness of it; impart to them the hard part. He went on to impart to them that as the messiah, as the son of God, he had come to die.

Peter was utterly flabbergasted. He couldn’t begin to conceive of such a thing. It was wrong on every level. It made no sense of everything Jesus had ever said and done. Jesus had come to inaugurate the Kingdom of God. How could he inaugurate it if he were dead? What’s more, Peter loved Jesus as his master and friend. They were soon to part? He had come to die? And so he burst out, “Lord this must never happen to you!”

It was then Jesus sprang on him, tore off his hide. “Get behind me, Satan. You are a stumbling block to me. You are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” This strange prediction of his death and now this enraged attack? Yes, to say the least, things had gotten off course between the two of them. They went on from there, but Peter was not at ease. He was in fact deeply troubled in. It takes a while to get over these kinds of things, as we ourselves know from when we have been subjected to anger or unkindness. Bruises take time to heal.

About a week later, Jesus took Peter and James and John to a high mountain, and suddenly Jesus was transfigured -- his face shone like the sun, his clothes became dazzling white. Moses and Elijah, both of whom God had once met on mountaintops, appeared at his sides. There they stood together -- three towering figures of the faith. And suddenly, for Peter, it was all better-- the strange prediction and the enraged attack. Jesus was not going to die. It was just one of the many incomprehensible things he said. And his flare of temper, just another of them. Jesus was one of the towering figures of the faith. He stood at their center receiving special divine validation. Everything was going to be fine. Not only were things now on the right course between the two of them, but they together were on God’s course. Peter, like me and perhaps like you, wished it could always be like this.

And so he made preparations that it always would, “I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” He was after all a man of decision. It was indeed always going to be like this. The dwellings would render it permanent. But if Peter had a week earlier received a staggering blow from Jesus, Peter was about to receive the blow of his life. A voice from heaven overshadowed him. “This is my Son, the Beloved. Listen to him!” “Listen to him?” Peter fell on his face. It wasn’t always going to be like this. Jesus was indeed going to die just as he had declared. His rage at Peter was to make clear to him that he had to accept that.

And yet, and yet, Peter late in life, shortly before his martyrdom, made a final testament. He made witness to that time on the mountaintop: “ For when he received honor and glory from God the Father, and the voice was borne to him by the Majestic Glory, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased,’ we ourselves heard this very voice borne from heaven, for we were with him on the holy mountain.” Peter’s words make clear that he had come to understood that though things would not always be as he wished, that he had come to understand that he had to take the bad with the good. He had come to understand that he should simply honor moments like that one. Moments like that one had clearly sustained his faith.

And this has essential application to our own faith lives. We have all had times on the mountaintop, maybe not as dramatic but we all have them nonetheless --those times but we experience God’s truth with sudden clarity. It could be when we sense the hand of providence in our lives. It could be when a prayer is answered. It could be when we encounter a coincidence that we know is not really a coincidence. It could be when God’s cause triumphs in history. It could be when we have experienced the peace that passes understanding. Whatever it is, we have all been transfigured by God’s truth.

And we might be tempted to wish it could always be that way. But it can’t be. That’s not how life is. We have to take the bad with the good. We need to come to terms with the conditions of our existence and those conditions are that much of our lives are lived are not lived on the mountaintop. They are lived in mundanity. They are lived in disappointment. They are lived in tragedy. They are lived in the coming to terms with our mortality. So we should honor our times at the mountaintop.

Not only because it reflects the conditions of our existence, but because our times at the mountaintop are the means to sustain our faith our whole lives long. If we do not honor our times at the mountaintop, when we leave the mountaintops for our sojourns in the wilderness, we run the risk of losing track of them altogether, and so losing our way in the wilderness.

But if we do honor our times at the mountaintop, like Peter we will come to our end of our lives making our final testaments to those who will come after us, and fully ready and eager ourselves to cross over the Jordan River to the Promised Land. Amen.

Thanksgiving

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Sun, 08 Nov 2020 19:20:01 GMT

II Corinthians 5:2-9

Thanksgiving is a distinctly American holiday. It is a distinctly American holiday because it recalls a distinctly American event. It recalls the Pilgrims’ very first Thanksgiving celebration. We all know something of that story.

In 1620, the Pilgrims – 110 in all - set sail for the New World on the Mayflower. If you’ve ever seen a replica of the Mayflower, and you’ve ever seen an ocean, you can about imagine the difficulties of their voyage. It was cramped. It was cold. It was wet. It was dangerous. And it was long – over two months. By the time Plymouth Rock was sighted, most of the Pilgrims were ill, and it was November. Winter was fast upon them.

That first winter was devastating to the Pilgrims. It was particularly long and harsh, and the Pilgrims, weakened and inexperienced, were unequal to it. Even if they had been strong and experienced, they would have been unequal to it. How could they possibly construct a settlement and store up food for the immanent winter? The answer is they couldn’t. In fact, during that first winter, most of them died. Imagine their spirits as they laid one after another of their dwindling party to rest. By the spring they numbered somewhere in the 40’s. This was all that remained of the expedition – 40 some odd souls - all alone in a place that they had come for refuge, but that had proved hostile to them; all alone, that is, except for the Native Americans they feared would finish them off.

One day a brave walked into the settlement. The Pilgrims fled to their dwellings terrified, until the brave called out “Welcome” in English! His name was Samoset. He soon returned with the brave who had taught him English because he had actually voyaged to England. His name was Squanto.

Squanto, in fact, was every bit as heroic as the Pilgrims. The Pilgrims literally would have perished without him. He taught them how to survive, how to make this hostile place hospitable. He taught them how to tap maple trees, which plants were poisonous and which held medical powers, and how to plant native crops, especially corn.

That year the harvest season was bountiful, in marked contrast to their dire predicament one year prior. They had grown and stored enough crops to last the winter, not to mention the meat and fish in store that they had salted and cured.

The Pilgrims had made it. They had beaten the odds. It was time for them to give thanks. And so their leader, Governor William Bradford, proclaimed a day of Thanksgiving to be celebrated by the Pilgrims and the Native Americans. Squanto brought with him 90 braves, and the proceedings lasted for three full days. They feasted, to be sure, but they also played games, displayed skills with bows and muskets, and made music. It was truly a miraculous event.

And so it is apt that we as Americans recall this event each year, recall it and commemorate it. And how do we commemorate it? Basically, we imitate them. We give thanks like they did. We make a feast like they did. And instead of the games, weaponry displays, and music, we watch football. We leave that to the professionals.

Now this is all well and good, but I think we could dig a bit deeper and do a bit better in our commemoration. So let us return to the Pilgrims. One thing we have overlooked is that the Pilgrims set sail because they were suffering religious persecution in England. They were deprived of conscientious freedom and freedom to practice their faith. And the New World was not in fact their first choice. Holland was. But Holland proved unworkable. Dutch culture granted them greater liberty but was at odds with their beliefs. They were driven from England, then driven from Holland.

The Pilgrims, then, number among the many peoples who have been dispossessed of their homeland. They number among the migrants, immigrants, and refugees -- the aliens, as the Bible calls them. And the Bible recognizes just what we have just seen of the Pilgrims: the utter vulnerability of aliens. So the reason they gave thanks was less for the feast, and more for the fact that as those dispossessed they had at last found provisional security.

And so, we may wonder, how would the Pilgrims themselves have wanted us to commemorate them? By merely imitating them, or by coming to the aid of their counterparts in our day?

The answer is easy enough to imagine. We see it all the time. Something bad, something terrible happens to someone – they fall victim to injustice or disease or loss. They learn the reality behind something that prior to their own misfortune had been just a label or a headline. And when they pull through, they reach out to others who have fallen like victims. The bottom line is that those who have suffered in a particular way tend to want to aid others who are suffering in the same way.

The Pilgrims, I sense, then would want us, ironically, not to imitate them so much as to imitate Squanto. He was quite a man, if you think about it. He didn’t care that the Pilgrims were a different color than himself. He didn’t care that they held a different creed than himself. He didn’t care, even, that they were on his land. He cared only that as those dispossessed they were vulnerable.

Surely even though most of us have not been dispossessed we can understand this at some level. As the apostle Paul writes in our Epistle Lesson, “while we are in this tent we long for our heavenly dwelling…we would rather be at home with the Lord.” If you think about it, we are indeed all dispossessed of our true homeland seeking provisional security on our earthly journey.

Feasting. Family. Friends. Football. Gratitude, yes and yes again, gratitude for all that we have. These are legitimate. But to really do honor to Thanksgiving, our gratitude must be as fulsome as the Pilgrims’, and must call forth from us universal service to today’s Pilgrims, vulnerable in their search for a New World. God bless and protect us all.

Amen.

The Elephant In The Living Room

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Wed, 21 Oct 2020 12:48:36 GMT

Exodus 20:1-17 John 20:24-30

As a result of the pandemic, parents of school age children are confronted by two educational choices. The first choice is e-learning. E-learning is done remotely. Each morning students sign into their classrooms on their laptops, attendance is taken, and school proceeds similarly to how it used to, except it’s all online. The second choice is homeschooling. Homeschooling is when parents withdraw their students from school altogether, and the parents become the teachers.

Now it might seem that e-learning would be the obvious choice because it would appear the easier choice -- much easier to outsource all that teaching to the teachers. But such was not my experience of it last Spring when the pandemic first hit. It was, to put it bluntly, a lived nightmare. Partly it was my own fault because, as anyone can attest, technology is not my forte. But even if I were stronger on the technology front, who wants to be given an instruction like this before you’ve had your morning coffee? Using either the Clever platform or the Google Classroom platform or the Seesaw platform, sign in using the case sensitive passwords students were assigned in September and follow links to the social studies module where you will find detailed instructions for the Biome diorama to be shared on a Zoom meeting tomorrow at 11 am. No thanks. After living with E- learning last spring, homeschooling was for me clearly the lesser of two evils.

And to tell the truth, I have been pleasantly surprised, if not to say delighted, by homeschooling. Getting rid of the middle man, a.k.a., the teacher, has made things much more streamlined. And beyond that, if you keep up with math and reading, you can pretty much create your own curriculum based upon your interests and values.

For instance, and this may make me unpopular in this day and age, but I do not despise human civilization in general and western culture in particular. I want my children, though not to be impervious to their weaknesses, to be appreciative of their strengths. So my curriculum includes, besides ample units on the Bible, units on the biographies of individuals of eminence, units on fairy tales and nursery rhymes, units on music and art, units on Greek mythology, units on the discoveries of science, etc., etc.

Last week I introduced a new unit that I am particularly happy with -- a unit on famous parables. Talk about the perfect way to teach interpretation. And talk about rich material. There are the many parables of Jesus - parables being his preferred means of teaching. And there are Aesop's fables -- what a treasure trove! And there are all sorts of random classics, like the parable I read them most recently - The Blind Men and the Elephant.

In case you are unfamiliar with it, it is about six blind men who hear that their prince has newly acquired an elephant. Curious to know what an elephant is, they make their way to it. The first man feels its side and knows it to be a wall. The second man feels its tusk and knows it to be a spear. The third man feels its ear and knows it to be a fan. The fourth man feels its leg and knows it to be a tree. The fifth man feels its tail and knows it to be a rope, and the sixth man feels its trunk and knows it to be a snake. And because each knows what an elephant is; and because their knowledge is at variance, they begin to argue with one another.

After I read it to them -- them being Herry and Adam, I asked them about its meaning. Now this parable has elicited interpretations of varied complexity. One interpretation declares it to be anti-Christian because it suggests that humankind is necessarily blind to comprehensive truth, thereby undermining the reliability and validity of revelation, but in consideration of my students, I was willing to accept a lower order interpretation. Herry actually got it, kind of. He said that the blind men were all wrong. Close enough. They were indeed all wrong. I expanded on his insight. “Yes, they were all wrong. So if you have only part of the truth,” I said, “you have a lie.” And this is undeniable. If you only have part of the truth, you have a lie. Think of the sworn testimony oath by way of example. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” It implies that anything less than the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth is a lie.

All of this, believe it or not, has application to the Bible. People tend to interpret the Bible as the Blind men interpreted the elephant. They take one line and insist that it represents the whole. This has a name. It’s called proof texting. It happens all the time. It is, in fact, the most common form of biblical misinterpretation. But remember, if you have only part of the truth, you have a lie. So proof texting is a lie. It boils down to an excuse to read one’s own ignorance and prejudice into the Bible -- specifically condemned by the third commandment -- “You shall not take the Lord’s name in vain;” in other words, you are not to invoke the Lord’s name to sanction your own profane cause.

Consider this over against the most common proof texts. “Wives submit to your husband…. for the husband is the head of the wife,” suggesting that the whole of the Bible is about the necessity for a man to be at the top of the family hierarchy o- and by extension the human hierarchy.

“No one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again,” suggesting that the whole of the Bible is about a radical conversion experience that makes you an insider and others lacking it to be outsiders.

“And God said let there be light,” suggesting the whole of the Bible is to stand as a bulwark against science.

“Let everyone be subject to their governing authorities,” suggesting the whole of the Bible is to sanction obedience to the state and permit one to claim that he was only following orders.

So we must be wary of proof texting. We must be wary when we hear it in the mouths of others, and we must above all be wary when we hear it in our own mouths. Proof texting is a tempting but fraudulent game.

But by the same token, there are indeed some lines in the Bible that do tend to capture its spirit. It’s just that the proof texters never seem to lite on them. But once you’ve read the Bible and read it all, and once you’ve studied the Bible and studied it thoroughly, and once you submit to the Bible’s authority and submit to it humbly, you’re in a position to take a stab at it. I now make bold to make a stab.

“You shall have no other Gods before me.”

“The Lord is slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.”

“In Christ God was reconciling the world to himself.”

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son so that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”

“In Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek, male nor female, slave nor free.”

And from our gospel lesson, “Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.”

It can be seen to boil down to this. Any line that anticipates Jesus Christ; any line that reveals Jesus Christ, and any line that glorifies Jesus Christ - captures the spirit of the Bible, the whole of the Bible that makes us whole. Amen.

Halloween - What Scares Us

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Sun, 18 Oct 2020 22:13:52 GMT

Ruth 2:8-13 Luke 7:1-10

Since Halloween is coming up, I thought it would be fun to watch the movie classic Frankenstein with the girls -- the 1931 version starring Boris Karloff. I figured that it wouldn’t be too scary for them because of the old, or perhaps better to say, ancient special effects. I figured that the monster would be no more frightening to them than Ming the Merciless was to me when I, at about their age, watched Flash Gordon. The minute Dr. Frankenstein descended to his laboratory; however, they were terror struck and scrambled into my lap. Within minutes they were screaming at the top of their lungs to turn it off. I grabbed for the clicker filled with soothing explanations, but they’d have none of them. That night we all slept together.

Not one to admit defeat readily, I decided to try again. I procured, with some difficulty, the 1910 version of the film. I even previewed it before we watched it together. It was a “silent” movie, but for the ridiculously dramatic piano music pounding in the background. The exaggerated gesticulations and facial expressions of the actors were downright laughable, but the bigger joke was the special effects.

The monster came to life after various ingredients were added to a bubbling cauldron. First his two skeletal arms emerged. You could see them moving up and down on wires. After some more thundering piano crescendos the monster appeared, fully stewed. He looked like the deranged cousin of Gargamel, who, if you don’t recall, was the antagonist on The Smurfs. I judged that no one of any age could possibly be scared of this version of the film. The girls, however, judged differently. They were even more terrified than before. “Turn it off!” they screamed again. It was then that it dawned on me that my plan backfired because I presumed that the old special effects would make the films less scary for them. The old special effects, as it turned out, made it more scary, more real in a way, because it depicted the realm where, their imaginations had taught them, real monsters dwell. Needless to say, we all slept together again, but this time sleep, as Scripture puts it, “fled from their eyes.”

“I am staying up all night,” Avi pronounced. “Why!?” I asked. “Because I am afraid of that monster.” Before I could respond, Gao chimed in. “And I am afraid of earthquakes.” Her orphanage was relatively near the epicenter of China’s earthquake, which occurred shortly before I adopted her. She didn’t experience the earthquake firsthand, but she experienced it through the horror of her caretakers. May then chimed in too. “And I’m afraid something bad will happen to you, Mommy.” I said all the things Mommies say when their children are afraid. Avi then said. “I’m sorry we’re so afraid,” Mommy. “When we’re grownups like you, we won’t be afraid anymore.” When we’re grownups like you, we won’t be afraid anymore.

Then was not the time to explain to her that we grownups have our own fears, fears not unlike theirs. We may not be scared of Frankenstein’s monster, or werewolves, or mummies, or vampires, but we are scared of demythologized monsters like serial killers and shooters and terrorists. We too are scared of natural disasters, whether they take the form of earthquakes or tornadoes or hurricanes or tsunamis, or even whether they take the form of disease, which is a kind of natural disaster if you think about it. And too we are scared that something bad will happen to those we love, especially our children. For me this is my greatest fear. I think it’s every parent’s greatest fear. We may put up a better front than they do; we may employ more mature powers of rationalization; we may be slightly less vulnerable; but we grownups share their fears, especially when the danger that elicits them rears its head.

And you know, I think we grownups actually do children one better on the fear front. We have one fear that they don’t seem to have, at least not my girls -- but I think it holds true for most children. I guess some fears have to be learned, or they grow with us to maturity. We grownups fear that others who are not like us do not share our basic humanity. If others are or a different race, a different culture, a different religion, a different political party, a different sexual orientation, a different national origin, we fear they do not share our basic humanity. And this fear may be, of all the things we fear, most to be feared. This fear may be, of all the things we fear, the most pernicious and destructive, especially when it is, as it so often it has been, co-opted by demagogues who pose as our leaders.

Believe it or not, it is for this reason the book of Ruth was written. It was written to offset the fear that others who are not like us do not share our basic humanity. Ruth, after all, was a Moabite. To put it mildly, the Israelites did not like the Moabites. From the minute the people of Israel took possession of their Promised Land and encountered the Moabites in the vicinity, they did not like them. Why? Because the Israelites had lots of impressions about them, impressions based upon the fact that they didn’t look like them, didn’t talk like them, and didn’t act like them. From what they thought they saw, the Israelites concluded that the Moabites were a dissolute people. They were fast. They were loose. They were low lives.

They were the kind of people who couldn’t be trusted. They were the kind of people who were bad influences, who were threats to good and decent and upright society. In short, the Israelites feared that the Moabites did not share their basic humanity. In fact, aside from the book of Ruth, all other depictions of Moabites in Scripture are negative. There’s even a story in the book of Genesis that the founder of the Moabites was born from a drunken and incestuous union between a father and his daughter.

The book of Ruth then advanced a bold and controversial, if not to say downright unpopular, thesis. It advanced the thesis that others who are not like us do in fact share our basic humanity. Sometimes in fact they may even serve as role models for us. Sometimes, in fact, we can even learn from them about how to be better people. Consider Ruth herself. Ruth was a Moabite who married into a family of Israelites. It wasn’t by the choice of the family of Israelites. It was by necessity. There was a famine in Israel and this particular family of Israelites was forced to emigrate to Moab or to starve. They were detained there by the famine for so long that the sons came of marrying age. It was either marry a Moabite or not marry at all, and not marrying at all meant the cessation of the family line. So the family held its collective nose while two Moabite women married into the family, one of whom was Ruth the other of whom was named Orpah.

In a series of coincidental tragedies, all the men of the family died, leaving just the Moabites Ruth and Orpah and their Israelite mother-in-law, who was named Naomi. After the famine ended, Naomi suggested that each return to their familial home. Orpah did, but Ruth declined. It would have been the easier course, but Ruth knew her mother-in-law needed her. As much as Ruth had lost - a husband, Naomi had lost more - a husband and two sons. Ruth couldn’t leave Naomi all alone with no one to care for her. She may not have been much, but she was better than nothing. She could at least tend to Naomi’s basic needs until she saw her safely placed in her familial home. So Ruth opted to accompany Naomi and go live among a people who looked down upon her because she was a Moabite.

When they arrived back in Israel, Ruth provided for them both by gleaning behind some harvesters in a barley field, which was basically an indirect way of begging. The Law of Moses demanded that harvesters leave some of the harvest behind to provide for the poor. When the owner of the field noticed there was a Moabite gleaning on his property, he kept an eye on her. What he discovered was a courageous, selfless, industrious young woman, a woman who so impressed him he eventually took her for his wife. And even after he did, Naomi’s care remained at the forefront of her mind. When she bore a son, it was her greatest joy that she could provide Naomi someone to love again after all the loss she had known.

Yes, the book of Ruth was written to advance the bold and controversial thesis that people who are not like us do share our basic humanity, so much so they could well be our kindred. It was written to advance the bold and controversial thesis that they want the same things we do - to be able to provide for themselves, to care and to be cared for, to belong, to be acknowledged and respected for who they are. And it is indeed a bold and controversial thesis precisely because of the fear that seems to be perennial that those who are not like us do not share our basic humanity.

Jesus too of course advanced that bold and controversial thesis. You tell by the people he gravitated towards, Jesus too of course advanced that bold and controversial thesis. You can tell by the people he gravitated towards, “others” who were not like the rest - lepers, prostitutes, carriers of contagious diseases, adulteresses, tax collectors, and all those vulnerable, marginalized, and scandalous. But he cast the net even farther. Consider the Centurion. He wasn’t vulnerable, marginalized, or scandalous. He was the commander of a hundred in the Roman army. He was, as he put it, a man “set under authority,” and it was the authority of the oppressor, since the Romans then occupied Israel. But Jesus heeded the Centurion’s appeal, and in doing so learned that the Centurion had a deep love for the Israelites, even built for them a synagogue; and that his appeal to Jesus was out of concern for the welfare of a slave. Jesus advanced the bold and controversial thesis that we need not fear others who are not like us because they do share our basic humanity, but even he was surprised by the Centurion the extent to which this is true – “I tell you not even in Israel have I found such faith.” No one sympathized with our common condition better than Jesus; and it was that sympathy that led him to take up his cross.

After the girls finally fell asleep last week, I was wide awake, so I watched my favorite movie, To Kill a Mockingbird . Now that movie is too scary for children to watch, if you recall the near murder of the little girl named Scout. It’s almost too scary for me. In my favorite scene, Atticus defends a black man falsely accused of rape in the Jim Crow South. During the trial, the courtroom is packed, with the black people segregated in the balcony. The black man who was falsely accused of rape is found guilty of course, even though everyone in the courtroom knew he was innocent. As Atticus walks from the courtroom, the black people in the balcony silently rose to their feet to acknowledge the truth that Atticus had attempted to defend -- that others not like him shared his basic humanity. “Stand up,” someone whispered to Scout, who had snuck up to the balcony to watch. “Your father’s passing.”

It is one of our crucial jobs as Christians to renounce the fear that others like not us do not share our basic humanity. And if we do not renounce that fear, both within and around us, we may protect ourselves from many fearful things, but we will never help to make a world that is safe for everyone. Amen.

Gleaning

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Tue, 08 Sep 2020 16:09:52 GMT

Ruth 2:1-7 Mark 6:30-44

When you are a pastor, people feel compelled to tell you why they don’t go to church. I am not sure why. Maybe they feel guilty or defensive and feel compelled to make some explanation or justification. As I said, I am not sure why, I am only sure that it happens, and it happens a lot.

It happens so often I can even state the top five reasons that people don’t go to church (as told to me at least.) Number one is that they are spiritual but not religious. Number two is that Christians are hypocrites. Number three is that the church subordinates women and discriminates against gay people. Number four is that they prefer Eastern Spirituality. And number five is that they believe that there is nothing that anyone can do - not you, not me, not anyone - that’s ever going to make any difference in this world.

I have a degree of understanding and sympathy for these reasons, at least for the top four. The spiritual but not religious are basically fellow travelers. My experience of them is that they appreciate nature as God’s handiwork, and that they are all behind justice issues. They have just had a bad experience, or no experience, in the church, and they prefer to go it alone. And Jesus, after all, said “…whoever is not against us is for us.”

And, who could begin to argue with the charge that Christians can indeed be hypocrites? Jesus instructed us to remove the plank from our own eye so that we can see to remove the speck from our neighbor’s. He instructed us thus because he knew that there were hypocrites among us. And hypocrites don’t make good witnesses to the faith.

And, it is, without question, to the church’s shame that it has created lower tiers within it for women and gay people. The church would probably still have African Americans in a lower tier as well but history wouldn’t let it get away with it. We can credit Abraham Lincoln with that, who, of course, was himself not a church goer.

And, Eastern Spirituality is filled with profundity and wisdom unique unto itself that has never infiltrated western spirituality. The world religions became world religions because of their brilliant insight into the human condition. They all, in their ways, offer solutions to the human problem. Their practices can’t be valueless. And they have the benefit of novelty as well.

Yes, there’s no sense to take aim at the reasons people do not go to church, except maybe for the fifth reason – that there’s nothing anything anyone can do to make a difference in this world. Maybe I am being harsh, but that reason strikes me as a cynical cop-out, as a poor excuse to do nothing. Moreover, it’s not true, at least not according to the Bible. The Bible, in fact, takes the polar opposite stance. It believes that everything we do makes a difference in this world. It even goes so far as to insist that little things we do make big differences – after the fashion of a mustard seed which grows into a hardy shrub, or a seed that takes root produces grain thirty, sixty, and a hundred fold.

Or take our Old Testament lesson as an example. We all know Ruth’s story. No one would envy Ruth her ethnicity. Ruth was a Moabite. The Moabites were stigmatized, particularly by the Israelites. Stigmas, then and now, are based upon stereotypes, and Moabites were stereotyped as being pervasive low lives – low morals, low intelligence, low standards. Imagine if before you walked into a room, you knew everyone in the room was going to judge you, and judge you harshly and unfairly. This was Ruth’s lot in life due to her ethnicity.

Ruth had married into an Israelite family, which could have offered her some protection. People normally ascend to the social level of their spouse. But Ruth’s spouse died. Ruth was then left alone with her mother-in-law Naomi, who herself was a widow. The two of them lived together in Moab. It would have been better for Ruth to remain where she was, with her own kind. Why go where you’re not wanted? But Naomi sought to return to Israel, and Ruth knew Naomi needed her. So Ruth braved it.

What could Ruth possibly do to make a difference in this world? The people who voice this reason to me are normally prosperous and resourceful. They actually could make a difference in this world. They have the resources. Ruth arrived in Israel with but the clothes on her back, a stranger in a strange land, that nobody was keen to welcome. What could she possibly do to make a difference in this world?

Here’s what she did. She gleaned. She simply gleaned. She went into the field of a “prominent rich man,” as the Bible puts it, she followed behind the harvesters, and she gathered what they left behind. In this way she sustained herself, and she sustained Naomi.

The Bible recognizes that simply by participating in gleaning, whether you are on the giving or the receiving end, you make a difference in this world. Gleaning was indeed demanded by the Law of Moses. Hear the book of Deuteronomy: “When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not glean what is left over. It should be for the alien, the orphan, and the widow.” By simply participating in gleaning, you participate in the act of provision and you prevent waste. And a difference in this world is made.

I can state that with perfect confidence that Jesus would have agreed with what I just said, because Jesus himself was a gleaner. In our gospel lesson, Jesus had just performed a miracle. He had fed 5,000 people with five loaves and two fish. After the crowd had eaten its fill, he gleaned twelve baskets of leftovers. Think about that. Jesus could miraculously produce food, and lots of it – enough to feed 5,000 people. And if there were 10,000 people there, he could have miraculously produced enough for them too. And yet he gleaned. He gleaned because he, along with the rest of the Bible, believed it would make a difference in this world - just as he believed that healing a blind beggar, forgiving an adulterous woman, welcoming children, acknowledging a widow’s mite, and eating with tax collectors would make a difference in this world.

I guess the bottom line is that in fact there is no such thing as the proverbial drop in the bucket. Every drop effects the bucket – it can change its makeup, it can cause ripples, it can add to its volume, it can be the tipping point. This is simply the ecology of existence, as God has ordained it to be, that we all can make a difference in this world. So glean. So compromise. So support. So aid. So ease. So try. So care. So let’s go out there and make a difference in this world, and let’s do it for Jesus Christ. Amen.

Shrines

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Fri, 28 Aug 2020 13:14:17 GMT

Galatians 4:12-20

Growing up, I always had the feeling that I didn’t quite fit in. I am sure I am not the only kid who felt that way. In fact, I bet most people felt that as kids that there was something that set them apart. It might have been a learning disability. It might have been an atypical body size. It might have been a lower standard of living, or a higher one for that matter. It might have been what we today call a non-traditional family. In my case it was my dad. He was not like the other dads. And that’s the understatement of the century.

I was raised in the 1960’s, and my dad had entered the struggle for social justice. You might think that since it was the 60's, this meant he had a lot of company, but he didn’t. None that I could see at least. This was because we lived in Du Page County, one of the most conservative counties in the state.

And there’s no way to enter the struggle for justice in a subtle and unobtrusive way. When my dad's church preached a “gospel” of racism, he denounced it publicly, quit the church, and founded his own. That made the newspaper. And then there was the peace rally that he orchestrated at Elmhurst College where he was a professor of theology. At least that was conducted on a relatively secluded campus. I believe that only made the college newspaper. And then there was his march to end segregated housing. This received the most publicity. How could it not? We marched all over the town. Yes, we. My whole family marched, along with lots of folks who arrived in buses. Not surprisingly, the event that received the most publicity was the least well received. Even my dad was surprised at the amount of flak he took for it. But as a ten-year-old, I just wished that I could have a normal dad so I could fit in.

Shortly after the march, I was at a friend’s house playing. My friend’s father came home from work, noticed I was there, and began railing to his wife against my dad. “What’s she doing here? What will the neighbors think, that I am some kind of supporter of her father? He’s trying to turn this whole city into a ghetto. I’d like to see him run out of town on a rail. And his daughter is never to set foot on this property again.”

Imagine my shame and humiliation and devastation. I left immediately out the back door and ran all the way home, choking back the sobs. When I saw my dad, the flood gates opened wide. Out gushed what my friend’s father had said. I was arrested by my father's response. He hardly seemed to care. “I wouldn’t give it too much attention, Becca. It sounds like he doesn’t have much of a shrine, that’s all.” “What’s a shrine?” I asked, now distracted from my grief. “It’s the place within us where the holy dwells,” he said.

I didn’t take much from his words. My dad was always saying things that were mysterious to me, quoting and alluding six ways to Sunday. I later learned that his words were taken from Ralph Waldo Emerson. My takeaway at the time however, was that it was bad thing if you didn’t have "much of a shrine."

Some days later we were driving on the highway. My dad wasn't the best driver in the world. He cut someone off, and that someone laid on the horn. I glanced at my dad knowingly and said with what I hoped would be deemed wisdom beyond my years, "That driver doesn’t have much of a shrine.” “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Becca,” my dad said. My dad was trying subtly to dissuade me from taking this "shrine line," but it was too late. Pandora’s Box was open, and the spirits were abroad.

Soon thereafter, I was at school, when my arch-nemesis Marla Stick made fun of my new pantsuit. “Your problem, Martha, is that you haven't much of a shrine,” I declared. “Well neither do you!” she retorted. That really stung. Sure, I had no idea what I was talking about, but she even less so. My arch-nemesis Marla Strick was always one-upping me.

It wasn’t until many years later, after my father died, that, reminiscing, I recalled the shrine. I began to reflect about it. My only thought as a child was to use it as a weapon. I guess that reflects that the human tendency to see another's sin more clearly than our own is established early.

My father had told me that a shrine is the place within us where the holy dwells, but what was the shrine, really?

The apostle Paul would have understood all about the shrine. In fact, there's little doubt that it was his theology that in one way or another inspired Ralph Waldo Emerson. This is clear from his letter to the churches of Galatia. Paul wrote his letter to the churches of Galatia because he was angry at them. And Paul was not one to mask his anger. He has never been accused of passive aggression.

Paul had founded the churches of Galatia himself. He did it the same way he founded all his churches, by preaching the gospel. We all know the gospel, though we may have our own variations on the theme. Paul's was this: Believe in Jesus Christ. Receive His Holy Spirit. Through his Holy Spirit live by his love.

But no sooner had he departed from the churches of Galatia to found other churches, than some kind of a delegation followed in his wake. The delegation told the churches of Galatia that the gospel Paul preached was faulty. Believe in Jesus Christ. Receive his Holy Spirit? Through his Holy Spirit live by his love? What kind of gospel was this? This was way too loosey goosey, the delegation insisted.

Paul was a Pharisee, after all. He of all people should know the import of the religious law. The delegation then, literally, laid down the law. It declared that the loosey goosey stuff was well and good, but that no one would be allowed to enter the church without binding themselves to the religious law. So the churches of Galatia bound themselves to the religious law. Starting with circumcision.

This is what caused Paul's anger. It was not so much the personal affront. It was that the delegation was dead wrong. Yes, Paul was a Pharisee. He knew the import of the religious law. The import of the religious law was legalism. It was rules. It was regulations. It was technicalities. It was standards. It was status quo.

What was this next to revolutionary freedom from the religious law made possible by Christ's indwelling love? “I am in the anguish of childbirth till Christ is formed in you," Paul entreated them, "till Christ is formed in you." Paul would have understood all about the shrine, all about the place within us where the holy dwells. It is Christ formed in us.

This is why it is indeed a bad thing not to have "much of a shrine." That much I got right all those years ago. And this is why it is a good thing to have much of a shrine. For when Christ is formed in us, it prevents us from succumbing to the evil all around us and, yes, within us; it keeps us sure and steady; it gives us right perspective for the daily task of living; it endows us with courage and strength to take a stand for truth; it gives us in this dark world bright hope for God's future.

And it sets us apart in ways that our children may not appreciate when they're ten, but that they will when they come to maturity. I’m so glad now that my dad was not like the other dads. Amen.

Rally Day - Bring 'Em To Church!

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Sat, 22 Aug 2020 19:21:26 GMT

Deuteronomy 6:1-3 Romans 8:18-25 Matthew 21:12-17

There are any number of reasons for us to bring our children to church. One reason could be labeled socio-religious. This reason is essentially a practical one. It goes to the perpetuation of our religion. If succeeding generations are not churched, the church will, obviously, erode, and erode eventually into non-existence. There is added urgency to this reason at the present time, because in this nation at least, in fact the succeeding generations are not churched. They have actually been dubbed “the unchurched;” and, in fact, the church is eroding.

At any rate, the Bible recognizes this reason. We heard it recognized in our Old Testament lesson from the book of Deuteronomy. Moses had led the people of Israel out of Egyptian bondage to the border of the Promised Land. Now on his deathbed, he charged them, their children, and their children’s children to observe the law he had given them. And why? Because the people of Israel were entering the Promised Land to become a religious nation, and to become a religious nation the succeeding generations had to observe the law.

Then there is a reason to bring our children to church that could be labeled personal. It goes to the welfare of our children. What better way to promote the welfare of our children then by giving them a set of convictions from which to operate in life? I deal with the so-called “unchurched” on a regular basis. There are exceptions, of course, but my experience is that they are not given, in the absence of a set of religious convictions, a set of secular convictions. They are given very little in the way of convictions at all. What convictions they form are impressionistic and unexamined – usually derived from the pseudo-wisdom of popular culture. And let’s face it: people of all ages need convictions. Convictions give people understanding, purpose, direction, and motivation.

Again, the Bible recognizes this reason. We heard it recognized in our Psalter lesson. It is recognized too throughout the Bible’s wisdom tradition. The way the Bible states it is that if you teach a child to follow in God’s way -- right from wrong, left from right – you teach a child the means to sound living.

And the set of convictions our children will be given have to do not only with this life, but with eternal life. Our children will hear eternal life proclaimed again and again in church, for indeed it is the very crux of the gospel; it is the meaning and import of the resurrection of Jesus Christ. And if our children are convicted of eternal life, they will never be lost to fear, despair, and senselessness. They will be given the basis for courage, optimism, and hope.

And of course, the Bible recognizes this reason. We heard it recognized in this morning’s epistle lesson from the book of Romans. In Paul’s immortal words, “I consider that the sufferings of the present time are not worth comparing to the glory about to be revealed to us.” Paul realizes, of course, that a set of convictions from which to operate in this life are not enough, for the sufferings in this life are too great. But too, Paul realizes, the sufferings in this life will be overcome by eternal life.

Yes, there are any number of reasons for us to bring our children to church, and indeed, they are all good ones. But they aren’t the best one. The best one has to do with truth. We come to church, we practice this religion, not necessarily because we believe that this church or this religion is in perfect accord with truth. As Paul reminds us in the book of Galatians, “all things are imprisoned under the power of sin,” and they are: even this church and this religion. But we come to church because we believe in the God that stands above this church and this religion is in perfect accord with truth. He is the truth to which the whole cosmos accedes -- to which all history has acceded, and to which the future will accede. He is the truth which is inviolable, try as we might in our pride to violate it.

And if we don’t take our children to church they will not be exposed to it this truth. They will not be able to learn it. They will not be able to affirm it. They will not be able to defend it. And they will not be able to live it. And this truth is the highest thing there is. It is higher than the perpetuation of our religion. Our religion should not be perpetuated, in fact, if it does not align with this truth. It is higher than our personal welfare, indeed our welfare may well be sacrificed for it, and sacrificed rightly.

And this truth can not be assimilated instantaneously . It can only be assimilated slowly, in time – week by week, year by year. There are no shortcuts. This is one lesson life has taught me. There are no shortcuts. In grief, every tear must be cried. In a journey, every step must be taken. In an accomplishment, every effort must be made. And for children to assimilate this truth, we must bring them to church.

In this morning’s gospel lesson, Jesus on the heels of his triumphal entry into Jerusalem entered the temple precincts. What he saw there enraged him. It was like some crass and boisterous carnival. Salesmen and money changers were hawking their wares, crowds were bargaining for their offerings. And so he overturned their tables and dispersed them; and crying with all the zeal of the first prophet to utter these words, “My house shall be called a house of prayer; but you are making it a den of robbers.”

And what was the upshot of this scene? The chief priests and scribes were indignant, but the children cried out, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Hosanna!” The children, even in these circumstances recognized the truth. For some reason, children have this facility. They can recognize the truth. In can only be the way God made them. And so let us give our children that truth. Amen.

Rally Day - Blessing And Curse

Sat, 22 Aug 2020 18:27:14 GMT

Deuteronomy 18:26-27 Matthew 19:13-15

When my father’s cancer returned, as the doctors assured us it would, it returned with a vengeance. The doctors told us that treatment was useless and would only prolong his suffering. And so, a grim wait ensued. No one, including my father, wanted to acknowledge his impending death, so no one did. It wasn’t so much that we were trying to avoid facing reality. It was more that we were all struggling so hard with reality, all in such fragile and precarious shape, that and no one wanted to risk exacerbating the other’s grief.

But then the silence was finally broken. The phone rang at my house one evening much later than it usually rings. It was my father. “I think my time has about come,” he said, “and there are some things I need to talk to you about.” My father had retired to Wisconsin, and so I made some hasty preparations for the care of my children, got into the car, and left straight away. The three hour trip took me closer to two. I wasn’t sure how much time he had. I made it to his bedside, though. And he talked to me. And I listened.

I can’t say that I always listened to father. As a teenager, I had all the answers myself. I listened when it suited me. As a young adult I was consumed with my own life. I listened when I had the time. But there at his deathbed, I listened. I listened like I’ve never listened before. And it was because I learned then and there what only experience can teach – that the charge of the dying to the living is a sacred charge. I have often wondered since why this is. I think it is because when someone is dying, you appreciate most fully all you received from him and how much you owe him. And then you realize that it’s really how much you have received from God and how much you owe him. And in that experience you feel very surely God’s grace, and you want more than anything to respond to it. This is why I think that the charge of the dying to the living is sacred. So I listened, and I obeyed.

It was like that at the death of Moses. Moses had heeded God’s call and commission at the burning bush. He had rescued his people from Egyptian slavery. He had led them through the wilderness to Mt. Sinai where he received the Ten Commandments. And he had delivered them to the border

of the Promised Land. He had hoped to bring them into the Promised Land, but the Lord informed him that his time had now come. And so Moses gathered his people together and made that sacred charge from the dying to the living. And what was that charge? We heard some of it in this morning’s Old Testament lesson. Moses charged his people to teach their children the word of God. And they listened. And they obeyed. And they recorded that charge so that the faithful in coming generations would too listen and obey.

But even as we recommit ourselves this Rally Day to do so, we may wonder why? Why was this charge so important? Moses went on to explain why.

He explained that each and every day of our lives, the way of blessing and the way of curse is set before us. And of course he absolutely is right. There is not one day that is not a day for us to decide between the way of blessing and the way of curse – in the words we speak, or fail to speak; in the action we take or fail to take, in the duty we meet, or fail to meet; in the sacrifice we make or fail to make; in the fear we overcome or fail to overcome; in what we give or fail to give, in the love we share or fail to share. Each and every day is a day to decide -- for our own sake, for the sake of those around us, and for the sake of the larger word. This is the way that the Lord has ordered our life, and it is the way we make the Lord’s difference in our lives or we do not.

And how can our children decide between the way of blessing and the way of curse if we do not teach our children the word of the Lord? The answer is simple. They can’t. If we do not teach our children the word of the Lord then we choose for them the way of curse. This is why Moses’ charge was so important.

Another school year is now before us. There is so much we want our children to learn. We want them to learn the academic curriculum, of course, and at the highest and most intensive level possible. And then there are sports, and music, and all the rest of it. And this is well and good. Education is a privilege and the necessary precondition for human development. But if our children do not learn the word of God and learn to decide wisely between the way of blessing and curse, they risk gaining the world and losing their souls. Our children will learn everything except the most important thing.

In our gospel lesson, Jesus’ ministry was by this time nearing its end. The excitement his ministry had generated was mounting. He had become a public sensation, gathering enthusiastic crowds wherever he went. Yet for disciples there was a brooding sense of foreboding, as if the higher the excitement rose the closer Jesus was coming to his death. They could not escape a latent tension and anxiety. But no one else picked up on this – certainly not the parents who kept crowding Jesus with their children, asking him to lay his hand on them. But this under the circumstances only served to get on the disciples nerves, and so they sent the parents away. But Jesus rebuked his disciples. “Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them, for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs.”

Jesus then and there added children to those he had declared would become the heirs of the kingdom of heaven -- the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the merciful, the pure, and the peacemakers. This is because Jesus knew the hearts of children. He knew their innocence, their openness, their sympathy, their vulnerability, their intuition, their willingness to believe. He knew those hearts would be inclined to receive him and to love him. And so he wanted them to come to him. But the children can’t come to him if we don’t take them to him. It is ours to decide between the way of blessing and the way of curse. Amen.

Aging

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Fri, 21 Aug 2020 19:59:17 GMT

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 II Corinthians 4:16-18, 5:1-10

Getting my three daughters off to Middle School last week was no mean feat. In fact, it was a back breaker. Getting them off year by year is tough enough. Normally, it requires a complicated and lengthy registration process involving the school district; school supplies lists that inevitably include hard-to-find items such as purple, one inch, three ring binders or royal blue jumbo book covers; new backpacks, lunch boxes, shoes, and clothes; and medical, dental, and vision forms.

Middle School added to all that the so-called "genre" project. Some sadistic Middle School teachers thought it would be a good idea to give all incoming Middle Schoolers summer homework. My daughters each had to read three books of a given genre, summarize them in ten bullet points, and state their assessments of the genre using textual examples. This is the kind of work I give to my college students, so naturally my daughters felt the assignment to be over their heads. Bottom line -- to adequately assist them I had to read the nine books.

But the real kicker turned out to be the medical, dental, and vision forms. For me that meant, here's that number again, nine separate appointments. I soldiered through them, but at the end of the ninth appointment, one of the girls was referred by the pediatrician to a specialist. "It's just one more appointment," I told myself. "Ten is a nice round number."

When we got to the specialist's office, the receptionist gave us a grim look. "Doctor's running an hour behind," she stated flatly. "Doctor's running an hour behind?" I repeated weakly. I felt at this point I had neared the finish line only to be told I had ten more miles to go. "Oh well," I said to my daughter trying to put a positive spin on the thing, "at least there are lots of good magazines to read."

To tell the truth I hadn't read a magazine in ages. How could I, with all the Middle School preparation I was wrestling with? I had no time for such luxuries. I opened the magazine, slipping into relaxation mode. That mode lasted until I began to peruse the first article.

It was entitled “Fighting Aging”. It was an informational piece featuring a chart. On the far-left side of the chart was a list of various indicators of aging – frown lines, laugh lines, worry lines, marionette lines, dark spots, turkey neck, bags, etc. Next to the list were two columns -- one that listed the over the counter way to eradicate these indicators of aging, and another that listed the way involving medical procedures.

Interspersed in the margins were graphic photos of faces diagrammed for surgery and hypodermic needles being stuck into wrinkles. I have to admit that I found the article horrifying. Aging naturally wasn’t even considered an option. Come on now, I thought. Laugh lines? Frown lines? Worry lines? Are these things really so intolerable? Can I just leave mine alone? Didn’t I earn them? Haven’t I the right to wear them? I flipped the page only to be confronted with the headline, "Celebrities Unphotoshopped" which showcased photographs of celebrities who actually looked their ages. This was being presenting as some kind of an expose, some kind of a scandal. I tossed the magazine aside, though it caused me to realize something: It take tremendous moral courage to age in this culture. But why? Why is this the case?

It is, I think, that our culture exploits the vanity and insecurity that lurks, to varying degrees, in us all. Our culture does so by advancing a false, but inviolable premise – namely, that youth is good, and maturity is bad. We are inundated by this premise, and we have internalized it. Hence we seek to appear young. Case in point: If we are told we look ten years younger than we are, we are delighted; but if we would ever happened to be told that we look ten years older than we are, we would carry the insult to the grave. And to make matters worse, our culture advances this false but inviolable premise only so that it can make money off of us; so it can sell us goods and services.

But we could go deeper. It’s not just our vanity and insecurity that are being preyed upon. It’s our mortality. Let’s face it. We evade our mortality. We don’t want to be bound to the circle of life, especially as that circle cycles downward. We don’t want to grow old -- to slow down, to suffer physical limitations and ailments, to experience loss, to become marginalized, and finally to die. And our culture, in marketing youth to us, aids us in this evasion of our mortality. As I said, it takes tremendous moral courage to age in this culture.

But that moral courage the Bible provides. It provides it throughout its unfolding. The Bible has a whole different take on aging than our culture. Consider the book of Ecclesiastes. The book of Ecclesiastes acknowledges that there are inexorable stages of life -- “a time to be born and a time to die” -- but here’s the key thing. It describes these stages of life as, “matters under heaven.” The book of Ecclesiastes recognizes that it is God who has ordained these stages of life.

And as the Bible unfolds further it helps us to understand why God has ordained these stages of life. Paul hints at it – “Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day.” God has ordained these stages of life as the means to ready us for consummation in God’s eternity. And aging, if by God’s providence we reach that stage of life, is the stage God has ordained for us to wind down, to let go, to say farewell, to look back and discern the ways in which we bore God’s image in our lifetimes, and to look forward to the glory that will be revealed.

And if this were not enough evidence of the Bible’s take on aging, we need only look to the Bible’s culmination, to the Christ event. God sent Christ precisely to demonstrate -- to teach us and to show us -- that at all stages of life, and in all that these stages may hand us, God is with us, bestowing upon us the way of his eternity.

The Bible then, needless to say, would not approve of our culture’s take on aging. In fact, the Bible would repudiate it. It would contend that our culture’s take on aging is a human concoction that denies God’s very providence for us. And this much is undeniable: there is no sense in contending with God’s providence for us. God created us as his, and God is God. So to contend with God’s providence for us is in the last analysis self-denying. It’s self-defeating. It’s downright suicide.

Maturity, friends, means to be fully developed. Maturity then is a good thing. Let us strive then to embrace maturity as it comes, and to be, whatever our age, mature Christians who fear not life and fear not death. Amen.

Incivility

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Fri, 14 Aug 2020 19:45:27 GMT

I Samuel 25:2-13, 18, 32-33 John 15:15-17

Nabal was a fool. How can I be so sure that Nabal was a fool? Because the word Nabal in Hebrew means fool. So yes, Nabal was fool. And why was Nabal a fool? He was a fool, clearly, because he was uncivil.

Nabal happened to be a man of great wealth. He was possessed of three thousand sheep and one thousand goats. But this fool and his money were not soon parted. Nabal maintained his vast flock over a vast wilderness with a vast number of shepherds. David and his men by chance encountered Nabal’s operation.

Now it bears repeating that whenever we are talking about the Old Testament, we are talking about violent times. Truth be told, all times are violent times. Read the news if you seek confirmation of this. All times are violent times because we are violent creatures. But regarding the Old Testament, we are talking about a certain type of violent times.

I tell my students in the biblical studies class I teach each semester that I will give them extra credit if they will watch the Netflix miniseries Godless . Now why would I plug the Netflix miniseries Godless, particularly in a biblical studies class? It is because Godless is a more recent and more familiar depiction of the type of violent times of the Old Testament. Godless is set in the Old West. You all have some sense of the Old West. Outlaws, show downs, shoot outs, saloon brawls, brothels, gunslingers, horse rustlers, train robberies – all pitted against the local sheriff. That’s the type of violent times of the Old Testament.

Certain conditions produce this type of violent times. It doesn’t matter whether it’s the Old Testament or the Old West. When you have people living a rough and ready existence off the land with little centralized authority and sparse law enforcement it is going to produce this type of violent times.

The point is, David and his men by chance encountered Nabal’s operation. Had it been anyone but David he would have just terrorized or killed the shepherds and helped himself to the flock. But that’s not what David did. He did the opposite. David actually protected the shepherds and their flock from others who would do them violence. This was David after all. He was not molded by his violent times. He was not molded by anything. David broke the mold. He broke the mold because he could see beyond it all to the truth. It’s a pity that men such as David are one in a billion. At any rate, David and his men made a wall of protection around the shepherds and their flock day and night.

David gleaned from the shepherds that their master was Nabal, and so his messenger approached Nabal for a small favor. Since it was a festival day, he asked Nabal for a few sheep so they could celebrate the festival day with a feast. Now remember, David could have just taken the sheep by force. Anybody else would have. But he approached Nabal and asked for them, and asked for them with great civility, “Peace be to you, peace be to your house, and peace be to all you have,” he entreated Nabal.

What was Nabal’s response? He met David’s civility with his own incivility. His response, if you forgive the directness of my speech, was along the order of, Who the hell do you think you are asking me for my sheep? This was not just incivility. It was egregious incivility. Because it was David, after all, asking him for his sheep; David, who at this point in his career was King Saul’s most valiant warrior -- renowned throughout the kingdom. David for his part was outraged by Nabal’s response -- outraged because Nabal’s response was outrageous. David was so outraged that he was ready to kill him.

And there is an important lesson here for us. When someone insults us, yes, we are going to be outraged. That’s ok. Again, we are violent creatures. It’s hardwired in us. But we also are capacitated to master it. We can be outraged, but we can master it. We must master it. Whatever it takes. For me what helps to master it is to process the outrage with a sympathetic listener. When someone sympathizes with my outrage it soothes me precisely because it sympathizes with me. This is what David did.

Nabal had a wife named Abigail. She was the opposite of a fool. David was soon to praise her for her good sense. She brought him the sheep he requested and then some, every imaginable provision for a lavish feast. And she sympathized with outrage. For his incivility, he’s rightly named fool, she said to David. But he is not worth the guilt that would besmirch you should you spill his blood. And David mastered his outrage.

Nabal, of course, got what was coming to him. When, arising after a night of drunken carousing, he learned what Abigail did, he was so enraged he had a heart attack and died. David married Abigail, and the world was relieved of a fool. Nabal was probably remembered for what he was, or probably closer to the mark, he was probably not remembered at all. I can scarcely imagine Abigail in the arms of David holding a torch for him.

The Old Testament is teaching us a lesson here. It’s a hard lesson, and it’s a blunt lesson. The lesson is that if you are uncivil, you are a fool. You are a fool not just because you create disunity. Not just because you create hostility. Not just because you create trouble. You are a fool because you lack the prudence to act in your own interest, because there are consequences to being uncivil. You lose your reputation. You lose regard. You lose respect. And the world will count itself well rid of you.

And there are no exceptions. It doesn’t matter whether you are positive your cause is just, and the opposing cause is not. It doesn’t matter whether the times are uncivil. It doesn’t matter if someone was uncivil to you first. It doesn’t matter if you’re in a bad mood. It doesn’t matter if you think you got the short end of the stick in life. It doesn’t matter if you are power up or power down. It doesn’t matter what role you have been cast to play in the human drama. It does not entitle you to be uncivil.

Because Jesus Christ set the bar much higher than civility. He set the bar at love across all divides – divides of race, divides of class, divides of religion, divides even between enemies. This I command you, that you love one another. He set the bar at love inspired by him and made possible by his Spirit. That’s our ultimate goal as his disciples. So can we not at very least be civil to each other, for Christ’s sake? Amen.

All Saint's Day

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Sun, 09 Aug 2020 17:02:14 GMT

Sirach 44:1-5 I Corinthians 15:12-19

When I was a freshman in college many years ago, I enrolled in a class entitled, “The Saints of Christendom.” The class, as its title indicates, undertook to survey the saints of Christendom, to examine the courageous, glorious, and often heartrending faith witnesses that earned them, through canonization, membership in that esteemed company.

We began our survey with St. Paul – one of Christendom’s first saints and without rival its first and foremost theologian. From St. Paul, we moved onto the evangelists, Sts. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, and saluted the gospels that bear their names. Proceeding along, we met the great martyrs that Roman persecution of the early church produced, Sts. Ignatius and Polycarp – both old and venerable bishops who submitted with eager gladness to martyrdom so that they could make one last witness to their confidence in the resurrection. Then it was onto the mighty theologians of the fourth and fifth centuries, Sts. Athanasius and Augustine. These saints, beset by heretics on every side who threatened to undermine the gospel by undermining the right stature of Jesus Christ, hammered out the doctrine of the Trinity that proclaimed that the Son and Spirit are truly and fully Emanuel: God with us.

This class obviously didn’t want for material. We headed next up to Great Britain to pay homage to Sts. Patrick and Bede. Then we leapt forward to the medieval period, where we encountered the austere piety of St. Francis of Assisi, the scholastic brilliance of St. Thomas of Acquinas, and the mysticism of St. Theresa of Avila.

Time fails to further chronicle all the saints I met that semester. Suffice it to say, as an exuberant daughter of the church, the class was right up my alley. Even those with ice water in their veins and hearts of granite would have been moved and inspired by such a glittering array of saints.

Near the end of the semester, I happened upon Christmas card containing a beautiful portrait of St. Mary. I sent it home to my father with the following message. “Dearest Father! I have come to love the saints. I am converting to Roman Catholicism. Love, Becca. P.S. We can discuss it further when I got home.” Within a few days the phone rang. It was my father. “Am I too late? Have you converted yet?” he asked. I suddenly felt a bit uncomfortable, like I’d been caught in yet another act of impetuosity. “Becca," he entreated, “Protestants can love the saints too.” “But, but,” I remonstrated, with all the sophomoric wisdom of a college freshman, “What about Luther’s attack upon the saints in the 95 Theses that he nailed to cathedral door at Wittenberg?”

My father and I then talked for about an hour. In those days my family had no money or long distance phone calls, so I knew that there was something my father was concerned for me to be clear on. There was some foundation he wanted me to lay. My father was very intent in my youth that I should lay a firm and solid intellectual foundation for my faith. Whenever I laid a block of sandstone, he challenged me. “One can build a glorious cathedral,” he'd tell me, “but it’s only as stable as its foundation.” Looking back I can see his motivation. He was not so much training me intellectually as he was being a loving and caring father. He wanted me, as I came to maturity, to hear the fullness of the good news our faith proclaims. For what better gift can a parent give a child than that?

My father explained to me in that conversation that Luther had nothing at all against those individuals the institutional church had canonized saints. Luther’s gravamen was against their exploitation by the institutional church, for the institutional church had conscripted them into the “cult of saints,” the import of which was for a donation made to the church in the name of a given saint, that saint, through the superabundance of grace that he or she had earned, would answer prayers or grant time off from purgatory. Those poor, unwitting individuals whom the institutional church had canonized saints had been made into ecclesiastical fund-raisers – brokers of a bogus and venal transaction. It was here that Luther took aim and fired.

Those individuals the institutional church has canonized saints, those rightly acknowledged champions of the faith, Luther declared, are properly honored for the encouragement, inspiration, and consolation they provide the faithful. But we err if we think that they have earned a superabundance of grace, if we think of them as somehow mediators of God’s grace; we err, in fact, if we think of them as discontinuous in any way from the rest of us, as over against the rest of us. There is no “cult of saints,” Luther declared, but instead a communion of saints comprised of all those who in their lives and their deaths have borne witness to Jesus Christ.

The saints, then, Luther would say, include those we know and have known in our own lives – They are our mothers, fathers, grandparents, children, neighbors, colleagues, and friends. They are also those unknown to us, unknown to most everyone. What Sirach from our scripture reading this morning realized of great mean and women is true too of the saints: “Some of them,” he wrote, “have left behind a name, so that others declare their praise. But of others there is no memory; they have perished as though they had never existed; but these also were godly ones.” The saints then are a vast and variegated, a comprehensive and inclusive company – all those in their lives and deaths who have borne witness to Jesus Christ.

This was the foundation my father wanted his daughter – who was on the verge of creating her own ‘cult of saints’ – to lay. My father, as I said, wanted me to hear the fullness of the good news our faith proclaims, and good news can be built to the heavens on this foundation.

St. Paul in the morning’s epistle reading helps us to hear the fullness of the good news. St. Paul is writing to the church in Corinth, Greece. For reasons that are unclear, the church there had begun in St. Paul’s absence to deny the resurrection of Jesus Christ – just as so many today do. At least ours is an age old problem. It’s a stubborn nuisance, not the impressive new insight of Postmodernity. What St. Paul wrote to the church at Corinth, and what he would say today if only he were here, is that if there was no resurrection, if Jesus Christ was not raised from the dead, then our faith is in vain. Useless. Worth nothing. Because, St. Paul argues, if Jesus Christ was not raised from the dead, then he is dead in his grave, and all who died in him are dead in their graves too. Jesus Christ has changed nothing. The cross is the final world. Death is the final world. And any talk of good news in a world where death has run such ravaging roughshod is preposterous folly. “If in this life only we hope in Christ," St. Paul wrote, “then we are people much to be pitied.”

But of course, St. Paul knew that Jesus Christ has changed everything. St. Paul knew that Jesus Christ was indeed resurrected from the dead. He saw he resurrected Lord himself. Just that glimpse transformed his entire life. St. Paul knew that God raised up his so beloved son, and he raised him up so that all who have died in him will be raised up in him as well.

So hear now the fullness of the good news for All Saint’s Day: All the saints of Christendom – near and far, famous and forgotten – all the saints of Christendom who have been laid in their graves have been resurrected in Jesus Christ. They are in the bosom of God, more fully alive then they have ever been. And by the grace of God in Jesus Christ, we will some day see them again. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Happy Endings...Even Now

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Fri, 31 Jul 2020 14:29:59 GMT

Jeremiah 20: 7-10, 14-28

I’ll never forget the first time I read Hansel and Gretel to Adam. The questions began no sooner than I started. “Why is that mommy so mean?” he asked. “She’s just a mean person.” I answered. “Even to her own children?” he asked. “Some people are just that mean.” I explained. Would you ever become mean like that?” he asked, worry creeping into his voice. “No, of course not. I have never been mean to you in the past, and I will never be mean to you in the future. That I promise you from the bottom of my heart,” I responded.

He seemed relieved, until the story continued. As the children were being led into the forest, he climbed onto my lap. “You mean the mommy is going to leave her children in the forest to die?” he asked, worry giving way to downright fear. “Well, yes she is,” I said, not knowing what else to say given the fact that the mommy was going to leave her children in the forest to die. By the time the witch had imprisoned Hansel with the intention of eating him and enslaved and starved Gretel, he begged, “Close the book!” “But the story is not over yet,” I protested, realizing the only thing worse than finishing the book was closing it and letting him think there was no happy ending.

Life can be that way sometimes. We may feel we want to close the book on it, and for essentially the same kind of reasons. It’s too bad. It’s too scary. In fact, for many people life is like that right now. In all my years, I don’t remember living through more troubling times.

There’s Covid 19, the decimation of the disease and all the ramifications of the disease – worry, anxiety, and fear over the future, over our livelihoods, over the economy, over vulnerable loved ones, over aimlessness, loneliness, and isolation.

But to me at least, Covid 19 is not the worst of it. Not by a long stretch. The blind malevolence of disease doesn’t compare to the sighted malevolence that presently assails us -- The gun violence that has overtaken our cities – the horrific figures of shootings that bombard us day after day after day. The nightly anarchy featuring looting, destruction of property, and attacks upon law enforcement.

And then there is this general feeling of malaise occasioned by the feeling that our moral compass has become completely inverted. Evil has become good, and good evil. Our entire culture has come under attack. Worse, there are calls for its destruction.

All of this has hardly brought out the best in us. Just the opposite, it’s brought out the worst in us. We are all at each other’s throats. Mutual respect, common curtesy, good manners…These are things of the past.

So yes, many of us may feel we want to close the book on life. We’ve had about enough of this story.

The prophet Jeremiah would surely understand. He wanted to close the book on life as well, and his era made ours look like Shangri-La. God called him to prophesy at the time of the fall of the nation of Judah, to prophesy precisely that the nation of Judah would fall. And why would it fall? Because the hearts of the people, God made known to Jeremiah, had turned bad.

The people of course did not believe Jeremiah. Just as they laughed at Noah before the deluge, they laughed at him. God would not allow the nation of Judah to fall. That was ridiculous. They had been elected by God for nationhood. “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you, and I will make of you a great nation,” God had promised Abraham.

But Jeremiah continued to prophesy that the nation would fall because the hearts of the people had turned bad, and in time their laughter crossed over to derision and scorn, and then to anger and persecution. He was branded a traitor. He was publicly beaten and held in stocks, he was harried by mobs, attempts were made on his life.

Jeremiah finally determined that he would keep his mouth shut, but God would not allow it. There was in his own words, “a fire shut up in his bones” that impelled him to speak until the end of his life. And through his whole long career as a prophet, some 50 years, and even after the nation fell, he was never vindicated by the people. It was only after he was gone that the people realized that God had indeed spoken through him. They realized their hearts had turned bad. They realized they had lost their nation because their nationalism distracted them from acknowledging it. And not only that, they realized that Jeremiah had served to preserve their faith after they had lost their nation. After they had lost their nation they never, as they could well have done, blamed God for it. They realized the blame was on them.

But in the midst of it all, life got so bad and so scary for Jeremiah that he confessed that he wished that he’d never been born -- “Cursed be the day on which I was born! The day when my mother bore me, let it not be blessed! Cursed be the man who brought the news to my father saying, ‘A child is born to you, a son,’ Let that man be like the cities that the Lord overthrew without pity…because he did not kill me in the womb so that my mother would have been my grave…Why did I come forth from the womb to see toil and sorrow, and spend my days in shame?” He wanted to close the book on life.

Now maybe Jeremiah had a right to feel that way. It would have required tremendous faith after all, to have witnessed all he witnessed, to have endured all that he endured, and still hold out hope for a happy ending in life. Jeremiah had a right to feel that way, but we do not. This is because we live on the other side of the resurrection of Jesus Christ. The resurrection of Jesus Christ proclaims that there is a happy ending in life, and his story, like ours and Jeremiah’s, is one in which we’d definitely want to close the book before it was over.

After a brief and increasingly ominous ministry, he was arrested by an angry mob and brought to trial, if you could call it a trial. The proceedings were those of a kangaroo court with Jesus being passed from jurisdiction to jurisdiction in a prejudicial attempt to convict him. Once he was convicted, he was mocked, tortured, and hung on a cross. He died broken and shattered.

Yes, we’d definitely want to close the book on his story anywhere along the way. But of course on the third day he was resurrected! The resurrection is the happy ending of his life and of ours. It proclaims God’s triumph over the whole human catastrophe. We know now that God wins in the end. And that makes all the difference -- the hope born of God’s triumph in Jesus Christ.

Will we face hard time ahead? Yes, we will. Will we be forced to contend with uncertainty and change? Yes, we will. Will things never be the same? Yes. Will there be loss? Yes. But we know how the story ends. Life has a happy ending. And we can do more than hope in God’s triumph in Jesus Christ. We can enact God’s triumph in Jesus Christ. We can enact God’s way of sacrifice, service, and mission. We can enact God’s way of love. Through us life’s happy ending can begin right now. Amen.

Self Acceptance

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Tue, 21 Jul 2020 21:57:37 GMT

Mark 14:3-9 Revelation 21:1-7

Why in the world did Jesus overreact as he did? Some woman that he’d never set eyes on dumps a vial of oil on his head, and Jesus responds, “Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.” Pretty big words for a pretty small gesture. So why in the world did Jesus overreact as he did?

The answer is not an easy one; the answer is not a short one; but I assure you, the answer is a worthwhile one. It has to do with, of all things, self-acceptance. So let’s reflect about self-acceptance.

The first thing to understand about self-acceptance is that it is a universal desire. Everyone desires self-acceptance - contentment and satisfaction with who we are -- and who we really are, and not just with regard to our strengths, but with regard to our weaknesses as well. The second thing to understand about self acceptance, however, is that it’s hard to come by.

Say you’re born to poverty. From the time you are conscious, you feel the world’s suspicion and disapproval. No one wants you around. No one trusts you. Above all, no one wants you moving into their neighborhood. Even if you eventually rise above your station, you still feel like an outsider for the rest of your life. How are you supposed to accept yourself?

Or say you’re a minority, a minority of any kind. Until recently there were laws on the books outlawing, in one way or another, many minorities. But even absent the laws, you feel the weight of discrimination. You feel the weight of segregation. And your experience, your reality, isn’t depicted anywhere, unless it’s depicted negatively. How are you supposed to accept yourself?

Or say you are afflicted by mental illness or addiction. Life is really tough for you. You struggle through it in ways others don’t. You look out at everyone else who has it so much easier, to whom life comes so naturally. You live with the constant fear and anxiety that you might not make it. How are you supposed to accept yourself?

Or say you don’t like the way you look. And how could you like the way you look? You are bombarded every which way by falsified and idealized images you are supposed to embody but can’t. You’re too old. You’re too short. You’re too big. You’re too plain. Fill in the blank. You simply can’t measure up, and it’s hard to escape feeling inadequate. How are you supposed to accept yourself?

Or say you aren’t what your parents ordered. They wanted a great athlete and a straight A student who was going to be a smashing success in life and make them proud. Your heart was in another game. In ways big and small, they never let you forget their disappointment. How are you supposed to accept yourself?

I could go on and on and on. There are probably as many threats to self-acceptance as there are people. As I said, it’s hard to come by.

And the reason can be seen to emerge. Self acceptance is predicated upon the acceptance of others. And others are judgmental. If you doubt it, go online and look at a thread, any thread -- if you want to see just how vicious and shallow and mean and ignorant and prejudiced the judgments of others are. The struggle for self acceptance is the struggle against the need for the acceptance of others, and that’s a no easy struggle. It takes tremendous courage and strength and independence.

But at the same time, we are all deeply in need of community. But take note. There is a difference between the acceptance of others and community. The “acceptance” of others is just that. Underscore the word others. Community is just the opposite. Community occurs between people who hold things in common. It occurs between people of mutual understanding, mutual appreciation, mutual affirmation, mutual encouragement, and mutual support. It occurs between kindred spirits.

There’s an obvious lesson in this for us. We need to strive for self acceptance, and we need to seek community. To bring this back to church, it’s about putting some real stock in what we profess to believe - that we are all children of God, beloved by him and redeemed by him -- because we are accepted by him.

And speaking of bringing this back to church, let’s return at long last to Jesus. Now of course Jesus achieved self acceptance, but like everything he achieved, it was harder for him, harder for him than anyone. And why? Because at his baptism the Holy Spirit imparted to him that he was the Son of God and that his impending death would constitute a vicarious sacrifice for human sin. How in the world does anyone accept that? That was the identity he had to accept. That was the destiny he had to accept. But he did. This is Jesus we are talking about, after all. This is why we don’t just respect him. This is why we worship him.

And to say that his self acceptance was not predicated upon the acceptance of others is the understatement of the century. Others were judgmental back then too. The religious authorities, those who were supposed to be leaders and role models, attacked him left and right. When he asserted his divinity they screamed blasphemy. And they were all too eager to help him along with his death that would constitute a vicarious sacrifice for human sin. His own family thought he was insane; even his own mother despaired of him. But at least he had his disciples, right? Wrong. They were the worst yet. Whenever he tried to impart to them his impending death, which he wanted desperately for them to apprehend, they were deliberately obtuse. This is why they acted so pathetically after his arrest.

But at the same time, Jesus needed community, needed kindred spirits who knew who he was and what he had to do. He found them, though they were but a few -- Mary Magdalene, Lazarus, Nicodemus. But they meant everything to him.

Enter the woman he had never set eyes on who dumped a vial of oil on his head. But she too knew who he was and what he had to do! That’s why she dumped a vial of oil on his head. She was anointing his body for his death. She was doing it before his death precisely so he would know that she knew who he was and what he had to do. So I guess it wasn’t an over reaction after all.

So there is more here for us than the lesson to strive for self-acceptance and to seek community. There is the lesson to join into community with Jesus Christ; to become those kindred spirits who know who he was and what he had to do; who know that he was the Son of God whose death was a vicarious sacrifice for our sin. And this is no small lesson. It is the whole and sole cornerstone of our lives, and more than this, it is the means for us to minister to the spirit of Jesus Christ, as did the woman Jesus made sure would never be forgotten.

Think about that. I mean it. Think about that. Think long and think hard. Think about that in the midst of all the tribulation that at present surrounds us. Because the tribulation has come before, and it will come again. The tribulation is but part of a passing scene, but he is not. He is the Alpha and the Omega, and we can minister to his spirit. Let that be said of us. Amen.

Heavy Is The Head

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Sun, 12 Jul 2020 20:26:01 GMT

I Sameul 31:1-7 Matthew 25:14-30

King Saul was a tragic figure. This is a statement about which there is no room for argument. The facts speak for themselves.

Saul descended into madness and led the army of Israel to the brink of destruction at the hands of the Philistines, destruction halted, ironically, only by his suicide in battle, and this only after he had witnessed the slaughter of his three sons.

And that wasn’t even an end of it. The Philistines found his remains and desecrated them. They hung his armor in their temple, and they hung his body, after they had decapitated it, on the wall of their fortress. On the basis of these facts, one could hardly argue that Saul was a heroic figure. No, King Saul was a tragic figure. There is no room for argument.

Where there is room for argument, however, is as to the question why Saul was a tragic figure. What was the flaw within him, as tragedy presupposes,

that led to his demise? Various theories have been advanced, but for me at least none fit the bill.

There is the theory that the flaw within Saul was jealousy, jealousy of David to be precise. And in truth Saul was jealous of David. David, after all, was one of the greatest men in human history. I personally wouldn’t want him to happen into my court were I king. Directly after he happened into Saul’s court he slew Goliath, who had paralyzed the army of Israel with terror. Then Saul’s son Jonathon transferred his birthright to him. Then Saul’s daughters Merab and Michel fell in love with him. Then David outdid Saul on the field of battle. Then he won the hearts of the people of Israel. Yes, Saul was jealous of David, but David came to his court in the first place to play for him on his lyre because Saul had become tormented. No, Saul’s jealousy of David exacerbated the flaw within him, but the flaw within him preceded his jealousy of David.

There is too the theory that the flaw within Saul was mental illness, and in truth Saul became mentally ill. I am convinced that he became what we would call today a schizophrenic. His jealousy deteriorated into paranoia, which in turn deteriorated into delusions, which in turn deteriorated into mania. He grew obsessed that David was out to get him, so he attempted by a careless toss of his spear to kill him and make it look like an accident.

When that failed, he sent David on suicide missions against the Philistines. When David proved seemingly indestructible, he grew more blatant in his attempts on David’s life until David was forced to flee his court.

But David’s departure was not enough for Saul. His country at war, he set off in reckless pursuit of him, slaughtering en route anyone he believed had abetted him. And when finally, through dereliction of duty, the Philistines began to close in on him, he groveled and sniveled at the feet of a medium begging her to tell him what to do. Yes, Saul became mentally ill, but his mental illness came even later than his jealousy, and both were preceded by his torment. So why did Saul become tormented in the first place? Surely that is the key to uncovering the flaw within him that made him a tragic figure.

The answer, I think, is a subtle one, which is why the theories don’t fit the bill. Saul was anointed king on the strength of his youthful promise, and he

had plenty of it, as so many do. But when the blush of youth passed and the long years of maturity ensued; when he found himself a person just like the rest of us -- a person with a given personality, a given set of traits, a given set of strengths and weaknesses, he thoughtlessly presumed that the prestige of his office was all that he needed to rule. And when he was confronted by the strenuous challenges of that office and did not rightly meet them, he began to incite the notice of those around him. Saul began to sense their growing disrespect. He sensed that they were turning on him, that he was losing his grip, but he couldn’t discern why. This is why he became tormented. The flaw within Saul that made him a tragic figure then was that by some blindness or some dullness or some cluelessness he failed to realize that he was responsible to become and remain the stuff of his office. But he failed at that responsibility, and he lived, and died, to count the cost.

King Saul. A tragic figure. Not exactly a positive role model, but if you think about it the Bible offers us as many negative role models as positive ones.

There is Abraham, but there too is Lot. There is Moses, but there too is Aaron. There are the prophets, but there is too the entire people of Israel. This is because we can learn as much from negative role models as from positive ones. And indeed we have much to learn from Saul. Of course, the stakes, mercifully, are lower. We are not kings, and the Philistines are not at the gates. But the rules of life that applied to Saul apply to us as well.

For many of us our youthful years were, as were Saul’s, years of promise -- everything came easily. The world, as Matthew Arnold put it, “lied before us like a land of dreams.” But whether our youthful years were years of promise or not, the years of maturity now ensue, and we find ourselves people like everyone else, each with our own set of givens. Yet at the same time, we all occupy offices that are very prestigious, to my mind, just as prestigious as the office of king. I refer to the office of mother, of father, of grandparent, of wife, of husband, of son, and of daughter; to the office of friend and colleague, to the office of vocation and avocation. But, again, as with Saul, the prestige of these offices is not sufficient. We are responsible to become and remain the stuff of those offices.

And if we grow dull or blind to this responsibility, then we will become problems for those around us. No, we won’t be driven to fall on our swords, but we will become problems for those around us, nonetheless. We will cause relationships to become skewed or even inverted. The spouse will become a dependent. The boss will become divested of any genuine authority. The child will become the true parent. Those around us may avoid or reject us, or they may tolerate or accommodate or enable us out of pity or duty. But failing in our responsibility to become and maintain the stuff of our offices, we will become their responsibility.

Surely Jesus had something like this in mind when he told the parable of the talents. The third servant was endowed with a measure of talent, not as much as the others, not a kingly amount, but he was nonetheless responsible for it. And what did he do with it? He buried it. What’s buried tends to rot. When we bury whatever measure of talent we are endowed with, rather than take responsibility for it, it too will rot, and we will find ourselves in the outer darkness. But Jesus doesn’t want us in the outer darkness. This is why he told the parable. He wants us all to be good and faithful servants, and this means taking responsibility for the offices we hold; taking responsibility for our lives. Amen.

The True Vine

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Wed, 01 Jul 2020 21:47:30 GMT

John 15:1-8

The gospel of John, which through most of the history of Christianity has enjoyed a certain prominence, if not to say preeminence, among the gospels, has been demoted by contemporary scholars. It has been demoted on account of all of its abstractions – all of its metaphors and allegories. These indicate to scholars that the gospel of John contains little hard historical information about Jesus; that the gospel of John is, rather, they believe, merely a theological interpretation of him.

And hard historical information about Jesus is the name of the scholarly game nowadays. The scholarly game is to extricate from the gospels the “historical Jesus.” The gospel writers were, after all, scholars presume, ancient people with ancient, therefore outmoded, understandings. If scholars could only extricate from the gospels the historical Jesus, we would know who he really was and could respond to him appropriately. If Jesus were really a sage, then we could grow in his wisdom. If he were really a social or political revolutionary, we could join forces against existing power

systems. If he were really a healer, then we could bind up the wounded. If he were really a spiritualist, then we could cultivate inner transformation.

I, personally, do not salute the gospel of John’s demotion. I am not particularly impressed with the scholarly game of extricating from the gospels the historical Jesus – as though this were even remotely possible in the first place – in order to know who he really was. Bumpkin that I may be, I think the gospel writers knew who he really was and is. He is the Son of God. He is the Lord.

And this is precisely why the gospel of John expresses itself in abstractions; in metaphors and allegories. How else does one express the mystery that lies behind history? And the import of history, for Christians at least, is not history itself, but the mystery that lies behind it. It is just as poetry in the last analysis better expresses who we fully are than a biology textbook. Our import is the mystery that lies behind our biological makeup.

John indeed understands that Jesus was a historical man, but he seeks to express the import of that historical man, the mystery behind that historical man – that he was the word made flesh. Accordingly, he expresses himself in abstractions – metaphors and allegories.

And so Jesus, in the gospel of John, declares of himself: “I am the light of the world.” “I am the bread of life.” “I am the good shepherd.” “I am the gate for the sheep.” And profundity compounds profundity there. For recall that God in the book of Exodus first declared of himself, “I am who I am.” I am who I am?” But who was he? He was an unknown sovereign, further knowledge of which he would not grant to his people, as he struggled with them, disciplined them, formed them away from their rebellious nature into the means of his salvation.

But then, in the fullness of time, the word became flesh, no longer, “I am who I am,” but “I am the light of the world, the bread of life, the good shepherd, the gate for the sheep” – no longer unknown, but manifest as our vision in the darkness, our spiritual nourishment, our tender and keeper, our one and only way. No, I, at least, am not quite ready to strip the gospel of John of its rank for its supposed paucity of hard, historical information about Jesus.

And of all John’s abstractions, I think the one from this morning’s gospel lesson is my very favorite. “I am the true vine, my father is the vine

grower…and you are the branches who bear much fruit.” What a beautiful metaphor. Jesus the vine and we the branches – Jesus sustaining and nourishing us with his own life, infusing us with his own essence, with the father tending us both. What’s more, as branches we bear his fruit. We are in history his ears and eyes, his hands and feet. We are utterly dependent upon him for our life and vocation, but surprisingly, he too is dependent upon us.

Here is a metaphor that truly captures the import of history and our history, the mystery behind them both. I suppose this metaphor is my very favorite though because it brings me solace. I have gotten to an age in life where I know I am nothing without him and this metaphor confirms that I am right, that I am nothing without him. But it confirms too that I am not without him. That’s solace.

Solace but for one possible spoiler, for Jesus talks of pruning, “Every branch that bears fruit (the father) prunes to make it bear more fruit.” To a branch, pruning is not an inviting prospect. It sounds painful. This talk of pruning turns solace to tension, to fear, to dread even. But, in truth, it should not.

What Jesus is teaching when he talks of pruning is the way to view the trials that befall us, whether they are trials that befall us as God’s judgment for our fault or error, or trials that simply befall us, it matters not. Jesus is teaching the way to view them.

They are the opportunities to bear more fruit. Our trials must not, must never, then, make us cynical, hard, sullen, bitter, complaining, or angry. No, this is self-indulgent and self-defeating, and the one always leads to the other. What’s worse, it is faithless. No, our trials must open us up to new opportunities for helpfulness, new opportunities for sympathy, understanding, fellow feeling, compassion, and humility. And this too is solace. Not pie crust solace that crumbles before the realities of life, but real solace, that covers the realities of life.

The life of C.S. Lewis provides the perfect illustration of this. Many of you are probably familiar with his writings, but perhaps not with his life story. His mother, whom he loved dearly, died when he was a boy of ten. “It was the end of my world,” he wrote. “I remember my father in tears. Voices all over the house. Doors shutting and opening. It was a big house, all long, empty corridors. I remember I had the toothache. I wanted my mother to

come to me. I cried for her to come, but she didn’t.” In his suffering, Lewis retreated to a fortress in which he felt safe, away from emotional involvement or attachment. He retreated behind walls of reason and intellect.

He grew to adulthood an avowed atheist, but his reason and intellect eventually led him to discredit and disclaim atheism and to embrace Christianity. Upon his conversion to Christianity, he became one of its greatest defenders. But Christianity remained for him an intellectual, rational proposition.

Then, rather late in life, he met an American woman – a Jew who had become a communist, who then converted to Christianity after reading Lewis’ books. Her name was Joy Gresham. She had come to England with her son fleeing an unhappy marriage – destitute, distraught, with no real plan but to get away from her old life and to meet Lewis.

Theirs became an odd kind of friendship, this now world famous author and this woman of questionable standing. But once she claimed his acquaintance, he felt a certain obligation toward her, an obligation, as well as an appreciation and fascination with her mind. “Her mind was lithe and quick and muscular as a leopard,” he wrote. “Passion, tenderness and pain were all equally unable to disarm it. It scented the first whiff of cant or slush, then sprang, and knocked you over before you knew what was happening.”

One day she made a strange request of him -- that he marry her so that she could avoid extradition to America. It was just to be a paper marriage, nothing more. He agreed to do it, and they married by civil ceremony. Shortly thereafter, she was diagnosed with terminal bone cancer. He then and there realized that he had fallen in love with her. They married again on her deathbed, this time by a Christian ceremony. Then a miracle occurred. Her cancer disappeared, and theirs became one of the great love stories of history. But when her reprieve was over, when she died of bone cancer some years later, Lewis’ safe fortress of reason and intellect had been breached.

His suffering was extremely intense, but only weeks after her death he was able to write this, “From the rational point of view, what new factor has her death introduced into the problem of the universe? What grounds has it given me for doubting all that I believe? I knew already that these things, and worse, happened daily. I would have said that I had ‘taken them into account.’ I had been warned…We had been promised sufferings. They were part of the programme. We were even told ‘Blessed are they that mourn,’ and I accepted it. I’d got nothing that I hadn’t bargained for……Of course it is a different matter when the thing happens to oneself, not to others…Yes, but should it make such a difference as this? No. It wouldn’t have for a man whose faith had been real faith….whose concern for other people’s sorrows had been real concern. If the house collapsed at one blow, that is because it was a house of cards. My faith which ‘took these things into account’ was not faith. The taking them into account was not real sympathy. If I had really cared, as I thought I did, about the sorrows of the world, I would not have been so overwhelmed when my own sorrow came. Mine had been an imaginary faith playing with innocuous counters labeled, ‘Illness’ ‘Pain’ ‘Death,’ and ‘Loneliness.’”

For C.S. Lewis then, at the nadir of his suffering over the loss of his beloved Joy, he saw the opportunity to bear more fruit. “I have been given the

choice twice in my life. The boy chose safety. The man chooses suffering.” He allowed himself, like his savior and ours, to be made perfect by suffering.

Few things are certain in life, but this is. Trials will come to us all. But the mystery behind history, that mystery that once took flesh, teaches us that through our trials we can bear more fruit, and in so doing grow in his likeness. Amen.

They Came For Paw Patrol

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Wed, 24 Jun 2020 22:00:53 GMT

Mark 3:28-29

You don’t need me to tell you that we are living through troubled and troubling times. Where to begin? There’s Covid 19. There’s the ripple effects of Covid 19 -- a tanked economy leading to near record unemployment and social isolation leading to depression and aimlessness. There’s the police brutality against George Floyd. There is, both connected and unconnected to this, widespread lawlessness, violence, and destruction. I don’t remember feeling more disturbed by the times. But for me personally at least, there’s something else going on that’s every bit as disturbing.

Daniel Patrick Moynihan once said that everyone is entitled to his own opinion. That sounds about right. We share similar values – We want to be decent and upright people who make a positive impact in life. We love our families and want to provide for them as best we can. We want to be good citizens who help to conform our nation to its ideals.

But at the same time, we all come from different walks in life. We all have different priorities. We all have different personalities. So, although we share similar values, we differ as to how to give expression to them. We have different opinions -- to which, Moynihan asserts, we are entitled.

At one time, we took this as axiomatic. Not anymore. If you voice the “wrong” opinion, an amorphous squad of enforcers, let’s call them the Opinion Police – rise and retaliate. You are shamed on social media. You receive death threats. You are fired from your job.

We have a general sense of what opinions will land us in hot water, but at the same time it’s a minefield out there. The Opinion Police, coming at it from every angle, are always finding new opinions that don’t make their grade. It's the new McCarthyism, only this time not targeting Communists, but those who support freedom of thought and speech.

I guess it’s proof of the universality and uniformity of the fall. It’s why history keeps repeating itself. At any rate, the Opinion Police now have the upper hand which they use to bully and intimidate, and it’s not going away. In fact, it’s gaining traction. Thanks to technology, anyone, and I mean anyone -- any extremist or ignoramus -- can with a single click activate the Opinion Police. More proof of the universality and uniformity of the fall. Every human advance turns on itself.

Yes, it’s disturbing. A few weeks ago, the Opinion Police crossed the line with me. They denounced Paw Patrol with threatening demands that it be cancelled. Now I happen to be an expert on Paw Patrol. It came out soon after I adopted Herry. It’s common for foreign adopted children to cling to a certain TV shows as they acquire a new language that instinct teaches them they need to learn to survive. Herry clung to Paw Patrol. And I mean, Herry clung to Paw Patrol. Then just as he weaned himself of it, I adopted Adam. Adam clung to Paw Patrol. So, year after year, I have been watching Paw Patrol. I have seen an embarrassing number of episodes, some half a dozen times. It may actually be possible that I have seen more Paw Patrol episodes than any adult on the planet.

In case you’ve not had the pleasure, Paw Patrol it’s about a ten year old boy named Ryder. Ryder leads a band of puppies. There’s Marshall, a Dalmatian, who is a fire fighter; Rubble, a Bulldog, whose works construction; Chase, a German Shepherd, who is a police officer; Zumba, a Labrador, who mans the seas, and Skye, a Cockapoo, who mans the skies. Together, they form a team of rescuers. That’s the long and short of it. They rescue things -- things like baby sea turtles. It has no further agenda but to extol rescuers to children. It wants children to understand the goodness and importance of rescuers.

And it’s amazing really -- so many things right under our nose are amazing --that there are rescuers out there - people out there who devote their lives, often at great risk and sacrifice, to saving people who are in danger. It proves that despite the fall, there’s good in us yet. But the Opinion Police do not believe in the reality of rescuers much less their goodness and importance.

Our morning’s gospel lesson speaks of the sin against the Holy Spirit, the eternal sin that can never be forgiven. Scholars puzzle over exactly what this sin is. I think I know. It’s when moral blindness becomes total, so that the bad becomes the good, and the good becomes the bad -- like in Nazi Germany. The Nazis advanced that it was good to gas Jewish women and children. They were enemies of the state.

And the reason it can never be forgiven is that it can’t be acknowledged so it can’t be repented. It’s worth being reminded that sin must be repented before it is forgiven, at least according to Jesus. We sometimes get the convenient idea that forgiveness is automatic. That no matter how refractory and recalcitrant we are, we are automatically forgiven. Well it’s not the case. Sin must be repented before it is forgiven.

Now you might think that the condemnation of Paw Patrol is a rather venial example to summon the sin against the Holy Spirit, the eternal sin that can never be forgiven. I don’t think so. Rescuers are now under attack. Our children are not to be taught that they are worthy, not to be taught that it is worthy to save people who are in danger. That’s a complete inversion of bad and good.

But this more than my opinion. It is the opinion of the Bible. Look at Abraham who rescued Lot from foreign captivity. Look at Moses who rescued the people of Israel from Egyptian slavery. Look at David who rescued Abigail from an abusive husband. Look at Esther who rescued the Jewish people from annihilation. Look at Ruth who rescued her mother-in-law from grief and bitterness. Look at the Good Samaritan, and look good and hard at him, because he rescued his enemy and in so doing made him his neighbor.

Above all, look at Jesus Christ. He rescued humankind from sin and in so doing reconciled humankind to God. Existence would indeed be troubled and troubling if not for that, if all we had was this existence and nothing more. No God. No truth. No eternity. No heaven. No hope.

The Opinion Police then must not drive us not to capitulation, to the preemption of our opinions with theirs. They should drive us rather to scrutinize our opinions. They should drive us to evaluate our opinions. They should drive us to test our opinions. They should drive us to allow others, in a common aim for what’s right, to test our opinions. They should drive us to defend our opinions. They should drive us to enact our opinions. Because Moynihan is right -- everyone is entitled to his opinion. But we can appeal to a mind far greater Moynihan’s. We can appeal to Martin Luther, the founder of our Reformed Tradition, who as the bedrock of that tradition asserted and demanded the conscience of the individual believer.

Friends, we live in troubled and troubling times. Let us not just pray for rescuers, but let us ourselves be rescuers. Amen.

Lent - Temptation In The Wilderness

Sun, 21 Jun 2020 18:26:59 GMT

Luke 4:1-13

I have been in the wilderness just once.

I was hiking in the mountainous desert of the southwest. I was alone. That you may deem foolish, but I hike and run and cycle in large part to be alone. I am a person who requires solitude. And too, I admit, I tend to imagine I’m indestructible. At any rate, I was at least well prepared – properly conditioned, appropriately attired, possessed of compass and canteen. A few hours into the hike, as I was replacing my canteen in my pack, it tumbled down the side of the mountain. I knew I had to retrieve it, that I probably could not make it back without it. It was not a case of – ‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” It was 90 degrees, and I was nearly ten miles from the road. So I left the path and climbed down the side of the mountain. I quickly realized it would be nearly impossible to retrieve my canteen. Once off the path the terrain was rough and indistinguishable, so much so that I lost my bearings. I climbed back up well past where the path should have been but couldn’t find it. By this time, my thirst was becoming increasingly urgent, and with increasing urgency I climbed back down to search for my canteen, but of course, to no avail. Finding myself without the strength to climb up again, I had no recourse but to follow the wadi at the bottom of the mountain hoping it would lead somewhere. As it happened, it led out into the dessert. My thirst became desperate and unbearable. My walk became a stagger. Some irrational impulse led me to cry out for help, but I found I no longer had no voice. The terms of the situation were suddenly made clear to me. This would be my last day. I would die of thirst this day in the dessert.

It was then I entered the wilderness. The wilderness is less a place of physical torment than of spiritual torment. It is hard to describe to those who have never been there. It is as if all the structures that confer meaning upon existence fall away and without them looms the dread and despair that there is no meaning, only futility. The wilderness is, I suppose, the keen and vivid experience of godlessness in the face of death.

Mercifully my time in the wilderness didn’t last long. My thoughts turned, or were led, to Jesus. “He thirsted from his cross,” I thought, and I was given to hope that by sharing in his suffering I would be purged of my sin and he would receive me home. With that thought, I was no longer in the wilderness.

I have been in the wilderness just once, but let me tell you, once is enough. I hope never to return there, but I realize it’s not my choice. For one cannot avoid the wilderness by avoiding the dessert. Some people find themselves in the wilderness even despite those structures which confer meaning upon existence, which for most hold it at bay. Friedrich Nietzsche, for instance, was one such individual, though he called the wilderness the abyss. He stared into it, made a feeble stand against it in his philosophy, and then went insane.

This is why to consider that Jesus -- having learned from the Spirit at his baptism that his vocation was to die for the sin of humankind -- was thereupon driven by the Spirit into the wilderness, is to make one shudder in revulsion and horror. It was in that place of torture and torment, of intolerable desolation, that Jesus was forced to master all doubt that indeed his death was for the sin of humankind, that his death would be the means by which the sin of humankind would be forgiven and all death the means to reconciliation with God.

But why, one wonders, why would the Spirit drive him there? Why would the Spirit add to the burden it had already placed upon him at his baptism? It was in fact because the Spirit sought to help Jesus to honor what it knew would be his intention. The Spirit knew that if Jesus could determine in the wilderness to die for the sin of humankind, he could too make good on that determination. And so the Spirit drove him there, careless even that the wilderness was the stalking ground of the devil.

And the devil indeed found him there. After all, he had his interest to protect. He could not allow Jesus to die for the sin of humankind; he could not allow Jesus’ death to be the means by which the sin of humankind would be forgiven and all death the means to reconciliation with God. Death was his greatest weapon against humankind, the means by which he held humankind captive through fear and cynicism. He intended to protect that interest, and the only way to do so was to tempt Jesus from determining to die for the sin of humankind. And the devil knew just what to do, knew to lead into Jesus’ goodness.

"If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” Jesus was half starved; for he had been fasting forty days. Jesus felt

t he deep need of all those who hunger. He could, as the devil suggested, use the miraculous power entrusted to him as the Son of God to feed the hungry. His vocation could be to provide concrete relief in the here and now. But he recalled the word of God, “One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.”

The devil next took him to the pinnacle of the temple, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down, for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you’ and ‘on their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’” The devil was at him most beguiling, for he quoted to Jesus that same word of God Jesus had turned to for fortification. “Jump,” the devil coaxed. “At God’s own word, he will protect you. Let that be the sign that you are the Son of God. Everyone will believe, and you need not die.” But Jesus knew that the devil himself can cite scripture, so resisted him again, “… it is written, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’”

Finally, the devil took him to the top of a mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world, “All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me.” Another lead into Jesus’ goodness. “You can rule the whole world,” the devil bargained, “and be the best ruler the world has ever known, so long as death remains under my control.” But the devil, in these repeated temptations began to reveal himself for who he was, and ironically drove Jesus from the wilderness. “Away with you Satan! For it is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only.’”

Jesus had triumphed as the Spirit intended. He determined in the wilderness, in the face there even of the devil’s temptations, to die for the sin of humankind and it was a determination he could make good on.

And the devil had played into his hands in more ways than one. Jesus would now recognize all temptations from his determination to die for the sin of humankind as precisely the temptation of the devil – Peter’s rebuke to him that he must not die, the crowds at Palm Sunday who acknowledged and hailed him as a political messiah, his own terror at the Garden of Gethsemane, and the jeers at him on his cross, “If you are the Son of God, save yourself.”

Yet it is difficult to fathom the depth of the suffering Jesus endured in the wilderness and strength he somehow summoned there. Part of the grace I

r eceived from my own time in the wilderness is that I can now better glimpse it. But what kind of man could endure that suffering and summon that strength? Only one kind of man, if you think about it, a man of perfect love as was his -- love for his father, love for humankind.

We are bid this first Sunday in Lent to reflect upon Jesus in the wilderness, and as we do so, to reflect too as honestly and openly as we are able about our own lives over against his; to ask ourselves questions like these: Am I mindful of what he endured for me? Do I live a life worthy of him? Am I the person he calls me to be? Do I love all those as he bids me to love? Am I loyal to him? Could I stand before him?

And we will know if we have entered the season of Lent if our reflection issues in repentance, which particularly in Lent, but in every season of the Christian year, is the practice and mark of the true Christian. Amen.

Wineskins

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Mon, 15 Jun 2020 22:32:39 GMT

Galatians 5:1-6 Mark 2:18-22

Metaphors.

He is the Rock of Gibraltar.

She has cold feet.

He is a still water running deep.

She is a sounding board.

He is a port in a storm.

She is the cat’s pajamas.

He is a whipping boy.

What’s not to love about good old fashioned metaphors? They sum it all up. They boil it all down. And in such a catchy and picturesque way -- moreover, in such an automatic way. No one ever stops to think about how metaphors actually work. I guess if you did, you would conclude that metaphors are figures of speech that analogize essential realities and images. But this is far too boring. This is far too pedantic. This is far too prosaic. And above all, this is far too unnecessary. There is no need to stop to think about how metaphors actually work. They just do. The point about metaphors is that everyone just gets them. Metaphors, however they actually work, get right to the heart of the matter.

Yes, metaphors are, so to speak, the bee’s knees, and this is why the Bible employs them with such frequency. Just think of all the biblical metaphors for God: rock, fortress, king, shepherd, shield, Father. And think of all the biblical metaphors for the Son of God: the true vine, the bread of life, the lamb of God, the light of the world, the living water….Yes, however they actually work, metaphors get right to the heart of the matter. With the odd exception.

Our gospel lesson today employs a metaphor. That metaphor is wineskins. And if that’s not obscure enough, it makes distinctions between old wineskins, fresh wineskins, and burst wineskins. Hmmm. Perhaps the problems is that we are ignorant of wineskins. They are not from our place and time, after all. We get out wine out of bottles, boxes perhaps, but never skins.

Wineskins were the ancient way storing wine. They were made out of goat skins. In some ways they were superior to bottles. They had straps on them, so not only could you store wine, you could transport it. What’s more, you could either pour from them or squirt from them directly into your mouth. Try doing that with a bottle.

And from this description some sense can be made out of the distinctions between old wineskins, fresh wineskins, and burst wineskins. Fresh wineskins were for fresh wine. This is because fresh wine was yet unfermented. As it fermented it expanded, and fresh wineskins could accommodate that expansion. They could stretch. Old wine skins were for old wine; wine that was already fermented. This is because old wine skins could no longer stretch. Burst wineskins were what happened if you put fresh wine into old wineskins. The fresh wine would ferment and expand, and because the old wineskins could no longer stretch, they would burst.

So, the problem of ignorance of wineskins – fresh, old, or burst – is now eradicated. Still, the metaphor is not exactly leaping off the page. But it must be an important one if Jesus saw fit to employ it.

In fact, the metaphor of wineskins has to do with the gospel of Jesus Christ. What Jesus was instructing was that his gospel was like fresh wine, wine that would ferment and expand. His gospel was a living, growing, transforming, dynamic, change agent; and thus it had to be received in fresh forms. Old forms could not contain it.

More specifically, Jesus was contrasting his gospel over against the Jewish religious law. The Jewish religious law was the central means for the practice of the Jewish religion. At that time Judaism’s history, its religious law was extremely detailed – fine-tuned to every imaginable particular in life. It was supposed that through adherence to all those minute rules and regulations one could stand justified before God.

But this, Jesus discerned, was all wrong. This was to externalize the practice of religion. His gospel, by contrast, was all about internalizing the practice of religion. The only law that mattered to him was the law of love -- which would be conferred by baptism in the Holy Spirit.

So to complete the metaphor, if the law of love was the new wine, the Jewish religious law was the old wineskin that could not contain it, and baptism in the Holy Spirit was the fresh wineskin that could. The bottom line for Jesus was that the Jewish religious law had to go. Nothing less than the law! It had to go. And recall that Jesus himself was a Jew. A Jew throwing out its religious law. Pretty revolutionary.

It’s almost uncanny that Jesus foresaw exactly what Paul would have to contend with within a generation. Paul founded a church among the Gentiles of Galatia based upon his like apprehension of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Once again: the Jewish religious law is out. The law of love is in, conferred by baptism in the Holy Spirit.

Now recall that Paul was himself a Jew, as were all the first Christians. At this time the leadership of Christianity then was in the hands of these Jewish Christians, as we could call them. So the leaders of this new movement were invested in the Jewish religious law to the tune of a 1,000 years plus. As an added convenience, this law set them apart from the Gentiles, provided insulation from them, who they found to be, to put it bluntly, creepy.

So after Paul founded this church among the Gentiles in Galatia, other Jewish Christian leaders followed in his wake. They told the Galatians that Paul had screwed up. They told them that Paul’s “gospel of Jesus Christ” – this law of love conferred by baptism in the Holy Spirit – was insufficient. The Galatians, they concluded, would have to be bound to the Jewish religious law.

When Paul got word of this, he went ballistic, as only Paul could. Had the gospels yet been written yet, had Paul known Jesus’ metaphor about the wineskins, he would have said to them, “You’re putting fresh wine into old wineskins, and they’re going to burst, as they should.” But he hadn’t the metaphor at his disposal, so he found his own words. This again from a Jew, and a hyper observant Pharisee to boot. He threw out the religious law. Pretty revolutionary.

But neither Jesus nor Paul much cared how revolutionary they were. Because revolutionary was the very stuff of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Let the gospel of Jesus Christ sound, and let the revolution come. For Jesus and Paul, consequences were secondary.

So what are we to make of all this? How does it apply to our own era? Well, we have something like a general lesson. It goes like this: The gospel of Jesus Christ, the law of love that is conferred by the Holy Spirit at our baptism, is a living, growing, transforming, dynamic, change agent. Its implications are revolutionary. We can’t set limits to its expansion or confine it to forms for which it was not made. If we attempt to do so, it becomes, to employ some more metaphors, an appendage, a veneer, a post script, to some fundamentally less than Christian attitude or aim. It subordinates the Christian gospel to accommodate old prejudice and old ignorance.

So we need to think about it. We need to ask ourselves. Where do we see fresh wine being poured into old wineskins?

Was the church ever meant to be a top heavy, authoritarian, institutionalized, bureaucratic, superstructure that guards the gates to heaven? Or is this an old wineskin? Was the church ever meant to exclude and discriminate against, based deep down upon some ad hominem view of them, various segments of humankind? Or is this an old wineskin? Was the church ever meant to pit itself against the discoveries and advances of science? Or is this an old wineskin? Was the church ever meant to endorse errant and inconsistent interpretations of the Bible that demand its members commit intellectual suicide? Or is this an old wineskin?

I guess it is easier to pour fresh wine into old wineskins than to blaze news trails and deal with revolutionary implications. But friends, we ourselves are the church. As such, are we old wineskins or fresh ones? Only if we are fresh ones, do we deserve to minister in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Pride - Matthew Shepherd

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Fri, 12 Jun 2020 21:53:55 GMT

Amos 4:1-3 Matthew 5:43-48

There are many proverbs that can be considered to capture, in one way or another, the spirit of the Bible:

There but by the grace of God go I.

Two wrongs don’t make a right.

Count your blessings.

All you need is love.

Every cloud has a silver lining.

Forgive and forget.

Patience is a virtue.

But there's one proverb that can, in no way, be considered to capture the spirit of the Bible. It is: Live and let live. That proverb, in fact, flies in the teeth of the spirit of the Bible. Live and let live should never be found in the mouth of any Christian.

Harsh words...you may be thinking. What could possibly be so wrong with a proverb that would seem to extol personal freedom and individual rights?

One indicator that the proverb may not be all it is cracked up to be is that was found in the mouths of the citizens of Laramie, Wyoming in the wake the murder of Matthew Shepherd. Some of you are no doubt familiar with Matthew Shepherd. The movie called The Laramie Project was made about him. Matthew Shepherd was a freshman at University of Wyoming in Laramie. He was a distinctive young man in some respects. He was born premature and so was tiny and delicate in stature. But his diminutive size was coupled with a robust and scintillating personality. In an ironic way, he was larger than life.

Matthew Shepherd was murdered for being gay. There is no nice or pleasant way to be murdered, but Matthew's murder was particularly heinous. He was kidnapped, robbed, then tied to a fence post in an open field. He was then brutally beaten, tortured, terrorized, and left for dead. He was discovered the following day, still tied to the fence post clinging to life. His face was covered with blood and dirt except for where it had been cleansed by two tear tracks. He survived in a coma for a few days, then died.

The movie sought to understand what had happened, what sort of culture could have produced such a monstrous crime. Indeed, as the movie began, the citizens of Laramie voiced disquiet that their culture indeed had produced such a monstrous crime -- that Matthew's two murderers were from among their ranks. Somehow, they concurred, it would been easier to take if the murderers had been outsiders. But one of them? One of their own?

As the citizens of Laramie were interviewed, it soon became crystal clear how the murderers were from among their ranks. This was a typical response. I quote (and please excuse my language). “I don’t give a damn one way or another (if someone is a homosexual) so long as they don’t bother me. That’s the attitude of most of the people of Laramie. Laramie is live and let live.” There's that proverb. Live and let live.

I heard an interesting lecture at Elmhurst College a while back. It was about bullying. I thought I knew all about bullying, because I really hate bullying and seek to know it so I can combat it, but this offered a new take on it, for me at least. The lecturer contended that bullies have an uncanny knack of targeting victims they know that no one will defend. So if you think about it, then, bullies are merely mirroring back to us our own prejudices. In a way, they are merely our henchmen.

In the case of Laramie, the citizens in their interviews made it clear that they didn't much care for homosexuals. This created a culture of homophobia. The bullies, or in this case the murderers, exercised their uncanny knack of targeting a victim they knew no one would defend. And yet, in a consummate act of cognitive dissonance, at the same time, they kept asserting the validity of live and let live.

Matthew Shepherd did not stand a chance under live and let live -- not given the reality of life. That's the thing about live and let live. It doesn't begin to grasp the reality of life. Live and let live presumes that there's no one out to get anyone else. Live and let live presumes we all start out on a level playing field, and on that level playing field, I will do my thing, and you can do yours. I will bloom in my way, and you can bloom in yours. Live and let live presumes that everyone is safe to pursue personal freedom and individual rights.

But that is not, as I said, not the reality of life. There is hatred out there, and fear and violence and aggression, and it is very often directed against those no one will defend - people who are homosexuals, or of dark races, or of strange religions, or from foreign countries, or who have diseases, or who are poor. Can we really say to these people I’ll live my life and you live yours? Can we really say to these people live and let live?

Well they can't live, any more than Matthew Shepherd could live. They need our help. They need our support. They need our protection. They need our resources. They need our advocacy. They need our intervention. They need our prayers. This is why live and let live flies in the teeth of the spirit of the Bible. The Bible declares that other people, and especially those I've just delineated, are our responsibility.

This was precisely what the biblical prophets were burdened to declare to the people of Israel. Take the prophet Amos, for instance, from this morning's Old Testament lesson. Amos addressed himself to the cows of Bashan, his unflattering epithet for the wealthy matrons of society. They lived on top of Mount Samaria - roughly the equivalent of Beverly Hills. They cows of Bashan would have been all for live and let live. Because they were women of great privilege, live and let live to them meant living lives of impervious and complacent self-indulgence. Who were they really hurting, besides perhaps their husbands, at whom they carped, "Bring that I may drink?"

Amos happened to think that they were hurting someone. He thought that by their indolence, their indifference, their self-vaunting, they were hurting those who lived at the foot of Mount Samaria. At the foot of the mountain lived the poor. Amos' were times economic disparity, like our own times, but worse, much worse.

Amos lived in a time when at the top of Mount Samaria the cows of Bashan lounged on furniture made of ivory. Yes, ivory. We all know where ivory comes from. It comes from Elephant tusks. Elephants weren't native to the region. Their tusks had to be imported from Africa. The expense must have been astronomical. Nonetheless, it was the current badge of affluence so the cows of Bashan had to have it. At the foot of Mount Samaria were debtor prisons.

It was, and is, very easy for the poor to find themselves deeply in debt. They simply cannot pay what the system costs, or you could even say what the system extracts. You can't get blood from a turnip, as another proverb advances. And so the system punished them for their non-payment with interest, fines, etc. Deeper and deeper grew the hole they were in. This may sound familiar. And so they were sold into debtor prison.

The jailer paid off their debts, in exchange for which he exploited them through lengthy terms of hard labor. Families were separated or worse, children indentured as well. Live and let live? But how could they live? This is what enraged Amos into epithet. The poor, Amos declared, were the responsibility of the cows of Bashan. And so Amos declared God judgment upon them.

The prophets of Israel did not agree on everything, but they did agree on this. If we bid others, live and let live, it is our responsibility strive for their life. This is the reality of existence. If the citizens of Laramie had, Matthew Shepherd would still be alive today.

Jesus in our gospel lesson asked a simple question, "What more are you doing than others?" What he meant was, what more are you doing than those who would say live and let live? He expects us as his followers to do more. To take risks. To take initiative. To act. To make sacrifices. To make the most revolutionary and dangerous witness that can be made - the witness of love in the face of hatred.

Christians do not leave others to their own devises. Any more than Jesus left us to ours. Amen.

Advent - John The Baptist And Repentance

Mon, 08 Jun 2020 18:19:54 GMT

When pastors get together for meetings or conferences, we always exchange jokes. They’re “pastor jokes”; in other words, jokes only fellow pastors would appreciate. I doubt you’ve ever heard one. This is precisely because they’re jokes only fellow pastors would appreciate. They’re insider jokes. No one wants to risk an insider joke on an outsider. Having said that, I am about to take the risk. I am about to tell you a joke a fellow pastor told me just last week. Feel free not to laugh. You’d merely be proving my point.

One day two old country pastors held up signs at the edge of the road. One said: "The end is near!" The other said, "Turn yourself around before it's too late!" As a car sped past them, the driver leaned out his window and yelled, "Go back to your churches where you belong!" The sound of screeching tires was followed by a big splash. One pastor looked at the other and asked, "Do you think the signs should just say 'Bridge Out'?"

The joke, as funny or as unfunny as it may be, contains a kernel of truth. Because let’s face it, no one likes to be called to repentance. No one likes to be told that they are going down the wrong road, and they need to turn around.

There are countless reasons for this. For one thing, no one likes to be accused. Even if they’re guilty. Especially if they’re guilty. No one likes to be accused. It puts you on the defensive. It makes you want to strike back. I don’t know many people who handle it well. You want to see someone fly off the handle? Accuse them. Of anything.

For another thing, no one likes to admit wrongdoing. Even if they’ve done something wrong. Especially if they’ve done something wrong. People will go to any length to deny wrongdoing. And by denying wrongdoing they dig their grave a bit deeper. They compound their problem. Now there’s both the wrongdoing and the denial.

For another thing, some people really don’t want to change. Even if they need to change. Especially if they need to change. They’ve found a crutch by which to limp through life, and they don’t want to give it up. They could care less if it’s not good for them. Yes, no one likes to be called to repentance. And there are more reasons for that than just these.

Enter John the Baptist. John the Baptist had but one thing to say to the people of his day. He called them to repentance. But here’s the weird thing. The people flocked to him. If word got out today of a pastor who week by week was calling the people to repentance, the people would hardly be flocking to him. They’d be flocking away from him. But the people flocked to John the Baptist.

This is because, in an ironic way, he was magnetic. He was a member of a rigorous religious order called the Nazirites. The Nazarites separated themselves from society to devote themselves to holiness. But John the Baptist was a Nazarite on steroids. He didn’t just live on the fringes of society, in a modest hut, say, on the outskirts of a village. He lived in the desert. That’s a pretty harsh place to live. And while the dress code of the day was soft robes and tunics, he clothed himself in the hides of camels - doubtless scavenged from some desert carrion. And in terms of his diet, no fishes and loaves for him. He did get his protein and carbs, but he got them from locusts and wild honey. That’s roughing it. He chose for himself a life of complete seclusion and utter poverty. But this gave him authenticity in the eyes of the people. He had not been compromised and corrupted by society. He was nobody’s pawn, and he was not out for his own gain. He was his own man -- driven by his singular quest for holiness. And the people could see that in him.

And so when he emerged from the desert and began to speak with the words of a prophet, when no prophetic word had been uttered for four centuries, the news spread like wildfire. Of course they flocked to him. They were burning with curiosity. Upon hearing him, though, they soon became enthralled. When they heard his call to repentance, it broke through their resistance to accusation. It broke through their denial of wrongdoing. It broke through their reluctance to change.

“My anger is out of control.” One thought. “I have an addiction.” Thought another. “I am living a lie.” Thought another. “I have cheated someone.” Thought another.” I am a betrayer.” “I am dishonest.” “I carry a horrible secret.” One by one they repented, and John the Baptist baptized them in the waters of the Jordan - washed them free of their sin.

Of course not everyone present was so moved. There were the Pharisees and the Sadducees, the religious elites of the day. I could tell you all about them, but it’s enough to say that they were the kind of people who thought it was more important to look good than to be good. John the Baptist couldn’t get through to them. Repentance didn’t look good. So he called them out. He told them they were a brood of vipers. How would you like to go down in history as being called a brood of vipers by John the Baptist? Obviously they are not the example for us to follow.

And why? Why did John the Baptist call the people to repentance? It’s because the Messiah was coming to inaugurate the Kingdom of Heaven, and he wanted the people to enter that kingdom. Maybe this is why the Messiah called John the Baptist the greatest of all the prophets. He wanted the people to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, and he discerned the means for them to do so -- repentance.

You know, my son Herry loves Christmas songs. Kids these days have access to technology, for better or for worse. Herry asks Alexa -- and if you don’t know what Alexa is ask someone under the age of 30 -- to play a Christmas song over and over again until he has it memorized and can sing it himself. He’s no Bing Crosby, but he’s becoming a decent crooner. The other day I heard him singing, “"He sees you when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’re awake. He knows if you’ve been bad or good so be good for goodness sake.” It struck me suddenly that this doesn’t just apply to Santa Claus. It applies to God as well. “He sees you when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’re awake. He knows if you’ve been bad or good so be good for goodness sake.” God already knows the fullness of our sin. As if we could hide it from it. This is why he sent his Messiah in the first place. So it’s a fool’s game not to repent, especially because through repentance God only seeks for us to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

I close with the Messiah’s very first words as he embarked upon his public ministry. “The time is fulfilled. The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand. Repent! Believe in the gospel.” Amen.

Excuses

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Wed, 20 May 2020 22:21:29 GMT

Luke 14:15-24

Excuses -- It’s not my job. I don’t feel like it. It’s not my problem. I don’t have time. It’s not my fault. We are all familiar with excuses such as these….because we all make them. Everyone does. We hear them spoken as often as we speak them. And it seems a venial enough matter, especially relative to the scandals we hear about day to day.

But listen to what people like George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, George Washington Carver, Benjamin Franklin, and Abraham Lincoln, respectively, have to say about excuses:

He that is good for making excuses is seldom good for anything else.

An excuse is worse than a lie, for an excuse is a lie guarded.

Excuses are tools of the incompetent to build a monument to nothing.

He who excuses himself accuses himself.

There aren’t enough crutches in the world for all the lame excuses.

And so, perhaps we should consider whether our lax attitude about excuses is itself an excuse for making them. Perhaps too we should consider excuses more carefully to see why the great minds find them anything but venial.

Excuses, if you reflect about it, no matter what form they take, all seem to have one thing in common. They all seem to share one common aim – and that is to evade responsibility. They are in fact rationalizations that we can not or will not make the required effort to accomplish something.

Excuses, therefore, allow us to assume just the amount of responsibility we want to assume and no more. They allow us to do just what we want to do and no more. They allow us to be just who we want to be and no more. They allow us to take the easy course. But the easy course, despite its ostensible allure, may not necessarily be the best course. It is the broad road after all, the Bible warns, that leads to destruction.

For are we really meant to take the easy course? Has anyone who has made an impact on history taken the easy course? Did Washington or Jefferson or Franklin or Carver or Lincoln? Has anyone you truly look up to taken the easy course? No, the easy course is decidedly not the best course. We aren’t mean for ease; we are meant for undertaking. We are meant to take responsibility.

And this holds true for just about everybody. It’s simply life. But for Christians the ante is upped considerably, because for Christians it is not just life that calls us to responsibility; it is God. God calls us to responsibility to him. Consider this morning’s gospel lesson, Jesus’ Parable of the Great Dinner. A host issues invitations to a great dinner. When the oxen and fat calves are slaughtered and prepared; when the table is laid and everything is in readiness, he sends his slave to summon those invited. They all make excuses. For one it the piece of land he has just purchased that is in need of his inspection. For a second it is the five oxen he has just purchased that are in need of his testing. For a third it is a wife he has just acquired who is in need of his who knows what. The point is that they are all are too preoccupied with their own endeavors, so they all send their regrets. They all make excuses

God, the parable teaches, has called us to responsibility, responsibility to him. And what excuses are we likely to offer? For some of us it may be our possessions that preoccupy us, and the more possessions the more we are preoccupied by them. For others it may be our livelihoods, for others, our families. And these are all good excuses. They are in fact brilliant excuses for indeed they are all bona fide responsibilities. But they are in the last analysis excuses, for God’s call to responsibility to him comes first.

For it you think about it, how are our responsibilities to possessions, livelihoods, and families rightly and truthfully met if we have not first met our responsibility to God? Possessions, for instance, can certainly be positive goods. We are all needful of some basic kit to survive – food, clothing, and shelter. What’s more, it is not too much to allow that we are all entitled to a few extras – objects of beauty or remembrance or adornment or comfort. But what of our tendency to hoarding and excess and greed? What of our tendency to use our possessions to proclaim our self-worth? Only

after we’ve answered God’s call to responsibility do we learn the value of simplicity and humility that allows us both to give the glory to God and to share with those in need.

And so it is with our livelihoods. Livelihoods too can certainly be positive goods. We are made to work. We are not made to idle or luxuriate. This does nothing more than spoil our characters. But what of our tendency to consider our livelihoods as solely the means to personal gain? What of our tendency to assert our livelihoods as a claim to status? Only after we’ve answered God’s call to responsibility do we learn that our livelihoods are the means by which, according to our interests and gifts, we contribute to the betterment of society and grow his Kingdom.

And so it is even with our families. Families can as well certainly be positive goods. We hear again and again that the family is the most basic unit of society, without which society itself is threatened. But what of our tendency to view our families as proud bulwarks over against other families? What of our tendency to subject those closest to us to abuse, neglect, or control? Only after we’ve answered God’s call to responsibility do we learn that that family is the place where we first learn that love that that is meant be shared boundlessly.

Yes, God’s call to responsibility to him must come first, and to those who may still be tempted to make excuses, let us return to the parable. When those invited make excuses the host gets angry and orders his slave to go out again and invite those who will not make excuses -- those who are less

“important”, those who have less to preoccupy them -- the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame.

God, the parable teaches, will not accept our excuses. Period. And God is not being harsh. We must not we blame him for it. God is not a God of indulgence, a God who pampers and coddles us in our obduracy. That would be to show us no real kindness. It would be to enable us in our obduracy, and this God will not do. He will merely, the parable teaches, leave us to our excuses and demonstrate through those replace us, those we may deem less worthy and respectable than ourselves, that his purposes will not be undone. Rather, it is we who will be undone.

And lest we go from this place with a grim sense of resignation, we must be reminded of one thing. It is as Jesus himself declares, “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me…and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” When we take his yoke upon us, by his

word, we will experience a lightening of our temporal burdens, a lightening of our worldly burdens we’ve ever experienced. We will experience a relief from our temporal burdens we never thought possible. This is because we will experience the life that in him is everlasting. Amen.

Patience

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Wed, 20 May 2020 22:15:24 GMT

Exodus 14:19-25 I Corinthians 9:1-2, 15-23 Matthew 18:23-35

We have all heard the old cliché that patience is a virtue, but for Christians this is more than an old cliché. For Christians this is a literal fact. Patience is indeed listed among the Christian virtues. There are seven in all – chastity, temperance, diligence, kindness, charity, humility, and patience. Patience is then something to which we as Christians must aspire if we are to be virtuous. And who among us does not want to be virtuous?

But what is patience, exactly? It’s a word we banter around all the time. Be patient! we say again and again. But it's one of those words that if someone puts you on the spot and asks you to define it, you might find yourself stammering. I have given the matter some thought. Here is my own working definition. Patience means bearing or enduring something that is unpleasant in calmness, peace, and wisdom. Patience means bearing or enduring something that is unpleasant without resort to retaliation or complaint.

But no sooner than we have a working definition than it becomes necessary to issue a few caveats, because there are cases in which patience is not applicable. You could say there are cases in which patience is not a virtue.

Patience is not a virtue if we happen to fall victim to social injustice. This is because social injustice does not right itself by dint of some natural moral progress that is automatically unfolding. Social injustice is righted by brave, tireless, costly, conscientious action. To be patient, then, if we happen to fall victim to social injustice is simply to perpetuate our victimization.

And too, patience is not a virtue in the face of evil. Evil and its foot soldiers – violence, hatred, and cruelty -- are like murderers on the rampage, causing senseless mayhem and suffering in their wake. Evil is an urgent danger that must be met with immediate counter force to stem the destruction it causes.

And too, patience is not a virtue in case of abusive relationships. Dysfunctional individuals are insidious. They very often aren't known to themselves, and so they imperviously suck functional individuals into enabling their own abuse. The effect is life destroying. No, once an abusive relationship is recognized as such, timely evacuation is the necessary course.

No, patience does not apply in cases such as these, in which patience is extolled as a virtue to sanction vice. But these caveats aside, let’s return to my own working definition of patience: Patience means bearing or enduring something that is unpleasant in calmness, peace, and wisdom. Patience means bearing or enduring something that is unpleasant without resort to complaint or retaliation.

Now, we've seen cases where patience does not apply; but where does it apply? It applies to the unpleasantness of everyday life – the annoying relative, the long wait, the inconsiderate driver, the chronic medical condition, the incompetent clerk, the grieving process, the difficult personality, the over scheduled day, the tough transition, the road back, the hassles, the headaches these kinds of things.

But just hearing this list, makes us a bit….dare I say it…impatient. How do we summon that peace, calm, and wisdom, how do we forswear complaint or retaliation? To put it simply, how do we practice patience? This is the real question. Well if the Bible is any judge, we do it by, of all things, reminders that we make to ourselves.

Take a look at Moses. Think about his life for a minute. He happened to have been, as the Bible puts it, snatched like a brand from the fire. His countrymen had been enslaved by the Egyptians. In enslavement their population exploded, and they came to be seen by the Egyptians as a threat. So Pharaoh decided to thin their ranks by killing their infant sons. By a fluke Moses' mother defied Pharaoh and hid her son from Pharaoh; by a fluke Pharaoh's daughter discovered and adopted him. By a fluke then, Moses, and he alone of all his enslaved countrymen, grew up with every imaginable privilege and advantage. This allowed Moses to cultivate self- actualization.

You may have heard of Maslow's pyramid. Maslow was a psychologist who believed that certain needs had to be met in order for one to cultivate self- actualization. First there were the basic needs - food and water. Then there were the safety needs - security and shelter. Then there were the social needs - family, friends and community. After that there were the needs that built self esteem like achievement and mastery. And after all these needs were met, one could cultivate self-actualization - that is to say, one could be autonomous and free, one could be creative in coordination with one's basic being. The point is - Moses was at the top of Maslow's pyramid. He had cultivated self- actualization. But his fellow countrymen were at the bottom Maslow's pyramid, struggling to get their most basic physical needs met. To put it bluntly, Moses was refined; his fellow countrymen were rabble.

And because Moses was refined, the Lord chose him to deliver his fellow countrymen from Egyptian slavery. The Lord hedged his bets that Moses would succeed. He orchestrated through Moses supernatural interventions - plagues, pillars of cloud and fire, a parted sea. And so Moses delivered his fellow countrymen from Egyptian slavery.

But it didn't make his fellow countrymen any less rabble. They continued to fret about their most basic physical needs - and did they ever complain about it to Moses! They had not ascended Maslow's pyramid. They did not comprehend the need for short term sacrifices for the sake of long term goals. They could not see the big picture, much less read their situation theologically. They had no self- restraint. They had no gratitude. They were out for what they could get. And the complaints kept coming. They made Moses' life unpleasant.

Yet the face of it, Moses practiced patience through reminders he made to himself. “These people have known hardship that I haven't. They just aren’t there yet. If I don’t help them, who will? God is on the move. He will see me through. This is how our future as a people is being wrought.”

Or take a look at Paul: Like Moses he was set apart from his people, but in his case it was not due to a series of flukes. It was due to his intellectual acumen and his personality. Due to his intellectual acumen he actually “got” the Christ event. Due to his personality - we'll call him a firebrand - he was in a position to do something about it. But the problem was that none of the other players around him recognized his personality and intellectual acumen for what they were. All the other players around him thought that they themselves "got" the Christ event. All the other players around him thought that they had the personality to do something about it. And so all the other players around him went off half-cocked, interfering with Paul's work, undermining him, contradicting him, defying him. They made Paul's life unpleasant.

Yet in the face of it Paul practiced patience through reminders he made to himself. “I am a true apostle. God revealed to me the risen Christ on the road to Damascus. God sent me. My opponents don't know that they don't know. And so I can and I must become all things to all people. I must get into their head and into their hearts if I am to help them to know as I know so that Christ may be served.”

So then, how do we practice patience? We do it with like reminders we make to ourselves. God is good. Life is worth living. I have heard the upward call of Jesus Christ. My life overflows with blessings. Most people on this planet would love to change places with me. I have enough to eat and a roof over my head. I live in safe environment. I have been loved. I don't know the realities that my detractors face. We are all up against our own struggles. It's not all about me. Whatever reminders work for us, we practice patience with the reminders we make to ourselves.

Thus far I've said much about patience. What it is: It is bearing or enduring something that is unpleasant in calmness, peace, and wisdom. It is bearing or enduring something that is unpleasant without resort to retaliation or complaint. What it is not: It is not acquiescing to social injustice, evil, or abusive relationships. Where it applies: It applies to the day to day unpleasantness which is a permanent fixture of the human condition. How it is practiced: It is practiced by reminders that we make to ourselves.

But there's one more thing, one more question. Why is patience practiced? Why is patience practiced? Brace yourselves for the answer. It’s about God’s nose. Yes, his nose. His nose was long. Pinocchio was not the only one.

I confess that when I learned that I was required to master biblical Hebrew for academic degrees, I was less than thrilled. But once I actually mastered it, I discovered that reading the Old Testament in its original language is fascinating, yes, but mostly it is very surprising. One of the things that is surprising is that Hebrew idioms, figures of speech, expressions, and the like are not translated into English. Translators have concluded that they would stymie the English reader. So for example, if the Hebrew read, "he kicked the bucket," it would be translated simply, "he died."

One of the most famous quotes from the Bible is from the book of Exodus. You all know it, "The Lord, the compassionate and gracious God is slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love." "God is slow to anger" in Hebrew really reads, "God is long of nose." Now we read about the arm of the Lord, the Lord's right hand, the face of the Lord, but God's long nose? But in fact God's long nose is an idiom for God's patience. This famous quote gives expression to one of God's central attributes, and one of God's central attributes is patience.

So why do we practice patience? Because God practices patience with us. He practices patience with us to the extent that in the fullness of time he gave us his own beloved son, even let us have our hateful way with him, so that in the wake of our hatred, we would stand the chance to become more like him. God practices patience with us. May we practice patience with one another. Amen.

International Day Of Peace

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Wed, 20 May 2020 17:59:36 GMT

Isaiah 9:6-7 John 14:25-31

In 2001 the United Nations General Assembly adopted a resolution marking September 21 of each year as an International Day of Peace. The intention of the resolution was for the entire world to observe simultaneously one day of nonviolence. Not surprisingly, the World Council of Churches, in support of the resolution, has requested that the churches of the world designate the Sunday prior to promote the cause of peace. I was asked to opt this church in, and I agreed to do so certain that it would not ruffle any feathers.

Because, of course, we are all in support the cause of peace. We all believe that peace has priority over violence; and that even when violence is such that it justifies greater violence to end it, as in the case of Nazi Germany, that peace is always the final aim. Yes, we are all in support the cause of peace. If we had any issue with the cause of peace, no doubt it would be that we feel that there is little we can do to bring it to pass. The cause of peace seems outside our hands.

What can we do, after all? What can we do about the Islamic State except to look on in utter horror at the video recordings of the beheading and burning foreign civilians? The Islamic State has now seized large chunks of Syrian and Iraq, and spewing refugees in the direction of Europe. That these refugees would risk the lives of themselves and their children in a desperate and dangerous search for sanctuary indicates that it treats its own civilians little better. And I just read that the refugee crisis is just getting started. This is just the warm up. Even the world’s political leaders do not know what to do about any of this, so what can we do?

And how about Afghanistan? I was listening to one of the many speeches given at the anniversary of 9/11. The speaker reported that the Islamic State is making gains there too, and the Taliban has not exactly folded its hand. He ended by warning that if we turn our back on Afghanistan and withdraw our support to their police, we are at serious risk for another 9/11. Another 9/11. Again, what can we do?

And of course, there’s always Israel/Palestine. The U.S. State Department last week condemned the sharp escalation of violence between Israelis and Palestinians. That tinder box is not going anywhere, and neither is the power keg that is Iran for that matter, deal or no deal.

And this is just the Middle East! What about Africa? What about Russia? The point is, we rightly feel there is little we can do to bring the cause of peace to pass. The cause of peace rightly seems out of our hands.

But unfortunately for our pessimism and defeatism, the Bible proclaims the opposite. The Bible proclaims that there is much we can do to bring the cause of peace to pass. The Bible proclaims that the cause of peace is in our hands. And so, perhaps we should consider the matter a bit further.

In this morning’s Old Testament lesson, the prophet Isaiah declares that the coming Messiah will be the Prince of Peace. But peace here is not peace in the sense that you might think; it does not mean peace between nations. It does not mean peace in the sense of the end of war through defeat, surrender, negotiation, or truce. Peace here means peace in the sense of shalom. Shalom means inner peace. It means the peace that derives from reconciliation and restoration and redemption. It means the peace of wholeness, integration, and completion. It is the peace that mirrors the shalom of God, and the peace indeed that God bestows. The coming Messiah then would be the Prince of Peace not in any political way but in a way that transcends politics. He would be the Prince of Peace by bestowing inner peace to individuals.

And this if you think about it, is exactly what the coming Messiah did. He was indeed the Prince of Peace in this sense. In this morning’s gospel lesson, Jesus is soon to be crucified and resurrected, his holy spirit soon to be released in history. And so he says to his disciples, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” The peace he promises is the same as that declared by Isaiah. It is the peace of shalom.

And indeed, on that first Easter evening when Jesus releases his holy spirit in history, he declares to his disciples, “Peace be with you.” His holy spirit in history is nothing less than the peace of shalom.

And why is this? What is the Bible recognizing about the peace of shalom? The Bible is recognizing that the peace of shalom is the real basis for peace; that peace does not begin with peace between nations. It does not begin with the end of war through defeat, negotiation, surrender, or truce. It begins with the peace of shalom. It begins with inner peace. It begins in the hearts of individuals.

It’s ironic that in its own way, the religion of the Mid East with whom we have such conflict recognizes something very similar. Jihad in Islam has nothing to do with terrorism. It is the struggle that takes place within each individual in giving his or her heart to God. Both the Bible and the Koran provide the real basis for peace.

And so, there is indeed much we can do to bring the cause of peace to pass. The cause of peace indeed is in our hands. We need only receive the holy spirit of Jesus Christ that has been released in history. We need only receive his peace of shalom. Through it we can certainly bring peace to those whose lives we touch. And this is something at least.

But we can do more. If we observe an International Day of Peace understood rightly, understood that the real basis for peace is shalom; and if our brothers and sisters in the Mid East, and all across the world do the same thing, then we observe, if just for a day, that peace is possible. Indeed, it is God’s own intention and hope for the world that he created and redeemed through his son. Let it be our intention and hope as well. May peace prevail on earth. Amen.

Wretch That He Is

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Wed, 20 May 2020 16:51:19 GMT

Romans 7:14-25 II Corinthians 3:12-18 Matthew 17:14-20

“I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate……Wretch that I am!”

I can imagine these words in the mouths of many people I know. I can imagine them in my own mouth. I’d wager you can imagine them in yours. But in the mouth of the Paul? Paul beating himself up? Paul tearing himself down? Paul taking himself to task? I don’t think so.

Paul is probably the second most influential man in human history, Jesus Christ being the first. But Jesus Christ had an unfair advantage. He was the Son of God.

And why is Paul’s influence so vast? It is essentially because he was Christianity’s first and greatest theologian. That is to say, he was Christianity’s first and greatest interpreter. What the church down through the centuries believed about Jesus Christ was in large part the result of Paul’s theology. What we believe today about Jesus Christ is the result of Paul’s theology.

Some people just seem preveniently to know the truth with crystal clarity. Abraham Lincoln springs to mind. Winston Churchill springs to mind. Amidst a welter of lesser lights who only think that they know they know the truth with crystal clarity, once in a great while, very rarely, a truly penetrating mind comes along. Paul’s was such a mind. He knew the truth about Jesus Christ with crystal clarity.

From the moment that his public ministry began, through his crucifixion, through his resurrection, through his giving of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, through the foundation of the church; through all of that, it was pretty much a free for all. Talk about a welter of lesser lights. By the end of the second century, everyone seemed to have an opinion as to who he was. He was a martyr. He was a criminal. He was an ascetic. He was a miracle worker. He was a prophet. He was a demagogue. He was an angel. He was a law giver.

Only Paul knew the truth about Jesus Christ with crystal clarity. He knew that Jesus Christ was the Son of God. He knew all that this implied. And to read his letters, this was not something he had to hammer out. He just seemed to have known it. If you asked him, he would have pointed you in the direction of the road along the way to Damascus.

And there are other reasons for his influence. Not only did he know the truth about Jesus Christ with crystal clarity, he knew what to do about it. He embarked upon a series of missionary journeys through which he founded the church. And once founded it, he would not allow it to lapse into error. This is the reason for his letters, to correct the errors in the church that he had founded.

And parenthetically, his line of work did not exactly win him popularity. As a Pharisee turned Christian he was hated by the Jews. As a Christian in the Roman Empire he was hated by the Romans. And so he suffered persecution. In his own words, “Thrice was I beaten with rods, once was I stoned…in perils of robbers, in peril by mine own countrymen, in peril by the heathen, in peril in the city, in peril in the wilderness, in peril in the sea, in peril among false brethren.” Eventually he was martyred under the Emperor Nero. Legend has it he was hung upside down on a cross.

So to return to my original point. “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate……Wretch that I am!” I can imagine these words in the mouth of anybody but Paul.

At the very least, we could conclude if Paul felt that way, then everyone must feel that way -- feel that there is our ideal self, that uniquely created self that God intends us to be. Then there is our real self that can’t live up to it. And we live within that tension, essentially at war with ourselves. Not the best place to be.

Fortunately, we are not simply left to flagellate ourselves. Of course, we will never, in this life at least, fully realize our ideal selves; only in heaven will we do that. But still, we are urged to strive, and it is Paul who does the urging. “Beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another.”

What Paul is saying, is that with Jesus as our model and guide we must strive toward our ideal selves, and here’s a key thing -- one degree at a time. What this means is that we do not span the distance between our real self and our ideal self in one leap. We do it one step at a time.

What Paul is offering is practical advice, advice that amounts to a technique for self-mastery – one degree at a time; one step at a time. So say, for example, you are confronted by some aspect of your real self. The church down through the centuries has conveniently enumerated all the things that make our real selves our real selves – Pride, Envy, Anger, Sloth, Greed, Gluttony, and Lust.

So say you are confronted by some aspect of your real self. Say you are confronted by your anger. And anger houses many other things: frustration, hostility, blaming, brooding, resentment, negativity, and violence. You look to Jesus Christ as your model and guide – he who said, “…but I tell you that anyone who is angry with a brother or sister will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who insults a brother or sister is answerable….And anyone who says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell.” You tell yourself that your anger is unworthy of your ideal self. And you master it just one time. Then you master it one more. Then you master it one more. You master it until you have it mastered. Because if you don’t master it, it masters you. The real self wins, and the ideal self loses.

Or say you are confronted by another aspect of your real self. Say you are confronted by your envy. And envy too houses many other things: the drive to keep up, then the drive to surpass, then even the secret hope for the downfall of the object of your envy. You look to Jesus Christ as your model and guide - he who said, “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” You tell yourself that your envy is unworthy of your ideal self. And you master it just one time. Then you master it one more. Then you master it one more. You master it until you have it mastered. Because if you don’t master it, it masters you. The real self wins, and the ideal self loses.

Degree by degree, step by step, gradually, eventually, you will feel less like a wretch. At least it seemed to work that way for Paul. Just before he was martyred under Emperor Nero, he wrote these words, “ I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. From now on there is reserved for me the crown of righteousness.” Those aren’t the words of a wretch.

You know Benjamin Franklin could have reduced this sermon to six words. “God helps them that help themselves.” Amen.

Conformity

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Wed, 20 May 2020 16:51:17 GMT

Joshua 24:14-27

In this morning’s Old Testament lesson, Joshua would appear to be harping at the Israelites.

First he says to the Israelites, “Now therefore revere the Lord, and serve him in sincerity and in faithfulness; put away the gods that your ancestors served beyond the River and in Egypt, and serve the Lord. Now if you are unwilling to serve the Lord, choose this day whom you will serve, but as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.”

The Israelites reply, “Far be it from us that we would forsake the Lord to serve other gods; for it is the Lord our God who brought us and our ancestors up from the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery, and who did those great signs in our sight…..Therefore, we also will serve the Lord, for he is our God.”

Case closed. Or at least it should be. Joshua demands that the Israelites choose whether they will serve the gods of their ancestors or the Lord, and the Israelites choose the Lord.

But Joshua feels compelled to issue them a warning. “But Joshua said to the people, ‘You cannot serve the Lord, for he is a holy God. He is a jealous God….If you forsake the Lord and serve foreign gods, then he will turn and do you harm and consume you, after having done you good.’” The Israelites in turn offer reassurance. “No, we will serve the Lord!”

Case closed. Or again, it should be. Joshua demands that the Israelites choose whether they will serve the gods of their ancestors or the Lord, and the Israelites choose the Lord. Joshua issues them a warning, and the Israelites offer reassurance.

But Joshua feels compelled to issue them an additional warning. “’You are witnesses against yourselves that you have chosen the Lord, to serve him.’” And they offer additional reassurance. “We are witnesses.”

Case closed. Or by now it definitely should be. Joshua demands that the Israelites choose whether they will serve the gods of their ancestors or the Lord, and the Israelites choose the Lord. Joshua issues the Israelites a warning, and the Israelites offer reassurance. Joshua issues them an additional warning, and they offer additional reassurance.

But Joshua then goes on to demand again that they do what they’ve just committed to do. “Put away the foreign gods that are among you, and incline your hearts to the Lord, the God of Israel.’” They, accordingly, recommit themselves to do so, ”The people said to Joshua, ‘The Lord our God we will serve, and him we will obey.”

Case closed. Or by now it definitely, positively should be. Joshua demands that the Israelites choose whether they will serve the gods of their ancestors or the Lord, and the Israelites choose the Lord. Joshua issues the Israelites a warning, and the Israelites offer reassurance. Joshua issues them an additional warning, and they offer additional reassurance. Joshua demands again that they do what they’ve just committed to do, and they recommit themselves to do so.

But in fact the case is still not closed. Joshua then makes a covenant to the effect, and then makes a shrine to the covenant. And then finally, at long last, the case is closed.

Yes indeed, Joshua would appear to be harping at the Israelites. What would make Joshua harp so? Likely the same thing that makes us harp. We want something done, something that is very important to us, and we are fearful that it won’t get done. And indeed these were Joshua’s reasons. But as is the general case with our own harping, Joshua’s harping was to no avail. The Israelites followed their real inclination and took up with the gods of their ancestors and -- here was the source of his concern, they then became indistinguishable from their environment.

Now as harping is to no avail, I would merely hint that the more things change, the more they stay the same. As the people of God, it is still our real inclination to become indistinguishable from our environment.

Take the person of business using questionable ethics to questionable ends. He’s a Christian, to be sure, but the bottom line is the bottom line! It’s the world we live in, after all.

Take those in the legal trade for whom the rule of God is ordered after the rule of law. They’re Christians, to be sure, but they must render to Caesar that which is Caesar’s! It’s the world we live in, after all.

Take purveyors of vice – pornography or drug trafficking. They are Christians, to be sure, but if they didn’t fill the void someone else would. It’s the world we live in, after all.

Think of the adherents to the doctrines of consumerism and individualism. They are Christians, to be sure, all the more reason they should embody success and respectability. It’s the world we live in, after all.

Yes, as the people of God it is still our real inclination to become indistinguishable from our environment. But the God’s word on the matter is unambiguous and undeniable. Never mind Joshua’s harping! Jesus charges us to be light, salt, and leaven. Jesus asks us specifically what more we are doing than others. Our inclination to be indistinguishable from our environment then must be redressed, but for it to be redressed best first to fully understand it.

And so we may ask ourselves, how are we to understand our inclination to be indistinguishable from our environment? It is rooted in deficient personal formation; deficient personal formation that occurs when we succumb to sloth – sloth, pride’s counterpart, whose characteristics are perhaps less noticeable than pride’s because pride by its nature is active, sloth passive. They are less noticeable but every bit as bad. Sloth’s characteristics are indifference, indolence, and acquiescence.

The redress for our inclination to be indistinguishable from our environment is then, it is obvious, sufficient personal formation, and this is regained very simply. It is regained through the recollection that God has created each of us as distinguished beings – each with our own characteristics, our own qualities, our own interests, our own gifts. God has created each of us as distinguished beings, but that is not the whole of it. For God has too recreated us according to and through his son Jesus Christ. God has taken our distinguished beings and refined and refashioned them according to and through him, according to and through his way, his truth, his life.

And if we recollect this, and live into it, we need do no more, for we as the people of God will indeed find ourselves distinguished from our environment and serving the role in and for it we have been baptized to serve. Amen.

Lent Tokenism

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Wed, 20 May 2020 12:15:32 GMT

II Isaiah 53: 4-11 Matthew 4:1-11

Tokenism. I guess there are worse crimes, but there are no crimes more insidious.

Tokenism pretends to take cause with the plight of its victim. It pretends to take responsibility to right the wrong. But proof of the pretense is the form thrust effort it makes – an effort that is not committed, not sustained, not costly, not relevant, and so not effective. In fact, the only thing the form thrust effort produces is a false sense of righteousness.

Sad to say, I think that we as a culture have come to mark Lent with something akin to tokenism, with the notion that a form thrust effort discharges our Lenten obligation and that for having made it, we are righteous.

I got first inkling of this the morning following Ash Wednesday. I was listening to a morning radio show in which the host and hostess of the show were conducting inane deliberations over what they should give up for Lent. The hostess was only certain of what she wasn’t willing to give up. "Well it’s not going to be chocolate, and it’s not going to be coffee, and it’s not going to be booze, and it’s not going to be profanity!" she giggled. Apparently what ever she was willing to give up would involve no sacrifice whatsoever. The host was certain of what he was going to give up. He was going to give up beer. Beer, he lamented, was having a bad effect on his waistline. "It’s not just you ladies who are getting ready for bikini season," He joked. "I am planning to exchange one six pack for another."

I got my next inkling of this the following day at a local coffee house. Seated at the table next to me were two women. One of them, taking an enormous bite out of a paczki, complained peevishly to the other, “I’m really dying for a brownie, but I gave up chocolate for Lent.” I will spare you the inkling that followed that one, and the one that followed that one, and the one that followed that one.

It is a great enough miscarriage of Lent to mark it with tokenism, but miscarriage crosses over to mockery when even tokenism is practiced self-servingly or with grievance. Again and again we render our faith as vacuous as our culture, then harbor the suspicion that our faith lacks power and truth for our lives. So how then are we to mark lent, how should we reclaim it from our culture so that our faith, especially in this holiest of seasons, may be repossessed of power and truth for our lives?

Lent’s true meaning is found in a heartfelt remembrance of the sacrifice that Jesus made for our sin. And so, let us consider that sacrifice:

It was John the Baptist’s proclamation that the Kingdom of God was at hand that first stirred in Jesus the sense that what had been portended by his miraculous birth was now unfolding. And so, Jesus went down to Judea to be baptized by John.

Upon Jesus’ baptism, Jesus sense was confirmed. The heavens opened, the Spirit descended upon him, and the voice of God declared, “You are my son, my beloved one, with you I am well pleased.” It was indeed unfolding, but that was not all. At his baptism the voice of God also imparted to him that he would be required to make the supreme sacrifice; that he would be required to die.

This was because the voice of God declared that Jesus was his beloved one. Jesus knew who God’s beloved one was. He knew it because he knew Scripture, and the prophet Isaiah had foretold five hundred years prior that God’s beloved one would be held of no account, would be oppressed and afflicted, would be despised and rejected by humanity, and finally, cut off from the land of the living. In short, God’s beloved one would be required to make the supreme sacrifice. He would be required to die.

Jesus then proceeded to meet his fate. It was a fate met no easier by the fact that he was the Son of God. That offered him no protection, for in order that he share completely our common lot, the divinity within Jesus, as Paul reminds us in this morning’s epistle lesson, did not regard equality with God as something to be grasped, but emptied itself and took the form of a slave. Jesus was fully human. We need only imagine how his fate would have been for us to know how it was for him – his anxiety and concern, his loneliness and fear, his sorrow and suffering, and, as this morning’s gospel lesson reminds us, his terrible temptation to avoid his fate, to renounce it, which he was at all times perfectly free to do.

To prepare him for his fate, Jesus, immediately following his baptism, was led by the Spirit into the wilderness. He fasted for forty days and nights, after which the tempter appeared to him. The tempter knew his art well, for he appealed to Jesus with the promise that he could have it both ways – that he could still be God’s beloved one, yet he need not make the supreme sacrifice; he need not die. He could be God’s beloved one by providing the people with bread and a just political order. What good would his death accomplish? What good does any death accomplish? But Jesus mastered this temptation.

And so the tempter bided his time until the very end of Jesus’ ministry when Jesus’ death was squarely before him. Jesus’ determination to die, the tempter knew, would hold fast at the beginning of his ministry when his death was far off, but timing, the tempter knew, is everything.

What’s more, the time allotted for Jesus’ ministry had been so short. Less than one year. He had spent it preparing for his death as best he could – teaching the people about the coming Kingdom of God his death would inaugurate, prefiguring its power and quality in his mighty works, instructing his disciples what lay ahead….But his ministry had been fragmentary and incomplete. Had he done enough? Would they figure it out? Would they come to understand? The tempter too knew too to prey upon these concerns.

And true to the tempter’s hope, in the darkness of his last night, moments before his arrest, Jesus faltered. He threw himself to the ground and distraught begged his father to find another way. “Father if it is possible let this cup pass from me.” But his father was silent. The tempter waited with baited breath, but Jesus mastered this temptation as well. He recovered himself and said unto his father’s silence, “Thy will be done.”

The tempter saw his final chance as Jesus hung suffering on his cross. The worst still lay ahead for him, as anyone who has witnessed death agony knows. “If you are the Son of God, save yourself!” came the tempter’s voice through the jeers of the crowd. Again, Jesus overcame this temptation until the very last moment of his life. The physical agony of crucifixion, the emotional agony of the rejection, hatred, and betrayal of all humanity, the spiritual agony of the steadfast silence of his father overcame him. Broken and shattered he cried out, “My God, My God, Why have you forsaken me?” His faith and obedience gave way, but for the tempter it was too late. Jesus had made the supreme sacrifice. He was dead.

Lent’s true meaning then is found in first in remembrance of the sacrifice of Jesus, and then, simply, in honest reflection about our own lives over against that sacrifice. It is found in reflection about questions like these: Have we ourselves, acceding to our culture, come to allow Jesus’ sacrifice for our sin to hold so little import that we trivialize or mock it through tokenism? Do we live lives worthy of his sacrifice? Are we loyal to him? Does he come first in our lives? Could we stand before him? Do we acknowledge the gulf between God’s righteousness and our sin that called forth his sacrifice for us?

And we will know if we have found Let’s true meaning if our reflection issues in repentance, which particularly in lent, but in every season of the Christian year, is the practice and mark of the true Christian. Amen.

Integration

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Wed, 20 May 2020 12:04:14 GMT

Hosea 4:1-11 Matthew 13:1-9

As some of you may know, I have recently sparked an interest in farming. Lynnly is responsible. She gifted me with a book entitled, appropriately, You Can Farm , authored by the maverick farmer Joel Salatin. Suddenly all the stars aligned – my passion for healthy food, sustainable living, manual labor, Mother Nature, domesticated animals, vegetable gardening, and the family farm. Before I'd finished the first chapter, I knew of a certainty that some day, some way I would become a farmer.

I am not one to do things in half measures. Have heard the distant call of the wild, I have begun digesting voraciously books, articles, podcasts, web pages, blogs, and instructional dvd's on new farm starts, agriculture, horticulture, biochemistry, soil science, composting, animal husbandry, organic farming, food preservation, and home beer brewing. All of this has begun to make me do just as Joel Salatin bids me do -- to “think like a farmer.”

I was playing tennis last week at the park adjacent to my children's' school with my long suffering tennis partner. My mind wandered off my game, as it tends to do whenever I am losing. "This park would really be improved by the addition of a few goats," I remarked to my tennis partner. "But what a pipe dream," I continued, "since this town can’t even manage to pass a chicken ordinance, much less a goat ordinance.” “Ah...," my partner remarked, “the topic turns again to farming.” "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" I returned, knowing that I'd trapped him. If he said it was a good thing, he knew he'd only encourage my farm talk. But if he said it was a bad thing, he knew he'd hurt my feelings. He opted for the former. "Good," I said, "because Joel Salatin has bid me to think like a farmer, and she who thinks like a farmer talks like a farmer."

I was thinking like a farmer when I read this morning's gospel lesson, the Parable of the Sower. Yes, I know the standard interpretation of the parable, the one offered by those who do not think like farmers. I have even preached the standard interpretation. It has to do with the difficulty of evangelizing. It recognizes that more often than not, our efforts at evangelizing will not bear fruit.

But what struck me as I read it this time was that even Jesus recognized it. Even Jesus recognized that for a seed to be productive, it needs good soil. He didn’t have to state it explicitly. He simply took it for granted, as did his audience. For a seed to be productive, it needs good soil.

Of course, Jesus was a first century man. Were he here today, with the help of soil science, he would know the up-to-date specifics, the here and now reality about good soil. Soil is by far the most abundant ecosystem on the earth. Unfortunately, this thriving ecosystem is largely invisible to the naked eye -- a) because it is microscopic, and b) because it is underground.

It all begins with plant roots. Plant roots, through photosynthesis, deliver carbohydrates into the soil. This in turn attracts hungry bacteria, and when I say bacteria I mean countless millions of bacteria per tablespoon. This in turn attracts hungry bacteria predators -- protozoa, again countless millions, which in digesting the bacteria release nutrients essential for the plant roots. It is a virtual symphony of symbiosis and synergy. And don't even get me started on all the other players - the miles of fungi threads that encircle plants roots offering them protection in exchange for food, or the big daddies of the soil - earth worms, grubs, ants, and moles. At any rate, this, we now know, is the good soil that a seed needs to be productive.

Of course, good soil, like every thing else in the created order it would seem, is now dwindling and endangered. It has fallen casualty to industrial farming that in its use of pesticides and synthetic fertilizers has poisoned good soil into dead dirt. It's now innovative farmers like Joel Salatin who are on a mission to regenerate that dead dirt back into good soil.

It is, not surprisingly, a matter of cultivating that symbiosis and synergy. It's a matter of regathering the intrinsic and necessary parts together. It's a matter of restoring its wholeness and completeness. Or put another way, it is a matter of integrating what has become disintegrated. Were Jesus here today, with the up-to-date specifics, with the here and now reality about good soil, he would be referencing to precisely this. He would be referring to soil that has once again become integrated. It is this soil that is currently productive.

It would seem then worth exploring the possibility that there is a connection between integration and productivity. It's odd, because you wouldn't normally equate the two, integration and productivity, but if you think about it, that connection surely exists. Integration precedes productivity. In order to be productive, productive in healthy ways at least, a thing must first be integrated. And the opposite holds true as well. If something is disintegrated, it is not productive, again, at least not in healthy ways. And this goes way beyond soil. It is a general principle, and so holds true wherever it is applied.

Consider the prophet Hosea, from this morning's Old Testament lesson. Hosea is addressing himself to a society in decline. Perhaps that is to put it too mildly. Hosea is addressing himself to a society in collapse. Society was collapsing from without because it was being destroyed by the Assyrians, the ISIS of the 8th century BCE, only worse. But it was being destroyed from without because it had crumbled from within. And why had it crumbled from within? It is because it had become disintegrated.

As Hosea himself declared, there was no faith in God, no knowledge of God, no love of God, no loyalty to God, no service to God. And therefore society had become disintegrated. For people were, and are, not people unto themselves. People are people unto God. Therefore they are created by God for faith in God, knowledge of God, love of God, loyalty to God, and service to God. And to be lacking this is to be disintegrated.

And Hosea described just what that disintegration looked like -- swearing and lying and murder and stealing and adultery broke out...all the bounds of decency and were broken...bloodshed followed upon bloodshed, and this in turn wrought disintegration upon the created order, again as Hosea described -- the land mourned, along with the beasts of the field, the birds of the heavens, the fish of the seas. No doubt the soil too mourned as it does today. Society crumbled from within and so was destroyed from without. Needless to say, in its disintregation, it was scarcely what could be described as productive; just the opposite, it was pervasively destructive. Yes indeed, integration is connected to productivity. Integration is the prior to productivity.

So the questions for us become, How can we become intergrators? What can we integrate?

Can we integrate ourselves? Are there essential parts of us that have been broken or destroyed or forced into hiding? Are we wallowing or ailing in body, mind, or spirit?

Can we help to integrate another? -Someone who has lost his or her way through abuse, addiction, error, or indifference?

Can we integrate some society -- some family or workplace or network of which we are a part that through dissolution has become afflicted by conflict or prejudice or self-interest?

Can we integrate some patch of earth? Can we steward it back to the balance and symmetry and health and wholeness with which it was created?

How can we become integrators? What can we integrate?

But one more essential point. Returning to the Parable of the Sower, I have stated of it that integration is connected to productivity, that integration prior to productivity, and so we must become integrators. But not for productivity just for the sake of productivity, as significant as that may be. Instead for productivity as it is understood by the parable, productivity for the sake of the Kingdom of God, that kingdom inaugurated by Jesus Christ that anticipates and strives for God's will and way for his created order.

To paraphrase our Lord: Blessed are the integrators! For they are the producers of God's Kingdom. Amen.

The Bet

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Tue, 19 May 2020 22:13:47 GMT

Genesis 2:4b-9, 3:1-7 Philippians 2:1-11 John 12:27-32

Imagine this. Imagine a huge arena. Now imagine it ten times bigger than you’ve just imagined it. Now imagine every seat filled so that there is a massive crowd -- tens -- no -- hundreds of thousands of people gathered to witness the contest. Now imagine yourself at the center of that arena. You can imagine yourself just as you are now or embellished in some way so you are at your very best - decked out in finery or armor, what have you. Now imagine facing your opponent, and your opponent is God.

How many from among the hundreds of thousands of people gathered there do you suppose would bet upon you to win the contest? I’ll give you a hint. The answer rhymes with hero. That’s right. It’s zero. There could be a million people gathered there, and the answer would still be zero. Even the atheists would bet against you, on principle. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. Even you wouldn’t bet on yourself.

But then why in the world does Adam bet on himself in his contest with God? Why in the world would he have thought that he had the grounds? God had just formed him, and I quote, “out of the dust of the ground.” Two things here. Number one: Adam did not form himself. God formed him. This would seem to make God creator and Adam creature. Number two: Adam was formed “out of the dust of the ground.” He was dust. Adam’s name in Hebrew in fact means dustling. The point is he was basically made out of mud.

After forming him, God provided for him a habitat and a vocation - the Garden of Eden, and he was to till and keep it. With one caveat. He was, on penalty of death, expressly forbidden to touch the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. This is because God knew that he couldn’t handle the knowledge of good and evil. He could not choose rightly between them. He would be subject to God on that score. And this guy was about to bet on himself in his contest with God.

God then determined that Adam should not be alone. Some creatures should be alone, like tigers and hamsters. God created them for solitude. But God created Adam for community. So once again out of the dust of the ground he formed this animal and that, but none quite fit the bill. God then had a brainstorm. He fashioned a woman from his rib, so that she would be his own flesh and blood. And Adam was no longer alone.

But then...enter the crafty serpent. He tricked Eve into tricking Adam into not just touching, but eating from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. “God’s just being territorial,” the crafty serpent tempted her. “Go ahead and eat. It won’t do you any harm. Just the opposite, it will make you just like God, able to choose rightly between good and evil.”

Now I don’t know about you, but if a crafty serpent hissed blandishments into in my ear, it would, in and of itself, raise suspicions in my mind. Blandishments of a crafty serpent over against the fact that God had just fashioned me out of the dust of the earth. Blandishments of a crafty serpent over against the fact that God had just expressly forbidden me, on penalty of death, to touch the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Not Adam. He bet on himself. He reached for the fruit.

It didn’t turn out all that well for him. He did receive a kind of knowledge, but it was the knowledge that he was a guilty and shameful creature for betting on himself.

The whole thing’s unfathomable, really. Let’s not mince words. Adam was, inexplicably, a fool for betting on himself. Thank God we are nothing like him. But just a second here. In point of fact, the reason the Bible describes Adam as our spiritual forebear is because we bear him so close a resemblance. Like father like child. The fact that we judge him though we are just like him indicates that we may be in denial. So let’s just own up to it. Let’s just admit it. We too bet on ourselves in our contest with God. But why? We know, like Adam, we’ve got no grounds to do so. None whatsoever. So why in the world do we bet on ourselves in our contest with God?

The passage does not say precisely, but I have my own idea. It’s because we desperately want our freedom. And we have the impression that if we bet on God we will lose our freedom. We desperately want our freedom! If we bet on God we will have to submit; we will have to obey; we will have to be answerable. But our impressions, just because they’re ours, doesn’t mean they’re right. This particular impression is a decided misimpression. Nothing, in fact, can be further from the truth. If we bet on God we don’t lose our freedom. If we bet on ourselves we lose our freedom. It’s precisely because, just as God told Adam, we can’t rightly choose between the knowledge of good and evil. So when we bet on ourselves we become imprisoned, imprisoned by ourselves.

We have all seen examples of this. They’re all over the place. Watch for them, and you’ll see them. A couple weeks ago, the Lottery reached something close to a billion dollars, so there were special interest stories on the internet about past Lottery winners. They read as horror stories. One was entitled, Twenty Five Lottery Winners And Where They Are Now. Number one declared bankruptcy after purchasing two yachts. Number two spent millions of dollars bailing her drug pushing, gang banging boyfriend out of jail. Number three spent a sizable part of his winnings hiring a hit man to murder his wife. Don’t make me go on.

Only if we bet on God we will have the freedom we so desperately want. Only if we allow God to choose for us the knowledge of good and evil, will we be free from ourselves, free to find the purpose we were created to find, free to bear the responsibility we were created to bear, free to follow the direction we were created to follow, free to make the decisions we were created to make, free to enact the truth we were created to enact.

Bottom line: Adam bet on himself in his contest with God, and he lost. When we bet on ourselves in our contest with God, we repeat his error. We lose. This is why Adam is offered to us as a bad example to resist. But we are offered more than a bad example to resist. We are offered a good example to follow. That good example is, of course, his God’s son Jesus Christ.

For Jesus Christ, there was no contest with God in the first place. He simply bet on God every step of the way. At his baptism when God imparted to him that he was called to make a supreme sacrifice for the sake of humankind, he bet on God. Throughout his ministry as he was hindered and harassed and discouraged and disparaged by every incarnation of corruption and falsehood imaginable, he bet on God. At the end of his ministry, when his dearest and most trusted friends and followers to a man denied and deserted him, he bet on God. When he made that supreme sacrifice on his cross, he bet on God. Of course he bet on God. Only a man who bet body mind and soul on God could have used his freedom in that way.

For our part, we have a new spiritual forbear we may strive to resemble. We are no longer in Adam. We are in Jesus Christ.

My grandmother, God rest her soul, should have been titled, The Queen of the Proverbs. I don’t recall her ever using the narrative voice. She communicated exclusively in proverbs. And she had one for every occasion. “Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead.” “Lost time is never found again.” “Speak little, do much.” “What you would appear to be, be.” I thought growing up that my grandmother was very odd. As I grow nearer and nearer her age, I realize many of those proverbs were spot on. My grandmother had her share of the wisdom of Solomon. And the thing about proverbs over against the narrative voice is that proverbs you tend to remember. My grandmother would have understood what I have said. Because once she said to me, “When you’re the best that you can be, then you will be truly free.” Amen.

The Song Of The Bow

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Mon, 18 May 2020 18:28:23 GMT

I Samuel 1:1, 17-27

The story of Saul, although it predates tragic drama by some centuries, could well take its place among the classic tragic dramas. It certainly bears the marks of tragic drama – the tragic hero in all this pathos, some unwitting catalyst after which events move with a sense of inevitability, even predetermination, toward their tragic end; and the tragic end itself, usually the brutal and grisly death of the tragic hero. The story of Saul bears all these marks, particularly the brutal and grisly death of the tragic hero.

The Philistines had waged war against Israel, and Israel had proved no match for them. The Philistines, after all, were a warrior people with a highly developed military. Before they waged war against Israel, they had delivered the Egyptian Empire its coup de grace. Israel, by contrast, was an agricultural people of farmers and herdsmen. Israel didn’t even have a military.

Saul had arisen as the most likely prospect to defend Israel against the Philistines. And so Saul was made king. He raised a standing army, if an inexperienced one, and with his three sons, among them his beloved Jonathan, found himself on the field of battle against the Philistines on Mount Gilboa. But the situation was hopeless. Saul witnessed the death of his sons. He himself was mortally wounded. He commanded his armor bearer to thrust him through, but it was a command his armor bearer was too terrified to obey. And so Saul fell on his sword, and his army deserted.

If that were not bad enough, the next day the Philistines discovered their bodies. They cut off their heads, stripped their bodies of their armor, and hung them from the walls of one of their cities. Brutal and grisly indeed.

When news of this catastrophe reached David, he and his men tore their clothes and fasted in mourning. Then David, in what functions as the equivalent of the epilogue in tragic drama, as a tribute to Saul and Jonathan, composed The Song of the Bow, and ordered it to be taught to the people. “Your glory, O Israel, lies slain upon your high places. How the mighty have fallen! ... Saul and Jonathan, beloved and lovely. In death they were not divided. They were swifter than eagles. They were stronger than lions.” David, in this heart felt lament, certainly justified his reputation as a poet and lyricist.

But there is something amiss here, badly amiss. For by the time David wrote his tribute, he was Saul’s arch enemy. And Jonathan, having loved David more than his father, had become estranged from Saul. He accompanied his father into battle not out of loyalty to him, but out of loyalty to Israel. Between the two stood acknowledged and unresolved betrayal.

The fullness of the story of Saul was that Saul, having shirked the religious rituals that were to have sanctified Israel’s warfare, had lost the allegiance of Samuel, the religious leader of the day. This turned out to be the unwitting catalyst after which events moved toward their tragic end. Saul had already shown signs of deep flaws in his character – insecurity and jealousy, suspicion, and paranoia. He was unable to cope with the withdrawal of Samuel’s allegiance, especially after David entered his court.

David had been Samuel’s designated choice as Saul’s successor, but David, a mere lad, could have little understood the implication or import of this. David entered Saul’s court by an ironic coincidence. David was known as a skillful musician, and it was thought his music would soothe the dark moods that had begun to overshadow Saul.

But he quickly proved himself more than a skillful musician. No sooner than he entered Saul’s court, than he, by little more than an ingenuous and winsome faith, slew Goliath, the Philistine champion of whom Israel had lived in terror. He instantly became beloved by all – the army, the people, and also Saul’s son Jonathan and his daughter Michal, whom he later married.

Saul realized that it was David, not he, who, by his meddle, was the true king of Israel, ad it drove him to the brink of madness. He made attempts on David’s life. He threw his spear at him. He sent him on suicide missions. And when David survived these attempts on his life, Saul became increasingly reckless and brazen in his attempts to kill him.

Finally David, with Jonathan’s abetting, was forced to flee Saul’s court to the Judean wilderness, where he formed a small army of the dispossessed and discontented who too had taken refuge there. Saul, descending deeper into madness, pursued David. When Saul learned the news that the priests of Nob had unwittingly offered David assistance, he ordered a mercenary to butcher them. Obviously in was unfit to rule. And it was in this state he found himself, his son’s, and his army on Mt. Gilboa, where they met their tragic end.

Yes, there is something badly amiss in David’s tribute to Saul and Jonathan. How are we to account for such a tribute?

Scholars offer two theories. The first theory is that the tribute was merely euphemistic, the kind of euphemistic tribute we too make for the dead. I recently heard a eulogy for a doctor notorious for his abuse of street and prescription drugs likened to Albert Schweitzer. We are all familiar with this kind of thing. The second theory is that David was demonstrating political savvy. He knew that in order to rule an united Israel, he must not alienate loyalists to Saul.

But I don’t think either of these scholarly theories is correct. I in fact have a theory about these scholarly theories. I thin they are ;both theories that have acceded to our age’s suspicion of authority, both divine and human; a suspicion of authority that has issued in the denial of the eminence upon which authority is based. It has brought eminence down to the level of the mundane.

This is David, after all, despite our age one of the most eminent men of all time. How many men are remembered three thousand years after their death? One doesn’t leave, as scholars too believe, a mark on history by sheer happenstance. And parenthetically, they believe this about Jesus too, that he left a mark on history by mere happenstance.

David left a mark on history because he was a man of eminence. He was after all the greatest king of God’s elect people. He was a man of great faith. He was a man of great profundity. He was a man of great depth of feeling. He understood life at its essence. This accounts for his tribute.

Tragedy of the terrible magnitude of the death of Saul and Jonathan, David knew, stops us short. It arrests us, arrests even our enmity and division. It does this because it jolts and jars us to the reality and consequence of human failure, not just of its victims, but in which we all share. And it makes us fairly scream, “Enough!”

Israel had been given its first king – and with him had been given great possibility and promise. And it had come to this. And now the mantle passed to David. He knew he was the only man for the job, but he knew too he was only a man. “Who am I and what is my house that you have brought me thus far?” he was to ask God after he had vanquished the Philistines and established the nation of Israel. David would lead Israel to great heights and them himself succumb to corruption.

And in the nearness of his own corruption and in the keenness of the realization it visited upon him of of our common failure, David experienced a deep compassion for us all, forgiveness of us all, solidarity with us all -- for what we are, for what we aren’t, for what we are up against, for all the good that in in us that comes to bad, for all we might have been remembered for. This accounts for his tribute, and this accounts too for his order that it be taught to the people. This is what he wanted them to learn, what only the words of a poet and lyricist are powerful enough to evoke.

And in this respect David stands among the prophets who centuries after him proclaimed what David already knew – our need for a king beyond earthly kings, a king who can forgive us our failure, a king who can overcome the tragedy it bears, a king who can call goodness forth from us and give it permanent significance.

David’s tribe to Saul and Jonathan, his epilogue to perhaps the first tragic drama and the right epilogue to all tragedy, anticipates what we recollect with joy and praise – Jesus Christ, the glory of Israel slain on a cross for our salvation. Amen.

Let The Little Children Come

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Mon, 18 May 2020 18:28:19 GMT

Mark 10:13-16

Parents bring children into the world for many reasons. They do it to participate in the process of birth and to experience parental love. They do it because they believe in the institution of the family. They do it because they affirm human life – its rhythms and seasons, its rites of passage. They do it, even, to enter more fully into the unfolding of history, in acknowledgement of their forbears and in perpetuation of that which they achieved and that for which they sacrificed. Parents bring children into the world for all these reasons, which take on added validity once the child is born.

But at the same time, parents bring children into the world amidst the uncertainties of life They bring children into the world vulnerably, knowing the risk the uncertainties of life pose to the one now most precious to them. They bring children into the world in hope, but also in fear. This becomes all the more pronounced in times of heightened danger, like the times in which we now live, and the time in which parents in Jesus’ day lived.

In Jesus’ day, Palestine had been annexed by the Roman Empire, and the Jews lived as an occupied people. They had much to fear from their Roman masters. These were times when a great prophet could be imprisoned for criticizing a Roman regent, and beheaded as the result of his careless boast. These were times when rebels against Rome hung on crosses as deterrents to other rebels.

And they had much to fear too even from within their own ranks. For occupancy, despite such deterrents as crosses, brews rebellion, and rebellion continued to brew. In another generation the Jewish people would rise up against the Roman Empire, and the Roman Empire would put the down with annihilating vengeance.

But into those time of heightened danger, a religious leader had arisen, a religious leader like no other who had ever arisen before. He taught what was hard and strange, but perhaps for this very reason, his teaching rang true. He exposed corruption with deadly accuracy and unquestionable certainty. He even commanded miraculous powers, but used them never self-interestedly, but only in service to others, most of whom were deemed of negligible significance. There was indeed something uniquely authentic and authoritative about him, but at the same time, something strangely recognizable about him, as truth is strangely recognizable, and justice, and greatness; and the people loved him.

What could have been more natural than for parents to bring their children to him for his touch? Granted, they themselves were probably scarcely sure of what, in so doing, they sought from him. The less sophisticated among them, though, to be sure, not less sophisticated in their love for their children, doubtless hoped that his touch would protect their children from the uncertainties of life, like a talisman of sorts.

But there were surely those among them of greater sophistication, who sensed better the difference between faith and magic. They doubtless hoped that his touch would impart something of himself to their children, something in which they could abide, something to comfort, bolster, and guide them precisely amidst the uncertainties of life – that there are indeed holy men of God, who all but prove God’s promises to be true.

Little could any of them have known, however, the extent to which Jesus would exceed all that they sought from him – that he would in his death and resurrection overrule the uncertainties of life and prepare an eternal home for their children with him

But as parents so naturally brought their children to Jesus for his touch, they were turned away, and sternly, and by Jesus’ own disciples. When Jesus saw what his disciples were doing, he grew indignant. And if one wants to know really got to Jesus, one only need look at what made him indignant – the recalcitrant hypocrisy of a mob that would stone an adulterous, the spiritual dullness of those with neither the eyes to see nor the ears to hear, religious authorities who sought their own aggrandizement in Gods name, and disregard for children.

And in his indignation, Jesus rebuked his disciples, “Let the little children come to me, do not stop them, for it is to such as these that the Kingdom of god belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the Kingdom of God as a little child will not enter it.”

Jesus’ words recognize that children are possessed of certain qualities – spontaneity, frankness, wonder, joy, and most important, I think, dependency – dependency that looks in simple trust to their parents for all that they receive. And for these qualities, children are predisposed to be citizens of the Kingdom of God.

But his words recognize too that those in whom these qualities over the years have rigidified into hard hearted officiousness, though they call themselves disciples, are in fact ill disposed to be citizens of the Kingdom of God; indeed will not enter the Kingdom of God unless they recover the very qualities they would admonish.

But Jesus’ words recognize more still. If children are predisposed by the qualities of which they are possessed to be citizens of the Kingdom of God, this recognizes too that children are capable of receiving what the kingdom of God has to offer them – faith and hope, meaning and purpose, comfort and peace, and Jesus’ promise of eternal life.

And in like manner, Jesus’ words to his disciples hold more than a warning against impeding children form the Kingdom of God. If children are possessed of qualities that predispose them to be citizens of the Kingdom of God, and they are capable or receiving what the Kingdom of God has to offer them, this recognizes that it is ours not merely to refrain from impeding the from the Kingdom of God, it is ours to usher them in. And not only the children of our families and our congregation, but all children, especially those we know would occupy a special place in Jesus' heart – those who are neglected, forgotten, misunderstood, hurting, and afraid. It is ours to let them feel the touch of Jesus, that we may, amidst the uncertainties of life, reassure both children and their parents of Jesus’ promises to them. Amen.

Choir Sunday - Kurt Vonnegut

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Mon, 18 May 2020 18:28:15 GMT

The late Kurt Vonnegut was one of my favorite authors, though you’d never describe him as a religious man. In fact, Vonnegut had a few choice words for religious men, and I’m sure he meant to include religious women as well. Here’s a sampling of his quotes on the topic of religion:

“ Puny man can do nothing at all to help or please God.”

“Luck is not the hand of God.”

“I am of course a skeptic about the divinity of Christ, and I scorn the notion that there is a God who cares about how we are or what we do.”

And lastly, my personal favorite:

“How on earth can religious people believe in so much arbitrary, clearly invented balderdash?

This is why it is surpassing strange that Vonnegut wanted his epitaph to read:

“The only proof he needed for the existence of God is music.”

Vonnegut may not have been a religious man, but he was a thoughtful man, and so I do not believe that his comment was thoughtless. I believe he meant something by it.

My guess is that what he meant by it goes to the fact that we apprehend music aesthetically; that is to say, we apprehend music at that place within us that is capacitated to apprehend beauty. This is no slight thing. Just the opposite; it’s extremely profound and mysterious. We have a place within us that is capacitated to apprehend beauty, beauty by which we are elevated, edified, and inspired.

How in the world can this be? How in the world can it be that when we behold the grandeur of nature, the images of art, or the strains of music we are elevated, edified, and inspired? Yet we are. Every one of us. One thing is certain. This calls into question that we are mere brutes, though we surely act like them at times. Yes, higher things attract us. Higher things better us. And this argues for the existence of God. I am just speculating of course, but this is why I guess that despite his positive aversion to religion, when Vonnegut listened to music, it was all the proof he needed for God.

No, Vonnegut may not have been a religious man, but we are religious men and women. And so how much more true does it hold for us, that music is all the proof we need for God. Yes, music underscores that we are able to discern beauty and so are made for higher things, but add to this that religious music employs the beauty of music to give voice to our highest convictions, the truths of our faith, which then cannot but take the form of praise.

Religious people like ourselves believe that God created us to praise him, and religious music confirms this with a passion. Music is surely all the proof we need for God.

And so, on this Choir Sunday, we thank the choir for all its hard work, dedication, generosity, and talent. The gift they’ve given us is more than music. It’s all the proof we need for God. Amen.

Grandma's Wisdom

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Mon, 18 May 2020 18:28:11 GMT

Proverbs 1:20-33 I Corinthians 1:18-31

We all carry within us deeply embedded memories of our childhood, though many of them would never be unearthed save for some reminder. For me, my sister Rachel serves as that reminder. Somehow, she manages to keep memories of what seems our entire childhood at all times at instant recall. When I last visited her, I too revisited my childhood when she asked, “Remember weekends at Grandmas’s?”

In my childhood, my parents, once a month, would drop the four of us - Rachel, my brothers, and me, off at Grandma’s on Friday afternoon and pick us up on Sunday evening. My parents always told us as we drove to Grandma’s how terribly they’d miss us, and how difficult it was for them to share us with Grandma, but how lonely poor old Grandma was and how forwards she looked to our visits.

Now that I have children of my own, I see my parents for the adroit manipulators that they were. These protests of theirs were merely their way of conditioning us against any possible threat to what was for them a very sweet deal. One weekend a month to themselves? I bet they drove off every month as giddy as fools.

At any rate, the instant my sister mentioned weekends at Grandma’s we both went to the exact same place. “The early bird catches the worm,” I said. “The grass is always greener on the other side. Slow and steady winds the race,” Rachel joined in. “A poor craftsman blames his tools. Never put off to tomorrow what you can do today. A penny saved is a penny earned.” It was over to me. “Not to oversee workmen is to leave them your purse open,” I said, digging deep. “Fish and visitors stink after three days. Plow deep while sluggards sleep and you will have corn to sell and to keep.”

Yes, Grandma was filled with wisdom. She had wisdom for every occasion and contingency. And she imparted it with such judgment and authority that I believed it all very important and strove to commit every word to memory.

But then, one Sunday evening when I couldn’t have been much older than eleven, something occurred that made begin to think that there was something fishy about Grandma’s wisdom. We were at Sunday dinner. I was feasting on what at that time was my favorite meal - bread, butter, and cream corn sandwiches. As I reached for the bread to make my third sandwich, Grandma put her hand on my arm and said, “In all things, moderation.” But then moments later as she sliced herself her second piece of pecan pie, she said, “You only live once!”

After that, I was en guarde for further inconsistencies. I didn’t have to wait long. After dinner that very night we were watching an episode of “The Wonderful World of Disney,” in which a backwoodsman, who, for being an eccentric loner, was reviled by the local townsfolk, until he rescued a cat and her kittens for a burning barn. “Never judge a book by its cover,” she pronounced when the show ended. But what my father arrived to pick us up wearing, as he did to the day of his death, desert boots, she said to him peevishly, “You can judge a man by the shine on his shows.”

I determined then and there that I would challenge Grandma on these inconsistencies. The next visit gave me my opportunity. I was setting up for a croquet tournament with Rachel. I rarely beat her but had been working on skills. “I hope I win,” I said to Grandma. “He that lives on hope dies fasting,” she said. “Hope springs eternal in the human heart,” I retorted. " Respect your elders!" She rebuked me, and in such a scandalized and scathing tone that my blood ran cold. My mortification forbade any future challenges, but it didn’t change my privately held opinion that Grand’s wisdom was not very wise.

I thereafter developed an intolerance for wisdom. Whenever I heard it spoken, I judged the speaker a hypocrite. An overreaction, I suppose, but my youth was my period of righteous indignation, and based upon my experience of wisdom, I had reached the conclusion that it was nothing more than authority cited in the advancement of self-interest.

My intolerance for wisdom waned thorough the years as I came to realize that it hadn’t been wisdom itself that was at fault, but rather Grandma’s misappropriation of it. But lately I've been thinking that there was some truth to my original conclusion that wisdom is nothing more than authority cited in the advancement of self-interest. Think of what passes for wisdom in today’s world. “Look out for number one.” “Nice guys finish last.” “Whatever floats your boat.”

Today’s world doesn’t even trouble to mask its self-interest as Grandma did. Today's world shamelessly and brazenly proclaims that self-interest is the beginning of wisdom. And so wisdom, it must be concluded, is at least predisposed or pone or vulnerable to manipulation by self-interest. And so, if wisdom is not trustworthy as wisdom, what value has it?

Fortunately, the Bible sheds some light on the issue, as it does on all issues. In fact it spreads some bright light, for wisdom is nothing new. It is in fact very ancient. It predates, in fact, the Old Testament period. There was wisdom in Egypt before the people of Israel were enslaved there. There was wisdom in Canaan before the people of Israel invaded and conquered it. This reflects, I suppose, the perennial human tendency to draw conclusions, often proverbially, from observation and experience.

And so the Old Testament writers, because wisdom was around, encountered wisdom and made determinations about it. Wisdom, thy determined, - this human tendency to draw proverbial conclusion form observation and experience - is good. It is, in fact, beyond good. It is a positive obligation and responsibility. Recall this morning’s Old Testament lesson’s admonition against ignorance, “How long, O simple ones, will you love being simple? How long will scoffers delight in their scoffing and fools hate knowledge?” But the Old Testament writers insisted that the sine qua non of wisdom, its indispensable prior, its interpretive axis, was “Fear of the Lord” – awe of the Lord, respect for the Lord, reverence toward the Lord, and yes, just as it sounds, fear of the Lord as he has revealed himself though his law and precepts.

And as the Old Testament gives way to the New, ever brighter light is shed on the issue. For as the Apostle Paul writes in this morning’s epistle lesson, the wisdom of God – which is deemed foolish by the wisdom of the word, but which, in truth deems foolish the wisdom of the world – is revealed in the cross of Jesus Christ, that cross on which the one unself-interested man ever to have lived, sacrificed himself that we may be reconciled through him to God and one another. Fear of the Lord then, as the beginning of wisdom, gives way in the New Testament, to the cross of Jesus Christ as the beginning of wisdom.

And so this is the way that the Christian deals with the issue of wisdom, particularly the self-interested wisdom of today’s world. When today's world declares, “Look out for number one,” the Christian may declare, “Love your neighbor as yourself,.” When today’s world declares, “Nice guys finish last, “ the Christian may declare, “Blessed are the meek, Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. Blessed are the merciful. Blessed are the pure in heart. Blessed are the peacemakers. And blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake." When today’s world declares,”Whatever floats your boat,” the Christian may declare, “Not in reveling and drunkenness, not in debauchery and licentiousness…but put on the Lord Jesus Christ and make no provision for the flesh, to satisfy its desires."

We, as Christian, are yet called to wisdom, to draw conclusions from observation and experience, and we have been given all we nee d to be assured that wisdom is indeed wisdom, "Christ Jesus who became for us the wisdom of God. Amen.

Testing

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:28:09 GMT

Genesis 22:1-14 Matthew 12:38-42

Last week I tried to teach Adam to play the game Candy Land. He’s new to games. There weren’t many games where he came from. I told him to pick a player. He picked the blue one. For my part, I picked the red one. So far so good. Then I put both players on Start. Adam, however, did not want his player to be on Start. He had a point. Start was not a particularly glamorous place to be. So he moved his player to the Lollipop Palace. “No,” I said, “you can’t start there.” He was agreeable enough. He moved his player to Peppermint Forest. “You can’t start there either,” I said. Unperturbed, he moved his player to the Frosted Palace. “Adam!” I said. He began to grow perturbed. So I tried to explain it to him. “You know how at school you have rules? Safe hands? No running in the halls? Raise your hand? Well there are rules to Candy Land too. I am trying to teach you the rules. Just wait a bit. You’ll catch on.” He did catch on. And he learned that toys you can play with however you like, but games have rules you that you must accept. Games have rules that you must accept.

The game of life has rules too, rules that you must accept. Now I am not talking about blindly following rules that perpetuate discrimination or oppression or corruption or injustice. That’s another story. But generally speaking, the game of life does have rules, and they are rules that you must accept. For those of you of a rebellious or nonconforming bent who may be bristling, I maintain my position. If you don’t agree, try anarchy for a week. Try it for an hour, for that matter.

The Bible takes this for granted, that the game of life has rules, rules that you must accept. You can glean them all over the Bible. Here’s one rule: God tests his people. This one’s not all that hard to glean. You can’t get away from it:

From Exodus. Moses said to the people, “Do not fear, for God has come to test you, that the fear of him maybe before you, that you may not sin.”

From Deuteronomy. “For the Lord your God is testing you, to know whether you love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul.”

From Chronicles. “I know, my God, that you test the heart and have pleasure in uprightness.”

From Psalms. “The Lord tests the righteous, but his soul hates the wicked and the one who loves violence.”

From Jeremiah. “Behold, I will refine them and test them, for what else can I do, because of my people?”

I could go on. God tests his people.

And here’s a second rule: His people can’t test him back. It’s not a two way street. God is sovereign. His people are subjects. You can’t have the subjects testing the sovereign -- or in more familiar parlance, the children testing the parents, the students testing the teachers, the athletes testing the coaches, the privates testing the generals, the clueless testing the clued in. It just doesn’t work that way. This rule exists though because human nature harbors the impulse to try. “If you’re God, prove it. Show yourself. Fix my problems. Exempt me from the conditions of existence. Prosper me. Grant me a miracle.” This one is not that hard to glean either. It too is all over the place.

And there’s a third and final rule about testing. The greater the faith the harder the test. It might seem at first glance that places a heavier burden upon the righteous, but it has to be that way. You can’t give someone a test that is way too hard or way too easy. You test to the level.

Consider this morning’s Old Testament Lesson. The greater the faith the harder the test. No one in all history had greater faith than Abraham, no one, that is, except Jesus Christ. Abraham started out in life a random nobody. That’s amazing if you think of it. The founding father of the Abrahamic faiths --Judaism, Christianity, and Islam -- more than half the world population today -- started out a random nobody. He was a pagan to boot. This means he deified the forces of nature. But God filled his head with heady promises – the promise of a son and heir, though he was old, if not to say ancient, and his wife barren. The promise that through that heir a multitudinous people would arise. The promise that through those multitudinous people a nation would arise, a nation that would bless all the nations. And Abraham, the random nobody pagan, believed all those promises. His faith was that great. And in time his faith proved justified. The heir was born. Abraham named him Isaac.

But the greater the faith the harder the test. God demanded the sacrifice of Isaac -- an unbearable demand, an unfathomable demand, an impossible demand --the death of your child, and at your own hand? And too it meant that God’s promises were null and void. An heir? A people? A nation? Abraham was now a hundred years old. There would be no conceivable way for them to come true. Nonetheless, as hard as the test was, Abraham’s faith was equal to it.

It’s been pointed out by a mind no greater than Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s that Isaac was safe all along. If Abraham refused to make the sacrifice, he failed the test. He would have gone his own way, but not as the founding father of the Abrahamic Faiths. But if he passed the test, if he showed a willingness to sacrifice Isaac, then the sacrifice was not necessary, and so the angel of the Lord intervened.

The Bible of course is for all generations. This means that these rules apply to us as well. This means that God tests us. This means we don’t test God. This means the greater the faith the harder the test. And it’s a safe bet that God tests us more often than we think. In fact we could and should think that any matter of any import greater than picking a red or blue player is a test. The test can come in the form of a decision we make or we don’t make. It can come in the form of something we should see but won’t. The test can come in the form of whether we say yes, or whether we say no. It can come in the form of a truth we need to sound. It can come in the form of an injustice we need to challenge. It can come in the form of a wrong we need to right. It can come in the form of a mess we need to clean up. It can come in the form of forgiveness we need to seek. It can come in the form of a change we need to make. It can come in any form really.

And we will either pass the test, or we will fail it. If we fail the test we get to go our own way. But God will not leave himself without witnesses in this world. God will indeed have his witnesses, but they won’t be us. But if we pass the test they will be us. And this is what life is about. It is not about playing it safe and running from risk. It’s not about conventionality and conformity. It’s not about mundanity and triviality. It is not about wealth and acquisition. It is about bearing witness to God.

The people of Jesus’ day broke the rules of life. They tested Jesus. They demanded of Jesus a sign to prove that he was the Son of God. But Jesus of course would have none of it. He demanded instead that they witness God’s test of him -- the test of Jonah -- three days dead in the belly of the earth. Because it was there they would see that he passed God’s test of his faith when he arose victorious on Easter morning. Amen.

Names

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:28:08 GMT

Genesis 32:24-31 Matthew 16:13-20

A new semester has begun at the college where I teach. Last week in class I made mention of the fact that the Bible is filled with paradoxes - with contradictions that must be maintained as true. After twenty years of teaching, I am pretty good at reading “student body language.” When I say something they are resistant to, they cross their arms in front of the chests. They crossed their arms in front of their chests. “But you must have experienced paradoxes before. Perhaps you have a love/hate relationship with your dog,” I ventured. Their arms remained crossed in front of their chests.” “Think of yourselves then,” I persisted. “We are every one of us paradoxical beings. We are every one of us hotbeds of contradictions. We are good, and we are bad. We are profound, and we are petty. We are altruistic, and we are selfish. We are kind, and we are mean spirited. We are believing, and we are skeptical.” They uncrossed their arms in front of their chests. Because it’s true, we are every one of us paradoxical beings.

This is nowhere better seen than in Jacob from our Old Testament Lesson. Jacob was very bad. And he was very good. In his early years his bad side had the upper hand. With the possible exception of Cain, Jacob fell prey to the worst case of sibling rivalry in human history. It was present from the moment of his birth. He was a twin. His brother Esau was born first. Jacob came out after him grasping Esau’s heel, as if to pull him back in and switch positions. But his mother’s anatomy did not allow for that, so Esau beat him out. Jacob was then rightly named - for Jacob means the heel grasper.

Why did Jacob want to beat his brother out of the womb? Because the older brother was the winner who took all. He was the future head of the family. He inherited all the money, all the land, all the property -- everything.

And to add injury to insult, Jacob was the smart one. It might be going too far to describe Esau as a dim bulb, but he certainly wasn’t the brightest. He was your average run of the mill man’s man - an outdoors man and a hunter. You’d never describe him as subtle or sophisticated. Under these circumstances, who wouldn’t have a serious case of sibling rivalry?

And he acted on it. He hatched a plan to supplant his brother. In order to do so he needed to steal two things: his brother’s birthright and the paternal blessing that conferred it. Jacob had all the subtlety and sophistication his brother lacked. Add to that that getting what you want is a great motivator; it’s the mother of invention. And those who are standing in the way of you getting what you want don’t see you coming. That’s why they are so easy to manipulate, which is what happened to Esau. Jacob found his brother at a moment of weakness and tricked him into trading his birthright. Then, posing as his Esau, Jacob tricked his father out of his paternal blessing.

One problem though when your bad side has the upper hand is that it makes you, to say the least, unpopular. This goes without saying. You can’t be a total jerk and expect to be liked. Esau was so furious with Jacob that he sought to murder him, and Jacob was forced to flee for his life.

He landed at his Uncle Laban’s. It’s been said you will never understand the damage you’ve done to someone until the same thing is done to you. This is true enough. Old Uncle Laban did to Jacob just what Jacob had done to Esau - He manipulated him and tricked him. He cheated him and robbed him.

And this is when Jacob’s good side began to have the upper hand. He understood now the damage he had done. He understood now the meaning of remorse and regret. And he understood now there was only one way to right the wrong. He had to face his problems rather than run from them. He had to confront Esau, beg his forgiveness and do what he could to make amends. Proof of the truth of Herman Melville’s words -- Life is a voyage that is homeward bound.

Jacob understood too that he had to right the wrong with God. God understood this as well, and he appeared to Jacob in the form of an angel. Jacob wrestled with him the night long, struggling desperately to wrench from him a true blessing -- not like the blessing he stole -- but a true blessing that would legitimate him in the eyes of God. And just when he could struggle no more -- when his last strength was drained from him, when there was nothing more than his anguished need and vulnerability, God blessed him. And in so doing, God renamed him, renamed him Israel. He was no longer Jacob the heal grasper. He was Israel, he who struggled with God and prevailed.

But why? Why did God rename him? Why was is so important for God to rename him at that moment? It is because in the Bible your name captured your essential identity. In our time, we can’t relate to that much. We largely choose names that are popular, or that gibe with our ethnicity, or in remembrance of a loved one. But in the Bible your name captured your essential identity. Jacob’s goodness had the upper hand, so he was renamed to reflect that.

As a matter of fact, Jesus did as much in this morning’s gospel lesson. Peter had originally been named Simon. Jesus had gathered Simon and the other disciples around him, and he began to question them. He wanted to see if they knew who he really was. Simon knew. He knew that Jesus was the Messiah and the Son of God. For all he warts and freckles, and he had plenty of them, he knew. His goodness had the upper hand, so Jesus renamed him. No longer will you be named Simon, he declared. I rename you Petros, for you are the rock on which I will build my church.

There is a lesson to be learned in all this. When our bad side has the upper hand we retain our old names. But when our good side has the upper hand, we may rightly be renamed Christians. That name is not ours automatically, heedless of whether our goodness or our badness has the upper hand. As Christ himself warned, "Not everyone who says to Me, 'Lord, Lord,' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of my Father." We may rightly be renamed Christains when we wrestle with the paradox. But it’s worth the struggle, for if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation. Amen.

The Weight Of Our Burdens

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:28:07 GMT

Mark 5:21-43

It has been said that we don’t feel the full weight of the burdens we have been bearing until they have been lifted from us. I think there is much truth in this.

Think of the man who hates his job -- the politics, the personalities, the gossip, but mostly, the work itself. It’s really not who he is, what he is meant to be doing, what he has a passion for, the way he’d like to be contributing. But he has his justifications – others are depending on the income, it’s too risky to make a change, he should be lucky to have any job at all. What does he have to complain about, while people out there are dying of cancer? It’s only after he’s made the move that he realizes the extent to which his life force was being depleted, that he realizes the productivity and satisfaction of true vocation. “Getting fired was the best thing that ever happened to me,” he says.

Or think of the person who is trapped – by law, by habit, by fear, by guilt – in a destructive relationship. It can be a relationship that is obviously destructive, as in the case of a relationship with one who is physically or verbally abusive. Or it can be relationship that is less obviously destructive -- as in the case of a relationship with one who doesn’t take responsibility for one’s personal development and leaves others to deal with the consequences, or one who wallows in complaints and negativity but does nothing about it, or one who entitles oneself to be another’s dependent. Whether it’s an obviously destructive or less obviously destructive relationship, it strains and drains its victim. It leaves its victim not enlivened but deadened, not appreciated but disregarded, not confronting reality but avoiding it. But at the same time, it becomes a kind of unquestioned status quo. It’s only when it ends that its victim suddenly finds himself walking a little lighter, finds herself freed for new possibilities. “I can’t believe I lived that way for twenty years,” she says.

Or think of those addicted to some vice – drugs, alcohol, pornography, gambling. They convince themselves that they need it, that they deserve it, that everyone’s got to have some way to get by, some way to feel good. They even trick themselves into thinking that all in all it’s good for them. And for a while, it seems to be. But then, inevitably, the vice begins to gain ground, begins to take over their lives. They begin to lose what’s important to them. They realize they must break the habit or be broken by it. And it’s only after they conquer the addiction that they realize that they’d escaped an eerie and horrifying disease, a kind of slow death by enslavement. “The hardest thing I ever did was to set myself free,” he says.

Yes, we don’t feel the full weight of the burdens we have been bearing until they have been lifted from us. Such was, no doubt, the case with the woman with the hemorrhage from this morning’s gospel lesson. After all, she’d had it for twelve years. At its onset, of course, it must have panicked her. “I’m bleeding. There’s something wrong with me.” As the months progressed her panic probably turned to sorrow and anxiety, “I’m not going to get better. I’m slowly dying.” But then as year gave way to year her hemorrhage became something that she lived with.

Then, one day, she happened to be at the right place at the right time. She was going about her business on the streets of her village when she found herself swept up in a crowd. Naturally, she was curious as to what or who everyone was gathering to see. She quickly discovered from the murmurs all around her that it was Jesus of Nazareth. He had just disembarked from his boat, and the news of his presence spread like wildfire.

By now, to say the least, his reputation preceded him. After all, he had been performing miracles that had never been performed since the dawn of history. She, like everyone else, wanted to catch a glimpse of him, and just as she did, she caught sight of Jairus, the leader of the synagogue. He was in a desperate state. He ran to Jesus and collapsed at his feet. Soon she understood why. “My daughter is at the point of death. Come lay your hands on her,” he begged over and over again.

Jesus, of course, immediately accompanied him. Then suddenly, it clicked. Of course, she had heard of Jesus, everyone had, but maybe she needed to see him to fully and really hear of him. Because it clicked. “If I reach out to him, he will make me well,” she said to herself. So she did, and immediately, her hemorrhage stopped. She felt her body being healed. And then, for the first time in twelve years, she experienced the miraculous gift of good health. All that she had been bearing -- the disease itself, the stress, the loss, the resignation, the hassle, the self-pity, the exhaustion -- it was all gone. She didn’t feel the full weight of the burden she had been bearing until it had been lifted from her.

Yes, there is much truth in this. But why is this? I guess it’s just the nature of bearing burdens. Life has placed them on us. They are heavy. Yet, we need to get where we’re going. There’s no sense complaining about them constantly. There’s no sense being completely defined by them. So with grim resignation, we trudge forward, bearing them as best we can, trying not to think about them. Only after they’re lifted, do we realize their full weight.

And so, maybe we have something to learn from the woman with the hemorrhage. We have more in common with her that you might think. For one thing, we, like her, are bearing burdens. We all are. It’s the nature of human existence. And like her, we’ve heard of Jesus, but have we really heard? Has it clicked? Do we realize that if like her, we reach out to him, he will ease our burdens? He will.

To those seeking true vocation, he has declared that the vocation that transcends and sanctifies all others is to be fishers of men. To those in destructive relationships, he has declared he has come to gather his followers into a fellowship of true unity. To those addicted, he has declared his truth will set them free. If we reach out to him, he will ease every burden we could ever bear. Of course he will! He has conquered sin and death after all. Nothing is beyond his scope.

And for added proof, let us return to the woman with the hemorrhage. Jesus realized when she reached out to him that his power had been tapped and so he stopped and turned around and faced the crowd. “Who touched me?” he asked. The disciples, as usual, thought he was simply acting crazy again. “You see the crowds pressing in on you. How can you say, ‘Who touched me?’” The woman with the hemorrhage, knowing full well he was referring to her, at once became terrified and began to tremble. “Now I’ll be punished,” she thought.” I knew it was too good to be true.”

Like Jairus, she came to Jesus and collapsed at his feet, tried miserably to explain herself, all she’d been bearing, why she had acted as she did. But she quickly discovered that Jesus did not want to punish her, indeed he sought no justification from her at all. “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace.” He wanted to discover who had reached out to him because he wanted to reach back. He wanted to discover who had reached out to him merely to acknowledge her, to know her, to affirm her.

Jesus wants us to reach out to him precisely because in reaching back he can ease our burdens! Such is his nature. Such is his power. Such is his love. After all, is it not his express promise, “Come to me, all you that are wearing and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest….For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” For that he lived, and for that he died. Amen.

Reformation Sunday

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:28:01 GMT

Mark 10:46-52

Today is Reformation Sunday. You need not feel sheepish for not knowing that today is Reformation Sunday. We normally do not observe Reformation Sunday; and the reason, quite frankly, is that I have never been quite sure how to go about it. A sermon on the Reformation or it founding figures Martin Luther and John Calvin would not seem the right way -- too antiquarian and scholastic. An even worse way would be to attempt to revive Reformation theology. Historical theology is and must remain theology of its time. And so, Reformation Sunday slips by each year unobserved.

This year, however, I think I have found a way, albeit a roundabout one, to observe Reformation Sunday. A certain general kind of phenomenon that was derived from Calvin’s theology can be brought to bear on this morning’s gospel lesson. Mind you, I am not saying that Calvin’s theology can be brought to bear on this morning’s gospel lesson. I am saying that a certain general kind of phenomenon that was derived from Calvin’s theology – that Calvin never anticipated or knew of, that occurred well after his death -- can be brought to bear on this morning’s gospel lesson. As you can see, I am still not quite sure how to go about observing Reformation Sunday. I realize there are a few kinks in my plan.

At any rate, Calvin was an author of the doctrine of double predestination; that is to say, Calvin believed that from all eternity, some of us have been predestined to damnation and hell fire, and others of us have been predestined to heavenly paradise. Now perhaps you can see why I assert that historical theology is and must remain theology of its time. To us the doctrine of double predestination sounds horrific. The way Calvin saw it though, was that double predestination only underscored God’s righteousness. We are all condemnable, Calvin believed. The fact that any of us at all are predestined for heavenly paradise only underscores God’s sovereign mercy.

A result of the doctrine of double predestination was that believers, with great fear and trembling, sought some indication in their lives that they were among those predestined for heavenly paradise. This drove believers to productivity, because productivity normally results in success and the appearance of favor (indications in their lives that they were among those predestined for heavenly paradise.) The lazy, the vagrant, and the dissolute could only be giving indication that they were predestined to damnation and hellfire. Before long, productivity took on a life of its own, became an end in itself, hence the emergence of the so-called Protestant Work Ethic, which came to be buttressed by the belief that we are justified by our productivity.

Now looking back on it, it all seems, if not horrific, at least a bit silly -- the idea that some us are predestined to hellfire and damnation, the idea that believers were driven to productivity to prove they weren’t, the idea that we are justified by our productivity. Yes – definitely more silly than horrific.

On the other hand, our mistakes are always crystal clear to us in hindsight. This is one of the bugbears of our existence – that our mistakes are always clear to us in hindsight - that we chose the wrong marriage partner, that we took the wrong job, that we bought the wrong house, that we said that wrong thing …..And because our mistakes are always crystal clear to us in hindsight, we may wonder what things we now mistakenly have come to believe we are justified by.

Following the belief that we are justified by our productivity were a whole succession of canards – the belief that we are justified by our productivity was succeeded by the belief that we are justified by our compensation, and this was succeeded by the belief that we are justified by our consumption. This mistake was crystal clear in hindsight in the wake of the recent economic crisis it precipitated.

One thing I’ve noticed we now mistakenly believe we are justified by is the crowds we command. You see this everywhere -- with reference to sports events or concerts, with reference to parties or weddings, with reference to television ratings and movie revenues, even with reference to the mega-church. We believe we are justified by the crowds we command. And we need not be stars or socialites or professional athletes to get in on this. For one thing, we do it in our smaller ways, in our cultivation of popularity or importance. And even when we are among the crowds that another commands, it is likely at some level this indicates that we endorse the belief that we are justified by the crowds we command.

And this, at last, is the phenomenon that was derived from Calvin’s theology that can be brought to bear on this morning’s gospel lesson – this notion that we mistakenly believe we are justified by this or that – by our productivity or compensation or consumption….. or now by the crowds we command.

Jesus, of course, could command crowds with the best of them. Between his preaching, teaching, and miracles he became an overnight sensation. A few days into his ministry, for instance, when Jesus entered Capernaum, word quickly spread where he was dining and before he even finished his meal, crowds jammed the street. In order for a man on a pallet to be carried to him, his friends had to hoist the pallet up to the roof, dig a hole through the thatch, and lower it down on ropes. Shortly thereafter, Jesus was so besieged by crowds that in order to address them he had to climb up a mountainside. And what about the miraculous feeding of loaves and fishes? Immediately prior to it, Jesus was actually trying to evade the crowds. John the Baptist had just been assassinated, and he wanted to be alone to mourn him. He was forced to take to the sea but by the time his boat landed, a crowd of 5,000 were waiting for him. Yes, Jesus could command crowds with the best of them.

But the funny thing is, to say nothing of being justified by them, he wasn’t impressed or gratified by them at all. Not once did he ever remark to his disciples, “Hey, there were 5,000 in attendance at my loaves and fishes bit. I’ve hit the big time.” Jesus knew that crowds came with the territory, and he saw them for what they were.

In fact, he was downright cautious of crowds, for what they were were fickle and unstable -- readily beguiled and easily manipulated. When John the Baptist was arrested, for instance, the crowds who had once followed him were driven to uncertainty about him. They were prone to think that his arrest illegitimated him. They were ready to turn on him. And so Jesus addressed them, “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes?… What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet….Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist.” What’s more, Jesus knew he’d receive the same treatment in Jerusalem from the crowds.

No, Jesus did not believe himself justified by the crowds he commanded, and nothing makes that clearer than this morning’s gospel lesson. Jesus was departing from the town of Jericho. It was his last stop before Jerusalem. It was now the end of his ministry, and his capacity to draw crowds was at its peak. And so, as he departed from the town of Jericho, crowds lined the streets.

Among the crowds was Bartimaeus, a blind beggar -- physically blind at least, but obviously sighted in more important ways, because he began to cry out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” But how did he know to call Jesus the Son of David? No one in Mark’s gospel had identified him that way before. Only Bartimaeus, a blind beggar, knew Jesus to be the Son of David, knew Jesus to be the Messiah. How almost inexpressibly ironic, that the blind could see him for who he was. But to the crowds, Bartimaeus was ruining everything. This was Jesus’ moment and theirs too, and he was spoiling it. And so they chastised him and told him, to put it crudely, to sit down and shut up.

But Jesus had no concern for “the moment.” He wasn’t concerned for the crowds. He was concerned for the one. And for Jesus it was always that way. He was concerned for the one. He respected the one. The one, for Jesus, was what counted – be that one a blind beggar or a prostitute or a racketeer or a leper… And so Jesus stopped and with him all the momentum that crowds so thrive on. Jesus stood stock-still and declared, “Call him here.” The crowds then turned on a dime, as they are wont do. “Take heart,” they now said, “he’s calling you.”

And mind you, Jesus to say the least, had better things to do. His face was set to Jerusalem, to his crucifixion. His death was now immanent, and he knew it. He had told his disciples as much, very graphically, not once but twice. And here was but one more blind beggar. He’d healed plenty of them and there were still plenty more to heal out there. Stopping for this one would amount to less than a drop in the bucket.

But that’s not the way Jesus thought. Bartimaeus must have known this when he cried to him. And so Bartimaeus threw off his cloak, sprang up, and ran to Jesus. “Teacher let me see again,” he pled. Jesus said to him “Go, your faith has made you well.” And Bartimaeus immediately received his sight and followed Jesus to Jerusalem. I have a feeling Bartimaeus stood out among the crowds who watched Jesus crucified. He had the eyes to see what was taking place on that cross.

You know, thinking about it, Reformation theology may well be theology of its time. It may be antiquarian or scholastic. It may be impossible to revive. It may be horrific or silly. But now that I think about it, there’s one thing that the Reformation captured. It is something that is so elusive that few eras before or since have been able to do so. The Reformation captured that we are justified not by our works -- by our productivity, our compensation, our consumption, or the crowds we command – but by one thing and one thing alone – We are justified by the faith of Jesus Christ -- by his willingness to make himself a sacrificial atonement for our sin and so bind us all together in loving unity. And only when we learn this will we readily stop as he did for the one by the wayside who cries out to us, “Have mercy on me!” Amen.

Family Values

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:59 GMT

Genesis 30:4-17 I Corinthians 7:32-38 Matthew 19:12

There are many proponents around these days of “Family Values.” And at first blush these proponents would seem to have a benign enough agenda. Proponents of “Family Values” would seem at least to be proponents of the sanctity of the family. The sanctity of the family. Could there be a more benign agenda than that? But in fact, “Family Values” is a loaded expression, as the Bible would call a shibboleth. Proponents of “Family Values” are proponents of the sanctity of the family, true enough, but the sanctity of only a certain kind of family -- the “traditional” family, as they refer to it.

The “traditional” family, as they understand it, is about what you’d expect – a mom, a dad, and two or three children with straight teeth. Proponents of “Family Values” believe in the sanctity of the “traditional” family because they believe the traditional family is the basis for moral society. Conversely, proponents of family values believe that the “non-traditional” family is a threat to moral society. And the strange thing about all this is that they use the Bible as support for their position.

And so let us examine the biblical family for what evidence it may yield that the traditional family is the basis for moral society. We may as well begin at the beginning, with Adam and Eve and their sons Cain and Abel. A mom, a dad, and two kids – O.K. so far, a nice traditional family, assuming Cain and Abel have straight teeth.

But the family of Adam and Eve, in fact, gives testimony to the fact that the traditional family is not necessarily the basis for moral society. Adam and Eve, after all, through their disobedience occasioned nothing less than the fall of humankind, some time after which Cain murdered his brother Abel in cold blood. The first biblical family in fact, though traditional, would appear to be the basis for immoral society.

Well then, what about the second biblical family, the family of Noah? Again, a nice traditional family -- a mom, a dad, and three sons this time -- Shem, Ham, and Japheth. And Noah was, as the Bible states it, “a righteous man, blameless in his generation.” This in fact is why he was preserved

from the flood. He wasn’t disobedient, like his forebear Adam. The Lord told him to build an ark, and he built an ark. The Lord told him to bring animals on board two by two, and he brought the animals on board two by two.

But after the flood, Noah’s run of righteousness and blamelessness ended. Maybe it was all that family time on the ark, but after he disembarked, he planted a vineyard and got drunk off the fruit of the vine. Poor Ham stumbled upon his father naked and unconscious, and when Noah learned of it he took it out on Ham’s son. He cursed his own grandson, declared that his descendants would all be slaves. Another biblical family that, though traditional, would appear to be the basis for immoral society.

Then comes the family of Abraham. Unfortunately, the family of Abraham starts off at a disadvantage, because it is not a traditional family. To be sure, there’s a mom and a dad, Abraham and Sarah, but then there’s an extra mom Hagar. And not in succession either; Abraham was a polygamist. He had the two sons, but that does little to override the polygamy piece. No doubt about it, the family of Abraham was a non-traditional family.

And the family of Abraham give testimony to the fact that the non- traditional family is not necessarily the basis for moral society either. Abraham’s wife Sarah got jealous of her rival Hagar and banished her and her son into the dessert where she hoped they would die of thirst. Add to this that Abraham nearly slit his son’s throat. The non-traditional family too would appear to be the basis for immoral society.

And if, in the interest of time, we skip a generation and jump ahead to the family Abraham’s grandson Jacob, we discover that the apple did not fall far from the tree— The family of Jacob was another non-traditional family that would appear to be the basis for immoral society. Jacob too was a polygamist. He married a sister set, Rachel and Leah, and then took their maids Bilhah and Zilpah as his concubines. And lest we lay all the blame on Jacob for this arrangement, the women were in full collusion. They didn’t care a fig about being one of four wives. All they cared about is getting a shot at Jacob so they could compete with one another as to who could produce the most sons. Recall this morning’s Old Testament lesson. Leah’s son Reuben found some mandrakes in the fields. Mandrakes were thought to induce fertility. So Rachel traded Leah her

mandrakes for a night with Jacob who was temporarily in her custody. “…then he may lie with you tonight for your son’s mandrakes,” she bargained.

Maybe if we jump ahead a little further we could find the evidence we seek that the traditional family is the basis for moral society. What about David? Unfortunately, David is the worst of them all all. Definitely a non-traditional family -- at least 10 wives -- and innumerable concubines. King’s harems were huge. David’s son Solomon’s had 1,000 women in it. And again we discover a non-traditional family that would appear to be the basis for immoral society.

David impregnated a woman not of his harem, a married woman to boot, then murdered her husband to legitimate his child. And the Bible reports over and over again that David was a downright bad father – weak, indulgent, and inattentive. One of his sons raped his own sister, and another of his sons, because David refused to discipline him for it, avenged the rape by his murder. He was so embittered that he was driven to do what his father refused to that he rebelled against his father and brought the nation to war.

And then there is that biblical feature that never fails to raise eyebrows, even the eyebrows of progressives – the so-called Leverite marriage. If a

woman’s husband died, her husband’s brother, without benefit of formal marriage, was obligated to inseminate her so that she could produce children. This is so non-traditional as to border on repugnant. What did the children call their father, Uncle Dad?

But enough of the Old Testament. Maybe the evidence we seek that the traditional family is the basis for moral society is to be found in the New. We can’t exactly appeal to Jesus’ family though, because his family was unique. His father was, quite literally, out of this world. And when Jesus grew up, he had no family of his own. As he declared in this morning’s gospel lesson, “….there are eunuchs who have made themselves eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom of heaven.” That was his way of saying that because of his messianic destiny to die, he chose to remain celibate.

So what then about the apostle Paul? In this morning’s epistle lesson, he counsels Christians against marriage. Only if they do not have their desire

under control should they relent and marry, because marriage is preferable to fornication. This is not exactly evidence that the traditional family is the basis for moral society. Paul would seem to be suggesting that the basis for moral society is unmarried celibates.

And when Paul does in another of his epistles describe the traditional family as he understands it, he states that women must be subject to their husbands and slaves to their masters. This model of traditional family advances the subordination and domestication of women and the legitimacy of slavery. Few to none in this day and age would offer this type of traditional family as the basis for moral society.

I think it’s safe to conclude that proponents of family values must look elsewhere than the Bible for support that the traditional family is basis for moral society. For one thing, the traditional family as they conceive it is not privileged as such in the Bible. For another, where it exists it is not equated with moral society. The Bible depicts all different kinds of families that were peculiar to its day, just as there are all different kinds of families peculiar to our day. And the Bible would appear to be saying that none has cornered the market on righteousness.

So maybe we too should refrain from equating the traditional family with moral society. There’s certainly no biblical evidence on which to do so. And too, it only serves to stigmatize nontraditional families -- to make them feel inadequate or inferior or ostracized. And why add to their burden? Why add to the burden of anyone for that matter? That’s not what Christians are called to do. It’s much better, I think, to recognize and affirm that just about anyone can make up a family.

So long as there’s one key thing: Love, love and all that cascades from it: respect, commitment, acceptance, encouragement, forbearance, affection, sacrifice. My sense, anyway, is that if we want to equate the family with moral society, it’s not about traditional families over against non-tradition

families. It’s about loving families. It’s nothing more than Christ taught us: In all respects, love is the basis for morality. Amen.

The Spoken Word

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:54 GMT

James 3:1-12 Mark 9:30-34

If anyone knew the power of the spoken word, it was Adolph Hitler. In Mein Kampf, written nearly a decade before he rose to power, Hitler knew precisely the means to do so – the spoken word. “All great world shattering events,” he wrote, “have been wrought not by written matter, but by the spoken word.”

And after, by the spoken word, Hitler had risen to power; after Austria, Czechoslovakia, Norway, Denmark, Holland, and Belgium had fallen to Nazi aggression, Hitler, by the spoken word, retained power through speeches like this one to the German workers:

"We have already projected great plans. All of our plans have but one aim: To develop still further the great German State, to make the great German nation more and more conscious of its existence and, at the same time, to give it everything which makes life worth living…..

When this war is ended, Germany will set to work in earnest. A great ‘Awake!” will sound throughout the country…We shall show the world for the first time who is the real master…..[We] will grow the great German Reich of which the poets have dreamed. It will be the Germany to which every one of her sons will cling with fanatical devotion…..[Germany] will teach everyone the meaning of life.

Should anyone say to me: ‘These are mere fantastic dreams, mere visions,’ I can only reply that when I set out on my course in 1919 as an unknown, nameless soldier I built my hope of the future upon a most vivid imagination. Yet all has come true….The road from an unknown and nameless person to the Fuehrer of the German nation was harder than will be the way from the Fuehrer of the German nation to the creator of the coming peace!"

But across the English Channel was another who knew the power of the spoken word. In a contemporaneous speech given to the House of Commons very shortly before the Swastika would hang over the Eiffel Tower, Winston Churchill declared:

"That is the resolve of His Majesty’s Government – every man of them. That is the will of Parliament and the nation. The British Empire and the French Republic, linked together in their cause and in their need, will defend to the death their native soil, aiding each other like good comrades to the utmost of their strength.

Even though large tracts of Europe and many old and famous States have fallen or may fall into the grip of the Gestapo and all the odious apparatus of Nazi rule, we shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender. And even if, which I do not for a moment believe, this island…was subjugated and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet would carry on the struggle, until, in God’s good time , the new world with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and liberation of the old."

The House of Commons responded to Churchill’s speech with a thunderous ovation. Its members stood and wept and pounded the benches before them. Franklin Delano Roosevelt responded to Churchill’s speech by abandoning this nation’s policy of neutrality and casting its lot behind Great Britain. The power of the spoken word.

Our spoken words, next to Hitler’s and Churchill’s, of course, will never fork such lightening. But if the spoken word indeed has power, our spoken words must have power too – power proportionate to our statures and stations. And too, as in the case with Hitler and Churchill, power for good and for ill.

This is probably better illustrated, however, not by gauging the effect of our own spoken words; for the effect of our own spoken words, I think, we tend to discount. It is better illustrated by gauging the effect of spoken words upon us.

We have all been soothed by words of comfort, relieved by words of mercy, enlightened by words of truth, and edified and fortified by words of faith. And conversely, we have all been angered by words of injustice, hurt by words of meanness or cruelty, discouraged by words of criticism, and stultified by words of triviality or inanity.

The Bible at any rate concurs with these observations. As James writes in this morning’s epistle lesson, “the tongue is a small member, yet it boasts of great exploits.”

And so, we may safely conclude that the spoken word and so our spoken words are powerful, powerful for good or for ill, and we may take from this conclusion the obvious lesson that we should be mindful and measured in our speech. But to this obvious lesson James adds something less obvious; less obvious, but decidedly more stern and exacting.

For James, throughout his epistle, displays a preoccupation with, as he puts it, “double-mindedness” – “Faith by itself,” he writes, “if it has no works, is dead. Be doers of the word and not merely hearers who deceive themselves.” And James brings his preoccupation with double-mindedness to bear upon the spoken word. “With [the tongue] we bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse those who are made in the likeness of God. From the same mouth comes blessing and cursing.”

What James admonishes is that our Christian beliefs and our spoken words must be integrated. And this precludes, James argues, all words spoken for ill, for words spoken for ill cannot spring from our Christian beliefs, but only from, as he puts it, a "brackish spring." Our words spoken for good then when spoken along side our words spoken for ill can only issue from that same brackish spring and amount to nothing more than careless and mindless inconsistency, nothing more than hypocrisy: “If they think they are religious,” James warns, “and do not bridle their tongues, their religion is useless.”

To be sure stern and exacting, but some people are entitled to be stern and exacting. James was entitled. He had witnessed his brother, after all, tortured on a cross for the fledgling movement to which he now addressed himself, a movement for which he himself would shortly be martyred, a movement now being undermined by Christians who somehow believed that they could be Christians and say whatever they wanted. What’s more, he was no more stern and exacting than his brother.

Jesus in this morning’s gospel lesson was bound for Jerusalem. And so he warned his disciples what would befall him there. “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” It was his second warning to them of this nature. But, as Mark tells us, “They did not understand what he was saying, and they were afraid to ask.” The knowledge Jesus had attempted to impart to them would remain his alone. The burden he had tried to share with them he would be left bear alone. He could only hope that after his death they would recall his words and come to realize that his death was according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God.

But to make matters worse, his disciples, obviously unconcerned for their lack of understanding, and obviously unconcerned for him, immediately embarked upon a discussion as to who among them was the greatest! “What were you discussing?” Jesus asked. And in their shame they fell silent. Jesus knew of course full well what they were discussing. He asked the question in fact to censure them.

Jesus knew what his disciples were discussing, and Jesus knows too every word that issues from our mouths. The question he put to his disciples is too his question to us. “What are you discussing?” May we at all times be able to answer him boldly, “We were speaking words of mercy and forgiveness. We were speaking words of comfort, encouragement, and hope. We were speaking words of justice. We were speaking words of truth. We were speaking words of faith. We were speaking words of prayer. We were speaking all that you taught us to speak confident of the power of our spoken words for good, your father’s good.” Amen.

Confirmation Sunday

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:53 GMT

The very first Christians ever to be baptized were not, as were you Confirmands, children. The first Christians ever to be baptized were adults. What led to those baptisms was an event we are soon to celebrate in the church called the Pentecost.

Jesus had left the disciples perplexed. Seemingly from out of nowhere, he had arisen among their people. He had called them to be his intimate followers. They had a sense of who he might be. They sensed he might be the Messiah. After all, Jesus had a unique kind of authority about him, one that distinguished him from all others. His teaching was so sure and so right and so true. And then there were his miracles. Yes, Jesus must be the Messiah. The only problem was that the disciples like everyone else thought that when the Messiah came he would found a mighty kingdom, mightier even than the kingdom of the Romans who ruled them.

But then, as quickly as Jesus arose, he was executed. And before they were able to plumb the depths of the confusion and pain that his execution caused, he appeared resurrected before them. What was going on? What could possibly be afoot? Was he now going to found a mighty kingdom? Had his execution and resurrected proved that that kingdom would be undefeatable? Yes, Jesus had left the disciples perplexed.

But then came the Pentecost – that rush of a violent wind, the divided tongues of fire. Jesus, by his Holy Spirit, was again among them, and their perplexity was ended. By his Holy Spirit they knew. He had come to found a mighty kingdom, yes, but not like they had expected. It was not a human kingdom at all, but a divine kingdom, God’s kingdom on earth. And to join all they had to do is be baptized.

And so, the disciples did what anyone would do who had such good news. They shared it. They proclaimed the good news and the people received it. “But what must we do?” the people asked. “…Be baptized, and receive the gift of the Holy Spirit,” the disciples responded. These then were the very first Christians ever to be baptized. They were, as I said, adults. The baptism of children took hold much later – four hundred years later -- after the uncompromising St. Augustine got into it with the equally uncompromising Pelagius over the question of Original Sin. Original Sin is the belief that sin is original to our condition; in other words, Original Sin is the belief that we are all born sinners. Augustine (rightly) affirmed original sin. Pelagius did not. Of course, Augustine won. Augustine always won. This is in large part the reason that he is unpopular. People who win everything tend to get on our nerves.

But once Original Sin became a dogma, it didn’t take Augustine long to conclude that children, as cute and innocent as they may appear, were too sinners. Children, therefore, had to be baptized for if they died before they were, they would die in their sin, and God would damn them to hell. Of course the baptism of children took hold! Parents were terrified for their souls!

I am fairly certain that the we parents of you confirmands did not have you baptized as children because we were terrified for your souls. Old Augustine meant well, of course. He simply couldn’t curb his penchant for logical precision, and it led him to take precautions. But I think nowadays we tend to have sufficient trust in the limitless freedom and resources, above all the limitless love of God in Jesus Christ to believe that God does not damn children to hell.

Then why did we have you baptized as children? I can’t speak for the your parents, but I can speak for myself, and I’d wager that in so doing I am speaking for them too. I had my children baptized as children because, basically, I am baptized. This means that I sought through Christ’s Holy Spirit, which is the gift of baptism, to be a member of his body. I believe above all else that his body is the best, safest and truest place I can be, and, quite simply, I wanted my children there with me. It’s only natural for a parent, I think, to feel this way. This is why I had my children baptized as infants.

But the only issue is that you had no say in the matter. We parents made that decision for you. But at your Confirmation, you get a say in the matter.

You have spent the year in one way or another preparing for that say – by acting as Pulpit Associates, by serving communion, by volunteering at an inner city school, by a church visits, and by attending grueling classes on the Bible. I take by your presence here that your say is that you wish to confirm our decision for you.

But before we proceed, Confirmands, there is something else I’d like you to confirm. You are through your baptisms members of the Body of Christ in more ways than one. You are members of the Body of Christ in the sense that you members, for lack of a better term, an organization. But you are also members in a metaphorical sense, in the sense that you are Christ’s eyes and ears and tongue, his hands and feet, and above all his heart. And as Christ’s members, you are nothing less than his presence, his witnesses in history.

And so I ask you to confirm that yours will be a life of service to him. And he has made abundantly clear what a life of service to him entails – From this morning’s gospel lesson, “…When was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, nor naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited

you?’ And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these…you did it to me.’”

But rest assured that in a life of service to him, you too will receive something much greater than anything this world has to offer. You will

receive his blessing, he who is seated at the right hand of the father, he to whom the angels sing, he who will come in glory to judge the living and the dead. You will receive his blessing. Confirmands, congratulations! Amen.

Eastertide - Lest We Forget

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:48 GMT

Philippians 2:1-11

Rudyard Kipling wrote a poem called Recessional. The point of the poem is that after a recessional - after an assembly hall or sanctuary or chamber empties at the close of a service, those who attended should remember what took place there. It contains the famous words, “Lest we forget!”

Those words have become a call to remember the men and women of the military who made the supreme sacrifice; and this is apt, but the poem has broader application.

It is the Sunday after Easter. We have recently remembered the culmination of the life of Jesus Christ. His was the most remarkable life that has ever been lived. He grew to manhood in utter obscurity, a carpenter in a remote region. Then seemingly out of the blue, a distant relation of his named John took up a strange calling. He became a baptist. He began to proclaim, and proclaim with great urgency, that the Kingdom of God was at hand, and that the people must be baptized and washed free of their sin in order to prepare for it.

Curious and bemused, Jesus made his way to John. John straightaway baptized him. Jesus had no inkling as to what would follow. He never presumed to hold any vocation except that of carpenter. But upon his baptism the heavens opened and the spirit descended upon him. It imparted to him that he now had a new vocation - to make a vicarious atonement for human sin through his death.

Imagine how that must have been for him. He was a human being, like you and like me. He could, I suppose, have laid claim to some kind of divine advantage, but he relinquished that claim. Per the apostle Paul, “Though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.” Yes, he was a human being, like you and like me. And to accept that impartation. But accept it he did. He must have thought of Abraham and Moses and David. They too accepted impartations. In wonder, he must have realized that he was now in their company. And so, like them, he went forward by faith -- by faith and faith alone.

And if a vocation to die was not hard enough, everyone around him made it harder. The devil himself tempted him. “Your mind played tricks on you. You need not die. Your death will accomplish nothing!” His disciples, to say the least, offered him no support, with their bickering and cluelessness and faltering, hoping all along that they had hit the jackpot. They were little better than his enemies. At least his enemies were declared enemies, as opposed to friends who proved to be no friends at all. There was but one nameless woman who loved him with poignancy and pathos; who comprehended his vocation. Weeping, she anointed his body in anticipation of his burial. This is why she meant so much to him. She was the only one.

And then, before he knew it, in a matter of months, his death was squarely before him. He made his way to Jerusalem. He knew he would not survive a trip to Jerusalem, the hub of his enemies. And he didn’t. His demise was a travesty, from his betrayal by the deluded Judas, to his disciples’ cowardice, to the kangaroo court that tried and condemned him, to the Roman authorities who with insensate and wanton cruelty crucified him. He evinced as much courage as he could, but this only evinced his vulnerability. Because there is no courage without vulnerability. They are two sides of the same coin. But he held fast to his faith in the impartation he received at his baptism. He died in faith that his death was a vicarious atonement for human sin. And it was.

It is the Sunday after Easter. We have just celebrated his resurrection on the third day -- his vindication, wherein he knew that his death was indeed a vicarious atonement for human sin, and all humankind would be the beneficiaries. And the atonement was so complete that it would confer not just reconciliation with God, but eternal life with God. Lest we forget!

Such a forgetting would be a terrible thing. Worse than that. It would be a relapse into sin. You probably were taught somewhere along the line about the sins of commission and the sins of omission. The sins of commission are the things you do that you shouldn’t. These are the obvious sins. The sins of omissions are the things you don’t do that you should. These are the less obvious sins. Because they consist of things that you don’t do. They consist of nothing. They consist of a lacking. They consist of inaction. They consist of indifference. To forget is a sin of omission. It is a thing you don’t do that you should, which is to remember.

And why is this so important? Because to forget is not only rank ingratitude. It too results in the diminishment of your Christian convictions, your Christian character, and your Christian integrity. It results in the diminishment of who you were created and redeemed to be. It results in the diminishment of what you were created and redeemed to do. To forget. It may seem like a venial thing. We forget where we put our keys. We forget why we walked into a room. We forget where we left our phones. But we dare not forget him. That is no venial thing. Lest we forget. Amen.

Be Prepared!

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:46 GMT

Genesis 6:9-22 Matthew 7:24-29

Something bad was going to happen. Really bad. A natural disaster of biblical proportions -- a flood so deep that even the mountaintops would offer no escape. So God ordered Noah to build an ark.

Noah got down to business. He built an ark, and a big one. Four hundred and fifty feet long -- big enough to hold his family, an awful lot of animals, and all the provisions he would need.

The rest of humanity got down to business as well. Their business was disunity. You could say disunity was their middle name. It’s who they were. It’s what defined them. It’s what drove them. Disunity manifests itself in various ways. First and foremost is disunity among people who differ. It doesn’t matter how they differ. It can be their genders, their sexual orientations, their races, their classes, their national identities. Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels is essentially a satire about disunity. In it humankind is literally at war over which end of an egg was the top and which was the bottom. So I guess just about any difference can be exploited in the cause of disunity.

Then there are less obvious forms of disunity. There is what you could call “disunity by omission” where you simply decline to acknowledge anyone who differs from you. You surround yourself with people just like yourself. You don’t know, or care to know, anyone who differs.

And too there is disunity that hits closer to home. There is disunity within families. This usually occurs when one or more members of the family are willfully blind to their responsibility to fulfill their right role as mother, father, son, daughter, brother, or sister. This stirs up all manner of dysfunction -- resentment, compensation, argumentation, disloyalty, betrayal, and avoidance.

Yes, the rest of humanity thrived on disunity in all its various manifestations. They turned to it as a dog to its vomit, to reference the graphic prophet Jeremiah. And this is precisely why the rest of humankind didn’t build arks. They certainly could have. They saw Noah constructing his. A 450 foot ark is pretty hard to hide. They could have asked him about it. “Why the ark, Noah? Expecting rain?” But they didn’t really need to. You see a 450 foot ark being loaded up, and you add two and two. But they were too preoccupied with their disunity.

Then the flood hit. Noah was ready for it. Floods aren’t all that bad when you have an ark. When you don’t have an ark, though, it’s a different story. The rest of humanity went down fighting, and not in any good way. It must have been horrifying. There’s a big difference between when good people die and when bad people die. I’ve learned this through experience.

So the point of the story, or at least the point of the beginning of the story (since there is much more to it) is to warn us to be prepared for the floods that will surely assail us, and of course not just literal floods – all the disaster and tragedy and calamity that will surely assail us.

And this is the point of the story. The point is not to raise the question, “Why the floods in the first place?” “Why will floods surely assail us?” There will never be an answer to that question. Humankind has been searching for it for thousands of years. The search has been and will forever be fruitless. So maybe that’s not our question to ask. Instead we must acknowledge and accept that floods will surely assail us. It’s a component of an existence we will never fully comprehend. Floods will surely assail us, and we must prepare for them. So then the question then becomes how? How do we prepare for the floods that will surely assail us?

It begins with naming and claiming your convictions. All people need convictions to live by. Otherwise who are they? What are they about? I know mine. Probably yours are the same. My convictions are that Jesus Christ was the Son of God and so his words and his actions teach me how to live in accord with God. And his words teach that love is at the heart of existence and his actions teach the ultimate goodness of existence. And so I follow him. Above all. First and foremost. These are most likely our common convictions.

Although perhaps you may be less convinced than I that Jesus Christ was the Son of God, but it doesn’t really matter. He is still worth following. You have to follow someone. You can’t create convictions based upon nothing more yourself. Think about that for a minute. How would that work? Your convictions are based upon yourself and nothing more? It’s barely conceivable. No you have to follow someone. Who else are you going to follow? Karl Marx?

And Jesus said that if you simply follow him, you will come in time to affirm that he is the Son of God. It’s kind of like when you adopt. Someone hands you a child you’ve never met before, and that child is not having the best day of their life, because their life has had precious few best days. Someone hands you a child, then they leave. It can feel strange at first, and uncertain. So they say in the adoption business, “Fake it till you make it.” That’s what you can do in this case. Fake it till you make it.

At any rate, it begins in naming and claiming your convictions. And then you begin to enact your convictions. Because if you hold convictions, you must enact them. Convictions and their enactment go hand in hand. You don’t hold convictions then hide them under a bushel. This would make you a weakling or a hypocrite and no one wants to be a weakling or a hypocrite? So you do something, you do anything, to enact your convictions.

And in enacting your convictions, you grow stronger and braver, more empowered and confident. You become a positive force. You discover that you have the power to make things better. For yourself and for those around you. And then you are prepared. The flood that will surely assail you does. Something bad happens, really bad. No matter what it is that happens to you or someone you love, you have the power to make things better. You can contribute help, support, hope, aid, sanctuary, time, comfort, advice, accompaniment, truth, faith witness, and prayer.

Jesus said it a bit more succinctly. “Everyone who hears these words of mine and does them is like a wise man who built his house on rock. The rain fell, the flood came, and the winds beat against that house, but it did not collapse because it had been founded on rock.”

So here’s to arks. And here’s to foundations. Amen.

Silver Linings

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:45 GMT

Luke 10:25-37

I was driving home from the University of Chicago’s Comer’s Children Hospital last week during rush hour traffic. When I glanced at my GPS and saw that I had over an hour yet to drive, I grew disheartened and impatient. After about forty-five minutes, I again glanced at my GPS. It still indicated that I had over an hour yet to drive. Apparently, there had been an accident. My new son was already fussing from his lengthy tenure in his car seat. “Bad ending to a bad day,” I thought to myself. I turned on the radio. I couldn’t believe the song that was playing. The fates seemed to be tormenting me. It was Summertime, and the Living is Easy. “Really, Gershwin?” I said aloud. “The living has not been all that easy this summer.”

Because it hasn’t. In fact it has been really hard. It has to do with my new son’s medical condition. I knew there were issues, but I didn’t know what I was getting into. Do we ever know, though, what we are getting into? When we adopt a child? When we have a baby? When we get married? When we buy a house? When we volunteer to take something on? If we ever knew what we were getting into, we would never act. We’d be paralyzed. I guess what tripped me up were false assumptions. I assumed I could handle anything. I assumed I could force simple answers upon complex problems. I assumed the medical establishment could do anything. So I didn’t know what I was getting into.

I won’t bore you with the details, but from the start it was all bad news. There were issues I knew about were worse than had been disclosed, and there were several issues that had not been disclosed. Every test directed us to another specialist with another test. That test then directed us to still another specialist with still another test. Then there were tests that had to be retaken due to error. It was an endless proliferation before we even got to the stage of the exploratory surgeries. We found ourselves commuting to the hospital every day. And in all this process nothing was actually done to correct anything. This was all just the warm up. On top of it all was the worry, the anxiety, the complete loss of control.

Finally came the first of several major surgeries. But then, suddenly, my son improved, so things improved. A friend of mine had been calling every day. “Things are getting better now,” I reported. “Well they couldn’t have gotten any worse,” was her retort. Her comment really hit me, because it confirmed my experience that yes, it has been really hard.

The experience made me finely attuned to the hardships people bear every day, most of them infinitely worse than mine. You couldn’t avoid being exposed to those hardships being at the hospital all the time. I made friends with someone who had been commuting back and forth to the hospital like me. Her daughter was born nearly three months premature. One day she approached me looking stricken and haggard -- shell shocked. “She’s not going to make it,” she said. And she didn’t. And you don’t have to be in the hospital to be exposed to the hardships people bear every day. A pastor in my town just lost her second husband – the first to the war in Afghanistan and the second to cancer. She is only 30 years old. If things are going well for you at the present, be grateful. Be so grateful. Because, as you yourselves no doubt know, there are people all around you bearing hardships.

So how are hardships to be born? I can only speak for myself, but I can speak to what got me through mine. It was the silver linings -- the silver linings, and there were many. A woman who I didn’t even know that well -- she works at the local library --said she’d take the day off work and sit with me the day of the surgery. She met me at the hospital at 6 a.m. with flowers and coffee. When the surgeon emerged five hours later, she reached over and squeezed my hand. Another woman I’ve never even met heard somehow that my son had the same condition as hers. She sent me an email with words of encouragement and hope, and best of all pictures of her son, now to the other side of his surgeries – a happy and healthy little boy.

When we were finally released from the hospital, a friend brought over dinner and wine, and as we talked for hours reminiscing about our lives. For an evening I forgot my cares. And so many people prayed for me and with me.

It was the silver linings. As I experienced them, it struck me that they are from God. For though God ordains that none should escape reality, he ordains too to ease the burden reality imposes. The silver linings then are reminders of this truth. They are reminders of his presence. They are reminders of his goodness. They are reminders of his care. After all, they’re all over Scripture. Look at the parable I just read. Like the Parable of the Prodigal Son that I preached on two weeks ago, it’s about many things. It yields ongoing interpretations. Today, let it be about silver linings.

It had been really hard for the man in the parable too. He definitely falls under the category of people bearing hardships infinitely harder than mine. He was walking along the road from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. Not only was he robbed but he was beaten half to death. I often wonder why robbers have to brutalize their victims. Someone in this congregation described a robbery to me in which the robber, after stealing after stealing someone’s possessions, shot him in the face. Why? Why did they have to beat him half to death? And that mercilessly? Half to death? It’s hard to imagine that reality.

What vivifies it for me is the movie The Laramie Project. It’s about a young gay man named Matthew Shepard who was beaten to death with sadistic cruelty. It’s a real eye opener, what that poor young man experienced, if you have the stomach for it. Anyway, it depicts just about what happened to the man in the parable. Think of his suffering – the pain, the anguish, the utter vulnerability. I can’t imagine any greater vulnerability, except maybe hanging from a cross.

But then – some relief; some rescue in sight -- the approach of a man. And even better, a religious man, a priest. But the priest only avoided him. He had no intention of wrestling with that bloody pulp. His hopes were dashed, but then the approach of another. Surely, he would help. But he only did the same thing. His cause was lost. No one would stop for him. I bet we’ve all morbidly wondered how we would meet our deaths. Well this is the way he would meet his. Then along came a Samaritan, of an enemy people of his people. This was it. Surely he would finish him off. But he stopped. He cleaned and bandaged his wounds. He set him upon his own animal. Tended him as though he were his own child and provided for his ongoing care.

The parable, of course, focuses on the Samaritan and not the other man. It does not say how he reacted to a hardship so hideous and a silver lining so bright. I’d be willing to wager that the silver lining all but made the hardship worthwhile. Because through it all he learned the truth of the gospel – that love is the answer. And the lesson for all of us is obvious and straightforward. We must be silver linings. And we all can be - every one of us. Because it’s not hard. Believe me, I know from experience, people bearing hardships are easy to please. All it takes is a word of kindness, hope, or encouragement. All it takes is your presence. All it takes is a visit. All it takes is a note. All it takes is a hug. Small gestures can be huge. Because those small gestures point to the truth of all existence – that there is darkness, yes to be sure. There is darkness. But that’s not all. Light shines in the darkness that the darkness can never overcome. And that light is Jesus Christ, who will one day blaze victorious. All praise be unto him. Amen.

Samaritan Woman

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:42 GMT

John 4:5-42

The great English novelist and essayist Dorothy Sayers once wrote, “…. it is no wonder that the women were first at the cradle and last at the cross. They had never known a man like Jesus – there had never been such another.” The woman of this morning’s gospel lesson is undoubtedly one of whom Sayers wrote. It is certain to say that she had never known a man alike Jesus, that there had never been such another.

The mere fact of the conversation between them would have been unusual enough in her experience. According to the social norms of Jesus’ day, men and women, particularly strangers, did not engage in passing conversation. But passing theological conversation between strange men and women, such as this was, would have been utterly unheard of. Theological conversation between men and women was actually prohibited by Jewish religious law. Add to this that the woman was a Samaritan. There too was a prohibition in Jewish religious law against all contact between Jew and Samaritan. The Jews deemed the Samaritans heretical and unclean. Their animosity towards them was intense.

And add to this the Samaritan woman was of suspect moral virtue. By her own admission she had had five husbands and was now living with a man without benefit of marriage. Even by today’s thoroughly libertine standards, this constitutes suspect moral virtue. It accounts too for the reason she was at the well alone at noon in the first place.

The well in Jesus’ day was not merely a place to draw water, it was a social center of a community. The members of a community gathered at the well in the relative cool of dusk to socialize and exchange the day’s news. A woman who had had five husbands and was living with a man without benefit of marriage would have been about as welcome in a social center of a community, again, as she would be today. And so she drew her water alone at noon.

Yet Jesus entered into conversation with her. As I said, it is certain to say she had never known a man like Jesus, that there had never been such another. Further indication of this is that immediately following their conversation, the Samaritan woman, despite her self-consciousness about her marginalization in her community, rushed unselfconsciously back to her community to share with it her conversation with Jesus.

And so, we may conclude from this morning’s gospel lesson that Jesus in a way unprecedented in their experience, entered into conversation with women, even women with more strikes against them than mere womanhood, and in so doing engaged them, elevated them, and evangelized them.

But we miss the point entirely if we stop here. Because Jesus entered into conversation not especially or particularly with women, but too with the disenfranchised, insignificant, and scandalous of virtually every imaginable description – those suffering from spiritual torment and mental illness, those afflicted with infectious diseases, the handicapped, criminals, prostitutes, adulteresses, slaves, foreigners, tax collectors, peasants, children……Jesus did not shun any of them. And all of them he engaged, elevated, and evangelized.

But we miss the point still if we stop here. Because Jesus entered into conversation not especially or particularly with the disenfranchised, scandalous, and insignificant, but too with those on the upper echelons of the social ladder – the educated, wealthy, and powerful. Jesus entered into conversation with the rabbis of the temple, lawyers, Scribes, Pharisees, Sadducees, a rich young ruler, and even the Roman procurator of Judea, Pontius Pilate.

It must be conceded that Jesus, with his penetrating discernment of human motivation was keenly aware that those on the upper rungs of the social ladder, through self-satisfaction or arrogance over their deemed accomplishments and standing were prone to disdain for or affront to Jesus’ conversation, but still he entered into conversation with them.

The point is Jesus entered into conversation with everyone – all with equal integrity, authority, and concern. Everyone who met him in fact could say that they had never known a man like Jesus, that there had never been such another. He recognized no particularity whatsoever.

And what are we to make of this? What are we to take from it? We need only return to this morning’s gospel lesson for an answer. Jesus’ conversation with the Samaritan woman led her to believe that he was a prophet, and so she sought from him clarification about something she had never understood. “The Samaritans worship on this mountain, but the Jews say worship must take place in Jerusalem.” Jesus replied, “Woman believe me, the hour is coming when you will worship neither place. The hour is coming, indeed is here, when true worshipers will worship the Father in Spirit and Truth.”

Jesus declared to the Samaritan woman that the hour is coming when true worshipers will worship the Father without reference to the particularities of Jew and Samaritan, indeed without reference to any particularities – particularities of gender, denomination, orientation, nationality, race, class, age – because true worshipers will worship the Father in that which will override particularities and declare humankind one – the Spirit and Truth he would bestow upon his church.

This then is why Jesus entered into conversation with everyone – to invite everyone beyond their particularities to his church. And his invitation was as radical and universal as his love. He invited everyone. He invited everyone. It sure sounds good. But that open invitation has issued a strenuous challenge to the church since its inception. The very first Christians wondered with dismay and chagrin – Surely Jesus could not have meant the Gentiles? But of course he did, and that strenuous challenge is now our own – to be the church in the fullness of our particularities, in this complex and confusing post modern world in which the fullness of our particularities have overrun and overwhelmed us.

But the test of whether we are the church is how well we meet this strenuous challenge. Perhaps precisely when we experience the dismay and chagrin of the first Christians, it may signal particularities we must struggle to overcome. Perhaps too it is the very calling of Christians to engage in strenuous challenges and without them we become jejune and feckless.

One thing is certain, it is only by his Spirit and Truth that our efforts to be the church will succeed, so let it be our common commitment to enter fully into that Spirit and Truth, and in so doing endeavor to unite with all those who with us in his Spirit and Truth declare him Lord. Amen.

No Man Is An Island

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:42 GMT

Job 19:13-22 John 4:3-18

One of my favorite poems was written by the Christian poet John Donne. I am sure you are familiar with it. It begins, “No man is an island.” The reason I love that poem is because it corrects the sense we tend to have, the fear we tend to have, that we are indeed islands. We are different from one another. We are separate from one another. We are alone. Because we do have that sense. This is why, I suppose, we project images of pleasantry and normalcy and sameness. We want to fit in. We want to be, in Donne’s words, “a piece of the continent; a part of the main.” No one wants to be an island.

I had an experience last week that was really revealing. A student of mine asked me to come to her vocal recital. “You sing?” I asked, trying to conceal my surprise, because she is really quiet and self spoken. “Actually, singing is my passion,” she said. So I went to her recital -- sat with a colleague from the music department. Her performance was nearly indescribable. Her vulnerability was in full display. It was so obvious she was risking herself; and taking that risk because of who she wanted to be, but was held back by her shyness from being. Her performance was magnificent, made all the better because her full humanity was on display. It was met by thunderous applause.

Afterward, my colleague and I rushed her. “You were fantastic! You are an inspiration to everyone to hazard yourself to the world!” I exclaimed. “Never mind that,” my colleague in the music department said. “Your performance was, musically speaking, flawless.” She teared up. Then tears were rolling down her face. I sensed it was more than gratitude for the compliments. “All my life I have felt so trapped by my shyness,” she confessed.. “I felt like I never belonged, like an outsider looking in on life. It’s hard to explain.” “I understand perfectly,” I said. And I did because of Donne’s poem. She felt different, separate, and alone. She felt she was an island. When she performed, she felt like she had finally joined the human race.

I noticed my colleague in the music department wasn’t saying anything. “I understand perfectly too,” he in his turn confessed. “My late mother was an alcoholic. I spent my entire childhood hiding that fact. I had no friends outside school. If someone invited me over I had to say no, since I could never invite them back. Talk about feeling like an outsider looking in. I looked in at everyone who seemed to be living their lives free of shame and secrecy.” He felt different, separate, and alone. He felt like he was an island. “I suppose music was my way out too. My fellow musicians became my family.”

As I said, it was a revealing experience. What it revealed is that it’s true. It’s a fact. We probably all, for one reason or another, tend to have the sense, the fear, that we are islands. It could be the result of shyness, or as the result of an alcoholic parent. It could be the result of a disease or disability. It could be as the result of some hidden vice. It could be the result of a non-traditional family. It could be the result of being the black sheep in a traditional family. It could be the result of money problems. It could be the result of creed or race or orientation. We could all cry with Job, “My brethren are wholly estranged from me!”

Jesus was walking from Judea to Galilee, a distance of about 100 miles. When’s the last time you walked a hundred miles? That’s quite a distance. And it was seriously hot in that region especially at noon. 100 miles and 100 degrees. Jesus was tired, so when he came upon a well he sat down to rest. The only wrinkle is that the well was in Samaria, enemy territory. There was no love loss between the Jews and the Samaritans. A Samaritan woman came to draw water. But this would have been odd. Unless you were a traveler, no one came to draw water at noon. No one came out at all at noon. The sun was too high in the sky. It was too hot. Noon was lunch time and nap time. Only after the sun was nearly set did people come to the well to draw water.

But she couldn’t come at that time. She felt different, separate, and alone. She felt like an island. Worse, she felt like an outcast. But why? It was because she had had five husbands, and the man with whom she was presently living was not sixth. The passage does not tell us why. Why did the Samaritan woman have this string of men in her life? I suppose it could be that she was a brazen and licentious woman. It could be, but I doubt it. Women didn’t have the choice to be brazen and licentious in those days. It’s probably more likely she was some kind of a victim. In those days

women’s fortunes turned on their husbands. Their lives were lived largely in the private sphere as opposed to the public sphere. They had no outlets in any public arena. If women had a bad husband, their lives were largely reduced to that.

So for her first husband, she probably had a bad husband, hence a bad life. But by the same token a woman needed a husband to subsist. The first husband either died or left her. Then she needed to find a new husband. Who would want her? What value had she? The cast off of a bad husband. And so she probably went from bad to worse, with her second husband even worse than the first. And her value decreased with each successive husband. The man she was with presently wouldn’t even marry her. I am speculating, of course, but my guess is that she had that string of men in her life because it was the only way she could survive. Who would choose that for herself, after all?

But here’s the thing. Jesus refrained from judging her. A Samaritan woman with a string of men in her life. He instead engaged in a conversation with her. And he was no fellow outcast. He was the word made flesh, the Son of God. But he engaged with her in a conversation -- talked to her like she mattered, like she had a mind. He made her feel less different, less separate, less alone, less like an island. Even his disciples were blown away by this.

And she was so elated by her feeling that someone had addressed her like she was actually a member of the human race, she rushed back to her fellow Samaritans, those who had stigmatized her. She announced with thrill that she could only have just met the Messiah, and she introduced Jesus to them. And he stayed among them, they who were now unified by their common allegiance to him.

Now we should get this. We all unified by our common allegiance to Jesus the Messiah. And it helps us to overcome our feeling, our fear, that we are different, separate, alone...that we are islands. But what we may not get is that there is a world of strangers out there who we may presume feel that they are different, separate, and alone, that they are islands.

And so Jesus bids us to follow his example. We are to forswear all judgement. We are to engage all people in ways to make them feel that they are loved and honored and respected, that they belong to the human race. Because the bottom line is that we need each other. We need each other because God created us to need each other.

At the end of my favorite poem, someone has died. A bell is tolling that death. “Do not ask for whom the bell tolls,” Donne wrote, “It tolls for thee.” We have that in common, at least. We are all going to die. And Jesus through his cross has used our common fate as a way to unify us eternally with his father. That is our destiny, so until that time, let us all prefigure it. Amen.

Do Not Let The Sun Go Down On Your Anger

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:40 GMT

Genesis 4:1-16 Ephesians 4:25 - 5:2

Prevention, if you think about it, is an elusive thing. We all know what prevention is, of course. Prevention is stopping something from happening. But as I said, prevention is an elusive thing.

Let me give you an example. Say I get up in the morning and quaff down loads of green tea in order to prevent cancer. Then I swallow a handful of capsules of omega oils in order to prevent heart disease. Then, while munching on chewable acidophilus tablets in order to prevent digestive disorders, I chop up raw turmeric which I consume in order to prevent joint inflammation. I follow this regimen every day, and I live to be one hundred. There’s no way to know for sure whether I actually prevented anything. There’s no way to know that if I didn’t follow this regiment I would have lived to be one hundred anyway. It’s easy enough to know if prevention does not work. If I followed this regiment every day and at the age of forty was afflicted by all the diseases and maladies I was seeking to prevent then obviously, prevention did not work. But, as I said, prevention is an elusive thing. How can we possibly know if we’ve caused no effect?

But this is not always the case. There is one case, at any rate, where we can be absolutely certain that prevention works. This morning’s epistle lesson alludes to it. “Do not let the sun go down on your anger.” Paul is advising, basically, that you resolve your anger, and you do it every day. If you follow Paul’s advice, you will with absolute certainty prevent bitterness, resentfulness, spite, malice, and vengefulness. In short, you will prevent a miserable and destructive life. But the flip side is absolutely certain too. If you do not resolve your anger, and resolve it often, you will live a miserable and destructive life.

Case in point. Look at Cain. Cain got the short end of the stick genes wise. His big brother Abel got the long end. This happens in families. I see it all the time -- some siblings prodigiously endowed, and others not so much. Abel had it all. He was, in the first place, the first born son. That confers a position of primacy in and of itself. But too he was a good, decent, earnest, diligent, responsible, dutiful man. And the world acknowledges a man like this. The world rewards him.

And then there was Cain. He simply wasn’t the stuff of his brother. Character is as much born as made. Born or made or probably both, Cain’s left much to be desired. That may not be fair, but life is not fair. Don’t ever let anyone sell you on the lie that life is a level playing field. It’s not. Cain couldn’t begin to compete with his brother, so he didn’t bother to try. He made no effort whatsoever. And when you make no effort whatsoever, where does that leave you? It leaves you behind. So the gap between the brothers widened.

Naturally this made Cain angry. And he let the sun go down on his anger. He let the sun go down on his anger night after night. He made no attempt to resolve it. His anger intensified until it was a seething rage. He was a ticking time bomb. It was only a matter of time before he exploded. That time came when both brothers were required to make sacrifices to God. Abel, being a shepherd, sacrificed the best parts of his best livestock. Cain, being a farmer, sacrificed from the fruit of the earth. But here again, he had no intention of competing with his brother. He made no effort whatsoever. His sacrifice was slipshod.

So God rejected Cain’s offering. What else was God supposed to do? Enable him? Sometimes it is necessary to reject someone as a way of saying that what he is doing is not acceptable -- so that he can turn himself around, put himself together, and try again. And God made this perfectly clear to Cain. “If you do better, Cain, God said, I will accept your sacrifice. But take care. Take good care. In the welter of emotions you are experiencing at my rejection you are a danger to yourself.” As it happened he was a danger to others as well. In the welter of emotions he was experiencing, he murdered Abel in cold blood.

It had been Cain’s challenge in life not to let the sun set on his anger, to resolve his anger day by day, and this he could have done. It would not have been easy, but what worthwhile in life is ever easy? It’s our job in life to surmount the strenuous challenges that life sets before us. Cain, for instance, could have just as well loved and admired his brother, as the rest of the world did. And if he couldn’t do that, if his nature was too surly or insecure, he could have set himself a safe distance from Abel and done what he could, given who he was, to do some good in the world.

Everyone can do some good in the world, regardless of their relative deficiencies. Rescue a cat, for crying out loud. Everyone can do some good in the world. Cain was no tragic figure predestined for a tragic end. He chose it for himself. He let the sun go down on his anger. He did not resolve his anger day by day.

There’s a lesson in this for us. It’s an important one. It’s a matter of life or death as a matter of fact. We must not let the sun go down on our anger. We must resolve our anger day by day. But, you may say, as in Cain’s case, it’s not easy. In fact it’s incredibly hard. How can we possibly do it? The short answer is that I am not exactly sure. This is because our anger is like our fingerprints. Our anger is uniquely ours.

One clarification at this point. Not all anger is the kind of anger I am talking about -- sinful anger. There is righteous anger too. Jesus evinced righteous anger throughout his ministry. When the authorities ganged up on him for healing a man with a withered hand on the Sabbath, he evinced righteous anger. When, on the most sacred day of the year, they made the temple little more than two bit auction house to turn a buck he evinced righteous anger. Righteous anger is driven by outrage at sin. In our time we see much righteous anger directed against social injustice. Righteous anger is good. Let the sun go down on your righteous anger. That’s ok. But not sinful anger. That’s the anger we must not let the sun go down on. That’s the anger we must resolve day by day. So I don’t know the fingerprint of your sinful anger. Yours is yours, and mine is mine. But at the same time, some generalizations can probably be made.

Perhaps you are at the butt end of an abusive relationship, or just a really bad one. You are being violated or victimized. And you can’t fix it. You tried. It’s undermining your trajectory in life. It makes you angry. Maybe you can remove yourself from that relationship. Maybe you can move on with your life. Because distance neutralizes anger.

Perhaps you had an argument or dispute with someone. You are convinced that you are in the right. Clearly. Without a doubt. You are one hundred percent right, and your opponent is one hundred percent wrong. It makes you angry. But really? Maybe you are not as blameless as you think you are. Maybe there are two sides. Maybe you could think of a compromise. Maybe you could try extending an olive branch. Because reconciliation neutralizes anger.

Perhaps you let something trivial get under your skin; something, in the grand scheme of things, that is really rather petty. Say you were left out or passed over. It makes you angry. Maybe you can rise above it. Maybe you can count your blessings. Because perspective neutralizes anger.

Or maybe you are angry at yourself. Perhaps there is something deficient about you -- some personality disorder or character flaw or vice -- something you need to admit, something you need to address, something you need to fix. But instead of dealing with it, you take it out on the world, blame the world for reflecting your deficiency back to you. It makes you angry. Maybe you can forswear your denial. Then maybe you can take one small step in the direction of your wholeness, then another, then another. Because shalom neutralizes anger.

Maybe there is someone who has wronged you. Undeniably wronged you. They lied to you. They betrayed you. They stole from you. It makes you angry. Maybe you can release the retaliation to which you are entitled. Maybe you can take Jesus’ words to heart and love your enemy. Because forgiveness neutralizes anger.

You know, I think I was wrong. I think I do know the fingerprint of your sinful anger. I think you know the fingerprint of mine. Maybe the particularities don’t matter that much, and we’re all in the same boat. Maybe some really hard work lies before of us all. But if we undertake it, it is absolutely certain that that hard work is the ounce of prevention that is a pound of cure.

But if I still haven’t convinced you, I’d ask you to think of a man. Think of a great man. Think of the greatest man who ever lived. Think of a man so great that he was not a mere man. He was the Son of God. He was righteous as God is righteous. He was holy as God is holy. He was gracious as God is gracious. Now think of that man hanging on a cross, his own righteous anger relegated to his desire for our redemption. It wasn’t too hard for him. Amen.

The Disposition of Cain

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:39 GMT

Genesis 4:1-6 I John 3:11-18 Matthew 5:21-26

Shortly after the Japanese attack upon Pearl Harbor, Franklin Delano Roosevelt declared that December 7, 1941 was a date that would “live in infamy.” Roosevelt was perceptive that certain dates indeed live in infamy, but the same could well be said of names. Certain names live in infamy. Hitler. Stalin. Mao. Cain is such a name; Cain – the first murderer, and it only adds to the infamy that one he murdered was his brother Abel.

Their start was promising enough, at least on the surface. Adam and Eve produced two sons, first Cain then Abel. Cain grew to be a farmer and Abel a shepherd, two respectable and mainstream professions -- almost as if to say today that one grew to be a doctor and the other a lawyer. But as life should have taught us all by now, things are seldom as they seem on the surface.

Cain was possessed of a low character. How do we know this? From the outcome, of course. He murdered his brother. People who murder anyone, much less their brother, very seldom do so in a way that is inconsistent with their character. No, it’s just the opposite. People who murder do so in a way consistent with their character.

In my community, for instance, a woman was murdered as the result of domestic violence. She left her husband, and he shot her to death. Now the murder was not inconsistent with his character. He was not a devoted husband and a model citizen who was driven in a sudden outbreak of insanity to murder his wife after she left him. She left him in the first place because he was the kind of man who would murder her. So it was with Cain. We may infer that Cain was possessed of a low character because he murdered his brother. We may safely read that back through the story. Despite how things seemed on the surface then, Cain was a scoundrel.

Doubtless Cain’s low character too had something to do with the fact that his offering was rejected. Both brothers made offerings to the Lord. Cain, as a farmer, naturally made his offering from the yield of the earth, and Abel as a shepherd made his from his flocks. But Cain’s offering was rejected. Most likely, the reason that his offering was rejected was because it was defective. Old Testament law amply warns against making defective offerings. You don’t, for instance, offer the Lord your ox that has grown too old to pull the plow, or your chicken that no longer lays, or your guard dog now gone in the teeth. You don’t attempt to kill, so to speak, two birds with one stone -- dumping your broken down old animals , while at the same time fulfilling your religious obligation. So Cain probably offered moldy grain or some such. Or perhaps his offering was rejected for a different reason. Perhaps he made his offering with unclean heart. This too is warned against in Scripture. Per the apostle Paul, for instance, “The Lord loves a cheerful giver.” The bottom line is that it was doubtless Cain’s own fault that his offering was rejected.

And in rejecting Cain’s offering, the Lord was taking a serious gamble with this man of low character. The Lord was in effect withholding his blessing from Cain as a way of compelling righteousness. Withholding one’s blessing as a way of compelling righteousness is, as I just said, risky business. Righteousness can’t always be compelled. Some people are simply not the stuff of it. They are in one way or another incapacitated. So you can’t force them to rise to the occasion. Often when one withholds one’s blessing as a way of compelling righteousness, it simply creates a deadlock. One continues to withhold one’s blessing, and the one from whom it is withheld continues in unrighteousness. But in this case it was even worse because, again, of Cain’s low character.

Cain was angry. More, Cain was enraged. If he were a different person, he might have apologized and made amends, but he wasn’t a different person. He was furious, and too he was ashamed and humiliated, not just before the Lord but also before his younger brother. The oldest brother in the Old Testament held a position of great authority. He stood to inherit everything – not just the property but too the family name and lineage. For Cain to have failed where his brother succeeded was simply too much for him to bear, and certainly too much for him to live down.

And so Cain led his brother to a field and rose up against him and struck him dead. But even that twisted act did not bring him to his senses. His response was nothing along the lines of, “Dear Lord, what have I done?” Even when the Lord interrogated him directly, he refused to acknowledge his guilt -- and this was because he felt no guilt. He was defiant, and this should not be particularly surprising. There are common traits among people of low character. They tend to act true to form. And one trait is an impairment of conscience.

Think for instance of Adolf Eichmann, the so called “architect of the Holocaust.” Eichmann once declared he would “leap in his grave laughing” for the millions of Jews he killed. During his trial in Israel after his capture, his guilt became undeniable – countless eyewitnesses offered testimony, there accrued a mountain of documentary proof. And yet, his final words before his execution were, “Long live Germany”.

But the really the striking thing in all this is neither Cain’s low character nor the murder. It is that the Lord let him off with so light a sentence. The Lord, who, for a piece of fruit he ate, had cursed the ground beneath Adam’s feet so that only by the sweat of his brow would he earn his bread, cursed the ground beneath Cain’s feet also. It would yield him nothing, leaving Cain a fugitive and wanderer upon the earth. A pretty light sentence, if you ask me. Yet, Cain had the temerity to protest it, hypocritically because it would place him at risk of being murdered. And so, the Lord lightened his already light sentence. He put a mark on Cain that would serve to protect him. Cain eventually resettled and bore a slew of sons, all of whom turned out to be men of their father’s ilk. Yes, Cain is a name that lives in infamy, as well it should. Scoundrel is too kind a description for him.

So infamous is Cain’s name that the evangelist John warns us against his example. “We must not be like Cain,” writes John, “who was from the evil one and murdered his brother. And why did he murder him? Because his own deeds were evil and his brother’s righteous….” And John warns us well. We must not be like Cain. Of course not. But, then, how could we be? We bear him no likeness, no likeness whatsoever. John then continues… “And all who hate a brother or sister are murderers.” Uh, oh. In these words we may find trouble.

And come to think of it, someone else said something very similar to that. His name was Jesus of Nazareth – “You have heard it was said as of old, ‘You shall not kill’ and whoever kills shall be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother or sister shall be liable to judgment; whoever insults his brother or sister shall be liable to Council.”

John writes that all who hate a brother or sister are murderers, and Jesus goes an extra mile. He declares that all who are angry at a brother or sister, who even insult a brother or sister are murderers. But how could this be? Surely anger and insult, even hatred are not so bad as murder; and so much may be true, but it’s only a matter of degree. Hatred, anger, and insult all arise from a like inward disposition, a murderous disposition, a disposition we could call the Disposition of Cain.

What Jesus is saying may be difficult to accept, but he is undeniably right. When we act hatefully towards others, when we act in anger towards others, when we insult others -- whether we rise up against them and strike them dead, whether we murder them or not -- we are on the spectrum of murder. We are of the Disposition of Cain. We don’t enhance life, we diminish it. We don’t up-build life, we tear it down. We don’t give life, we take it. We don’t create life, we destroy it. We do violence unto another.

And hatred, anger, and insult take a profusion of forms. They include the sabotage of others’ hopes, aspirations, or self-realization. They include rumor mongering and gossip, or any words that fall from our lips that defame others. They include the discouragement or disregard of others out of selfish motives or insecurity or cowardice. They include the collection and perpetuation of grievances. They include the harboring of bigotry over others’ religion, the coddling of phobia over their sexual orientation, and the fanning of racism over the color of their skin. In all these ways we are of the disposition of Cain.

What Jesus instead commends, and indeed offers us, is another disposition, his own disposition, what we could call the Disposition of Christ -- a disposition of divine love, which by some unfathomable mystery that lies at the very heart of the Godhead, extended even to those who hated and persecuted him.

Jesus, you know, was very canny, to my mind the canniest man ever to live. He was anything but naive or sentimental or idealist or Utopian. He knew what life is. He knew that life is a rat race. He knew it’s a jungle out there. He knew it’s a dog eat dog world. He knew that it’s a struggle to survive. He knew that everyone is out to get you. He knew the cauldron of malice that is human society, for he knew that human society is peopled by those of the Disposition of Cain. Jesus, in short, was a realist, and like all realists, Jesus was a pragmatist. Jesus knew that human society will never be transformed if we respond to the Disposition of Cain with the Disposition of Cain. To the contrary, he knew that if we respond to the force of murder with the force of murder, human society would only degenerate, as did Cain’s society down to Noah’s. You can’t fix problems, after all, with the same mentality that created them. You can’t achieve a new morality within the confines of the old moral order. Jesus knew that the Disposition of Cain could only be transformed by the Disposition of Christ, could only be transformed by divine love. There was no other way.

If then we want to transform our world, if we want to make Christ’s difference in it, this is how we must proceed – in his spirit, by his spirit, and for his spirit – the spirit with which he has gifted everyone one of us. Amen.

Decoder Rings

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:36 GMT

Daniel 7:1-8 Mark 16:1-8

I was at our family farm recently for a week’s vacation. The house on the farm is really old -- built around 1850. One place you don’t want to go in an old farmhouse is the basement. It’s dark. The spiderwebs (and spiders) are plentiful and enormous. And the floor is damp mud. But a bullfrog had somehow gotten down there who was making an awful racket. At any rate, hunting for the bullfrog, I came across a few boxes. After I captured and released him, curiosity drove me back for the boxes. They were filled with, of all things, my childhood toys. I had not seen them for nearly half a century. It was like opening a nostalgic time capsule. Bozo, Chatty Cathy, Mrs. Beasley, Creepy Crawlers, you name it. And there, at the very bottom, was my favorite toy of all -- my decoder ring.

The younger generation would probably not have a clue as to what a decoder ring is. They became popular toys in the post-World War II years because codes had played such a prominent role during the war, a role laced with drama and intrigue. It’s hard to explain how they work, but a picture speaks 1,000 words. Look at your bulletin cover, and you can figure it out instantly. My sister and I had such fun with our decoder ring. It was a perfect springboard to imaginative play. We’d use it to exchange secret messages, to create treasure maps, and to write our diaries.

But why, you may wonder, am I talking about my old decoder ring during a sermon? That’s bizarre -- as bizarre as our Old Testament Lesson. “After this I saw in the visions by night a fourth beast, terrifying and dreadful and exceedingly strong. It had great iron teeth and was devouring, breaking in pieces, and stamping what was left with its feet….It had ten horns. I was considering them when another horn appeared, a little one coming up among them...There were eyes like human eyes in this horn, and a mouth speaking arrogantly.” That’s bizarre too. But the reason I am talking about my old decoder ring is because it relates to our Old Testament Lesson.

Our Old Testament Lesson is an example of apocalyptic literature. Whenever the Bible sounds esoteric like that, and it only does so in two books -- Daniel and Revelation -- it’s apocalyptic literature. When people want to dismiss the Bible this is where they generally head. How can these freaky, flaky visions have any credibility? How can they possibly be relevant to us?

The thing is, they’re codes. They’re codes. Just like the codes of World War II. Just like the codes of my old decoder ring. But why would the writer of Daniel write in code? It’s because his community was being persecuted. Persecuted communities tend to use codes. It’s because, obviously, they are being persecuted. They are being persecuted so they are driven underground, driven to hiding and secrecy. Think of the fish code used by the early church during its persecution. It was used to mark Christian tombs, to denote meeting places, to distinguish friend from foe. Or think more recently of the quilts hung on the clothes lines along the underground railroad. They were codes to mark a way station.

Why not use freaky, flaky visions? The persecutors would have been dismissive just as people today are. Contemporary scholars don’t have a decoder ring, as the original community did, but they don’t need one. They have disciplines like textual criticism and historical criticism -- pretty sophisticated stuff. They’ve cracked the code without the decoder ring.

The message of apocalyptic literature is really very simple. The community, as I said, was being persecuted. And when I say persecuted, I mean persecuted -- persecuted beyond what we can even imagine. People who think we have it so bad now have simply not read history. The books of Maccabees describe the persecution in grim detail. In one instance, a mother was forced to watch her seven sons scalped and fried alive before she met the same fate. So I do mean persecuted. The message of apocalyptic literature addressed this.

The message had two parts. The first is this: God holds the future. It’s amazing if you think about it. God holds the future. Often, a relatively small loss can cause people to shake their fist then turn their back on God. As a pastor people express to me all the time that this is why they do not go to church anymore. They’re mad at God because God allowed the conditions of existence to afflict them. But in the midst of persecution, and persecution of that magnitude, there is the exhortation to fearless and indomitable faith in God and God’s ultimate victory.

The second part of the message is even more amazing. It is this: Witness to it. God holds the future. Witness to it. Enact your faith in God and God’s ultimate victory. Yes, it’s pretty amazing, how much the Bible thinks we’re capable of; how much the Bible expects from us, how much the Bible demands of us. “Take up your cross and follow me?” “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends?” “Love your enemy?” But all things considered, what better thing is there to do in the face of persecution? It’s a darned sight better than cowering and capitulating and despairing. You might as well make the most of it, so to speak.

And beyond that, God’s cause is nowhere more clearly advanced than in just this way. During the aforementioned persecution of the early church, Christians were being thrown to the lions. But a strange thing happened. They did not evince terror or torment or panic. They forgave their persecutors. They comforted one another. They sang hymns. They prayed to God. The crowds initially were disappointed. They had come precisely for terror and torment and panic. But then it dawned on them that these Christians, they had something. Something that they themselves did not. What they had was the message of apocalyptic literature. God holds the future. Witness to it. The persecution of the early church actually increased its membership and increased it vastly. This is why the church father Tertullian declared that the blood of the martyrs was the seed of the church.

But again more recently, we can see God’s caused advanced by the rescuers who harbored Jews during the Holocaust. We can see God’s cause advanced by the marchers at Selma who withstood the dogs and hoses and clubs. We can see it advanced by Father Oscar Romero and others like him who refused to keep silence in the face of brutal governmental repression. And the reason it’s so easy to see why God’s cause is so clearly advanced in this way. These are all but echoes of the persecution of the Son of God. What was Christ’s willing witness on the cross if not his faith that God holds the future? And three days later, that witness was vindicated, “Do not be alarmed. You seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has risen; he is not here. See the place where they laid him.”

Not one of us knows what the future holds. I personally don’t worry much about persecution, and I doubt you do either. We can count ourselves lucky on that score. But I have other worries. How much more innocence will be massacred before we come to terms with gun violence? Who are the children whose lives will be cut short? Who are the families who will bear their grief to the grave? What will happen as climate change plays out -- as mass populations are forced to migrate, as coastlines flood, as species go extinct? When will there be a nuclear war? The doomsday clock is set at 11:58. It’s when, not if. I have my worries. We all do. We don’t know what the future holds, but thanks to apocalyptic literature, we know who holds the future. May we bear witness to that. Amen.

National Immigrants Day

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:35 GMT

Genesis 17:7-8 I John 3:18-24

It never fails to dumbfound me that the Bible is considered by so many to be some kind of a handbook of seemliness. For some reason, the prim, the proper, and the straight-laced have claimed it as their own. This is highly ironic, because by and large the individuals featured in the Bible, even by ancient standards, were as unseemly a lot as you’ll ever meet.

Take Moses, for instance. He was the son of a slave who was adopted by Pharaoh’s daughter. Think about that for a minute -- the son of a slave who was adopted by Pharaoh’s daughter. Imagine if, during the Civil War era, Jefferson Davis’ daughter took it into her head to adopt the son of a slave. This screams unseemly. But that’s nothing compared to the fact that Moses, when he came of age, murdered an Egyptian overlord in cold blood, then turned tail and ran when he feared he might be prosecuted for his crime. Forget unseemly; this screams criminal.

Or take Paul. Now Paul actually was a model of seemliness, at least before his conversion to Christianity. After his conversion to Christianity, however,

his seemliness went south. He kept getting himself thrown in prison again and again. This made him both a convict and a repeat offender. And when he was not behind bars, he kept getting himself whipped, stoned, and beaten with rods. Again, highly unseemly.

Or how about John the Baptist? When he was not delivering one of his blistering attacks against the religious authorities, he was raging that the world was going to end. And what about his fashion sense? Camel pelts? And what about his palate? Locusts? I hope he at least had the seemliness to kill them first. He may be the most unseemly of them all. Imagine how the prim, proper, and straight-laced would react if he showed up at their garden party.

And I could go on and on and on. How about Noah? He was a drunkard. How about Hosea? He married a prostitute. How about Rahab? She was a prostitute. Unseemly. Unseemly. Unseemly.

And this applies not only to individuals featured in the Bible but the groups featured in the Bible as well – slaves, nomads, refugees, the diseased, prostitutes, prophets, aliens….Let’s face it, none of these groups has ever been considered to be, how shall I say it….quite wholesome. None of them have ever been in the mainstream of society because none of them has ever been deemed to belong in the mainstream of society. Their presence there would only cause mutual discomfiture and embarrassment, because they are, in that word, unseemly.

Yes, I think that we must grant that the individuals and the groups featured in the Bible are indeed unseemly. And in granting that, we may begin to wonder why? Why are the individuals and groups featured in the Bible so unseemly? To give a comprehensive answer to that question would be injudicious. The sermon would last three hours. And so, because it’s National Immigrants Day, why don’t we focus on aliens, the word the Bible uses for immigrants? Why does the Bible feature a group so unseemly as aliens?

For one thing, the Bible can’t help but feature aliens, for the people of Israel had a history of being aliens. Take Abraham, for instance, the first of the Lord’s elect. Abraham was a native of Mesopotamia. The Lord tapped him on the shoulder and directed him to sojourn for the rest of his life in the land of Canaan. This made Abraham an alien. The Lord says as much in our Old T estament lesson – “I will establish my covenant between me and you, and your offspring after you throughout their generations, for an everlasting covenant….And I will give to you and to your offspring after you, the land where you are now an alien….”

Or take Moses, who I just mentioned. Moses too was an alien. In fact, he and his people found themselves enslaved in Egypt because their ancestors had been aliens there before him. His ancestors had been forced to leave the land of Canaan when a famine hit. Hear Moses’ instruction to his people, “For the Lord your God is God of gods and Lord of lords…who executes justice for the orphan and the widow, who loves the alien, providing them food and clothing. You also shall love the alien, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt.”

And later in their history the people of Israel again became aliens again when their nation fell to the armies of the Babylonians. The destruction of Judah marks the beginning of the great diaspora, the dispersion of the people of Israel among the nations – as aliens. Hear the lament of one those aliens in his new homeland, “By the rivers of Babylon – there we sat down and there we wept when we remembered Zion. On the willows there, we hung up our harps, for there our captors asked us for songs, and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying, ‘Sing us one of the sons of Zion!’ But how could we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?”

Yes, the people of Israel had a history of being aliens, and because they did, not only is it unavoidable that the Bible feature aliens, but too the people of Israel developed a sympathy for aliens. They could identify with them because they understood their victimization.

This kind of sympathetic identification is not particularly surprising. It’s documented again and again throughout history. For instance, after the Holocaust, scholars attempted to understand the so-called rescuers, those who, at great personal risk, harbored Jews. Who were these sympathizers? Were they Men? Women? Christians? Atheists? Political liberals? Political conservatives? From a certain class or age bracket? Scholars could find no common denominator among them, so instead they compiled a list of their traits. They discovered that all of them, either in their lives or their history, had been in some way or another persecuted.

Perhaps you have heard of the phenomenon that occurred in French village Le Chambon. The entire village colluded to rescue Jewish children. They rescued so many that they soon came to outnumber the villagers. Could an entire village have been persecuted? As it turned out, yes. They were descended from the Huguenots who carried the memory of persecution by the Catholic Church down through the centuries.

But aliens are featured in the Bible for a more profound and essential reason than these. It’s more than just the history of the people of Israel as aliens and their consequent sympathetic identification with them. It’s something that goes to the very heart of the biblical proclamation. The Bible proclaims, of course and obviously, that God created all people and loves all people.

But especially, the Bible proclaims, God loves those who are victims, and this simply because they are victims. This is because it is in the nature of God’s love to hold a special place in his heart for those most in need of love. Look, after all, at those who held a special place in the heart of his Son. The Bible features immigrants most basically then because God holds a special place for them in his heart.

And now we can see too, at least with respect to aliens, why the Bible is not preoccupied with seemliness. It is because seemliness is an effect of privilege. As often as not, in my opinion anyway, seemliness is an affect of privilege. But whatever it may be deemed, seemliness is above and beyond the consideration of most immigrants.

Many immigrants become immigrants as a question of survival. The boundary lines have not fallen for them in pleasant places. The vulnerability, hardship, and risk before them is preferable to the hopelessness behind them. They are stripped of their bearings – their language, their nation, their culture, their society, their vocation. They must contend with discrimination and hostility and fear. They live their lives strangers in a strange land. The bottom line is that the Bible has bigger things to worry about than propriety and etiquette, things like suffering and injustice. It keeps its focus where it belongs, and where our focus belongs too.

And so, on this National Immigrants Day, as we reflect upon the Bible’s proclamation about aliens, let us, from this day forward, commit ourselves to their cause, and as the Bible declares, “not just in word, but in action.” Amen.

The Holocaust - A Christian Perspective

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:34 GMT

Genesis 12:1-4 Romans 5:1-5

When I was fifteen years old, my parents took me to Paris. I remember discovering behind Notre Dame Cathedral a small memorial to the Holocaust. The memorial was simple and understated, but it conveyed something to me very powerfully. I was too young at the time to analyze or articulate my powerful response to the memorial. I only know I was shaken. Looking back at the experience from adulthood, I think the memorial caused me to experience for the first time in my life a sense of God forsakenness.

Since that time, World War II has been an absorbing interest of mine. By the time I was in college, I was already an inveterate reader in the field. I read chiefly from the vantage point of secular history, focusing my attention on the question of causation – What caused the war and then the Holocaust? Getting to the bottom of that question turned out to be a monumental undertaking; for the causes, I learned, were extremely various and complex. Predominately, of course, it was Adolph Hitler – but he played upon a number of conditions and factors, like World War I and the Treaty of Versailles, like the world depression of 1929, like Christian Antisemitism that was so quickly and easily transmuted into racial Antisemitism.

My early studies of the war were very influential in the shaping of my perspective, and they taught me a great deal. I learned about human nature and human corruptibility. I laid to rest or at least severely delimited any hope of human moral progress. I leaned that collective human privation is a dangerous tinder box, especially when it come into contact with the wrong spark, and Adolph Hitler was the wrong spark. I learned the truth of Jefferson’s words that eternal vigilance is the price of freedom.

But for all my efforts, I was finally left unsatisfied. I think it’s because, despite all I learned about the war, I never got at the underlying question, the question that made the war so compelling to me in the first place, and the question of God forsakenness. So I turned next to the field of theology. Initially after the Holocaust, when hard evidence of what had happened began to trickle out, there was no theological response, only a sort of horrified gasp. But by the 1970’s the nascent field of Holocaust Studies emerged within theology, and scholars, particularly Jewish scholars, began to ask hard and painful theological questions of the Holocaust. One question they asked had to do with the covenant. Is there in the wake of the Holocaust still a covenant between God and humanity? Was there ever a covenant between God and humanity?

In the book of Genesis, God initiates the covenant with Israel. God calls to Abraham, “Go from your country and your kindred to the land I will show you. I will make of you a great nation.… I will bless you and make your name great so that you will be a blessing...” From this moment forward, Israel’s raison d’être, her self-identity, her self-understanding, were bound up in God’s covenantal promises to her. To most theologians, however, in the wake of the Holocaust, talk of God’s promises, God’s covenant, sounded like cruel platitudes. One theologian even insisted that all theology must now begin and end in Auschwitz. This is of course extreme, and carries with it deliberate shock value, but the point I think is sound. Theology now must take stock of the Holocaust. Theologians, both Jewish and Christian, have the right to wonder about the covenant. Is there a covenant?

Not surprisingly, many theologians have concluded no, the Holocaust proves to anyone with eyes and ears that there is no covenant. The Holocaust cannot be absorbed into Jewish salvation history, or Christian salvation history which is based upon identical promises. There may be a God, these theologians say, but nothing is as we were given to think or hope. It's time to grow up now. It’s time to face reality. God, if he is there, is not there for us. We must denude ourselves of all illusions and delusions about God. We must rely upon ourselves, protect ourselves, and live as though God does not exist.

This posture has always struck me as a posture of sad, bitter resignation borne of profound disillusionment. It, however, at least did not close the door entirely upon God. Other theologians in response to the Holocaust have done just that. They assert that, despite all of our wishful thinking, despite all the stock we’ve place in him, it’s time to face the fact that there is no God - no pattern, no purpose, no meaning. We must now jettison all talk or thought about God. But one of the ironic by-products of this is that it gives Hitler the final word. He did after all annihilate two thirds of European Jewry. Without God, Hitler’s achievement, while it did not succeed as fully as he hoped, is decisive; his cause triumphant.

Emile Fachenheim, a great Jewish theologian and philosopher, saw the problem here. He said, “We are forbidden to deny or despair of God, however much we may have to contend with Him or with belief in Him. We are forbidden to despair of our world…lest we help to make it a meaningless place in which God is dead or irrelevant and everything is permitted. To abandon God in response to Hitler’s victory at Auschwitz would be to hand Hitler yet another posthumous victory.”

Emile Fachenheim saw the impasse – either you abandon God and Hitler wins, or you cling to a God who allowed it to happen. Fachenheim opted for the latter. But we still must ask ourselves how do we speak of, have faith in, and proclaim a God who loves us and cares for us without making a mockery of the victims of the Holocaust? What about their forsakenness, which is humanity’s forsakenness? My studies got me this far but no further until I discovered in the apostle Paul the closest thing I’ve ever found to an answer. It’s not a complete answer to be sure, because as Paul well knew, we don’t have the complete context. We see in a mirror dimly. We groan inwardly awaiting redemption.

Paul said that before Jesus came we lived in the time of the law. The law was good, and represented God’s programmatic will for humanity, but the law was deficient. For one thing, we couldn’t keep it. For another, Paul knew the law had no power to save us, to redeem us, to make us right with God.

God’s act in Jesus signaled the end of time of the law, and ushered in a new age in which we are saved by God’s grace bestowed in love for us through the life, death, and resurrection of his son Jesus. This is the time in which we now find ourselves, but the hardship, the tension is that although in Jesus we see God’ triumph, we are yet in an in-between time. He has come, but is yet to come. Our final redemption is still a thing of the future. But it is precisely because of our in-between status that we may keep looking forward, and what we look forward to is based upon what God has revealed to us in Jesus.

In Jesus, God reveals his intentions toward humanity. In the Jesus story, like in Nazi German, we see humanity at its worst. Jesus came to teach us, to heal us, to love us, to save us, but we knew him not. We betrayed him; we humiliated him; and we hung him on a cross until shattered and broken we drove him to God forsakenness: “My God, my God, why hast thou foresaken me?” Jesus lived God forsakenness. But God’s act in Jesus screams that forsakenness is not the final word; that Hitler is not the final word, because God responded to human evil and the forsakenness it engenders, by raising Jesus up. God responded by Jesus’ promise from the other side of forsakenness that he would be with us till the end of the age. He responded by sending his spirit to sustain and inspire us to live faithfully, while we look forward in this in-between time to God’s final act of redemption.

In this we now have our hope. It is not a naïve hope, untempered by the cruel realities of human existence, nor should it be. We have no right to naivety, but nor do we have a right to denial or despair. God’s act in Jesus beckons us forward in hope. Why is there suffering? Why must it happen? I accept now hat these things I will never know. But do now that the resurrection flouts the worst this world can do, and demands with Paul that we hope against hope, holding out for a better way. Amen.

Rebecca Clancy

Muck and Mire

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:32 GMT

Exodus 14:21-25 Matthew 6:19-23

Lucky Moses. Lucky People of Israel.

There they were, endeavoring to make good their escape from Egyptian bondage, when they found themselves pinned against the Red Sea with Pharaoh and the Egyptian army advancing upon them -- six hundred chariots strong. The conditions of existence pressed hard upon them. And what happened next? God parted the Red Sea, and they indeed made good their escape from Egyptian bondage. Lucky Moses. Lucky people of Israel. For they were the beneficiaries of a miracle.

Would that we were so lucky that when the conditions of existence press hard upon us, we were the beneficiaries of miracles. We are not likely to find ourselves pinned against the Red Sea any time soon, but say, when other conditions of existence press hard upon us -- like when we are afflicted by an illness, or when we suffer a loss – of a job or a relationship for instance; or when we fall victim to prejudice or discrimination or insult; would that we were so lucky that we were the beneficiaries of miracles.

Moses. People of Israel. I’ve got three words for you. Must. Be. Nice. The rest of us poor stiffs are – when the conditions of life press hard upon us - left to go it alone.

But lest we stomp off in a huff, perhaps the matter isn’t as clear cut as it first appears. Perhaps it bears further consideration. The people of Israel, as the book of Exodus reports it, had been in Egyptian bondage for 430 years. 430 years of slavery. There was, for the vast majority of those slaves, no end in sight. Generation upon generation came and went with never an opportunity, never a break, never a hope. For centuries, their lives were cheap and hard and short, scarcely even worth living.

Then, finally, as Exodus reports it, God remembered his covenant with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. It was about time, after all. And what did God then do? He raised up the unlikely Moses. Yes, the unlikely Moses. Moses has a great deal of posthumous prestige, but we must underscore the word posthumous. In his day, Moses was somewhat lacking in prestige.

Moses himself knew that he was not the man for the job. He, in fact, tried to get himself off the hook. He kept questioning God over and over again as to whether God had made some kind of mistake in electing him, and after God assured him that he was pretty sure he had the right guy, Moses began making excuses for himself. He wasn’t much of a speaker. He was lacking in eloquence. Who would follow a man who tripped over his words? After God gave him further assurance, Moses downright balked.

After God finally forced Moses to the helm, the people of Israel showed him no respect. They complained against him nonstop. What happened, by way of example, when, pinned against the Red Sea, they looked up and saw the Egyptians advancing upon them? They blamed Moses and didn't spare the sarcasm, “Were there not enough graves in Egypt? Is that why you dragged us out on this suicide mission in the middle of nowhere?”

And even the parting of the Red Sea itself was not as Cecil B. DeMille would have us to believe. The book of Exodus reports that the Red Sea was driven back by a strong east wind that blew overnight leaving a damp bed of mud. The People of Israel ventured across, but the Egyptians in their chariots couldn’t follow. That’s the problem with chariots. Those narrow wheels make them fast, but they can’t handle the mud. Their wheels got clogged.

All this calls into question the nature of the miracle of which Moses and the People of Israel were the beneficiaries. Sure, they were the beneficiaries of a miracle, but it wasn't the stuff of fairy tales and magic tricks. The miracle must be considered in its real life context. The miracle took place amidst intractable systems of injustice and oppression. It took place amidst unworthy individuals. It took place amidst dysfunction dynamics. It took place in accordance with natural laws. It took place, literally and figuratively, in the muck and the mire.

But here’s the thing. In that muck, in that mire, they knew they had been the beneficiaries of a miracle because they saw those events, and all events, through the eyes of faith. Their faith saw that God was active in their midst -- on the move, delivering them at last. This is why Exodus reports God’s actions so robustly and emphatically. Faith is confident of these things, even though it is the evidence of things not seen. Bring on the muck. Bring on the mire. Faith sees right through it.

Lucky Moses. Lucky people of Israel. Lucky us. For we are all the beneficiary of miracles, albeit miracles that take place in the muck and the mire.

We are afflicted by an illness. Muck and mire. There is the shock. There is the panic. There is the chaos. There is the fear. And then there is the illness itself – and new unwanted realities around doctors and nurses and hospitals and treatments. But faith can see newfound empathy for others who have borne our like afflictions. Faith can see a deepening appreciation for all we have taken for granted. Faith can see Christ the healer, who holds the promise of restoration, if not in this life then in the next, when through him incomparable glory will be revealed. And we are the beneficiary of a miracle.

We suffer loss of job or relationship. Muck and mire. We deeply miss and grieve something that defined us, something that made us feel safe and secure, something that gave us status and standing, something that made us feel useful. But faith can see that letting go is the highest expression of acceptance. Faith can see that there is always a second chance and a new beginning. Faith can see that our true vocation and relationality is as children of God and disciples of Jesus Christ. And we are the beneficiary of a miracle.

We fall victim to prejudice or discrimination or insult. Muck and mire. Anger wells up in us - anger at their fear and hatred, and anger at ourselves for accepting their definition of us, for succumbing to feelings of inadequacy and insecurity that sap our confidence and power to act. But faith can see that even in our faltering resistance to injustice, we are taking a stand for justice and that taking a stand for justice is a life well lived. Faith can see that change does not come overnight, but that change does come. Faith can see that God esteems the life he creates in all of its diversity, and no one, and I mean no one, can rightly rob us of the dignity that God has bestowed upon us. And we are the beneficiary of a miracle.

Friends, in the muck and mire of our own lives and of life in general, God is performing miracles, miracles of which we are the beneficiaries, but we need to the eyes of faith to see them. Because the eyes of faith are everything. They are everything. Without them, all we have is the conditions of life, pressing so hard upon us that we risk being crushed by them.

Be reminded of the Christ. Muck and mire to the nth degree. His birth? It took place under Roman oppression -- only a hair's breadth better then Egyptian bondage. It took place around a messy pregnancy. It took place in a stable. But this is how God became incarnate. His death? It took place on the most effective instrument of torture that the Roman oppressors devised, and Jesus' screams in agony bore witness to this. But this is how God redeemed the human race. His resurrection? It took place amidst utter pandemonium - fear, disbelief, doubt. It was a comedy of errors minus the comedy. But this is how God bequeathed upon the human race eternity. And in this way the whole of creation became the beneficiary of God's greatest miracle.

May we pray this morning for the eyes of faith, eyes that are the lamps of our bodies, that our bodies be full of light. Amen.

Belonging

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:28 GMT

Genesis 25:19-26 Matthew 14:22-33

A close friend of mine has an unusual hobby. She photographs windows. Since there is no shortage of windows out there, her collection of photographs has grown to be enormous. She has, over the years, developed a real eye for them. She goes everywhere, camera in hand, vigilant for new material.

She gave me a gift a few years back. She took a trip to Disney World, and knowing that the kids and I are Disney fanatics, she created a photo album for us entitled, The Windows of Disney. Needless to say, it is one of my prize possessions.

At any rate, I visited her apartment recently. One whole wall was covered with photographs of windows from all over the world. I must say her hobby is very compelling to me. I had been riveted at the wall for nearly half an hour, when she made an unexpected disclosure. “I finally figured out why I photograph windows,” she said. “Why?” I asked. “Because for as long as I remember I feel like I have been looking at life through windows.” “What do you mean by that?” I asked, intrigued. “I guess I have always felt like I was on the margins looking in at the center.” “What!?” I asked again, my intrigue now turning to concern.” “You know, isolated, apart, an outsider…” “But why!?” I persisted, my concern now turning to chagrin. I began to feel welling up in me that well-meaning but misguided urge to fix everything. “I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks,” my friend continued. “My parents were divorced. I am divorced. I didn’t start college till I was 30. I never found a profession….You name it.”

I was shocked -- shocked that I had known her for forty years and never knew she felt that way, and shocked that she felt that way in the first place. But as it sank it, it struck me that all sorts of people may feel that way – people, like my friend, who is finding her way in life along a bumpy road; people who emigrated or migrated to a newly adopted homeland; people of racial minorities, people of alternative sexual orientations or identities; people who represent various servant classes, people who have been barred admission to an “in-crowd”; people chasing after beauty or youth; people who lacked the privilege to receive an education; people who are the black sheep of their families; people who are unemployed; people who in atypical families; people who are impoverished, people who life has left lonely…All sorts of people. It’s just not the kind of thing you normally admit: that you lack and grieve a sense of belonging.

The yearning to belong runs deep and strong, and therefore it has become embedded in our society. Our society is shot through with mores, institutions, inducements, and attitudes that respond to the yearning to belong. Our society has made something of a game out of the yearning to belong. And with all games, there are winners and losers. The winners, through luck, privilege, or ambition, position themselves so that they belong. The losers feel like they’re looking through windows at life.

At any rate, it’s not just our society that is this way. It’s probably all societies, but it’s certainly biblical society. Something like this must have been going on with Jacob. Fate had cast him to feel like he would be looking through windows at life. It was the fault of his birth order. In biblical society to be the first born son was everything. It meant that you inherited the wealth, the property, the family name, the family line, the family position…. But Jacob was not the first born son. He missed out literally by seconds, for he was a second born twin. The first born son was his brother Esau. In fact, they came out in one piece, because as they were delivered, Jacob was grasping onto Esau’s heal. It was that close. But Esau was the first born son, and as such, he would inherit all the stature due him. It was Jacob’s lot to sink into insignificance and obscurity.

And to compound the insult, Jacob, to his mind at least, was the superior brother. He deemed Esau to be, to put it bluntly, a lunkhead -- a ruddy, hairy brute of a man who wiled away his days in the field hunting game. Jacob deemed himself to be the more cerebral, the more subtle, the more complex, the cannier of the two. And so Jacob determined that he would trick fate. He would steal Esau’s position as first born son. If Esau was stupid to allow it to be stolen, it all the more underscored that it was Jacob’s right to steal it. So Jacob awaited an opportunity to find Esau at such a disadvantage that he could manipulate him into ceding his birth right; then tricked his father Isaac out of the blessing that conferred it. Jacob then assumed his place as the first born son. Admittedly, it was after the fashion of a gatecrasher to a private club, but nonetheless he did. And Jacob then belonged! He belonged to the winners, the somebodies, the prestigious. He belonged. And he relished his belonging, at least for a time.

So I think it’s safe to conclude that biblical society was familiar with the belonging game. And so the Bible is in a position to cast judgment upon that game, and cast judgment it does. It judges it as a game falsely rigged. For the Bible is aware that the belonging game has as its cardinal rule a falsehood. It has as its cardinal rule the insistence that to belong you have to meet some standard, or make some grade, or pass some test. You have to follow one straight course, and get it right the first time; you have to accede to the dominant culture in the way you look, live, or love; you have to have a closet free of skeletons; you have to have a normal family (whatever that means); and the boundary lines have to have fallen nicely for you – so that you are wealthy, educated, and generally prosperous.

But, the Bible takes a different view on belonging than does society, a view that is imbued by godliness and is thus revolutionary in its implications. The Bible’s view is that we all belong. We all belong to God, and we all belong to one another. For the Bible knows that God does not give as the world gives. In spite of whatever game society runs, the Bible says we all belong.

Look how it turned out with Jacob. Jacob became the first born son, yes, but his felonious modus operandi forced him flee his brother’s wrath. Jacob’s thrust to belong, paradoxically, landed him in exile. There he came to discover that the belonging game is a fool’s game. He longed instead to belong to God and his brother. And so he wrestled with God, until God recognized his earnestness, and he then returned home in search of Esau. Beholding him, the brothers embraced and wept, and Jacob discovered true belonging.

Friends, we all yearn for this true belonging, to belong to God and one another. This is how God created us, to yearn after his truth for us. Whether we play our societies belonging game well or poorly, whether we win or lose, we all yearn for this true belonging -we are all in the same boat.

We are there with the disciples who looked out at the raging sea and thought they were staring death in the face. “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing!” they cried. “Peace! Be still!” Jesus declared to the turbulent waters, and the sea was dead calm. Jesus turned to his disciples and chided them, “Do you still lack faith in me?” he asked them. It was so hard for the disciples to maintain their faith, even in the very presence of the Son of God. So how much harder is it for us? But if we do, we will know in our in our hearts and souls his truth – that through him we are all one. Amen.

Christmas Eve - Family Service

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:27 GMT

It is the evening of Christmas Eve. By now, it’s a safe bet that all of our Christmas shopping is finally complete. At least it better be. As I just said, it the evening of Christmas Eve. The eleventh hour has now come and gone. If all of our Christmas shopping is not complete, we’re in trouble. But of course, this is unlikely the case. We here are all here competent, considerate, and conscientious people, and with gifts for everyone on our lists. We have done all that is required of us.

Or have we? Could there possibly be someone that we have forgotten? Could there possibly be a parent, a grandparent, a child, an aunt, an uncle, a teacher, a friend, a cause, a co-worker, a host or hostess, a letter carrier, or even a pet? And if you’re like me, you’ve run down this list and breathed a sigh of relief. All are accounted for. Mission accomplished.

But what about Jesus? What about Jesus? Well, it could be argued, and it’s a strong argument, that we have him covered. He could be covered by gifts we have made to causes. And we’ve done our fair share with regard to our causes done our fair share, some of us have even gone that extra mile. And Jesus himself said, “That which you do unto the least of these my brothers or sisters, you do unto me." As I said, it’s a strong argument, but at the same time, it’s not quite the same thing as giving a gift to Jesus himself. It’s his birthday, after all. So maybe in fact that we may not have done all that is required of us. We forgot a gift for Jesus.

But maybe this is not quite right We usually forget things out or carelessness or self-preoccupation or distraction. And that’s probably not afoot here. I’d wager we forgot him subconsciously, because after all, what can we possibly give him? Talk about the man who has everything! Even his detractors have to concede that he is the most influential man in all of history, but we here believe more of him. We believe him to be the Lord of Creation - that word that was in the beginning with God that was God; that word that became flesh and dwelt among us full of grace and truth. What can we possibly give him? What would be adequate or sufficient for him? What do we have that he wants? Nothing, that’s what. Imagine the ridiculousness of giving gifts to Bill Gates or Warren Buffet. Now magnify that to an infinite degree. I’d wager we forgot him subconsciously out of a sense of the sheer ridiculousness of it. He’s Jesus and we, even the best of us, are people stuck fast in sin. We forgot him because it’s not appropriate for us remember. And so let us close the case and conclude as I did originally that we have done all that is required of us.

You know, of all the characters that greet us each Christmas season – Frosty the Snowman, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, the shepherds and the angelic host, Santa Claus, Tiny Tim, George Baily, the Nutcracker, the Wise Men, Mary and Joseph, the Grinch – of the whole lot of them, one of my favorites has always been the Little Drummer Boy. Every single time I hear that song, I get a lump in my throat. And I think it is, in the last analysis, because The Little Drummer Boy gives us grounds to reopen the case.

We, of course, all know his story. They told him to come, for there was a newborn king to see. And who is they? We can readily imagine. News travels fast, even if it’s really not news at all, but how much more so that this was news of celestial miracles over a nearby plain - miracles that proclaimed the birth of that king. The shepherds who bowed down before him told more shepherds, who told more shepherds, and in little time, he was told to come.

For some reason he had a hunch that he should bring his drum. It was doubtless his prize possession. It was doubtless his only possession. Maybe he thought it would dress him up a bit. Maybe he thought he might have some need for it. At any rate, he came with his drum, and he approached the new born king.

We who feel reluctant to give a gift to Jesus should take particular note here. If feel that we have nothing to offer him, the Little Drummer Boy had even less. He was a poor boy; in other words, he was a peasant. He had one advantage on us, though, and that advantage was simply that he was a boy. He had what all children share. He had innocence, and not innocence, mind you, that is impervious to the ways of the world, for he knew himself to be a poor boy. Rather, he had the innocence that still believes in the goodness of life, despite the ways of the world. And he had the other things all children share: sympathy and vulnerability and readiness to believe. It’s small wonder that when Jesus grew to be a man, he declared that all who came to him must do so as children. And so, the one advantage the Little Drummer Boy had on us is the key advantage, for by that advantage he knew no reluctance toward Jesus of any kind.

He looked to Mary for permission to play. She, who was herself poor, and had come to learn the strange favor that God bestows upon people of no seeming consequence, nodded her approval . And he played. He played his best. And Jesus smiled. He smiled just as he would one day at the widow and her mite, at Mary of Bethany, as she anointed his feet with oil and wiped them with her hair, at the Centurion, who showed humble respect for his authority. Jesus smiled. He smiled because he appreciated the gift. It wasn’t so much the drumming. The Little Drummer Boy could hardly have been a virtuoso. It was that is he gave of himself to Jesus, freely and with an open heart.

Friends in Christ, that Little Drummer Boy teaches us our reluctance to give a gift to Jesus is wholly without warrant. We do have something to give him that is sufficient. We do have something to give him that is adequate. We do have something to give him that he wants, that he needs. We do have something to give him that he will appreciate, and the Little Drummer Boy teaches us too just what that is: Jesus simply wants us to give of ourselves to him, freely and with open hearts. In fact this all he wants of us; or perhaps it is better to say that he knows that if we give him this, all the rest that he wants from us will follow.

It is time now to do all that is required of us. So let us hazard ourselves to his glory. Let us truly adore him, Christ the Lord! Amen.

Easter - The Word Of The Resurrection

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:26 GMT

John 20:1-18

Upon Mary Magdalene’s discovery, that first Easter morning, of the empty tomb, the evangelist John describes moments of near pandemonium on the part of Mary Magdalene, Peter, and the beloved disciple.

Mary Magdalene had come to Jesus’ tomb very early – prior to dawn -- for there was something she urgently hoped to find there. She hoped to find there closure. Not the closure, mind you, of a tomb shut tight by a stone, though that may have symbolized the closure she sought. Mary hoped to find closure upon the death of her beloved Jesus.

Jesus had been Mary Magdalene’s life’s breath, for Mary Magdalene had been one of those graced to have been healed by Jesus. Jesus had exorcised from Mary Magdalene a host of demons which had possessed and tormented her – body, mind, and spirit. Jesus, out of compassion and care for one considered past compassion and care, had restored her to fullness of life. He had understandably been her life’s breath.

But now she had seen his mutilated body staked to a cross. The sight had nearly destroyed her. She couldn’t go on forever in the misery it caused her. She needed to see Jesus’ tomb in order to internalize that it was over now. Jesus was dead in his grave. I suppose we moderns with our quasi- psychological jargon would say that Mary was, subconsciously at least, taking the first step in her grieving process.

But then, suddenly, all of her expectations were shattered. The tomb was no longer closed. Mary ran in wild disarray. Out of excitement? Panic? Fear? Partly all of these, no doubt, but even more so she ran to find someone who would care as much as she did. She ran because she could not bear to face this new development alone. She ran because she needed to share her frenzied hypothesis – Someone had stolen the body! Thus when she found Peter and the beloved disciple she declared, as if it were fact, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and I do not know where they have laid him.”

This seeming authoritative report set Peter and the beloved disciple running in their own wild disarray, retracing Mary’s steps back to the tomb. The beloved disciple, who was first to arrive at the tomb, hesitated outside. The slower, but more impulsive Peter brooked no delay. Upon arriving at the tomb, he went in immediately. There he found the burial linens but no body. The beloved disciple then followed, and with the evidence of their eyes completing them, they believed. Believed, that is, that the body had indeed been stolen.

Under the circumstances, they did what any practical man would do. They went home. Who took the body? Where was it? These matters would have to be dealt with – but after the sun rose, and the day got started. Where was the urgency after all? It was, for all its sentimental value, in the last analysis, a corpse. Yes, they would deal with these matters, but at an hour when such matters were properly dealt with, and after they gotten a bit more sleep. After all, if Peter could sleep on the night before Jesus’ crucifixion, after Jesus had importuned him -- “I am deeply grieved, even unto death, remain here with me, keep awake.” – If Peter could sleep after this heart wrenching entreaty, he could certainly grab what was left of the morning’s slumber.

But Mary Magdalene declined to do the practical thing. Mary Magdalene’s grief overwhelmed her practical considerations, and she lingered as the

morning light dawned, mourning this now compound loss. Jesus was dead, and now even his body was gone. She was left with nothing. Yet Mary was not quite all tears. Her mind wandered from pure, unalloyed grief. Her curiosity got the better of her, and after a time she stooped amid her tears and looked down into the tomb. As events would have it, God chose not the hard headed, pragmatic disciples, but the passionate, curious Mary Magdalene to be the first witness to the resurrection.

There is an almost amusing irony in the seeming resolve of Mary Magdalene to hold on to her original hypothesis about the stolen body – despite mounting evidence to the contrary. Mary Magdalene, when she peered into the tomb saw two angels! Without so much as an inkling that something must be afoot -- something astonishing, something marvelous, something miraculous -- she in tears told the angels, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” She repeated her hypothesis – now for the third time – when turning around she encountered Jesus himself. He asked her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom to you seek?” Thinking Jesus an early rising gardener she informed him of the stolen body. Only when he spoke her name were her eyes opened and her weeping quieted by her recognition of him. Her hypothesis about the stolen body finally gave way to the realization that God had resurrected her beloved Jesus.

Now it doesn’t matter whether we identify more with the hard headed, pragmatic disciples or with the passionate, curious Mary, or whether we see our personalities falling somewhere in between. What John wants us to see is that Mary Magdalene, Peter, and the beloved disciple were, like us, pretty ordinary, common sense folks. They lived in a world that had taught them what to expect in life, and so they expected it – good people, sometimes the best of people, get done in by life, by evil and unjust forces; wrongs don’t get put to right; hopes get dashed, and the dead are gone. They will never live again.

But John cautions us that the expectations that the world had taught Mary Magdalene and the disciples and that the world still teaches us today can stand in the way of our real assimilation of the resurrection. Like Mary Magdalene, all the expectations the world has taught us firmly in place, we say to him that is now resurrected and before us, “They have taken my Lord’s body, and I do not know where they have laid him.” But John beckons us to realize that something has broken in upon the expectations the world has taught us, something that must now shatter them; and that something is the resurrection.

The word of the resurrection is that we need not struggle and cope and fear though this life as though this life is all there is. The word of the resurrection is that evil and injustice may have passing sway but never the final say. The word of the resurrection is that the doctrine of death’s ultimacy is a lie. The word of the resurrection is that you and me, indeed all time and history, and all creation have been bequeathed God’s own eternity.

If we can only, amidst the expectations that the world has taught since the dawn of history, hear and believe the word of the resurrection, then we will be set free from those expectations to live for the joyous truth that sets us free – Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen

Bread Of Life

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:23 GMT

John 6:25-35

I am a big fan of the teachable moment. For those of you who might have heard that expression but can’t quite name what it is, a teachable moment is when a spontaneous occasion arises for you to teach -- to offer your expertise or experience. The key word here is spontaneous.

As a teacher, a teachable moment occurs when I am delivering a routine lecture, and someone asks a question. This allows me to apply the material in a fresh way that is relevant to the questioner. As a parent, a teachable moment occurs for me about a hundred times a day. This is because kids have so very much to learn on so very many levels. Teachable moments are an ad hoc kind of way to teach, but some of the best teaching takes place in teachable moments. I think it’s precisely because they are spontaneous. They’re live. They’re real life.

Jesus, in this morning’s gospel lesson, had a teachable moment -- at least he thought he did. A massive crowd had followed him into the middle of nowhere. Jesus had gone to the middle of nowhere to get away from it all. But the crowd heard he had been performing miracles, and they wanted to witness one. But getting to the middle of nowhere took some time, and by the time the crowd got there, they were tired, but particularly they were hungry. They had wanted to witness a miracle, and they were about to. Jesus canvassed the crowd for what food they had. It was not much -- two fish and five loaves of bread. Jesus multiplied them so that the entire crowd was amply fed with leftovers to spare. That got their attention.

Jesus then again tried to get away from it all, but it was not to be. By the next morning, the crowd caught up with him. They wanted to see that miracle repeated. But this time it was not so much for the sake of witnessing a miracle, but because the miracle filled their bellies. They saw Jesus as their meal ticket. “You’ve got it all wrong,” Jesus told them, and he attempted to clarify. “I am more than a meal ticket. The miracle got your attention. That’s why I performed it -- so that I have your attention when I impart to you the fullness of it, when I impart to you that I am God’s gift to you of divine life for all eternity.”

The crowd was flabbergasted, flabbergasted as well as skeptical, if not to say chagrined. “Just who are you claiming to be?” The crowd demanded. “Moses himself, the founder of the faith, fed his people bread miraculously. Remember manna, Jesus? So you are saying you are greater than Moses?” Here it was. His teachable moment. “ So you are saying you are greater than Moses?”

“Yes, exactly! Yes, precisely! That’s what I am saying. Yes, and yes again. That’s it. Moses fed his people bread miraculously. He satisfied their physical hunger. But still they died. I am greater than Moses. I have come not merely to satisfy your physical hunger. I have come to awaken in you a spiritual hunger, a hunger for God’s gift of divine life for all eternity which I and I alone can give you. You must believe that I am the Bread of Life!”

Unfortunately, his teachable moment did not go so well. Their response has to be the lamest responses in human history. “Oh yeah?” They retorted. “Well we happen to know where you came from. We know you are Joseph’s son from Nazareth.” Joseph was some random carpenter. Nazareth was in the boondocks.

Yes, this is as lame as it gets. For one thing, it’s wrong -- demonstrably and empirically wrong. Great men (and women) emerge out of nowhere. There are no predictors for great men and women, none, whatsoever. Not place. Not time. Not lineage. Not gender. Not race. Not wealth. Not education. Great men and women just emerge. Abraham. Moses. David. Amos. Ruth. Mary. Paul. Or closer to home Abraham Lincoln, Winston Churchill, Harriet Tubman, Martin Luther King, Jr., young Malala who I mentioned a couple weeks ago. You could probably name a few. They all just emerged.

But beyond that there is an insidious prejudice lurking that unless you have the right zip code, the right era, the right family, the right sex, the right color, the right net worth, the right degree, you’ll never amount to anything. So his teachable moment was lost to lameness, lameness in the extreme.

It makes you wonder just why his teachable moment failed so miserably? Didn’t he at least deserve the benefit of the doubt? I mean, he did just multiply those loaves and fishes. And 5,000 people means a lot of multiplication. And prior to that he healed a paralyzed man, paralyzed for nearly forty years. And prior to that he healed a boy who was more dead than alive. And prior to that he turned water into wine.

They had nothing to lose, after all. His offer was not exactly shabby - divine life for all eternity. Not too bad an offer in the face of all the ravages of sin which play out under the specter of death. They had nothing to lose, they just had to believe. But they refused. They shut him down because of where he came from. It’s inexplicable really.

Friends, his teachable moment still stands. It is now offered to us. He speaks to us across the centuries. “I care about your physical needs. I care deeply. This is why I fed you. This is why I healed you. This is why I rescued you from death. I care about your physical needs. But there is more than the physical. There is the spiritual. And this is my ultimate care. I can bestow upon you spiritual life, divine life, in the here and now and in the great hereafter. Because I am greater than Moses. I am greater than any man. I am the Bread of Life. Believe in me.”

How will his teachable moment go with us? Will it go any better, or will we refuse his offer? Will we shut him down? Of course, we can’t do so using their response - We know where you came from. That’s already been exposed for its lameness. But there are other forms of lameness. How about this one?

“You and that musty old book full of myths and miracles. It’s so passe we wouldn’t even bother to open it. We have a better offer than yours, and one much more up to date. We have high tech distractions. We have laptops and smartphones. We have netflix and amazon prime. We have facebook and instagram. We have world travel and even space travel.” How will his teachable moment go with us? Will it be lost to our own forms of lameness?

Blaise Pascal was one of my heroes. He was a great man who, parenthetically, emerged out of nowhere. He was home schooled by his father who was a tax collector. He turned out to be one of the greatest geniuses in human history. He was a brilliant and groundbreaking Mathematician and Physicist, but he is best known as a theologian. He never intended to be a theologian. God intended him to be a theologian. Like Paul and Augustine, he had a dramatic conversion experience. At any rate, as a theologian, he developed what came to be known as Pascal’s wager. His wager stated that it is only rational to wager that God exists. If he does not, you’ve lost nothing, doubtless lived a more moral and upright life that accomplished some good. But if you wager God does not exist, and he does, you’ve lost everything. Let Pascal’s wager be our own. As Christ implores us, “Do not doubt but believe.” Amen.

Being Religious

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:21 GMT

Esther 1:5-12 Mark 2:23-28

One thing about being a pastor is that when I tell people what I do for a living, it evokes some strange responses. Sometimes it’s an explanation of what they have against the church. Sometimes it’s an excuse why they don’t attend church. Most often though, it’s, “You’re a pastor? You don’t seem religious.”

I am not sure what to make of the response that I don’t seem religious. I don’t seem religious? My father was a pastor and a theologian; my mother the church musician. I was raised in the church. It was a second home to me. At college I majored in Religion. I went to seminary and became a pastor.

Moreover, per the apostle Paul, I am not ashamed of the gospel. I make so secret of my faith. I witness to it every way I can every opening I get. My express central focus in life is to be a disciple of Jesus Christ. So I wonder why it is that I don’t seem religious. Perhaps it is the case that people have a preconceived notion of what religious is, and I don’t fit it.

Though come to think of it, few in the Bible would probably fit it either. The prophet Elijah? The prophet Jeremiah? The prophet Ezekiel? Job? Ecclesiastes? John the Baptist? Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, Leah? And while we’re on women, certainly not Esther from our Old Testament lesson.

Esther was the wife and queen of the Persian King Ahasuerus. Esther’s rise to that position reads like the story of a fairy tale princess, complete with all the twists and turns, all the foils and villains. King Ahasuerus had originally been married to Queen Vashti, but Queen Vashti fell out of his favor. The king had thrown a week long banquet that was lavish to say the least. It was certainly lavishly supplied. The drinking was, to quote, “by flagons and without restraint.” Needless to say, by day seven the King Ahasuerus was deeply in his cups. In this state he summoned Queen Vashti in order to show her off to his fellow inebriants. Being a modern woman 2,500 years before her time, she refused to come. King Ahasuerus was humiliated and enraged, yet quite at a loss as to how to respond, so he consulted his sages. They advised that Queen Vashti be deposed, but not for reasons had to do with king’s dishonor. They feared that if word got out that a wife disobeyed her husband, other wives would follow suit, and then what? What would happen if wives were suddenly given to realize they could disobey their husbands? It would mean anarchy. It would mean the downfall of society. An example had to be made of Queen Vashti, and so she was indeed deposed. It was probably the happiest day of her life.

But then of course, Queen Vashti had to be replaced. Accordingly, all the beautiful virgins of the kingdom were brought to the palace for the king to select from among them; after, that is, they submitted to, again to quote, “cosmetic treatments….six months with oil of myrrh and six months with perfumes and cosmetics.” The king clearly had a penchant for fragrant women. Esther was among the beautiful virgins selected. The odds were that with all the beautiful virgins of the kingdom as competition she would be cosmetically treated and released. But no, King Ahasuerus chose Esther to be his wife and queen.

As I said, the story of a fairy tale princess, but not a particularly religious fairy tale princess. In fact not a religious fairy tale princess at all, because there’s more to it. Esther was a Jewess. And after she was selected by King Ahasuerus, she was fearful to divulge it because she had not divulged it earlier. And so, she didn’t. She kept her religious identity entirely a secret.

One may wonder at this point why the book of Esther is even in the Bible. The answer is that it is in the Bible because from Esther’s precarious station, she was positioned, when she stumbled upon a plot to annihilate the Jews, to thwart it. And, though it nearly cost her her life, thwart it she did. It is in the Bible precisely because it teaches that those who do not seem religious often are.

For mainstream Judaism at the time Esther was written had developed a fixed view of what religiousness was. Religiousness was adherence to the law; strict adherence; adherence down to its very letter. It mattered little the religious became inflexible, legalistic, spiritless, technical, separatist, and even xenophobic. In fact the book of Esther is in the Bible for a reason beyond that it teaches that those who do not seem religious often are. It teaches too that those who do seem religious often aren’t.

You know, come to think of it, Jesus himself might not fit people’s preconceived notions of what religious is either. He certainly didn’t fit the people of his day’s preconceived notions of what religious was. Consider this morning’s gospel lesson. Mainstream Judaism had by Jesus’ time changed very little from Esther’s time in its fixed view that religiousness was adherence to the law. If anything, it had grown worse, as the Pharisees

proliferated law upon law upon law in their attempt to contemporize the law of Moses.

A chief area of their preoccupation was, unsurprisingly, Sabbath Day observance. The word Sabbath in fact means rest, so they undertook to delineate the meaning of rest. They arrived at thirty-nine general categories of conduct that could give rise to infractions. You certainly couldn’t harvest a field on the Sabbath. But as Jesus and his disciples made their way through a grain field one Sabbath, the disciples plucked heads of grain and ate them. The Pharisees demanded an explanation. Jesus merely referenced David, whom the Pharisees and everyone else hoped Jesus would be more like. David and his companions wouldn’t have fit their preconceived notions of what religious was either. They didn’t adhere to the law. They ate bread that had been sanctified for the priesthood. And so, Jesus concluded, over against the thirty-nine general categories, “The Sabbath was made for humankind, not humankind for the Sabbath.” Jesus too would seem to be suggesting that those who do not seem religious often are, and those who do seem religious often are not.

And this is no isolated example of Jesus’ views on the matter. Consider the Sermon on the Mount from Matthew’s gospel. “Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them…Whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you as the hypocrites do in the

synagogues…Whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites…whenever you fast, do not look dismal like the hypocrites….”

And later in Matthew’s gospel he really gets going, “Beware of the …scribes and Pharisees; they do not practice what they teach. They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others….Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, for you tithe mint, dill, and cumin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law -- justice and mercy and faith….Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which on the outside look beautiful but inside are full of bones of the dead and all kinds of filth….” Jesus is clearly concerned that those who seem religious, especially those who take pains to seem religious, can even be masking inner unrighteousness.

And so perhaps we should reconsider our own preconceived views of what religious is. And despite the thousands of years between the Bible and us, our preconceived views of what religious is may not be all that different. Religiousness is still adherence to the law, or perhaps better laws: not those of Moses or course, but laws none the less. Those who are religious don’t drink, don’t smoke cigars, don’t dance, don’t gamble, don’t joke to much or laugh too freely, don’t listen to loud music, disregard scientists and secularists, dress conservatively, cut their hair, keep respectable company, and are scandalized at the lawlessness of others. But the Bible exposes these preconceived views as false.

And so, what is the true view, the biblical view, of what religious is? The Bible doesn’t agree on everything, but it agrees on this. And its very simple. The religious are those who are given to know that laws are not at the heart of religion, that at the heart of religion is just that – heart -- heart that loves God and heart that loves God’s people. In short, heart that loves. This is the only kind of religious we need to be. Amen.

Complaining

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:20 GMT

Jonah 3:10-11 Philippians 1:21-30 Matthew 20:1-16

Last week a friend of mine asked me to watch her five year old twins while she underwent a medical procedure. In truth, I was delighted. Now that my children are getting older, I miss being around young children. I miss them, and I miss their world. And these twins are cuties. Even their names are cute – Harry and Mary. While I was waiting for them to arrive, I prepared my children's favorite lunch when they were about five - macaroni and cheese with apple smiles on the side. I had dug out their Little Tykes picnic table and Dora the Explorer place mats, and I beamed with enthusiasm at how perfect everything was as I served up their lunch.

“Why did Harry get more mac ‘n cheese than me?” Mary asked.

“Harry didn’t get more than you,” I insisted. “I gave you both the exact same amount.”

“I can tell Harry has more,” Mary maintained.

To put an end to the matter, I gave Mary another spoonful.

“Now Mary has more mac ‘n cheese than me,” Harry objected.

“She does not!” I again insisted.

“I’m counting my apple smiles,” Harry said. “I think Mary has more.”

“Now just a minute…” I said, in a tone that conveyed that I had had about enough. But before I could continue, I found them finally in agreement

“Why are you so strict?” they both lamented.

“Enough complaining!” I declared.

At least Mary and Harry have an excuse. They’re five years old.

What excuse can be made for adults when they complain along similar lines? No matter what happens or doesn’t happen, they are never satisfied.

No matter what happens or doesn’t happen, they always manage to construe it in a negative light. Whatever it is, why ever it is, wherever it is, whoever it is, they always find a word of criticism.

You may be familiar with complainers such as these, and if you are, you know your reaction to them. When you see them heading in your direction, you assume an attitude of resignation. You know what’s going to come out of them, and there’s no way to prevent it. There’s no way to treat it either. You don’t want to enable or patronize them, because then they go on and on. You don’t want to take them on, because nothing will come of the

confrontation. You don’t want to avoid them, because then you feel guilty. And so, you wait for your first opening, and you beat a hasty retreat.

And why is it that these complainers complain as they do? My surmise is that it’s an attitude they’ve come to assume over the years, an attitude of least resistance because they have taken a course of least resistance. For some reason or another they haven’t developed sufficient self-identity to act in life -- because self-identity is indeed the necessary prior for action -- so life acts upon them. And not in the way they think it should. Life doesn’t bestow upon them much regard or favor. It doesn’t grant them much notice or acknowledgment. It doesn’t afford them much buffer or protection. And so they blame life. It’s ironic, as self-absorbed as complainers are, they never blame themselves. They blame life. Life is unfair to them. This is why I think that complainers complain as they do. It is because they’ve assumed the attitude that life is unfair to them. And their attitude is all encompassing. It allows for no exceptions. Not even for God. Why should God be an exception, after all? He started the whole train wreck in motion.

Jonah is a case in point. The Lord called Jonah to be his prophet, to proclaim to the Assyrians that the Lord would punish them for their wickedness. But Jonah felt put upon by the Lord’s call. And so he boarded the next ship heading the opposite direction of Assyria. But the Lord refused to let him get away with it. He hurled a mighty storm at the ship and when the mariners cast a lot to see who was responsible for its cause, it fell on Jonah. And so they had no choice but to throw him overboard, lest they all perish. The Lord then appointed a large fish to swallow him and spit him back up on dry ground, and he gave him one last chance to proclaim to the Assyrians that he would punish them for their wickedness. Realizing that he had no choice, Jonah heeded his call. He cried out to the Assyrians, “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” And an amazing thing happened. The Assyrians repented of their wickedness. Even the king of Assyria himself covered himself in sackcloth and sat himself down in an ash heap. And so the Lord changed his mind about punishing them.

For Jonah, this was cause for complaint. If the Lord called him to declare to the Assyrians they would be punished, they should be punished. Why should they escape punishment just because they were sorry all of a sudden? Jonah made all that effort against his will, and it turned out to be for nothing. Life was unfair to him. And so he complained, “I knew that you were a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing.”

Now let’s take a few steps back here. The Lord’s universal mercy was for Jonah cause for complaint? This just shows how far complainers will go, how very skewed their perspectives become. Jonah could just as well have been thrilled by the whole affair. The Lord called him as a prophet -- fantastic, here was a real destiny to fulfill, a real purpose to enact. The Assyrians repented -- fantastic, his fellow human beings saw the light and escaped destruction. The Lord is a Lord of universal mercy -- fantastic, then maybe the Lord will show mercy upon him. And after all, the whole purpose of the Lord’s call to Jonah to proclaim to the Assyrians that the Lord would punish them for their wickedness was to bring them to repentance so that they would escape punishment. But to Jonah it was cause for complaint.

Or take Jesus’ parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard. God, Jesus taught, is like a landowner who sought to hire laborers for his vineyard. He went to the marketplace first thing in the morning and took all that were waiting there to be hired. At noon he returned and again took all that were waiting there to be hired. And at five he returned and once again took all that were waiting there to be hired. At the end of the day he paid them all a like amount.

Like Jonah, for the laborers who had worked the longest this was cause for complaint. The last hired had last worked only an hour. Why should latecomers receive the same payment? They should receive a fraction of what they did. Life was unfair to them. And so they complained, “You have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the

scorching heat.”

Again let’s take a few steps back here. God’s equal generosity to latecomers was for the laborers cause for complaint? It again shows just how far these complainers will go, how skewed their perspectives become. They could just have well been thrilled by the whole affair. They had labored long in the vineyard -- fantastic, how much more productive would be their harvest. There were ever increasing hires -- fantastic, the overall yield then would be even greater. God is equally generous to latecomers -- fantastic, then it’s never too late for others to experience the generosity that they had been experiencing all along. But to the laborers it was cause for complaint.

Yes, everything and everyone, including God, falls victim to the attitude of complainers that life is unfair to them, and this is not good for anyone – not for the victims of complainers, certainly, but not for complainers either. It’s not good for anyone to assume the attitude that life is unfair to them and then to wallow in jealousy, and dissatisfaction, and resentment. We were meant for better things.

And God himself is expressly clear on the matter. We’ve no cause for complaint. None of us. No cause whatsoever. But why; why specifically? I

began by saying that complainers haven’t sufficient self-identity to act in life, and so life acts upon them. But indeed God had given us sufficient self- identity to act in life. We are Christians. We know of a fact, therefore, that we are created by the love of God, redeemed by the love of his Son, and sustained by the love of his Spirit. We know of a fact, therefore, that every human being in this world is a child of God. We know of a fact, therefore, that God is a God of justice, of equality, of freedom, of mercy, of forgiveness. We know of a fact, therefore, that God is a God of action. And lastly, we know of a fact all the work that needs to be done in this world. We are Christians. We have sufficient self-identity to act in life. And when we do, when we as Christians act in life, we will discover by God’s own design and dispensation that we have no cause for complaint, that life is not unfair to us. We will discover that life is liberating. It is empowering. It is purposeful. It is rewarding. It is because we will have discovered it is filled with God’s grace.

Consider the apostle Paul. In this morning’s epistle lesson Paul finds himself imprisoned. And Roman prisons make our prisons look like the Four Seasons. And listen to what he has to say. “I will continue to rejoice…If I am to live that means fruitful labor for me, though I do not know which to prefer. I am hard pressed between the two. My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better; but to remain in the flesh is more

necessary for you. …” It’s all good, Paul says -- whether I remain in prison or whether I am executed – it’s all good. And we can begin to count it all joy too. We need only remember the one for whom we are named, and act on his behalf. Amen.

Stewardship Sunday

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:16 GMT

Ruth 2:17-23

We have all had our ups and downs, but our downs, it is safe to say, have been nothing compared to the downs of Naomi from our Old Testament lesson. Her downs were so severe, so sustained, and so numerous that they are nearly impossible even to image.

A famine struck her homeland of Judah. She, along with her husband and two sons came to know hunger, and shortly thereafter came to face the prospect of starvation. Facing this dire prospect, they became refugees, and like the countless millions of today’s refugees, were forced to leave it all behind – their vocations, their homes, their possessions, their neighbors, their friends, and the political security that citizenship often affords.

They made their way to the nearest country outside the scope of the famine, which happened to be Moab. The Moabites, unfortunately, were the sworn enemies of the people of Judah. And so they were surrounded by people who ostracized and stigmatized them. They lived under scorn and hostility -- precariously at the whims of their enemies.

And this was but the beginning of Naomi’s downs, the tip of the ice burg. As the famine in their homeland raged on, her sons grew to marrying age. They were somehow able to take as their wives two Moabite women. Here at last was some small progress. The family grew bigger and stronger, and the Moabite wives could help them to negotiate being strangers in a strange land. But then, in short order and out of the blue, Naomi's husband died, and soon after that both of her sons. Naomi thought she had known loss prior to this, but here now was loss.

Anyone who has experienced loss can perhaps glean in some small way what Naomi experienced. Loss is such a strange thing. Viewed from the outside, it would seem that loss is simply about the loss of a loved one - that person’s death, that person's absence from your life, and end of that person's hopes and dreams. And this would surely be enough to constitute loss -- more than enough in fact. But there are so many unforeseen ramifications of loss. You don’t see them coming until they arrive.

There is the realization that any semblance of permanence in life is an illusion. We may have long runs of security and happiness, but they aren’t permanent. Loss forces you to learn that what is permanent is not life. What is permanent is death.

Then there is regret. There is the irreversible fact that you lived too much for yourself, not enough for the one you lost. There is the irreversible fact that you should have given him or her more time, more affirmation, more appreciation, more understanding. There is the irreversible fact that you should not have left so many things unsaid. But it's too late now.

Then there is something else, another ramification. This one is hard to describe. It’s goes to the fact that the person that you have lost is a person that you have cared for, and you will never care for that person again. Sometimes we erroneously think that caring for someone is a heavy burden or onerous responsibility. Best to have no strings. Best to be footloose and fancy free. But this, as I said, is erroneous thinking. This the sure path to emptiness and loneliness.

No, if you think about it, we are who we care for. It gives us our identity. It gives us our standing. It gives us our purpose, our mooring, our very reason to be. It is, in fact, our most cherished role. When we suffer loss, we suffer the loss of all this. A woman I know who suffered loss recently told me she now felt like a nobody. This is because it was caring for someone that made her feel like a somebody.

I have accompanied many people though grief. And if one facet of grief does them in, breaks their heart beyond healing, it is this. It is losing the one they care for. This then was the lowest of the lows for Naomi. She lost husband and her children. She lost her entire family. She had no one to care for. She was forced to drink from the cup of sorrow right down to the dregs. Famine. Forced migration. They were nothing compared to this. This is why we blithely say, "Nothing matters, so long as we have each other." It's because it's true.

Yes, we all have our ups and downs, but our downs can't hold a candle to Naomi's. The famine finally lifted in Judah, and Naomi, desolate, made her way home. As she set out, she sent Ruth and Orpah, her Moabite daughter-in-laws, back to their families of origin. They were young. They could start again. Youth is resilient. But for Naomi, it was over.

But not quite over. It was not quite over because of Ruth. Ruth has got to be one of the greatest figures in the entire Bible, in all of history really. She is such an astounding woman. Because of Ruth it was not quite over. Yes, Ruth had known loss of her own -- her husband, her brother-in-law, her father-in-law. But Ruth, unlike Naomi, realized she still had someone to care for. She had Naomi. She had someone to give her her identity, her standing, her purpose, her mooring, her very reason to be. She had that most cherished role.

It was due to this realization that Ruth refused to leave Naomi. She refused to return to her family of origin. And Ruth was proved right. Together they returned to Judah. Ruth set up a humble household and found a way to provide for Naomi by gleaning in a nearby field at harvest time. They established a homely routine, not wholly unlike our own -- Ruth laboring by day, returning in the evening and sharing news of the day over their evening meal. And as Naomi's grief and despair eased just a scintilla, she too realized it. She too realized that she had someone to care for. She had Ruth. And like a good Jewish mother, Naomi set about to find Ruth a husband. In their mutual caring, the seeds of healing took root and grew.

The book of Ruth yields many truths, one deeper than the next. But today it yields this truth -- that caring for someone, or something for that matter, is one of our most important needs. Being deprived of caring for someone or something is one of our greatest losses. We can't find fulfillment unless we have someone or something to care for, and in caring for someone or something, we find our greatest fulfillment. This is how God created us. This is what God has ordained for us. We are made to care. He is a God of love after all.

Today is Stewardship Sunday, and so it bears recalling that God created and ordained us to care, that we are made to care. We are made to care for the world that God created, but more than this. We are made to care for that world that God has created and redeemed through his son Jesus Christ. This means that our caring is dedicated to the God of Jesus Christ - predicated upon his his righteousness, his justice, his mercy, and his love. And place we are formed for this holy caring is the church. That is why we are committed to care for the church - that we may ever be God's caregivers. Amen.

The Equipped

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:15 GMT

Exodus 3:1-11 Luke 5:1-11

In the wake of the release of the blockbuster movie: Avengers: Endgame I’ve noted three distinct modes of response. The first mode of response includes people who have never paid any attention to any of the Avengers movies released over the last ten years and aren’t about to spark an interest now. They are supremely indifferent.

The second mode of response includes people who jumped on the bandwagon late in the day. The hype is such that they don’t want to miss out, so in preparation they perhaps went back and watched Black Panther or Infinity Wars so they would not appear total green horns. They are cousins of fair weather fans.

The third mode of response involves people who are hard core. They have seen most if not all of the twenty plus Avenger movies, many several times. They counted the days until the movie came out, and to pass the time while they waited they ranked their favorite Avengers in order or they hypothesized as to how Thanos would meet his demise.

My son Herry and I fall into the third mode of response. I actually pulled Herry out of school so we could see it the Friday morning it came out. My note to his school offered no apologies. “Dear Attendance Office,” I wrote. “Herry will not be in school on Friday. He is not experiencing flu-like symptoms. Rather, we are watching the first performance of Avengers: Endgame. I am hopeful you will excuse his absence.”

I never imagined I would be the type who would be into these kinds of films. Herry, yes...me, no. They are about as cerebral as a roller coaster ride. But I think I like them so much because the superheroes and villains are pure, unalloyed distillates of good and evil. And we always know where lies the victory. I guess in the last analysis, I like them so much because they are pure escapism.

Because let’s face it. There are no pure and unalloyed distillates of good and evil out there. That’s not our reality. Our reality is more ambiguous. We still know where lies the victory, but the way it plays out is more murky. Take Moses for instance. When God called him he was, to put it bluntly, not particularly into God. Why would he be? He was raised by Pharaoh’s daughter. Ergo, she was an Egyptian. We can presume she did not send him to rabbinical school. As for his countrymen who were in slavery, they were in no position to maintain any religious formation. They were just trying to stay alive. Why would he be into God? No one had introduced him.

At any rate, Moses’ position in Egypt became untenable. Imagine your countrymen enslaved and you living in the lap of luxury; in effect colluding with the enemy. That wasn’t going to end well for him, and it didn’t. Moses ended up fleeing for his life, but he landed on his feet. He found a wife, had a son, and got a job working for his father in law.

Yes, Moses might not have been into God, but God was into him. Moses was minding his own business one day when suddenly a flaming bush appeared before him and from it boomed the thunderous voice of God; “I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt; I have heard their cry on account of their taskmasters. I have come down to deliver them from the Egyptians, and to bring them up out of that land to a good and broad land, a land flowing with milk and honey…..So come, I will send you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt.”

Moses looked around to see who it was that God was addressing in this fashion. There was no one there but him. “You mean me?” He asked. “Yes,” God continued, unperturbed. “I mean you.” “Are you positive?” Moses asked. God continued, unperturbed. “Fear not! For I will be with you.” God tried to continue with his lofty pronouncements, but Moses stopped him. “Forgive the interruption,” he said. “What if no one goes along with this gambit of yours?” God continued unperturbed. He gave Moses three signs that would insure his gambit’s success - a snake that could turn into a staff, a hand that could turn leprous, and water that could turn into blood.

At this point, Moses began to sweat. “God’s armed me with a rabbit and a hat,” he thought to himself. “He’s setting me up for failure.” He started wiggling harder and harder to get off the hook. “Look God,” he said, “in case you haven’t noticed I trip over my tongue every time I open my mouth. You really think someone who stammers and stutters has creds in a situation such as this?” God continued unperturbed. “Not to worry,” he assured Moses; “I myself will put the words in your mouth.” At this point Moses was through negotiating. He downright refused. “Talk to the hand, God, because it’s not happening.” God finally grew perturbed, and Moses lost the showdown.

This is how it all started. This is not exactly the stuff of Iron Man and Captain America. Talk about ambiguous. Talk about murky. And the tiger didn’t change his stripes, so the sailing was not smooth. Moses returned to Egypt grudgingly whereupon his intervention got the slaves into trouble with their Egyptian overlords. If you’re a slave, it’s a good day when you merely toil all day. It’s a bad day when your quota is increased and you’re beaten because you don’t make it. As the slaves yelled at Moses, Moses yelled over his shoulder at God that this was proof positive that he could not get the job done because he was not the man for the job. God sent, via Moses, ten plagues with which to afflict the Egyptians and wear down their resolve, and Moses and the slaves were finally able to make their getaway, but then the road trip to the Promised Land was hell on wheels. You think Moses complained, you should have heard the people. But at the end of the day Moses did exactly as God had called him to do. He delivered his people from Egyptian slavery. No, he wasn’t the stuff of superheroes, but he got the job done.

Amidst the ambiguity. Amidst the murkiness. Despite himself. Despite the people. Despite the discord. Despite the mishaps. Despite the setbacks. Despite the mistakes. Despite the disappointment. Despite the frustration. Despite his attitude. Despite his inexperience. Despite it all. He persevered. He kept at it. He kept going -- step by step, moving in the right direction. And he got the job done.

And when he did, the ambiguity became just a bit less ambiguous. The murkiness became just a little bit less murky. There was a bit of order where there was once just chaos, a bit of formation where there was once just dissolution, a bit of clarity where there was once just confusion. He got the job done. So maybe he was the right man for the job after all.

And Moses was no solitary case. By no means. Abraham, Issac, Jacob, Joseph, Joshua, Samuel, Saul, David, Hosea, Jeremiah, Isaiah. It was just the same with them all. Oh, and the disciples. We must not forget them. Theirs was a worst case scenario. The one true thing that Peter said was, “Depart from me Lord, for I am a sinful man.” Yes he was. He was a sinful man. But the Lord did not depart from him. He knew that despite his brashness, despite his impulsivity, despite his cluelessness, despite his weakness, despite his faltering, that he would get the job done, that he was the right man for the job.

He knew what they all teach us here this morning -- that God does not call the equipped, God equips the called. That means that we can get the job done. That means that we are the right men and women for the job. So let’s get to it. Amen.

Something New Under The Sun

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:09 GMT

Ecclesiastes 1:1-9

“There is nothing new under the sun.”

This is the contention of the book of Ecclesiastes. “There’s nothing new under the sun.” But is this good news or bad news? You could certainly make the case that it’s good news. If there’s nothing new under the sun, then whatever befalls us has befallen others. Others have shared our successes and failures. Others have known our joys and sorrows. That’s not bad news– that the realities of life play upon us all. It leads to the conclusion that we’re in good company, that we’re all in it together. I’d say that’s good news.

However, this is not the case the book of Ecclesiastes makes. The book of Ecclesiastes makes the case that it’s bad news. It makes the case it’s bad news because its author, known enigmatically as Qoheleth, has taken a long hard look at life and has seen that the wicked people prosper at the expense of the righteous, that fools decline to let their words be few, that oppressors prey upon the vulnerable, that achievements are dismantled by their inheritors, that one’s memory is quickly forgotten; and there’s nothing new under the sun. Just that, again and again and again. So it’s bad news.

And so, given that its bad news, the only positive advice Qoheleth has to give, if you can call it positive advice, is this. If you can derive any enjoyment from anything in this life then by all means do so, for that’s all life will ever afford you. But, no sooner does he give, and give meagerly, with one hand than he takes away with the other, for he documents in painful detail his own failed attempt to derive any enjoyment from this life.

First, he documents, he sought to derive enjoyment from wisdom, from a wise understanding of life over against his own dismal sense of it. And indeed he pursued wisdom, surpassing, in his words “all who were over Jerusalem before him.” But wisdom only confirmed the bad news. “In much wisdom,” he wrote, “is much vexation, and those who increase wisdom increase sorrow.”

After wisdom, he sought to derive enjoyment from pleasure, from all the diversions that make for laughter, but found that there is only, under the circumstances, the laughter of fools. After pleasure, he sought to derive enjoyment from wine, not so much to “make merry the heart” but to dull the senses and nerves. But wine only underscored the need for escapism. After wine, he sought to derive pleasure from productivity. He built houses, vineyards, gardens, parks, orchards, and pools. After productivity, it was possessions. He acquired slaves, herds, flocks, gold, silver, and other treasure. After possessions, it was concubines. Ironically, in these pursuits, he became the greatest man of his time. But all to no avail. There was no enjoyment to be had in any of it.

There is nothing new under the sun. According to Qoheleth, very bad news indeed.

I doubt many of us hold Qoheleth’s position quite as staunchly as he does. If we did, we’d be curled up in fetal balls. But don’t we all, from our own vantage points, at least have some sense of what he is talking about? I must admit I do. Having spent most of my life studying ancient thought systems, I’m here to tell you there’s nothing new under the sun. There have been no new thought systems to come down the pike since ancient times.

But what, you may say skeptically, of humanism, the belief that took root at close of theological age that humanity is capable of mastering its own destiny, of achieving its own fulfillment? Humanism is just a secularized version of Pelagianism, the fourth century belief that humanity can earn its own salvation. Well then you may say, what about Marxism, the belief that an inevitable clash will end the problems of history and usher in utopia? But Marxism is just a secularized version of apocalypticism, the 2 ^nd century BCE belief that God will destroy history in a cataclysm and usher in his reign. Well then, what about the entire advent of science? Science is not per se, a thought system. Science, rather, endeavors to understand physical reality, but once it goes beyond that to the belief that understanding physical reality can disclose ultimate reality, that’s just pantheism, the belief that “God” is the sum total of the cosmos, which in its rudiments predated the Old Testament period.

There are no new thought systems, only the resurrection and rehashing of old ones. And so, I have sometimes wondered, what’s the point? What’s the point of thought systems if the ancient ones are obsolete and the new ones derivative? Who cares what they all have to say anyway? What’s it all been for? All our thinking hasn’t improved us much, or at all. The twentieth century was the bloodiest century in human history, unless the twenty-first beats it.

And from your own vantage points, you probably have a sense of what he’s talking about too. Maybe you always hoped that you’d rise a bit higher in your career, but from whatever glass ceiling you’re trapped under -- the ceiling of gender, the ceiling of age, the ceiling of politics, the ceiling of talent – you come to realize you’re just one ox in the herd in the workaday world. Soon you’ll retire and someone much like you when you first started out will take your place. After your retirement party, you’ll be forgotten, so what was the point of all your exertions?

Or maybe you’re already retired and you find there was some small point of all your exertions -- your nest egg. But then, before you’ve even begun to go blue in the gills, the kids eye your nest egg. One seeks to borrow against it and that makes the other nervous and mistrustful. They get to feuding over it, and both end up blaming you. So what was the point of the kids?

Whatever your vantage point, you probably have at least a sense of what he’s talking about. There’s nothing new under the sun. So what’s the point?

At this juncture you may be wondering, why all this bad news at church? Don’t I come here for the good news? There’s enough bad news out there right now. Where are the wonderful words of life we were just singing about? Well, friends, they’re not in the book of Ecclesiastes.

In fact, many biblical scholars have questioned, why was the book of Ecclesiastes even canonized? And the question remains an open one. It’s been raised but has never answered. Some scholars have offered the theory that the canonizers believed it to have been written by Solomon, but that theory is seems rather weak. Even if the canonizers did believe it to have been written by Solomon, which is dubious, that wouldn’t necessitate that it be canonized. The canonizers would have realized that the canon shouldn’t include every word written by every biblical player. What next, David’s love letters to Bathsheba?

I have my own theory as to why the book of Ecclesiastes was canonized, but it’s not a critical theory like scholars offer. It’s more a faithful theory, like pastors offer. Maybe the canonizers realized that the book of Ecclesiastes documented a legitimate problem of existence, a problem that at some point in God’s salvation history that God would answer. It’s kind of like when the book of Hebrews declares of Abel and Enoch and Noah and Abraham that they “died in faith without having received the promises, but from a distance they saw and greeted them.” The book of Ecclesiastes was canonized because it documented a legitimate problem of existence and, in faith, from a distance, saw and greeted an answer to it.

Because look how it all played out. Something new finally came -- the God/Man Jesus Christ. He seemed to think that there was a point, and that point was his love – his limitless, uncompromising, universal, self-sacrificing love. And his love has made a certain point in history, to my mind the only point in history. And when we ourselves practice his love, it will make a point in our lives. It will make us new. “The old will pass away; everything will become new.” There is now something new under the sun. It is the Son of God. All praise be unto him! Amen.

Holy Lord God,

In the light of your son, each day holds for us the possibility to speak the truth, to act justly, to forgive, to witness, to love, and so to bring newness of life to a weary world. Help us each to find our own direction and path, our own way of following him..

Scandals

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:08 GMT

Romans 8:1-11

There is nothing we Americans have come to love more than a scandal. Scandals, it would seem, are the new American past-time.

And although we pretty much love all scandals, there are some scandals we love more than others. It is perhaps unconscious; it is perhaps unwritten, but there is a definite popularity ranking among scandals. Ranking lowest are scandals involving businessmen and women. The crash of a corporation due to the greed and corruption of its officers holds for us a certain attraction, but the reason for its low ranking, in spite of the fact that this is the only kind of scandal that may actually affect us, is two-fold. One, this kind of scandal involves money, and there are things more fascinating to us than money – sex for one. And two, this kind of scandal is often hard to wrap your mind around if you have no background in business. To fully appreciate a scandal, you need to be in a position to master the details.

Moving up a rank are the scandals involving professional athletes. There are a few scandals involving professional athletes that have to do with drug abuse of one kind or another, or gaming, but the scandals that are more prevalent, and that we prefer, are, as I intimated, the sexual ones. The sexual hi-jinks of professional athletes – the infatuated groupies, the down low behind the All-American image, again, hold for us a certain attraction. Still, these scandals still receive a lowish ranking because we kind of expect it from professional athletes. It’s kind of an extension of locker-room behavior.

Moving up another rank, and here we really start to get into it, are the scandals involving the stars. There are a few scandals involving the stars that have to do with imprisonment, but again we prefer the sexual ones. We love to star gaze in any event because we find the stars, or at least their fabricated images, so much larger than life - or perhaps so much larger than our lives. But when there’s a scandal, we really get out the telescope. We are always eager to hear of good loving gone wrong, especially if it is due to infidelity.

We ascend to the top of the ranks with scandals, again, particularly sexual scandals, involving politicians and religious leaders. These are the scandals we love the best. This is because politicians and religious leaders are held to higher moral responsibility than professional athletes or stars. I suppose they should all be considered role models, but politicians and religious leaders more so. There is a general rule that we may perhaps apply to scandals: The greater the hypocrisy, the more we love it. This is because scandal requires outrage and indignation to really hit the spot.

Yes, we love scandals - the bigger, the better. Sure, we may pretend not to. We may voice sentiments along the lines of, “What’s this world coming to?” but deep down we can’t wait for another idol to topple. And it’s not just the toppling of the idol itself. That’s only when the fun begins. After that, there’s not only the reactions of all the players, but the opportunity it holds for us for analysis, and the expression our impressions and opinions.

And because we love scandals so much, scandals have become big business. A few years back, investigative reporting was more for the sake of whistle blowing, but no one cares much about whistle blowing anymore. The Karen Silkwoods have had their day. Investigative reporting is now giving us what we want, and we want scandal. And thanks to the times in which we live, no one stands a chance against them. Their arsenals are loaded -Surveillance cameras, tips, rumors, bank records, hotel records, cell phone records, texts, emails…. And it would appear that there is really no such thing as “delete.” Texts and emails never go away. They have a longer half-life than uranium.

The Bible, for its part, knows all about human fault and folly. Most of the biblical heroes, in fact, were involved in what we today call scandals. To illustrate this, we could practically let the Bible fall open to any page, but let’s begin where it all began – with Abraham. I guess Abraham gets a few brownie points for demonstrating, in the near sacrifice of his son Isaac, faith unparalleled in human history until the advent of Jesus Christ; but, as we know, all the brownie points in the world are not sufficient to expunge a scandal from the record. How about Abraham’s conduct in Egypt? When he and his wife were forced to sojourn there during a famine, he became preoccupied that his wife’s good looks would get him into trouble. As her husband, he might be deemed to be standing in the way of an Egyptian’s desire for her. The upshot was that he delivered her up to Pharaoh’s harem; and this to save his own hide. Or how about Abraham’s mesalliance , shall we call it, with Hagar that produced, so to speak, a love child. I can just see the headlines. Actually, it seems like I have just seen like headlines.

In the interest of time, let’s then skip over a generation and move down to Jacob. He was a serial cheater and a liar, his chief victim being his brother. Needless to say, his family life was a study in the art of sabotage. A while later he married two sisters, which if you think about it, is kind of sick. It seems one degree away from incest. He might even be incarcerated for that today.

But lay the patriarchs aside. There’s just too much material in the Bible to dwell on them. Samuel, you might think, stood a chance to come out of it unscathed. He dominated biblical history for the whole of the eleventh century filling variously the role of prophet, priest, and judge. He had a good, long career, really established himself, but the brownie point rule applies – recall: no amount of brownie points can expunge a scandal from the record. Near the end of his life he developed what could be labeled, “The Crotchety Old Man Syndrome” and shot off his mouth revealing himself to be a cantankerous, querulous, even dangerous old fool. Doubtless, if present day comparisons are any indicator, that’s how many of his contemporaries remembered him.

Or what about the Kings? They are really the limit. Take the big three – Saul, David, and Solomon. Saul was, to put it crudely, a nut job – a paranoid and murderous monster, whose deranged obsession for most of his life was to assassinate David. He ended up delivering all his sons up to death and then falling on his sword. Or David? He’s proof that no man is above corruption. Shortly after God made him the father of Messianism, he impregnated the wife of a dutiful and loyal member of his personal guard. He then had a henchman murder him so as to get him out of the way. And then there’s Solomon. Talk about the lifestyles of the rich and famous. Banishing silver, he permitted only gold in his opulent and lavish court. Of course, he had to enslave his own people to raise the funds for it, but be that as it may. I could go on, but we’d be here all day. Perhaps just one more. This one is too rich to pass up. The prophet Hosea married a well-known whore, then spent the rest of his prophetic career crying tears in his beer over it.

Yes, the Bible knows all about human fault and folly -- what we today would call scandals. In fact, it puts our tepid attempts at scandal it to shame. But there’s one difference, and it’s a major one. The Bible never, ever calls it scandal or treats it as such. This is because the Bible traffics in realism. It is the greatest study in realism that humankind has ever or will ever produce. The Bible realistically discerns and so states that “we have all fallen short of the glory of God.” Even the cosmos itself, the whole theater of nature, groans in futility. Bible realizes we all share a common condition. We are all up against it. We are all in it together. And so to scandalize, The Bible declares, amounts to nothing more than hypocrisy.

Just look at Jesus and the adulteress. There she was. They were all trying to scandalize her. But Jesus wouldn’t have it; he wouldn’t let them, even though she had just been caught in the act. “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” And for the sake of hypocrisy, yes, but for a reason greater than that. It’s because he knew that when his ministry was all said and done - when his life, and his death, and his resurrection had been accomplished -- that there would be no basis to scandalize anyone anymore, for he, (who was, parenthetically the most scandalous man who ever lived) would have redeemed us all. And this, he intended, would lead us to humility and mercy, and forgiveness towards one another.

Jesus Christ caught us all when we were falling. If we seek to be named by him, we must not scandalize. We must catch one another. Amen.

All Dogs Go To Heaven

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:07 GMT

Romans 8:18-25

When I was a girl of about ten, my dog Calvin died. I took it badly. I loved Calvin very dearly. But beyond that, this was my first brush with death -- its utterly uncompromising inexorability and finality. It was a foretaste of a reality I was not yet prepared to bear. My grief and dread were overwhelming.

Out of concern for me, my parents sent me to spend a week at my great aunt and uncle’s farm in Iowa. They hoped the trip would distract me and provide me distance from all the homely reminders of Calvin. But the trip only served to increase my misery.

My great aunt and uncle were staunch Roman Catholics from the Vatican I era. On Sunday morning, my great aunt pinned a doily on my head and brought me to church. The day was already off to a bad start. If a doily belonged pinned on my head during church, I was certain my father would have pinned one there prior to this. After a worship service strange to my experience, I was led to church school by an authority figure also strange to my experience -- a nun. In the course of class, I mentioned Calvin’s death. The nun gave me a look that revealed, her religious vocation notwithstanding, she had ice water in her veins and a heart of granite. “Animals do not have souls,” she instructed me coldly, in a tone of judgmental admonition, I suppose for what she deemed wrong-headed, self- indulgent moping.

Normally disputatious by nature and especially eager to argue what, at that early juncture would have to be described as proto-theological positions, I would have taken her on. I knew what she was trying to tell me -- that Calvin was only an animal, that when animals die they do not go to heaven, that their import is of limited significance, and that their deaths don’t warrant mourning. But she couldn’t have been right. Calvin was a member of my family. The fact that he happened to be a dog seemed a trivial point. In my family he was just like the rest of us. He had his own place and personality. Most important, he loved and was loved. How could he be excluded from God’s plan? And she was not, I knew, only wrong but mean. Children know, as if by instinct, when they are mistreated by adults. Her meanness deserved to have been exposed by acknowledgment of it or resistance to it. But Calvin’s death had left me weak and defenseless. I let her remark go unchallenged, and somehow it made everything all the worse.

Now many years have passed, and I am safely over Calvin’s death, if I ever encounter that nun again, I will certainly revisit the matter. The matter raised that morning -- usually, thank heaven, under less emotional circumstances -- is not an uncommon one. Children tend to endow animals with souls, and adults tend to feel compelled to correct them for it, or at least to write it off as childish sentimentality or idealism.

To tell the truth, I come down on the side of children. Children’s vantage point from time to time permits them to see things more clearly than adults. Their vantage point in this case is similar to animals’ -- both are vulnerable to and dependent upon adult intention for them. Out of empathy for animals, perhaps, and granted out of childish sentimentality and idealism as well, they see, though rightly I think, in the exclusion of animals from God’s plan, a deviation in what they hope to be God’s nature. And adults, as far as I can tell, take their side out of something less noble -- out of a basic lack of appreciation of and sympathy for animals, sometimes even a dislike of them on some general principle -- dirtiness or messiness or peskiness or lowliness -- this, and vague sense that some religious doctrine supports them. It may come as a surprise that the Bible comes down on the side of children too. The Bible doesn’t speak of animals having souls, nor of human beings having souls for that matter. This is a common misconception about the Bible. But the Bible does bespeak the essential unity between humans and animals, indeed the essential unity of all creation. The same word that went forth from God created us all.

And that essential unity of all creation is rendered all the more profound and poignant by the apostle Paul’s recognition in this morning’s epistle lesson that the essential unity of all creation extends too to its subjection to futility. Paul recognizes that all creation -- in its incompleteness, in its imperfection, above all in its mortality, shares a common plight. It was Darwin in the modern era who demonstrated the extreme waste, inefficiency, and suffering in nature. It drove him in fact to atheism.

But the apostle Paul also recognizes in this morning’s epistle lesson that the essential unity of all creation extends too to its redemption. All creation, in his words, “will be set free from its bondage to decay.” All creation then shares an essential unity, not only in its creation, but in its subjection to futility and its promised redemption.

And this is not singular the view of the Paul. The weight of the biblical witness is squarely behind him. The covenant in the Bible, the covenant made to Noah, is a covenant that promises the redemption of all creation. “As for me, I do hereby establish my covenant with you and your descendants, and with every living creature that is with you, the birds, the domestic animals, and the wild beasts with you . . . I establish my covenant with you…” The prophet Isaiah foresaw the fulfillment of that redemption as a peaceable kingdom where, “The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child will lead them.” The book of Revelation foresees it as, “A new heaven and a new earth, where God will wipe the tear from every eye and death will be no more.” Most important, Jesus’ still of storm and walking on water both demonstrate and presage the redemption of creation.

We human beings do indeed play a unique role in God’s plan. We alone, the Bible says, are made in God’s image. This means that we alone are fashioned and elect to know that we are not merely creatures of nature, subject to or defined by its laws; but that we are too creatures of God subject to and defined by God who created us and had redeemed us in Jesus Christ. And further, as the apostle Paul recognizes in this morning’s epistle lesson, we alone are fashioned and elect to know that through our redemption in Jesus Christ, we are the “first fruits” of the redemption of all creation. Yes, we play a unique role in God’s plan. It is the role, as the first fruits of the redemption of all creation, of responsible, informed, caring agency to it.

And this means we must finally forswear the bogus theologies that had no claim in the first place save the claim of human conceit that creation is nothing more than the set for the drama of redemption in which we play the only role. These theologies are not only unbiblical, but they have been supplied as license for the desecration and violation, the plunder and spoliation of creation for sport or for greed, and have brought creation now to the brink of ecological disaster.

But of course, the situation, like all situations of existence, is difficult and complex, because at the same time we must benefit from creation, often at its expense. This, as Darwin also demonstrated, is the law of existence for all creation, as it groans for redemption. But if we want to live in and live out this paradox according to biblical theology, our relationship to creation must be in a larger context of respect, sympathy, and harmony.

And this means finally that if children ask us if animals are included in God’s plan, we can with honesty and confidence tell them that our God is a God whose eye is on the sparrow, and that indeed they are. Amen.

Lent - Cleansing The Temple

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:27:00 GMT

I Kings 8:22-24, 27-29 Matthew 21:12-17

According to my grandmother, the greatest atrocity one could ever commit was, in her words, to “cause a stir.” And she bore this home to her grandchildren in no uncertain terms. I remember once my sister and I were, as was our frequent custom, visiting her for the weekend. It was Sunday evening. My parents never picked us up before 8:00 p.m. so we could watch our favorite show - The Wonderful World of Disney . As I watched I blew bubbles the size of my head with my bubble gum. I saw no transgression there; I was simply, what we now call it, multi-tasking. However, it was irritating to my sister. “Becca, stop!” she admonished.

From the other room, I heard my grandmother’s voice, “Becca, are you causing a stir?” I immediately swallowed the wad of gum and sat bolt upright as stiff as Lot’s wife. “No, Grandmother,” I said faintly, hoping there would be no further repercussions for having caused a stir.

For my grandmother, life was straightforward. Causing a stir was morally bad. Not causing a stir was morally good. Period. Though this approach to life earns high marks for being streamlined, sometimes it is less than a apropos. I remember once in the 60’s – the civil rights era, I heard my grandmother remark, “That colored man is certainly causing a stir.” She was referring, of course, to Martin Luther King, Jr.

Good old Grandmother, God rest her soul. Her posture regarding causing a stir was largely the result of the expectations of her generation and especially her generation with regard to gender roles. Strange then, that is a posture that is still widely maintained today. It is the posture that assumes that causing the stir is the bad thing, and overlooks completely whatever gave rise to causing the stir. I had a dose of this just last week. As you may know, Wednesday was School Walk Out Day to protest school shootings. It was organized at the behest of the Parkland students. Just prior to the event I received two emails, one from the principal and one from the superintendent strongly urging the students not to participate. The emails presumed the unrest was the bad thing, not what gave rise to the unrest.

To return to Martin Luther King, Jr., he said this was the real problem of the civil rights era. “History will have to record that the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition was not the strident clamor of the bad people, but the appalling silence of the good people.” The good people didn’t want to cause a stir.

In this morning’s gospel lesson. Jesus causes a stir. The scene was the temple of Jerusalem at the time of the Passover, the high Jewish holiday in which the Jews commemorated their deliverance from Egyptian bondage. The Jews were now under Roman bondage. There must have been an undercurrent of tension as they drew the obvious comparison.

But at the same time, Passover was being observed as it always had been. Crowds drawn from throughout the Roman Empire thronged the temple precincts vying to exchange their foreign currency in order to buy the animals for sale there for sacrifice. There was probably a decent profit to be had – by the commission on the foreign currency; but mostly on the sale of animals.

You don’t have to be an economic genius to understand the law of supply and demand. During the Passover, the supply of animals was lower than the demand, therefore their sellers could charge many times what they could get for them under normal circumstances. But this was little cause for concern for the buyers. Everyone expects to get gauged a bit at big commercial centers around the time of a holiday. You don’t go to Disney World at Christmastime if you’re planning to pinch pennies. The bottom line is no one was really out -- everyone was ahead.

But then Jesus caused a stir. A big one. A nasty one. He overturned the tables of the money changers and drove away the animals. Utter chaos must have ensued. So why did Jesus do it? Why did Jesus cause a stir? The pat answer is that he was angry that the Temple was being profaned because Passover had become so secularized and commercialized; and there is some truth to this pat answer.

It was Solomon who built the first Temple. At its consecration he declared, “Will God indeed dwell on the earth? Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this temple that I have built. Regard your servant’s prayer and his plea, O Lord my God, heeding the cry and prayer that your servant prays to you today; that your eyes may be open night and day toward this temple.” Solomon had the right idea. God was too lofty and majestic to be contained in a temple, but it was, at least, the site where God would cast his eye when his people approached him there in faithfulness and uprightness of heart. But for Jesus faithfulness and uprightness of heart were not exactly in view, nor was God for that matter. And Jesus felt the outrage all the more, because it was his father’s temple that was being profaned.

But I think there is an additional reason why Jesus caused a stir. It is that the travesty taking place was being sanctioned by the religious authorities. In fact they orchestrated it. They presided over it. It was within their power. In short- they had a vested interest in it; a vested interest that was entrenched, as vested interests tend to be. Yes, his father’s temple was being profaned through the secularization and commercialization of Passover, but behind that was the fact that his father’s temple was being profaned by those who had exploited it for their vested interest. This is really why Jesus caused a stir.

But you can’t go up against a vested interest. It won’t let you. Vested interests do not cede themselves voluntarily or by any civil means. This is an inviolable law, like the law of gravity. If you try to destroy a vested interest, it will try to destroy you in return. This is why after Jesus caused the stir, the religious authorities “kept looking for a way to kill him.” Jesus, of course, knew that they would. He had come to Jerusalem to die.

Jesus caused a stir. So what is the lesson here for us? Is it that we should go around causing stirs? Perhaps. After all, “Once to every man and nation comes a moment to decide.” Perhaps there will arise in your life or mine a time when we should cause a stir. Perhaps, but not necessarily.

But what is necessary is that we make ourselves astutely aware, astutely aware, that stirs are not in and of themselves morally bad, because the bottom line is that the truth causes a stir. It always has, and it always will. The truth causes a stir - whether it is the truth of Jesus Christ, or the truth of those like Martin Luther King Jr., who followed after him. So when the truth causes a stir, that stir must not be subdued or suppressed by calls for patient, decorum, legalities, proper procedure, or any other excuse. What is necessary is that we stand fast for the truth, no matter how much of a stir the truth happens to be causing.

After all, after Jesus cleansed the temple, the religious authorities “kept looking for a way to kill him,” but they were afraid, “because the crowd was spellbound.” The crowd knew the truth. For all the falsehood they had just been party to, after Jesus cleansed the temple the crowd then knew the truth. And so the religious authorities were, for the time being, deterred. Of course, Jesus was determined to die, and die he did. The whole point of his life was his death, after all. But that fact remains, when we stand fast for the truth, we at least give it a fighting chance over against its enemies. Amen.

Lenses

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:26:54 GMT

I Kings 1:11-21 Romans 13:11-14

Growing up, each summer my sister and I spent two weeks visiting Grandma Dorothy and Grandpa Jake in small town Ohio. We were young enough so that everything about the countryside seemed charmed -- from the drug store soda fountain where we ordered banana splits, to the trips to a nearby farm when a litter of baby pigs was born, to our visits with Aunt Wilma.

Aunt Wilma was Grandma Dorothy’s sister. She’d lived in the house where she was born for almost eighty years. It was the house that time had forgotten -- complete with a butter churn, a well, and a horse and buggy.

One summer as we were leaving to visit Aunt Wilma, Grandma Dorothy asked Grandpa Jake if he’d like to join us. “I’ll leave you to deal with Mary.” he said. “Mary?” I asked. “Is that Aunt Wilma’s real name?” Grandma Dorothy shot Grandpa Jake a look of reprimand, but Grandpa Jake continued undeterred. “Have you heard of Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary?” Grandpa Jake asked. “Well that’s Aunt Wilma -- Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary.” I found his disclosure to be highly stimulating. Grown ups didn’t usually dish about other grown ups to children. When we arrived at Aunt Wilma’s, I was en guarde to see if Aunt Wilma was indeed Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary.

“What a lovely day,” Grandma Dorothy remarked as we took our places for tea. “A lovely day!” Aunt Wilma expostulated. “The breeze must be out of the east, because every bone in my body aches!” Grandma Dorothy changed the subject. “Jake and I are taking the girls to the State Fair tomorrow.” She ventured. “The State Fair!!” Wilma again expostulated. “Are you going there to get your pockets picked? Had my own pocket picked at the State Fair.” “Now Wilma, Dorothy said gently, "that was way back in 1932.”

“Grandpa Jake was right,” I thought to myself. Aunt Wilma was indeed Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary. Grandma Dorothy changed the subject again. “Girls, go out to the car and get the pecan pie that we made for Aunt Wilma.” We did as we were asked and set the pie on the table before Aunt Wilma. Aunt Wilma suddenly grew stiff as a ramrod. Her face donned a mask of impassivity. I could sense though that, as the prophet Amos put it, there were “mighty tumults” within her. She was struggling with self-mastery. Aunt Wilma wanted that pie. I could tell by the way she eyed it. But Aunt Wilma could only be contrary. If she was contrary, however; if she said something like -- “You know that pecans always get stuck between my teeth,” she risked losing the pie. She picked up the pie and secured it in the icebox. Only then did she say, “It beats me why anyone would want to spend the whole day baking!”

When we got back home, I rushed to Grandpa Jake. “You were right! Aunt Wilma is Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary.” Grandpa Jake replied, “Those are the lenses through which she sees life.” Those are the lenses through which she sees life. It turned out to be a formative moment, because going forward, I noticed the lenses through which people see life. No doubt you’ve noticed the same thing I have.

There are the lenses of those we could call scapegoaters. Scapegoaters blame some marginalized group for all that is wrong with the world. Something’s not right? It can only be the fault of those blacks, or those Jews, or those refugees, or those Muslims, or those homosexuals, or those immigrants.

Then there are the lenses of those who have been wronged -- whether they have been betrayed, cheated, fired, snubbed, abandoned, what have you. They have been victimized, and this becomes their identity, their explanation, their excuse.

Then there are the lenses of those out for themselves. They measure themselves and others according to their money and possessions, their status and connections. Those who don’t measure up do not exist for them.

The lenses through which people see life. They’ve always been around. They go way back to the biblical period, though the lenses they wore back then can seem a bit strange to us. Take Bathsheba from our Old Testament lesson. Her lenses were, “What will advance the cause of my son?” As I said, a bit strange to us, but less strange if you think about it.

Women in the biblical period didn’t have much power in their own right. What power they had they had they acquired through the men in their lives. Initially they acquired power through their husbands, but after their sons were born, their husbands soon became yesterday’s news. They were of the past, after all, and their sons were of the future. The bottom line is that what advanced the cause of their sons, advanced their cause as well. So Bathsheba’s lenses were, “What will advance the cause of my son?”

And Bathsheba’s husband was the most powerful man of his day. Bathsheba’s husband was King David. Even so, once her son Solomon was born Bathsheba had but one focus: that someday Solomon would occupy King David’s throne. Not that he had any claim upon that throne. He had none whatsoever. That throne was by right his elder brother Adonijah’s. That didn’t stop Bathsheba. Her lenses firmly in place, at the end of the day Adonijah was dead, and Solomon occupied King David’s throne.

Now the stakes with regard to the lenses through which we see life may not be, as they were with regard to Bathsheba and Solomon, a matter of life and death, but there are still stakes involved. Because for one thing, the lenses through which we see life, ironically, distort our vision. We can’t see reality rightly, and therefore we can’t act rightly toward it. We can’t contribute to reality in any intentional or productive or truthful way. Just the opposite: We “contribute” to reality in an unintentional, unproductive, and untruthful way. And this is particularly pronounced when it comes to relationships.

Relationships, real relationships anyway, are only possible between those who see reality rightly and in that light establish bonds of mutual understanding and concern. When we have lenses through which we see life, this is not possible. All we can do is grind an axe. And no one desires to be the sounding board of another grinding an axe.

At family reunions with Grandma Dorothy and Grandpa Jake, everyone knew to steer a wide berth around Aunt Wilma. No one wanted to be the sounding board of Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary. Through the years I would look across the room to some fresh meat she got her teeth into. In the eyes of Aunt Wilma’s prey I could see a desperate look, as if to say “Someone save me!” But of course there was never a rescue. With Aunt Wilma it was every man for himself.

The lenses through which we see life. It couldn’t possibly make any sense for them to be the lenses of Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, or a scapegoater, or those who have been wronged, or those out for themselves. It only makes sense for them to be the lenses of Jesus Christ, who as the Son of God saw life through God’s eyes. He saw reality perfectly, acted perfectly toward it, and perfected all of his relationships. Not that this resulted in harmonious relationships. Reality encompasses much evil. His relationships reflected this -- with rejection and repudiation towards those who co opted religion for their own ends, those who exploited the vulnerable, those who cast their lot with the powerful; those who practiced hypocrisy or hardness of heart; but with caring and affection towards those who sought him, those who practiced justice and mercy, and those who bound up the broken hearted, those who practiced integrity and love. These are the lenses we should strive to put on. The apostle Paul had his own way of saying it. “Put on the Lord Jesus Christ,” he commended. And so I commend you. Amen.

Friendship

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:26:53 GMT

I Samuel 18:1-5 John 11:28-44

David and Jonathan. Theirs was one of the most poignant and profound friendships in the Old Testament. Jonathan was the first born son of King Saul - which made him a prince as well as heir apparent to the throne.

But there was something wrong with King Saul, something terribly wrong. Exactly what it was is hard to say. The text does not specify. We are left to read between the lines. But King Saul was clearly deeply troubled. To me, judging from his maniacal paranoia, it would seem he had some kind of a mental illness, probably schizophrenia. The bottom line is that he was not much of a father to Jonathan.

Sometimes when a parent is deficient - has a mental illness, or an addiction, or a vice, it sharpens the perception of the child. This is what happened with Jonathan. He perceived his father’s deficiency from an early age.. Thereupon, there was a kind of role reversal. Jonathan became the parent figure to King Saul.

And Jonathan’s sharpened perception was not limited just to King Saul. His sharpened perception was in clear display on the field of battle against Israel’s notorious enemy, the Philistines. This led Jonathan often to break rank and strike out on his own, single handedly attacking the Philistines at their Achilles Heel.

Jonathan was truly an exceptional man. The Bible is not sparing in its criticism of its characters. Abraham takes flack. Moses takes flack. Even David takes flack. Not one word of criticism is leveled against Jonathan.

Then one day David happened into his life. Jonathan was one of the onlookers present when David slew Goliath. Now the story David and Goliath is an immortal story for a reason. It records an immortal event. David was a lad of perhaps fifteen when it took place. As the onlookers saw David gather five smooth stones, they could only have been scratching their heads. What was he up to?

Jonathan knew. Jonathan knew because David’s perception was sharpened too. Here was David breaking ranks, striking out on his own, just as Jonathan was apt to do. In David’s mind, as in Jonathan’s, there was no doubt as to the outcome of the contest. David perceived Goliath’s Achilles Heel. We have all heard that expression about turning a battleship. Battleships don’t exactly turn on a dime. Goliath was a battleship -- slow, heavy, and unwieldy. He was the perfect target. So it took but one stone from David’s slingshot, and down he went. It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

Jonathan loved David. And he did something we should always remember to do for our loved ones. He showed his love. He made a friendship pact between them, and to seal it Jonathan did something extraordinary. He bestowed upon David his robe, his belt, and his sword. But he was not merely sharing his clothes. Jonathan was a prince and heir apparent to the throne. He was bestowing upon David his own royal vestments - transferring, in effect, his birthright to David. Jonathan was an exceptional man, and here is more proof of it. He wanted the best man to rule, and so he stepped aside. Jonathan knew he had something more valuable than the throne. He had friendship. But like all good things, it was not to last.

Saul’s mental illness, as with all mental illness if left untreated, deteriorated. His maniacal paranoia found a focus on David. His monomania was to see David dead. Jonathan was caught in the middle --his friendship with David on the one hand and his responsibility for his deranged father on the other. When the Philistines launched their next attack, Jonathan, knowing his father was no longer fit to fight, followed him into battle. The Philistines killed them both.

David’s good and great friend cut down in the flower of his youth. How David grieved! He mourned, and he wept. And when he could see through the haze of his grief, he wrote a poem to commemorate his friend. “How the mighty have fallen...” it began.

David and Jonathan. Theirs was one of the most profound and poignant friendships in the Old Testament. The Old Testament then, would seem to commend to us God’s gift of friendship. And what a great gift it is. C.S. Lewis wrote of friendship, “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: ‘What! You too? I thought I was the only one.' What a great gift it is, to be given a kindred spirit, to be given a companion who sees through your eyes -- who understands you, who relates to you, who sympathizes with you, who supports you, who counsels you. What a gift it is to experience life with that one at your side.” But as with all God’s gifts, as with the gift of life itself, it is as precious as it is fragile.

Jonathan and David-- one of the most profound and poignant friendships in the Old Testament. But this is the Old Testament we’re talking about, mind you. What does the New Testament have to say about friendship? Does it commend to us God’s gift of friendship? Because let’s admit it, sometimes the New Testament can be something of a spoiler. There’s nothing in the Old Testament about taking up a cross and following, or turning the other cheek, or loving your enemy. Is the New Testament then going to tell us to hate our friends? But fortunately, such is not the case.

The New Testament commends to us God’s gift of friendship as well, and nowhere is this more clearly seen than in the friendship of Jesus and Lazarus. Theirs is one of the most poignant and profound friendships in human history. Lazarus was, in fact, the only friend Jesus had who was not too a disciple. So Lazarus was the one person in the world with whom Jesus did not have to be “on”. He did not have to bear his role as the Messiah, the Son of the Living God. With Lazarus, Jesus could just be. He could unwind. He could share with Lazarus how hard it was to withstand the enmity and threats of the religious establishment, to dwell day by day amidst the din and demands of the crowds, to foresee his death on the horizon.

This makes Jesus’ raising of Lazarus all the more gut wrenching. Jesus knew his own death was on the horizon, but suddenly time had grown unexpectedly short. He had very little time left, but enough time to make a final witness to himself. And so when Lazarus fell ill, he allowed him to die in order to make that final witness.

And let him die he did. He allowed Lazarus to experience the agony of death, and his loved ones to experience the agony of loss. When Jesus came among them, he absorbed that agony. And so he wept. He wept for the death of Lazarus, just as David wept for the death of Jonathan. Jesus then made his final witness to himself. He proclaimed, “I am the resurrection and the life,” and he raised Lazarus from death, but only to face his own.

Yes, the New Testament too commends to us God’s gift of friendship. It is something to thank him for in our daily prayers. But if we want to fully thank him we must do it with more than words. We must do it with actions. We must not only receive God’s gift of friendship, we must give it. We must be friends. We must be there for our friends. We must share with our friends our time. We must share with our friends our love, our care, our generosity, and our support. We must accompany our friends in good times, but especially in bad.

I often hear people say that they want to make a difference in this world. I often hear people say they want to leave this world a better place. I often hear people say they want to make their lives count for something. I often hear people say they want to be able to gesture to some good their lives accomplished. What can we do? We can think of Jonathan and David. We can think of Jesus and Lazarus. And we can be the best friends we can possibly be. Amen.

Christmas Eve - The Word Made Flesh

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:20:09 GMT

John 1:1

“In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God.”

These words are well known to us. Indeed, we have heard them repeated since our childhood. Yes, these words are well known to us, but their meaning may not be. Some words we hear repeated so often, we never even think to question what they may mean.

“In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God.”

What then do these words mean? One thing that may provide at least a clue as to their meaning is that the words “In the beginning” start not only the gospel of John, they start the book of Genesis also. Surely the gospel of John then is hearkening us back to the book of Genesis to the word through which God spoke creation into being. This clue as to their meaning , however, only compounds the difficulty. The matter remains: What is this word that was with God and was God ? What is this word through which God created the cosmos? This surely is, now that we begin to unpack the meaning of these words, a theological riddle.

But quite frankly, who cares? Who cares about theological riddles? We all have problems, not problems that are abstract like this one, but problems that are real -- Problems that we cannot solve. Problems that hold us back. Problems that are destroying us. Be whatever they may – problems that result from dysfunctional families or relationships, financial problems, problems that stem from diseases that have attacked us or our loved ones, problems around addictions, problems that arise from some wrong we’ve done and can’t undo, problems with some fault in our character that we can’t resolve, problems issuing from some injustice or violation we’ve suffered. That’s one thing that we all here have in common. We all have problems, and so who cares about theological riddles?

We may, however, find it useful to recall that we are not the first generation of people to have problems. Every generation of people has had problems. Nostalgia is nothing more than a romantic sentiment. There has never been a time in all of history that that people have been free of problems. Problems, then, it is safe to conclude, are a permanent and perennial fixture of human existence. Our biblical forbears certainly give witness to this.

Consider any of them. Consider Saul for instance. There was some lacking in his personality. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what it was -- some incapacity for leadership, some incapacity to command respect, some incapacity for integrity. It doesn’t matter exactly what it was, only that it existed. Saul himself never had any insight into it, but others did. Those closest to him noticed it first and began to withdraw their allegiance to him. Saul may not have had any insight into the lacking in his personality, but he sensed these defections very keenly. He became defensive and untrusting, and then, downright paranoid and suspicious. A vicious cycle took hold – the more he descended, the more those around him withdrew, the more he descended, the more those around him withdrew, until he was eventually driven insane. In a glimpse of lucidity, he realized the only end to it all was death, and so he took his life.

Or consider Saul’s successor David. David was man of a different stripe. As the Bible states it, he was a man after God’s own heart. And what a man he was. He singlehandedly forged the nation of Israel, made it into the greatest nation it has ever been and was the greatest king ever to sit on its throne. Jerusalem, which he founded, was rightly called, “The City of David.” But even David grew corrupt. He was so exceptional that he came to believe that the rules of life that apply to everyone else didn’t apply to him. He impregnated the wife of one of his most valiant soldiers then arranged for his murder to conceal his misdeed. That was a stain that could never be removed, and David lived out the rest of his years far east of Eden.

Or what about the apostle Peter, who posited himself Jesus’ right hand man? But on the strength of what? On the strength of swagger, nothing more; swagger that may have worked well for him on the fishing boats or in the marketplace, but that showed itself as mere swagger when the going got rough. Peter then revealed himself a coward and a weakling; worse, a betrayer. The one who posited himself Jesus’ right-hand man then proved he was no better than Jesus’ worst enemy.

Yes, our biblical forbears certainly had problems. To a man and to a woman, they all did. The Bible is about people just like us, people with problems -- real problems, problems that held them back, problems they couldn’t solve, problems that destroyed them. The Bible in fact was written to address itself to the problems of the human existence, and so its theological riddles must be solved. They are nothing less than the Bible’s answer to our problems.

“In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God.” The gospel of John is indeed hearkening us back to the book of Genesis and recalling to us that in the beginning God spoke a word of life and creation came into being -- creation in all its manifest and mysterious abundance, creation in all of its light and all of its darkness, and creation over which we have been given dominion.

But as much as it was, creation was not enough. Creation was not the fullness of God’s word of life. In order for us to know a higher meaning, a higher purpose, a higher hope, a higher destiny; in order for us not to succumb to the struggles that would be inevitable in any created order, there had to be more.

And so, as the prologue to the gospel of John continues, God spoke a second word of life, a word of life unto life, as it were. This second word of life took flesh and lived among us in the man Jesus Christ. This word of life transfused the created order with the divine order, so that we would indeed know a higher meaning, a higher purpose, a higher hope, a higher destiny; and so that we that we would not succumb to our struggles, because those struggles would be transfigured, as were his, by divine love .

This theological conundrum then is not really so much of a conundrum at all. It is simply the Bible’s good news to us that though we have problems God’s word to us is a word of life; not just created life, but his life, here, now, real, present -- as was the coming of his son into our world. Amen.

Chain Reactions

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:20:07 GMT

Matthew 18:23-35

My favorite American novelist is John Steinbeck. My favorite novel by Steinbeck is Grapes of Wrath . Like all of Steinbeck’s novels, its themes are pervasively biblical.

In case the last time you read The Grapes of Wrath was in high school or college, it is about the migration of a family of farmers named the Joads from Oklahoma to California. They were forced to migrate when industrialized farming combined with a drought turned a hundred million acres of the heartland into the famed dust bowl. I’ve seen pictures of the dust bowl. Dust storms, which were very frequent, produced dust clouds so thick you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. Farmers, of course, could not raise crops under these conditions. This meant they could not sell crops. This meant they couldn’t pay their mortgages. Despite these dire conditions, most were reluctant to leave the only life they had ever known.

The decision was made for them. When the bank foreclosed on them, it sent bulldozers to raze their houses to the ground.

Handbills were circulating advertising jobs in California picking fruit. So the Joads, and hundreds of thousands like them, loaded up their rickety jalopy and started the trek to California. En route, the Joads stopped at a diner. It was not, of course, for a sit down meal. They had barely enough money for food and gas, and they rationed it very closely. At the diner, Father Joad asked the waitress there, Mae, for ten cents worth of a loaf of bread. Mae thought she had their number -- lazy, manipulative, dishonest, low lives trying to pull something off on her. To see the back of them, she told them just to take the whole loaf. But Father Joad refused to take it. He had never accepted charity in his life and was not prepared to do so now. The Joads might have been poor, but they were proud, dignified, and honest. He would buy only what he could pay for.

Mae realized she did not have their number at all. Steinbeck said once that the only reason he wrote was to help people understand each other. Because we don’t understand each other. We don’t understand each other at all, and we err on the side of suspicion and judgment. Mae realized she had not understood the Joads. But Mae was gruff. It’s hard for gruff people to soften, as anyone knows who had a gruff family member.

Two of the Joad children were beside Father Joad. They were eyeing the candy behind the glass counter. Poor children like them had never had candy in their lives. When Father Joad reached in his pocket for the dime, he pulled out a penny with it. Some of our best actions are done on impulse, maybe because our impulses precede our cautious rationalizations. Such was the case here. Father Joad asked Mae if the candy his children were eyeing was penny candy. Mae said that it wasn’t, that it was two for a penny. Father Joad bought two pieces of candy and gave them to his children. When they recovered from their shock, they ran off before something could threaten their treasure.

Father Joad thanked her and went on his way. Two truck drivers had witnessed the whole scene. “Mae,” they said, “You know darn well that those candies aren’t two for a penny. Those candies sell for a nickel a piece..” Trapped by her gruffness, she told them to mind their business and went back to the kitchen. When she returned to the counter she saw both of the truck drivers left her a half a dollar tip. Oh, and I failed to mention that this was during The Great Depression.

The lesson here is that goodness, kindness, generosity, and compassion, tend to create chain reactions.

You, no doubt, have experienced this in your own life. I remember once when I was in Middle School, I was hoping to be asked to the school dance by a certain boy. That certain boy asked my best friend instead. I didn’t like to show it, but my feelings were hurt. Truth be told I was devastated. My dad realized it and surprised me with a beautiful bouquet of flowers. My sister admired them. So I gave half the bouquet to her. My spirits were lifted by the bouquet, so I wanted to lift her spirits too. The poet Wordsworth once wrote that, “the best portion of a good man's life were his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love.” This is true in part because they start chain reactions.

But unfortunately, the opposite holds true. Chain reactions can be positive, but they can be negative too. Cruelty starts a chain reaction. Abuse starts a chain reaction. Anger starts a chain reaction. Injustice starts a chain reaction. Meanness starts a chain reaction.

Thus far we have established that chain reactions can be started for good and for ill. That means, of course, that we can create chain reactions for good or for ill. And that’s a lot to think about. Because maybe what we say and do actually matters, actually has an effect, and a big one.

I went visit someone last week who was not long for this world. I asked what was on her mind. She said her father was on her mind. She said whenever something made him mad, he’d take it out on her, and that he would always go right for her soft spot. She had low self esteem, and he capitalized on it. ‘My whole life I felt worthless because he told me I was. So I never amounted to anything. I didn’t accomplish anything. I didn’t do anyone any good. Why did he do that to me?” She carried it to the grave. Yes, maybe what we say and do actually matters, actually has an effect, and we should do everything in our power to get it right. Maybe this is our business in this “common mortal life.”

And we could complexify all of this a bit. Think of Jesus’ Parable of the Unforgiving Slave. A slave owed his king money, and a lot of it - the equivalent of millions of dollars. Of course, he could not pay his debt, so the king decided to recoup what he could. He ordered that he, his family, and all his possessions be sold. It would be but a drop in the bucket of what he was owed, but it was better than nothing, and indeed the slave deserved to be punished. Anyone who gets into millions of dollars of debt should probably be held accountable. But the slave fell to his knees and begged the king to spare him his fate, and the king was moved with pity. He forgave him the debt. This should have started a positive chain reaction. But instead, perversely, it started a negative one.

He soon encountered a fellow slave who owed him a hundred denarii, which compared to the ten thousand talents he had owed the king was a pittance. The slave fell to his knees just as he had before the king and begged to be spared his fate. But he had him thrown into prison. He reversed the positive chain reaction. It was unconscionable. It was without excuse or explanation. And he got what was coming to him.

Implicit in this is Jesus’ recognition that a positive chain reaction is a good thing. It’s the way things are supposed to work. In fact. it is God’s own modus operandi. Keep it going. Let is spread. Pass it on. Pay it forward. So yeah, maybe what we say and do actually matters, actually has an effect, and a big one. And Jesus says as much.

And we could complexify this a bit more. It involves another reversal. It involves reversing a negative chain reaction into a positive one. If a positive chain reaction is a good thing, reversing a negative chain reaction into a positive chain reaction is a better thing. But it’s a harder thing. Our boss rides us all day, and instead of coming home and kicking the dog, we help our children as they attend to their homework and chores, encouraging them and praising their efforts. Someone diminishes us for some stigma we bear and instead of capitulating to anger and fear, we seek out someone else bearing a stigma and make them feel valued and respected. A car with the bumper sticker student driver sideswipes us when attempting to parallel park. Instead of jumping out of our car with steam coming from our ears, we can assure the novice driver (with a smile) that these things happen, and we’re happy no one is hurt. In fact this is how we can make the setbacks that beset us all in life constructive -- we can see them as the opportunity to start a positive chain reaction.

After all, what is the cross if not this writ large? Jesus reversed the negative chain reaction of human sin into the positive chain reaction of mercy, forgiveness, reconciliation, and eternal life. For his sake, then. Amen.

Rally Day - Speak It Into Reality

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:20:07 GMT

Genesis 1:24-27 Jeremiah 1:4-10

In the beginning; on that very first day, there were but primordial waters - dark and turbulent. And God said, “Let there be light!” and the primordial waters were enlightened.

On the second day God said, “Let there be a dome to stand amidst the waters; a dome to hold them at bay!” and the sky appeared.

On the third day, God said, “Let the dry land appear, and let it put forth vegetation!” and earth was girded with all manner of plant life.

On the fourth day, God said, “Let there be lights in the sky to separate day from night!” and the sun and the moon appeared.

On the fifth day, God said, “Let the waters and the sky swarm with life!” and the fish and the birds appeared.

On the sixth day, God said, “Now let the dry land swarm with life,” and the animals appeared.

And there was one more thing that God said on that sixth day. God said, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness,” and we appeared.

Now, much can be taken from these immortal words, but one thing clearly stands out. God is a God who speaks things into reality. Now, you might puzzle at this -- that God is a God who speaks things into reality. But you shouldn’t really scratch your head too hard. If you really think about, it’s not that hard to grasp, especially for we who are made in God’s image and likeness. Because we speak things into reality too.

Think about the call of Jeremiah, which you just heard read. God called Jeremiah when the whole world was at war. Rather than confound you with details of the ancient conflict between the Assyrian Empire, the Babylonian Empire, and the Egyptian Empire, there is a more recent and familiar time to which it can be compared. Think of World War II. The whole world was indeed at war. Hitler’s first two conquests of Austria and Czechoslovakia Hitler were bloodless, but thereafter, as the Bible puts it, "bloodshed followed bloodshed." Hitler invaded Poland, bringing Britain and France into the war. Then he invaded Denmark and Norway and France and Belgium and Luxembourg and the Netherlands. Then it was North Africa and Greece and Yugoslavia. And then finally, the Soviet Union.

And this was just the half of it. The United States declared war upon Japan after that day that would live in infamy, that day the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. Thereafter Germany declared war on the United States. So you see, the whole world was indeed at war. Looking back on it, it is possible to get some handle on it. But it’s hard to imagine how overwhelming it must have been in its unfolding. To state that the world situation was complicated is the understatement of the century.

The world situation at the time of God’s call to Jeremiah was every bit as complicated. Perhaps more. The words of his call reflect that. And God called to Jeremiah. “I have appointed you a prophet to all the nations.” And what was Jeremiah’s reply? “I am just a lad. I have nothing to say.”

Now you can’t really blame him. He was just a lad. He was perhaps fourteen years old. Imagine some random fourteen year old addressing the world situation during World War II. So you can’t really blame him. But God blamed him. What was God’s reply to Jeremiah? God said, “Don’t you say that you’re just a lad, that you have nothing to say. Don’t you speak that into reality. ” So, as I said, it shouldn’t be that hard to grasp. God speaks things into reality, and we do too.

And God, in Jeremiah’s case, was right. Of course he was. He’s God. Jeremiah might have been young. He might have been inexperienced. But God had seen something in him, something that Jeremiah was too young and inexperienced to see, something that’s far rarer than it should be - God saw moral clarity -- the ability, regardless of the complexity, to see the good from the bad; to see what’s right and what’s wrong. And after God turned him around, Jeremiah spoke that moral clarity into reality. To that complicated world situation, his words were the wisest and truest and best of all the words to sound.

The bottom line is this. Everyone. And I mean everyone. God. His prophets. His people. We all speak things into reality. In fact, it shouldn’t be hard to grasp at all. A Roman Centurion grasped it for crying out loud: “Lord, I do not deserve to have you come under my roof. But just say the word, and my servant will be healed.” But, you may press, so we all speak things into reality. But how does that work? It has to do with the fact that what you speak is your intention, and what you intend you enact. But more important than how it works is the fact that it does. It works. It works for good, and it works for ill.

I am only a lad. I have nothing to say. It’s not my problem. I’ll never forgive him. I don’t really care. I don’t fit in. It’s not worth my effort. I can’t handle it. I’ll never get better. It’s not my responsibility. I can’t make a difference. I don’t have the strength. I am washed up. Existence is bad business. Life is not worth living. All those things you can speak into reality.

And all these things you can speak into reality too. I will make God’s difference in this world today. I will keep faith in son Jesus Christ just as he kept faith in his Father. I will be his disciple in ways that will make him proud of me. I will make every person I come into contact today better for it. I will try harder. I will do better. I will make sacrifices to honor the sacrifices made for me. I will stop fearing those who are different from me. I will treat myself and all others as those created in God’s image and likeness. I will speak the truth. I will defend the downtrodden. Above all, I will love.

And since it’s Rally Day, let’s speak these words into reality too. I will grow in God’s word. I will be mentor, guide, example, and friend to the children and youth of this church as they endeavor to grow in God’s word. I will be there for all the young people out there seeking in these troubling and difficult times that which is true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, commendable, and excellent. I will make God known to future generations. Amen.

No Worse Than Anyone Else

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:20:06 GMT

Matthew 9:9-13

According to the Bible, there are two types of sinners out there: those who are resourceful enough to appear respectable, and those who are not.

The Pharisees belonged to the former type – those who are resourceful enough to appear respectable. The very word Pharisee is suggestive of this. Pharisee means “set apart” – “set apart” – as in “a cut above”, as in a “upper crust”, as in “first string.” And why were the Pharisees “set apart” in this elite way? It was because they had separated themselves from the general run of humanity to devote themselves to the Law of Moses and devote themselves to the Law of Moses they did. They devoted themselves to its every letter, and that’s a lot of letters – 10 Commandments and 613 more supplementary statutes. And not only this, they had adapted the Law of Moses to address the needs of their day by promulgating more statutes – thousands and thousands of them. And naturally, their dress reflected their identity. After all, the dress of police officers reflects their identity, and football players, and ballerinas. So it was with the Pharisees. They arrayed themselves in fine robes. They wore “their fringes long and their phylacteries broad,” as Jesus himself described it. And too, Jesus described how they put great stock in being given the place of honor at the banquet, and the best seats at the synagogue, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplace. Yes, in every way the Pharisees belonged to the type of sinners resourceful enough to appear respectable.

Tax Collectors belonged to the latter type of sinners, those not resourceful enough to appear respectable. Tax collectors were stationed along toll roads in toll booths, in much the same way tax collectors are stationed today along toll roads in toll booths, but they were not nearly as innocuous as today’s tax collectors. They collected taxes for the Roman Empire, which had built toll roads throughout its extensive territory. Tax collectors then held disreputable positions for two reasons. Number one, they profited off the Roman Empire, in other words, they profited off the enemy. And number two, they worked on commission, and this often tempted them in the direction of extortion.

Of course, a case could be made for these tax collectors. It’s easy enough cast judgment against someone who earns their living in a disreputable way, we who have been privileged to avoid that fate. But what lengths would you go if you had to feed your children and put a roof over their heads? Personally, I would do just about anything, reputable or not. People who are up against it can’t always afford reputable positions.

At any rate, there is a curious, or maybe not so curious, phenomenon about these two types of sinners. It is this: Those who are resourceful enough to appear respectable tend to look down, and I mean way down, upon those who are not resourceful enough to appear respectable.

Consider this morning’s gospel lesson. As Jesus walked along, he encountered a Tax Collector named Matthew sitting in a toll booth. Jesus called him to discipleship. It was a bit of a surprising choice, precisely because Tax Collectors held disreputable positions. Jesus had thus far called four disciples, and they had all been fishermen. That was not exactly a prestigious position, but there was nothing disreputable about it. And even more surprising was that Jesus had dinner that evening with Matthew and his “ilk” -- as our gospel lesson puts it, “with many Tax Collectors and sinners.” Who these other sinners were exactly is impossible to pinpoint, but we can assume from the kinds of people Jesus gravitated toward – prostitutes, lepers, and the like -- they were more of the same. The Pharisees were utterly disgusted by it. They looked down upon Tax Collectors and sinners, and they judged that Jesus should too. They approached Jesus’ disciples, demanding, “Why does your teacher eat with Tax Collectors and sinners?”

But of course, Jesus was all over the phenomenon that those sinners who are resourceful enough to appear respectable look down upon those sinners who are not resourceful enough to appear respectable. And so he turned the tables on the Pharisees, “Go see what it means that God desires mercy,” he retorted. For all your “respectability,” Jesus was saying, for your lack of mercy, you are no better than they, and they are no worse than you.

The type of sinners who are not resourceful enough to appear respectable are no worse than those who are. It is precisely here that Jesus imparts an essential lesson for his day and for ours, a lesson that sounds as good news to the type of sinners not resourceful enough to appear respectable -- good news because it comes as news in the first place. For as often as not, the type of sinners not resourceful enough to appear respectable are their own worst enemies. They accept that those who are resourceful enough to appear respectable look down upon them. They accept that definition of themselves. And so they order themselves below “respectable” society and relegate themselves to the margins. There they subsist banded together and living life on the defensive. They come not to expect much from life or from themselves. And the upshot of all this is that their lives are diminished, and life in general is diminished for it never receives all they might have offered.

Yes, they accept that definition of themselves, but no one less than Jesus Christ declared that they should not. They should, rather, accept his definition of them, and his definition is that they are no worse than anyone else. More so, Jesus Christ declared they are more likely to recognize their need for him, more likely to seek him, more likely to be healed by the Great Physician because it has been made so amply known to them that that are ill and need his care. And it is just such as these, Jesus Christ declared, who will inherit the Kingdom of God.

So, you’ve earned a reputation that you’ll never live down. You’re no worse than anyone else. So you’ve made some mistakes, and bad ones, costly ones. You’re no worse than anyone else. So your spouse left you, you’re no worse than anyone else. So you can’t begin to keep up with the Jones’ – your standard of living will never be near to those around you. You’re no worse than anyone else. So your mother or father brought disgrace upon the family, you’re no worse than anyone else. So you’re battling an addiction, so you have a communicable disease, so you’re living paycheck to paycheck and your credit score is hovering around 300, so your children can’t keep up, so you a member of one of the groups that society stigmatizes, so your life reads like more of a horror story than a storybook, by the declaration of Jesus Christ, you are no worse than anyone else. Don’t let it hold you back, and especially don’t let it hold you back from the Kingdom of God. Jesus Christ declared you will inherit it.

The apostle Paul, of course, once belonged to that former type, once belonged to the type of sinners resourceful enough to appear respectable. He was a Pharisee, after all. a Pharisee who out-Phariseed the Pharisees; that is, until Jesus Christ knocked him off his high horse. It was then Jesus Christ taught him what he teaches us here today – That true respectability begins in the faith that Jesus Christ has justified all sinners on his cross. Amen.

The Prodigal Son - Lost Causes

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:20:02 GMT

Genesis 4:1-4 Luke 15:11-32

The Prodigal Son was a lost cause if ever there was one; and it’s hard, really, to understand why. He was surrounded by positive role models. Take his father. We know from how the parable begins that his father was a successful man and a man of means. We know from how the parable ends that his father was a man of compassion, mercy, and forgiveness. And take his elder brother. He was the epitome of a dutiful son. At his own word, he served his father the whole of his life, never disobeying him, not even once. Would that we all had such a son. The Prodigal Son was surrounded by positive role models, and you could even say more than this. You could say that he was surrounded by ideals.

But some people, for some reason, hate their ideals, and hate them with a murderous hatred. Cain springs to mind. He hated his ideal Abel with a murderous hatred. And why is this? Why do they hate their ideals? It’s complicated, but I think at the root of it they really hate themselves. They know deep down that they are simply not the stuff of their ideals, and they never will be. They project their own self-hatred onto their ideals. They grow jealous and resentful and bitter. They grow hateful.

Such is likely the case with the Prodigal Son, which accounts for the fact that he just wanted to get away from them. He had grown completely blind to how lucky he was to have them; and in his blindness he made an outrageous demand. He demanded his inheritance in advance of his father’s death in order to fund his getaway.

Life tends to catch up with people of low character, and it caught up with the Prodigal Son. Had he not low character he could have established himself at a safe distance from his father and his brother. He could have established himself somewhere that the unfavorable comparison was not always staring him in the face. He now had the means after all.

I have a friend from high school whose father was a renowned transplant surgeon. He had two older brothers who followed in his father’s footsteps and became successful physicians in their own right. But I think my friend had a learning disability. They didn’t diagnose them much back in those days. They mostly punished you for them. My friend had difficulty reading. His two older brothers would have been a tough act to follow even without his learning disability. My friend could have gone the way of the Prodigal Son, but he didn’t. Yes, he knew he had to get away from them, so he moved to a rural area where it’s no shame to be a poor reader. He got a job driving a forklift. He discovered that he really liked working with heavy equipment, eventually bought a couple excavators and opened his own land restoration business, which became very successful. Over the years he came to terms with the fact that he was the black sheep of the family. He now has great respect for his brothers and father, and they for him. The point is that the Prodigal Son did not have to squander his inheritance on prostitutes. He did it because he was a lost cause.

But was he? Was he really? After he squandered his inheritance on prostitutes, he was at the brink of ruin. He found himself starving to death with no hope of rescue or respite. It was life or death for him. And he chose life. For the first time he saw it all clearly. For the first time he admitted it. He was not the equal of his father and brother. He never would be. He would have to face that fact and reconcile himself to it. He was, in fact, more suited to be their servant than their kin. He conveyed as much to his father, but his father did not share the same view. He was, rather, overjoyed that his son was not a lost cause.

So I guess the old adage is true. Where there’s life, there’s hope.

So perhaps the Prodigal Son was not a lost cause after all, but that does not change the fact that there are lost causes out there. Their death is what proves the fact. One of the best books I’ve read about mental illness, and I’ve read a lot of them, is No One Cares About Crazy People. It’s about a man who had two sons, both of whom were diagnosed with schizophrenia. As a matter of fact, the man kind of reminds me of the Prodigal Son’s father. He devoted his whole life to them, did everything in his power to help them - spared no time, no money, no resource. No matter how bad things got, he never gave up on them. Still one of his sons committed suicide in his early 20’s. He discovered his son’s body. And as he beheld his dead son, he heard his voice saying, “I am sorry Dad. I am sorry.” Imagine that. Imagine living that reality. Now his son was a lost cause.

But you don’t need to read about lost causes in books. Over the years the bodies pile up - those who die from mental illness or addiction; despair or loneliness. The Prodigal Son may not be one of them, but there are lost causes out there, and that makes life a tragedy.

But here’s the thing. Jesus Christ never said where there’s life there’s hope. That was Cicero. Jesus Christ said where there’s death there’s hope. Think about Lazarus. Think about the son of the widow at Nain. Think about the daughter of Jairus. He raised them all from the dead. He demonstrated that he had power over death, but that was not the fullness of it. His power over death did not extend merely to the resuscitation of corpses. When he raised himself up that first Easter morning, he demonstrated that his power over death was limitless. He could imbue death with his own eternal life.

So ultimately, there are no lost causes. There is no tragedy. There is, through Jesus Christ, only triumph. This is why he has stirred the hope in the human breast down through the centuries, and despite the skeptical age in which we live, he will ever stir hope.

And he lived, and he died, so that we would become people of hope. He calls us to declare with the apostle Paul, “Where, O Death, is your victory? Where, O Death, is your sting?” Amen.

Monsters

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:20:01 GMT

Ruth 3:1-11 I John 3:18-34 Mark 7:14-23

At a family gathering over the holidays, the parlor games came out, as they always do. To tell the truth, I have never been much of a fan of parlor games. Even as child, they did nothing for me. I may be the only person in the country who as a child never played Monopoly. I realized after Hi-Ho Cherrio and Candyland that they weren’t in my line. I think it’s because of my temperament. I don’t like to sit still.

And I particularly dislike parlor games that have to do with trivia. This is because compounding the temperament issue, I am particularly bad at trivia. I am impressed by those minds somehow enabled to store away every tidbit of information that they encounter, but mine is not one of them. At any rate, when the parlor games came out over the holidays, I headed for the door to take a walk.

I was prevented from doing so, however, by my relations. There was one game that required four players – two sets of partners – and they only had three. If I didn’t play, no one could. Just my luck, it happened to be the latest trivia game. I so much didn’t want to play that I was willing to allow the others to forgo the game. “I am really, really bad at trivia,” I protested. “The last time I played, I didn’t get a single answer right. I couldn’t name a single Beverly Hills Hillbilly. I had no idea who held the all time record for home runs. I didn’t even know the capitol of Wyoming. I’m telling you I’m that bad. I will simply ruin all the fun for my partner. “Oh I don’t mind,” smiled my partner. “Besides, I’m good at trivia. I’ll carry you.” In this way, I was coerced into playing.

The first category we drew was entitled, enigmatically, “ologies.” As it turned out we had to define various studies that ended with “ology” like biology, zoology, etc... Astrology was the first one. “The study of the stars.” my partner said. “That’s not quite right,” I interjected. “It’s actually the study of the stars as they are believed to influence human affairs.” She shot me a dirty look, but we got a point. The next “ology” was theology. “Got it,” I said, and proceeded, “The study of God and consequent religious and ethical practice.” We got another point. Next was archeology. “Got it,” I said again. “The study of human beginnings through material remains.” Another point. Next was philology. “Got it,” I said once again, “The study of ancient texts in order to recover their original meaning.” My partner, rather than being pleased with my efforts, lashed out at me. “I thought you were really bad at trivia.” “I am,” I maintained, “but by some bizarre fluke every one of these “ologies” has had to do in one way or another with the Bible.”

There was one final “ology” -- teratology. I could tell my partner was completely stumped, but I feared if I said “Got it” again she’d reach across the table and slap me. “Do you have any idea?” she asked desperately. “Yes,” I said, “Teratology is the study of monsters.” “And what does the study of monsters have to do with the Bible?” she asked, again in a tone less than friendly. “The study of monsters has nothing to do with the Bible,” I replied. “Monsters just so happen to be a special interest of mine. I actually consider myself to be something of an amateur teratologist.” “I’ve known you for over forty years,” she charged, “and this is the first time I’ve heard you describe yourself as an amateur teratologist,” I do not think I’ll be begged to play parlor games again. Providence was, in an ironic way, sympathetic to my dislike of them.

But in fact monsters are a special interest of mine, and it’s not because I am a connoisseur of evil or a voyeur of freakishness. It’s more in the opposite direction. It’s because way back in college when I first read Victor Hugo’s Hunchback of Notre Dame, something struck me about monsters. It struck me that as often as not, the monster is not the bad guy. The hunchback of Notre Dame was not the bad guy. He was born deformed, that is all, and driven deaf because in his deformity he was housed in a place no one would ever have to look at him – a bell tower. But he was a decent man -- pure, sensitive, kind, and most importantly, fully capable of giving and receiving love.

Yet the citizens of Paris for a public spectacle placed him on a torture rack in the attempt to stretch his misshapen body. And when he screamed in agony and cried that he thirsted, they were unmoved, but for their derision. The hunchback of Notre Dame wasn’t the bad guy. The bad guys were those who rendered him monstrous so they could justify treating him like a monster.

This early realization led me to see this phenomenon all over history. There are precious few real monsters. There is an old widow in the woods, a recluse, perhaps a bit eccentric. But no, she is a witch. She enters children’s dreams and possesses them. Her imprecations cause epidemics. There are the Jews of the Third Reich. But no, they are Satan’s minions. They even bear their master an uncanny resemblance. And they harbor salacious desires for Aryan women. There are men of African descent in the Jim Crow South, struggling to live down their historical enslavement. But no, they are boys, incapacitated for anything but servitude and second class citizenship. The phenomenon is all over history. The monsters weren’t the bad guys. The bad guys were those who rendered them monstrous so they could justify treating them like monsters.

And if the phenomenon is all over history, we may wonder whether it is still alive today. And yes, of course it is. It’s bound to be. One of the biggest fallacies out there is that we’ve somehow succeeded history; somehow gotten beyond it. The monsters still aren’t the bad guys. The bad guys are still those who render them monstrous so they can justify treating them like monsters -- immigrant peoples, gay peoples, people of different races or religions, people suffering from infectious diseases. Think of the distorted caricatures that are drawn of them all: They endanger us. They bring crime into our communities. They threaten our livelihoods. They undermine our national security. They seek to destroy our families. They erode public morality. They will infect us. Sure, they are no longer, as a rule at least, being burned and gassed and lynched. But they’re being stigmatized. They’re being excluded. They’re being disrespected. They’re being discriminated against. In short, they’re being deprived of their basic humanity. And why? Why? It’s been the same reason all along. It’s because they’re different. They’re different, and so they’re hated and feared.

I guess now that I think about it, teratology has everything to do with the Bible. I guess now that I think about it, teratology is a special interest of mine precisely because it has everything to do with the Bible.

Consider this morning’s Old Testament lesson from the book of Ruth. The book of Ruth is considered to be a light and lyrical tale about a loyal and dutiful daughter in law -- irenic and dulcet. In fact, the book of Ruth is none of these things. The book of Ruth is radioactive. Yes, it tells the story of a loyal and dutiful daughter in law. She’s even better than a loyal and dutiful daughter in law. Ruth goes far beyond the call of loyalty and duty. She’s downright heroic.

Her mother in law, Naomi, at the death of her son and Ruth’s husband, beseeches Ruth return to her own people where she will best fare. But Ruth disregards her own interest and commits her life to the care of her mother in law. She follows behind hired hands gleaning barley, performs manual labor from dawn to dusk, in order to supply her need. She wins the love Naomi’s kinsman and eventually provides Naomi with a grandson to love and care for. She creates for Naomi against all odds a happy ending. Forget Heroic. Ruth is a downright saint. But Ruth is Moabite. The people of Israel disliked the Moabites. It’s more correct to say I suppose that the people of Israel despised the Moabites. Every depiction of the Moabites in the Old Testament away from the book of Ruth depicts them to be sexually dissolute in the most vile ways imaginable.

Yet the book of Ruth portrays a Moabite as a paragon of moral virtue, portrays a Moabite as embodying moral virtue the people of Israel knew well they could not hold a candle to; and that of course made them look like a bunch of ethnocentric hypocrites. How would we feel, by way of

comparison, if an Iranian or a Palestinian or fill in the blank; any of those we love to hate were portrayed in such a positive light so as to make us look bad, portrayed as being possessed of all the qualities we deem they lack and that we embody? The Bible recognizes that the Moabites weren’t the bad guys. The bad guys were those who rendered them monstrous so they could justify treating them like monsters.

Or consider this morning’s gospel lesson. Jewish cleanliness laws may well have arisen with the best of intentions. And indeed they arose in an attempt to preserve personal purity and holiness. And indeed they recognized that without punctilious and scrupulous effort that was built into the structure of day to day life, personal purity and holiness would likely lapse. But as Paul knew so well, even the law was sold under sin. Jewish cleanliness laws had become means to ostracize those deemed unclean – the gentiles, the unreligious, the diseased. All of these contaminated the clean, carried with them defilement. And so in this morning’s gospel lesson, Jesus tossed the Jewish cleanliness laws out. Just like that -- into the sewer. Again the Bible recognizes that the unclean were not the bad guys. The bad guys were those who rendered them monstrous so they could justify treating them like monsters.

Yes, teratology has everything to do with the Bible, and if this is the case that brings God into the mix. That means for us that for all of our standards and respectability, when we render others monstrous, God sees them through the light of the rainbow and us in the cold light of day. God sees us as monstrous.

Friends, there are no monsters There are only children of God, children that God created, children that God redeemed through his Son; and children God called us to love “not only in word and speech, but in truth and action.” Amen.

Hiding In The Herd

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:19:48 GMT

Jeremiah 31:31-34 Galatians 3:22-29 Matthew 25:14-17

I recently came across a link entitled, “The Top Five Human Fears.” “What a time waster all these links are,” I said to myself disdainfully.

No doubt you come across them too -- these links with their teaser titles: “This one will make you cry.” “This one will make you laugh.” “This one will surprise you.” “Open to burn belly fat.” “Amazing befores and afters.” “Celebrities Unretouched.” These links seem to exist to prey upon our tendency to procrastinate. Who of us would not rather click a link than pay bills, fold laundry, or clean the cat litter box? So there it was. “The Top Five Human Fears.” “Sorry, Link!” I said to myself confidently, “I am not susceptible to the allure of your charms.”

A few moments later I began wondering if I were a fearful person. “No, of course not,” I told myself. “Just the opposite, I am a brave person… But what if my bravery is an over compensation for my fear?” I continued to ruminate. “No of course not,” I told myself again. “I am a really and truly a brave person. I have high self-esteem and self-confidence, and I am a person of conviction. These are the building blocks of bravery, so I am definitely not a fearful person pretending to be brave…. But I bet that’s what all the fearful people pretending to be brave say to themselves,” I began to worry. “Best to dig a bit deeper,” I cajoled myself. “Best to click the link to see if I resonated with what was fearful to the general run of humanity, of which I am a member.”

Suffice it to say, in this way I seduced myself into clicking the link. When I saw the top five human fears, however, I no longer tossed over in my mind whether I was a brave or fearful person. That question shot out of my head like a sent croquet ball. “How trivial people are in their fears,” was the thought that now vexed me. Procrastination had taken full hold.

At any rate, see if you agree with me about the triviality of people’s fears. Here is the list: number 5: the dark; number 4: spiders; number 3: heights; number 2: public speaking; and number 1: flying. “This is what people are fearful of?” I thought, chagrined. “How banal! How bland! How stereotypical!”

What about the things that are really fearful; fearful, say, at an existential level? What about loneliness? Estrangement? Alienation? Absurdity? Insanity? Futility? Dread? Despair? What about failure? Rejection? Loss? Or the mother lode of them all: What about death?

Or set aside the existential level. These fears are but abstractions. What about things that are fearful at a concrete level? Take world events, for instance. What about violence? The gun violence that massacres innocence all across our country, or the political violence that rages across the Middle East? What about the Leviathan we’ve wrought out of the created order whose avenging devastation is here to stay? What about the Goliath powers and principalities that subjugate us every way we turn? What about all the horrors of history that rehearse the horrors of the future? Nothing that was really fearful made the list. “Where was I when the poll was taken?” I fumed. “I would have given them an earful about fearful.”

As I said, procrastination had taken full hold. I then began to wonder why people had answered so trivially. Spiders? The dark? Come on. It suddenly struck me that they did it on purpose. They delivered the party line, provided the pat answers, took the easy out, deliberately. Beneath the surface, then, their true fear could be seen to emerge. They feared separating themselves from the herd.

Not long ago I clicked on another link. It was entitled, “Deathbed regrets.” The number one deathbed regret was that people had not simply lived their own lives. They lived by someone else’s expectations, lived according to someone else’s “should.” Accordingly, they lived, and they died, regretful and unfulfilled. Of course they did. They lived someone else’s life. Why did they? Why this fear of separating from the herd?

There are many reasons to fear separating from the herd. The herd depends for its existence upon sameness – upon conventionality and conformity. The herd then does not like it when someone differentiates from it. It then criticizes. It judges. It ridicules. It rejects. And say you screw your courage to the sticking place and say to heck with the herd. I will live by my own expectations, according to my own should. I will live my own life. Well that’s just the beginning. Then you have to blaze your own trail, and trails are hard to blaze. They are risky. They are scary. They are uncertain. So there’s a certain safety in the herd. It may be stifling. It may be crippling. It may be dull, but this is the price to be paid for safety. I guess the bottom line is that those who answered so trivially, in that very triviality, indirectly gave expression to a fear that is anything but trivial – the fear of their own individuality.

But what does any of this have to do with us as Christians? Plenty, for this herd mentality tends to be imported into religion. The herd mentality asserts that the highest expression of religion is to look alike, to think alike, to judge alike, to be of a social class, to share the same political enemies, to harbor the same prejudices, to employ the same jargon, and to erect the same facade. And heaven help you if you try to separate from this herd. As I said, the herd does not like it doesn’t like it when you differentiate from it. In this case the herd, often through the appropriate committee, will confront you and demand that you toe the line, and if you don’t, it will shun you in one way or another.

The Bible, for its part, in fact is not supportive of the herd. Believe it or not, one of the mightiest theological choruses that runs throughout the Bible is one that sounds against the herd. Take the immortal words of the prophet Jeremiah, “Behold, the days are coming, declares the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah…..I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts…And I will be their God, and they shall be my people….For I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more.”

Most people know these words, but know little of their context. The nation of Israel was no longer on its last legs. It had been destroyed. And I mean destroyed - with unimaginable violence and decisive permanence. That nation in fact would not be rebuilt until 1948. It fell to the armies of Babylon. The few who survived were deeply traumatized. Any destruction would have been enough, but this was the destruction of God’s nation. Jeremiah was not deeply traumatized. For him the God’s nation had to go. It had become a herd. Self-perpetuating uniformity. Us against them. God’s people aren’t

coterminous with a nation, Jeremiah declared. Nor are they coterminous with a race or ethnicity. God’s people are individuals possessed of God’s heart, regardless of nation or ethnicity or race.

Paul has his own immortal words, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” Again you know the words, but probably not their context. Christianity was at first housed within the close confines of Judaism, so-called Jewish Christianity. The Gentiles wanted in, but the establishment said no. They weren’t part of the herd. They must become Jews first, circumcise themselves and bind themselves to the Law of Moses, before they could come in. So Paul declared that this Jewish Christianity had to go. God’s people were individuals who had heard the upward call of Jesus Christ and believed in his saving power.

What the Bible is saying is that God’s people should and must be a various assortment of diverse individuals: individuals with unique personalities and interests, unique histories and stories, unique strengths and weaknesses, unique successes and failures. They need share only one thing in common. They must seek as their highest hope and aspiration to glorify the God of Jesus Christ.

Jesus once told a parable. Three servants were a different number of talents, each according to his merit. One was given five, one two, and one just a single talent. The servant with one talent thought he didn’t rate much as an individual. So he hid what he was given in the dirt. This landed him in deep trouble.

There is a negative lesson, here, obviously, it takes the form of a warning. But there is a positive lesson as well: It is this: You do rate much as an individual. You are important as that individual. You are worthy as that individual. You are needed as that individual. You can fill your role in God’s world as that individual. So love yourself and respect yourself as much as God loves and respects you. Expect as much from yourself as God expects of you. And this requires honesty. And this requires courage. And this requires faith. And this requires action away from the herd.

You know, I think I will create my own link. It will be entitled, “Click here for the secret to life.” When it opens there will be but six words: “For God’s sake, just be yourself.” Amen.

Hamartia

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:19:47 GMT

I Samuel 25:2-13 John 14:1-7

I have a word for you. Hamartia. H A M A R T I A. Hamartia. Don’t be concerned if you’ve never heard of it. You should never have heard of it. It’s not even English. It’s Greek. It’s an archery term. It has to do with missing the mark. If you think of it, there are many ways you can miss the mark in archery. You can aim poorly. You can aim at the wrong thing. You can not aim at all. At any rate, there you have it. Hamartia. A Greek archery term for missing the mark.

But, you may be thinking, so what? It’s highly unlikely that there is even one among us who would claim to be an archer. The only thing we aim is our clicker at the television. Hamartia? So what?

But I’d push back a bit here. We may not be archers, but our ancestors were. For tens of thousands of years, they aimed their arrows. They aimed their arrows until it became part of their very make up. And we are their descendants. Their make up is our make up. Psychologically, at least, we still aim. We aim at all sorts of things.

But of greater import is the fact that hamartia is the biblical word for sin. And it is the perfect choice of words, because it captures perfectly the biblical concept of sin. To sin is to aim poorly. It is to aim at the wrong thing. It is to not aim at all. It is to miss the mark, and the mark, of course, is God.

And speaking of foreign words, I have another one for you. This one is Hebrew. Torah. T O R A H. Torah. The Torah is the first five books of the Bible: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy, in other words, The Law. It is often translated teaching, but this is no translation at all. It’s more of a colloquialism. Torah is properly translated as the straight shoot of an arrow. To follow the law, then, is to position yourself to hit the mark, and again the mark is God. Yes, this concept of sin is all over the Bible. It’s very simple really. It boils down to this. If you want to avoid sin, aim toward God. Aim toward God.

And the Bible gives us ample evidence of what happens when you don’t aim toward God. Cain. Lamech, Saul, to name a few. And then there’s Nabal from this morning’s Old Testament Lesson. Nabal, by the way, means fool. Nabal was a rich man, loaded in fact. He made his fortune in sheep and goats. So clearly much of his life was spent aiming toward money. But it brought him no happiness. You know that expression that money does not buy happiness? Well it’s true. No, Nabal, as the Bible describes him, was surly and mean. And you could add to that he was miserly.

David, having fled Saul’s court for his life, was living in the wilderness with a band of loyal men. Some of David’s men approached Nabal with a request. Might Nabal throw a feast for David and his men? It was a feast day, and David and his men, after all, had been protecting Nabal’s flocks and shepherds in the wilderness. Nabal had three thousand sheep and a thousand goats. That’s a lot of protection. Plus, it was David who was asking. David was by this time a prestigious and famous and heroic man. He was soon to be king. It was actually an honor to be asked to throw a feast for David and his men.

But Nabal jeered at the request. He flung insults and invectives at David’s men. That’s how it goes with cussed figures like Nabal. They lie in wait, like a spider in its web, hoping they will be engaged so that they can make everyone else as miserable as they are. David at once had the measure of the man, and he would have straight away killed him had Nabal’s wife Abigail not intervened. Behind Nabal’s back she herself provided the feast, apologizing profusely to David for her husband. It gave David time to pause. He realized that had he taken vengeance upon Nabal he would have been aiming at the wrong thing. He would have been aiming at vengeance, not at God. Nabal, David reckoned, wasn’t worth his sin. The next day, Abigail confessed to Nabal what she had done, and Nabal had a coronary. Literally. His heart exploded with rage and he died. The world was well rid of him. David and Abigail were married, and they never looked back.

Yes, the Bible gives ample evidence of what happens when you don’t aim toward God. You live a life of sin. You make hell on earth for yourself and everyone around you. This certainly provides us with some strong motivation to aim toward God.

But the question then becomes, How? How do we aim toward God? We do so by listening to the command of his son. “I am the way the truth and the life.” But I’m afraid this immortal expression lands us back in the land of foreign words. I am the way, Jesus, declares, that’s clear enough, and it’s true enough. Jesus is the way.

But he then declares that he is the truth. It’s that word truth. It doesn’t mean what you think. It doesn’t mean what we normally think of when we think of the word truth – truth and opposed to falsehood. It means something more like the true flight of an arrow. Jesus is declaring that that he is our mark. He is our way; he is our mark, and when we aim toward him, we will have found Godly life – life free of sin and full of blessing.

This gives new meaning to the expression “Aim high.” Yes, friends, aim high; higher than all that the world can give you. Aim for the God of Jesus Christ. Aim for heaven. Amen.

Ascension - Coming Of Age

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:19:35 GMT

Acts 1:1-11

When I had my first child Hannah, I was surprised to discover that I had been endowed with a lion’s share, a mother lion’s share, of maternal instinct. I was, in particular, fiercely protective. Hannah’s entire first year I never left her, except once with my sister; and then only because she dared me. I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I went for a walk. It was a grueling thirty minutes. When I returned, I could tell Hannah had been crying. “What do you expect?” My sister asked me. “You’ve never left her.” But Hannah’s tears were scarcely an inducement for me to leave her again.

My maternal instinct did not decrease after Hannah’s first year. If anything, it increased. When Hannah was four years old, my mother suggested that I enroll her in preschool. I looked at her in horror and disbelief as though she had just suggested that I cook and eat her. “Preschool!” I spat. “Those places are breeding grounds for bullies and germs. How could you even suggest such a thing!” “Becca,” my mom said, and she was not one to interfere, “Hannah needs to learn how to get along with her peers and to function in a different environment. Above all she needs to be without your constant oversight.” “How would she know the first thing about motherhood?” I fumed to myself. But I couldn’t quite dismiss my mother’s suggestion, because deep down I knew that she was right.

So I signed Hannah up for preschool. On the ride there that first day my anxiety and dread were intense. Things were made worse by the fact that Hannah was shy and sensitive by nature. I walked her to the door of her classroom and was allowed to go no further. Her teacher took her by the hand and led her off. She was trying to be brave, but I could tell she was miserable and terrified. I called to her, in a voice I could hardly recognize as my own, to have fun. Then she turned around, and our eyes met.

Profound communication can take place in the meeting of eyes. Recall for instance this scene, “….still another kept insisting, ‘Surely this man also was with him; for he is a Galilean.' But Peter said, ‘Man, I do not know what you are talking about!’ At that moment, while he was still speaking, the cock crowed. The Lord turned and looked at him…and he went out weeping.” What was communicated in the meeting of Jesus and Peter’s eyes was their mutual recognition of Peter’s betrayal.

What was communicated in the meeting of Hannah’s and my eyes was the mutual recognition that she must now begin to grow up and make her own way in life. I don’t know who it was harder on, Hannah or me.

Hannah is an adult now, with a son of her own. She’s still my daughter of course, but I now see her as a woman in her own right. Her ongoing experiences coming of age have broadening her horizons in ways I never could have imagined or orchestrated and made her independent and self-reliant. We went to the park last Sunday. When I saw her interacting with her son, suddenly, out of nowhere, my eyes welled with tears.

A child leaving the nest and making her own way in life can be hard on both child and parent, but I think it is harder on the parent.

But why is this the case? Why is it hard on either and at all? Any alternative to a child leaving the nest and making her own way in life can only result in a grotesque distortion of the natural course of life. Isn’t it, after all, the very goal of both the child and the parent for the child to leave the nest and make her own way in life? Then why is it hard at all?

I guess as life goes on it is hard because it marks the passage of time. Time always seems to be nudging us along faster than we want to go. But initially, it’s hard because there is such a powerful instinct in both parent and child with regard to the child’s security. When the child is very young, if life is not too cruel and harsh, she can create and live for a time in that security. But it can’t stay that way. The child must grow up and make her own way in life, life that is indeed cruel and harsh. That is why it is hard initially. A child growing up and making her own way in life involves, to a degree, leaving her to life. It involves risk to that which it is unthinkable to risk.

Familiar realities can sometimes help us to understand realities less familiar. How hard it must have been on Jesus and the disciples for the disciples to come of age. The disciples had left everything behind to follow Jesus. Everything behind. This is nearly impossible to imagine. Try to imagine leaving behind all those things on which you depend – family, home, vocation. But they did. They left everything behind and depended instead upon Jesus.

And along the way, they formed a deep attachment to him. How could they not have? Jesus, being the man he was, was a man of tremendous authority and integrity, tremendous power and wisdom – you could even say perfect authority and integrity, perfect power and wisdom. Yet at the same time he was so incredibly human, so incredibly relational, so incredibly vulnerable. They depended upon him, yes, but too they loved him.

And Jesus, for his part, loved them back. He indeed looked to them for friendship and support. And too, Jesus was well aware of that to which he would subject them. It’s easy to see why he felt such compassion and tenderness toward them, why he was forbearing of their foibles, he who would deliver those who depended upon him and loved him up to such trials.

And so the coming of age of the disciples played out. It is scarcely surprising that when Jesus first announced to them that it was not to be as they thought, that in fact his death was immanent, they reacted to his announcement with denial. But denial, of course, does not change reality. It only evades it. Jesus went to his cross and to his death.

But Jesus knew, at least, that he wasn’t leaving them for long. It was just as he had assured them, “In a little while you will no longer see me, but in a little while, you will see me again.” Before the disciples could even have assimilated his death, before their shock could have worn off – Friday afternoon till Sunday morning – he was back among them.

He was not the same, to be sure. He was transfigured, just as some of them had seen him on the mountaintop. I’d wager that despite all that his transfiguration portended, they would have preferred him just as he’d been. But at least he was back among them. And this time for forty days.

At the end of the forty days he instructed his disciples to go to Jerusalem. They went thinking that Jesus would there at long last inaugurate the kingdom of Israel. But instead, in Jerusalem, he left them again. He ascended into heaven. And this time he left them for good. They would never see him again. He would be with them henceforward, they were soon to discover, only in spirit – the same way that he is with us -- in spirit, a spirit in which we believe, a spirit in which and for which we live, but a spirit which can be so deficient compared to our need for the fullness of him.

Why couldn’t he have just stayed? Why couldn’t the disciples have had that much security in this harsh and cruel world? Why couldn’t we?

But perhaps Jesus left us with just his spirit precisely so that we could come of age. Perhaps he left us with just his spirit so that we could grow in the conviction of things not seen. Perhaps he left us with just his spirit so that we could struggle to achieve what he taught us was the truth for time and history –the brotherhood and sisterhood of all humankind under the rule of love. Perhaps he left us with just his spirit because he realized that in the course of that struggle we could achieve a maturation for which we were intended. But given this harsh and cruel world, I don’t know who it is harder on, him or us? Probably, as with the parent and child, it is harder on him.

And so, when he comes again in glory, when we finally know that eternal security with him he has promised us, let it have been our contribution to have indeed been a people come of age. Amen.

Choir Sunday - Musical Theologians

Mon, 18 May 2020 18:19:34 GMT

Not long ago, my son came into my study with a question about a homework assignment. He had been asked to write an essay on one of Abraham Lincoln’s speeches and was unsure which to choose. “Without question, his second inaugural,” I stated, “ because it’s there that Lincoln evinces most clearly that he is essentially a political theologian.” “Mom!” he vociferated, and stormed out of my study.

The reason for his extreme reaction was that just the previous week I had declared Rembrandt van Rijn an artistic theologian. And that declaration, I confess, had followed prior declarations to the effect that Alfred Lord Tennyson was a poetic theologian, Blaise Pascal a mathematical theologian, and Mother Nature a natural theologian.

My declarations had lost all credibility with my son because he had concluded that there exists and have existed no person or thing that I am unwilling to declare a theologian, and perhaps you will rush to the same judgment when I suggest to you this morning that the Choir is composed of musical theologians. I ask you, however, to suspend that judgment long enough to hear me out.

Our nation presently suffers from an affliction; an affliction that could be labeled “hyper-secularism.” Secularism, the explicit exclusion of the religious, now pervades our perspectives, our principles, our standards, and our interpretations.

The reasons for the affliction of hyper-secularism are complex and various – beyond the scope of this sermon, but one of the effects of the affliction of hyper-secularism is that religious people like ourselves have been driven to a place of radical disjunction. It is as though we re to be like Janus, the ancient Roman god depicted as having two head facing opposite directions – On the one hand we believe that God is the author of all creation. We believe that he and he alone rules history and the nations. We believe he rules our lives. And if we believe all this it means we must see God in our scientific understanding of the origin of the cosmos. We must see him in the movement of history and the vicissitudes of the nations. We must see him in every step of our own pilgrimages. And we must see him higher and prior to anything else. On the other hand, we are to conform ourselves to this nation’s hyper-secularism and see him nowhere. As I said, we have been drive to a place of radical disjunction.

And what makes this disjunction increasingly calamitous is that hyper-secularism seems, by attrition or default, to have gained the advantage. Our faces are, after all, most frequently turned toward the secular world, and so we have come to assimilate the secular perspective, in truth the truncated one, as the normative and objective one; while our religious perspective has been relegated to a private and partisan realm that must not intrude upon the secular one in any way.

We have completely lost sight of the fact that it was precisely a religious perspective that formed this nation and made it what it is. Our nation, and indeed our wider culture, and we may think God for this, was created, sustained, and defended by the religious understandings of the great men and women of our faith.

I found confirmation of this in, of all places, the Wall Street Journal. The Journal stated, and I quote, “From the Pilgrims to the civil rights movement, the great leaders of this nation were inspired by and acted through their religious understanding of the Bible. We have now produced a generation wholly ignorant of the Bible and wholly bereft of even the concept of a religious understanding, so how could this generation begin to possess the capacities of its forebears?”

Abraham Lincoln, in his second inaugural speech spoke, of course, of the Civil War in which our nation was at that time engaged. He declared in that speech that the war was God’s judgment upon a nation founded in his name that would dare to enslave his people. “And although we must fondly hope and fervently prey that the aw will quickly pass away,” Lincoln declared, “If God wills it to continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsman’s 250 years of unrequited toil shall be sun, and every drop of blood drawn by the last shall be repaid by another drawn with the sword, as it was said 3,000 years ago, so it must be said, ‘the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether.’”

Lincoln’s understanding of that war and its ultimate significance were rooted in o secular view of history, but in his religious conviction what lay behind and what drove history, and that is God. And that makes Lincoln, among all else that great man was, a political theologian.

When politics, or art, or poetry, or music are the means by which one gives expression to religious convictions, that’s theology. Theology is not just the stuff of ivory towers. Theology takes place wherever there is a union of human experience and expression with religious conviction.

I now reassert that we are honored this morning by the presence of musical theologians – men and women who through music express our common religious convictions, convictions that proclaim the sublime and joyful truths of the faith that gathers us here. In this hyper-secular world, may we be challenged by their example to reunite our religious convictions with the vocations we practice and the talents we possess, and so join the ranks of theologians who have created, sustained, and defended our nation and culture. Amen.

Advent - Wise Virgins

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Wed, 06 May 2020 18:28:20 GMT

Matthew 25:1-13

Say it’s been your lifelong dream to retire on your sixty-fifth birthday. After thirty five years on the job, your dream is, at long last, about to come true. It’s the day before your sixty-fifth birthday, your very last day of work. You go the benefits department and say, " I’d like to open a retirement account." " A retirement account? The benefits department says. It’s a bit late in the day for that. It’s your last day of work. You would have needed to open a retirement account thirty five years ago." " Is that right?" You return. "Well then could someone around here give me the money that I need to retire?" The benefits department would call security. They’d be right to, because they’d have rightly concluded you are not firing on all cylinders.

Or say among the items in your bucket list, one is to run a marathon. You search internet and find the perfect race - scenic course, not too many hills -- so you register. The night before the marathon arrives -- time to pick up your registration packet. " All ready to run twenty six miles?" the volunteer asks genially. " Yes, I will be, after I’ve trained. Do you know of any store nearby where I could buy a pair of running shoes?" " You haven’t trained yet? You have no running shoes?" The volunteer replies tersely, clearly not interested in further small talk with you -- because he’s rightly concluded you are a few bricks shy of a load.

Or say you’re a graduate student. It’s the day before your thesis is due. You chose quite an exhaustive topic. You chose to research the the readiness of each of the world’s 195 countries for climate change. Your roommate sticks his head in the doorway and asks you if you’ve got time for for a cup of coffee. " Not today. You say regretfully. I need to get started on my thesis." " You haven’t gotten started your thesis yet?" He asks incredulously. "I thought you were watching an awful lot of Netflix." " Well no Netflix today! You say. I am heading to the United Nations to get a list of the world’s 195 countries." Instead of going out for a cup of coffee, your roommate stops by the dean’s office to request a room transfer, because he has rightly concluded that you are a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

The moral here is fairly obvious. You can’t prepare at the last minute. If you think you can you are as clueless as the retiree, the marathon runner, and the graduate student. Preparation, substantive preparation at any rate, is a process -- a long and difficult process, because preparation involves the acquisition of new habits, and the acquisition of new habits involves commitment, discipline, determination, planning, motivation, and persistence.

Preparation, if you think about it, actually transforms you. It conforms you to the image of your undertaking. In the case of preparing for retirement, you learn the value of making present sacrifices for future goals, you learn the world of investments, you learn to steward your income judiciously. In the case of preparing for a marathon, you learn to build endurance, you learn appropriate nutrition, you learn that there are no shortcuts to a finish line. In the case of preparing to write a thesis, you learn to research, you learn to become an expert, you learn to write, edit, and cite. Preparation then is a good thing. It’s a great thing. But to the point, preparation is a necessary thing, and preparation takes time. Lots of it.

In this morning’s gospel lesson, Jesus tells The Parable of the Wise and Foolish Bridesmaids. It’s a parable about preparation, all right. It’s about preparing to meet him. The foolish bridesmaids are just like the clueless retiree, marathon runner, and graduate student. They are few electrons short of an isotope. They think they can prepare to meet him at the last minute. They can’t. So Jesus does not want us to follow their example.

And needless to say there is a lot more at stake here. This is by far and away the most important preparation of our lives. It’s by far and away the most important preparation of our lives, and it’s by far and away the most strenuous preparation of our lives as well. Because we know how hard it is to conform ourselves to his image. We know how hard it is to master our pride. We know how hard it is to forgive. We know how hard it is to practice charity. We know how hard it is to subdue our anger. We know how hard it is to resist temptation. We know how hard it is to perceive our omissions. We know how hard it is to love impartially. Yes, it’s strenuous. It’s the ongoing effort of a whole lifetime.

But at the same time, there’s an urgency about it, a dire urgency. This is because we don’t know how much time we have; we don’t know the measure of our days. And when Jesus returns, as he swore again and again that he will, he will call forth unto himself all creation, all history, and all time. Our lives will be part of that record. And we will be prepared to meet him, or we will not.

It’s the first Sunday of Advent. So let’s be very clear what we’re about. Because sometimes the hustle and bustle of the holiday causes us to blur things, causes us to assume perhaps that we are preparing for the birth of Jesus. But we aren’t. That’s fixed history. Mary prepared for the birth of Jesus, as did her husband Joseph. But we can’t. We can remember the birth of Jesus. We can celebrate it. We can praise and thank God for it. But we can’t prepare for it. We can’t prepare to meet him in the past, only in the future. This is what the first Sunday of Advent reminds us.

You know, every so often I read things that stick with me. I do not doubt that I will carry them to the grave. It’s because they’re the truth. The novelist Leon Bloy once wrote, "There is only one tragedy in the end, and that’s not to have been a saint." That’s the truth. As Advent dawns, let that not be our tragedy. Amen.

Advent - Divine Mysteries At Cana

Wed, 15 Apr 2020 18:27:52 GMT

John 2:1-11

I am a sucker for feature articles about when Somebodies were Nobodies; in other words, about celebrities before they were discovered. They’re indicators in life of the twin elements of chance and destiny. I guess I am a fan of serendipity.

At any rate, I was reading recently about one Stefani Germanotta. She was plumb as a child and with big buck teeth. This made unpopular at the parochial school she attended and made her too the target of bullies. No one would have bet on her chances of becoming a celebrity. She now goes by the name of Lady GaGa.

In this morning’s gospel lesson, Jesus was somewhere between a Nobody and a Somebody. He was but three days into his ministry. Before that the whole of his life was lived in obscurity doing respectable but relatively menial work as a carpenter. It was John the Baptist who discovered him. As Jesus approached him, John declared, Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.

Jesus there and then left his old life behind and embarked upon his public ministry. He began straightaway to assemble his disciples, calling Peter, Andrew, Nathanael, and Philip. Then came his first miracle at the wedding at Cana. Recall that this was three days into his ministry.

Jesus attended the wedding at Cana with his mother, but his newly called disciples tagged along. The wedding was smooth sailing, until the wine ran out. Now we can well imagine the crisis this would have occasioned, because it would have occasioned a crisis in our own day.

Your daughter has been planning her big day for over a year. And it has been a lot to plan: the ceremony venue, the reception venue, the guest list, the dresses for bride and bridesmaids, the menu, the registry, the photographer, the flowers, the invitations, the rings, etc., etc., etc. You were placed in charge of one thing: the wine. Her big day finally arrives. Midway through the reception, the last bottle of wine is uncorked. Sorry sweetheart I underestimated, wouldn’t quite cut it. The night still young, the guests sober as judges. You’ve wrecked your daughter’s big day. It’s the kind of thing you’d never live down. I’d call that a crisis.

But Jesus, three days ago a nobody, now commanded the scene. Jesus requested that the servants fill the six stone water jars which were at hand for various cleanliness rites. Each held thirty gallons so we can do the math - that’s 180 gallons. That’s a lot of water. Then in the twinkling of an eye it was 180 gallons of wine, and wine so fine that the steward was flummoxed. Why was wine of such quality held back?

So Jesus was somewhere between a nobody and a somebody -- a month ago, a total nobody: the guy next door, the guy in front of you at the grocery store line, the guy who fixes your furnace… a month from now, a total somebody: the greatest celebrity of his day.

But in Jesus’s case there’s a wrinkle. Because his case involved performing miracles. One day he couldn’t or he wouldn’t perform them, and the next day he could and would. That seems odd. It seems implausible. Are we actually supposed to believe that pretty much out the blue Jesus started performing miracles?

It’s not that we’re skeptics by nature. We believe in lots of things, things that are marvelous, things that are mind boggling, things that are stupendous. We believe in technology. We believe in science. We believe in modern medicine. We believe in space travel. It’s just that they are a lot more empirical.

But yes, we’re actually supposed to believe it. We are actually not supposed to put the gospels to the test. We are actually supposed to believe that pretty much out of the blue Jesus started performing miracles. Put slightly differently, we are actually supposed to believe that through Jesus Christ divine mysteries began to be revealed.

In fact, John’s entire esoteric, abstract, downright confusing gospel (And I challenge anyone to read his prologue with any understanding) can be summed up in that one sentence. We are actually supposed to believe that through Jesus Christ divine mysteries began to be revealed.

Let John’s gospel speak for itself:

But to all...who believe d in his name, he gave the power to become children of God,

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believe s in him should not perish but have eternal life.

Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me.

The first of his signs, Jesus did at Cana in Galilee, and manifested his glory...and his disciples believe d in him.

I would provide more examples, but in the twenty chapters of John’s gospel, there are over fifty of them. We’d be at it all day.

Yes, we are actually supposed to believe that through Jesus Christ divine mysteries began to be revealed.

And it really shouldn’t be that hard to believe. Don’t we all believe the supernatural transcends the natural? Don’t we all believe in the dignity and freedom of each and every human life? Don’t we all believe in the cause of justice? Don’t we all believe self-sacrifice to be the means to redemption? Don’t we all believe in the priority of peace over violence? Don’t we all believe that mercy and forgiveness lead to reconciliation? Don’t we all believe in the primacy of love? These are precisely the divine mysteries revealed through Jesus Christ.

Holiday season is again upon us. Even in the days of Covid, the games have begun. Thanksgiving and Black Friday are behind us -- But these were just the warm up. The main event lies before us - Christmas -- the ordering and wrapping of gifts, the baking of cookies and candies, the decorating of homes inside and out, Christmas movies, Christmas trees, Christmas music... Did you ever wonder what we’re playing at?

We may have lost sight of it in all the rush and clamor, but at the base of it, at the very base, we are playing at believing in the divine mysteries revealed through Jesus Christ. So if we want to mark Christmas with any integrity whatsoever, we would do well to believe it. And if we do, we will see miracles this season and always. Amen.

Advent - John the Baptist

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Wed, 15 Apr 2020 13:08:26 GMT

Matthew 3:1-12

John the Baptist is definitely not the type of individual that you would be eager to invite to your holiday gatherings. Talk about off-putting. His outfit alone would be off-putting enough. And it’s safe to assume that John would be unwilling to forgo his camel hair and leather for a Stuart plaid vest or a Santa Claus necktie. His palette too would be off putting, as well as hard to accommodate – locusts and wild honey. Undoubtedly however, the most off-putting thing about him would be his conversation. Without so much as a nod to the art of persuasion, instead with all the persuasion of a blow to the solar plexus, John would take up his favorite topic, his only topic in fact – repentance. No, John is definitely not the stuff of holiday gatherings. Let’s face it, the man is maladjusted. No wonder Herod Antipas threw him in prison.

But wait a minute, I recall something that Jesus said about John that may make us want to consider the matter further; something that Jesus said when the people of his day found John to be off-putting. Jesus said, “What were you expecting to find, someone in soft robes? A reed that shakes in the wind? You came to find a prophet, and I tell you John is more than a prophet. No one born of woman has arisen than is greater than he.”

Jesus understood John to be a man of unique greatness; and he understood John’s greatness, it is clear from his words, at two levels. He understood for one thing the greatness of those who bear the burden of the prophetic mantle. And a terrible burden it is. To speak the word of God? In this world? Jesus himself had born the weight of that burden. He had experienced the denial, the contempt, the derision, the rejection, the loneliness, that the spoken word of God engenders – of course not as fully as he would come to, or as fully as John would come to either, for that matter.

My guess is that if John had heard Jesus’ defense of him he would for a moment at least have been softened, as would have John’s predecessors, prophets the likes of Amos, Hosea, Jeremiah, and Isaiah. Jesus understood their experience, and to have been understood by anyone at all, much less by Jesus himself, when all others have misunderstood you, is a deeply moving thing.

Jesus understood secondly the greatness of John’s witness itself, for all its searing fury. John was called by God to bear witness to the depth and breadth and height of the fallenness of creation. John saw, indeed felt right down in the marrow of his bones, that defect that inheres in the created order — that defect that renders God’s good creation subject to violence, famine, disease, decay, and death.

And he saw particularly the way in which that defect manifested itself in the most sophisticated creature of the created order – humankind – we who alone have been endowed with the capacity to know God. It manifested itself in us by the endowment in us of another capacity that is unique to us – the capacity for sin, the capacity for rebellion against the God whom we alone know.

And John saw too just how sin functions, how in service to sin we seek to substitute ourselves for God, how in service to sin we seek to glorify ourselves, how in service to sin we seek to reign in his place. And reign over what? What is there for us over which to reign but fallen creation -- and this is precisely what we in our sin seek over which to reign. We seek to be the gods of fallen creation.

In our own time and place in history this means we protect and secure, we privilege and prioritize with extravagant exaggeration ourselves and our collective selves – our race or class or nation. And we celebrate and boast our success at our endeavor by whatever brand of consumption best suits our taste. We stave off that spoiler death by a variety of means – by banishing it from our midst, by employing medical technology to prolong life at all costs, by shallow rationalizations, especially when we can find evidence that an individual somehow contributed to his demise.

And the result of our reign over fallen creation is increasing and impervious conformity and allegiance and bondage to the laws of fallen creation.

And to make matters worse, in the face of John’s all too penetrating insight into the fallenness of creation and human sin, John saw that the Kingdom of God was at hand, that he who would usher it in was nigh. The tension, the disparity was too great for his soul to bear. He reacted with urgency in direct proportion to this tension and disparity and cried out for the only redress that he could conceive, he cried out for the people to repent. And when they did not, enraged, he threatened that he who would usher in the Kingdom of God was coming with a winnowing hook and would throw them as chaff into an unquenchable fire.

For there was one thing, and it is the key thing, that God, according to his inscrutable wisdom, did not give John to know – that he who would usher in the Kingdom of God would not come with a winnowing hook, but instead would come determined to save us from our sin by bearing it for us.

Perhaps we can sense now some of the greatness that Jesus saw in John. And perhaps we can sense too, as reluctant as we may be and as daunting as he is, that John must be invited into our homes this holiday season. His words are probably more relevant and needed now than when he spoke them because ours is a society that has come to mark this season with near perfect conformity and allegiance and bondage to the laws of fallen creation.

I was listening to the news through headphones the other morning as I jogged along, and I heard a story that nearly made me stop in my tracks. It was reported that a major employer near tornado ravaged areas of Illinois had cancelled its Christmas party in light of the plight of so many local residents. The moneys allotted for the Christmas party would be donated for the sake of their relief. There was of course the implicit admission in the cancellation that the tone of office Christmas parties is incompatible with the devastation and loss those residents are experiencing. Corporate Christmas parties, can be, as we all know, a bit of a walk on the wild side – liquor on the boss’s dime, unbridled revelry, office intrigue laid bare. They are indeed incompatible with the devastation and loss that those residents are experiencing. But they are compatible with Advent and Christmas, I thought? Our society has become so conformed and allegiant and bonded to the laws of fallen creation that the offense that licentiousness -- the polar opposite of repentance -- brings to Advent and Christmas passed completely unnoticed by the reporter.

We must begin to wonder, is it really John who is maladjusted, or is it we? Perhaps our very shock at him is a symptom of our maladjustment to God and our adjustment to the laws of fallen creation.

And so John must indeed be invited into our homes this holiday season. And we must make no effort to domesticate him. We must hear the word of God from this blessed nonconformist, and the word of God is this: We are of a creation that is fallen. We are a people in our sins. The Kingdom of God is at hand, and he who ushers it in is nigh. We must repent lest the miracle of the incarnation -- God becoming man to save us from our sin -- be lost.

John’s last recorded words are about Jesus. “He must increase, and I must decrease.” And so it is. But before John decreases let us be sure to heed him and to thank God for him for preparing the way of our Lord. Amen.

Transubstantiation

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Sun, 12 Apr 2020 23:25:11 GMT

Genesis 50:15-21 John 6:48-59

You might have missed it, but there’s something off kilter here. We just celebrated the Protestant Sacrament of Holy Communion, but our gospel lesson is the basis for the Roman Catholic Eucharist.

The basis for the Protestant Sacrament of Holy Communion is taken not from John’s gospel, but from Matthew’s. It’s the words we hear each month and with which we are so familiar, “Jesus took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to the disciples, and said, ‘Take, eat; this is my body.’ Then he took a cup and after giving thanks he gave it to them saying, “'Drink from it, all of you, for this is my blood of the new covenant which is poured out for the forgiveness of sins.'”

What we Protestants believe about the Sacrament of Holy Communion is just as these words suggest. It is a remembrance of Christ’s broken body and spilled blood; in other words, it’s a remembrance of Christ’s sacrificial death for our sin, and it’s a remembrance at which Christ promises his spiritual presence. “I will never again drink of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s Kingdom.”

But the Roman Catholics believe differently from us. As I said, our gospel lesson is the basis for their belief. “Then Jesus declared, 'I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty...Very truly I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day.'” They believe that the host actually becomes the body and blood of Christ. The word for this is transubstantiation. So the host actually becomes the body and blood of Christ, and partaking it is the means to eternal life.

I guess that’s why they are Roman Catholics, and we are Protestants. It’s because we believe differently and in ways that are irreconcilable. But is that really the case? Are we really irreconcilable? Transubstantiation. As a Protestant, I have always been drawn to the concept. Because in the very broadest sense doesn’t it really just mean that God infuses the mundane with the divine; bread and wine, yes, but also our ordinary lives. And the stakes are high here, because if he does not, how sad and empty and purposeless -- how devoid of meaning -- our ordinary lives would be. But he does. God takes our deeds of service and sacrifice and justice and infuses them with the means to advance his cause. God takes our acts of mercy and forgiveness and compassion and infuses them with the means for reconciliation. God takes our losses and disappointments and tragedies and infuses them with the means for hope. God infuses the mundane with the divine, and this means that God infuses everything with the divine. And I mean everything.

Think about Joseph. His brothers wanted to kill him. It had little to do with his dreams of his dominion over them. Often ostensible reasons mask ulterior motives. They wanted to kill him because they realized that his dreams of his dominion over them were justified. He was better than they were. They could have respected him for it, but they didn’t. They chose the way of Cain. They resented him. They were jealous of him. They hated him. Enough to kill him. If he was only seventeen years old; if the odds were ten to one -- so much the better. The only thing that stopped them is that one of them realized that there was a buck to be made by selling him into Egyptian slavery. After that felonious deed they sat down to enjoy their lunch. They were despicable and contemptible men. They were downright sickening.

But Joseph, as I said, was better than them. He overcame Egyptian enslavement. He overcame, in fact, every obstacle he confronted until he rose to become the Prime Minister of Egypt, the second most powerful man in the world, to whom his brothers indeed bowed down as they pandered to him for Egyptian grain at a time of famine.

His brothers were rightly terrified when their father Jacob died. Now that he was out of the way, Joseph would surely give them what they had coming. So they bowed down, and they pandered to him again. But what was Joseph's response? What did Joseph say to them? “You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good.” Joseph knew that God infuses the mundane with the divine - our good times, our bad times, and even and especially our sin. And in knowing that, Joseph nothing less than anticipated Jesus Christ.

Transubstantiation. God infuses our bread and wine with the divine. He infuses our good times and bad times with the divine. He infuses our sin with the divine. Because God is Emmanuel. He is God with us. Amen.

Laughter

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Sun, 12 Apr 2020 17:16:16 GMT

Genesis 18:1-12 Romans 4:16-20

It is said that laughter makes the world go round, and there is much truth in these words. They refer, I think, to the kind of laughter that celebrates the sheer joy of existence in all its manifold array –the mystery and vastness of the cosmos: nature’s beauty and grandeur; human achievements like music, art, and science; human institutions like family, community, and nation. Holidays, babies, candy stores, parades, rainbows, make-believe….the whole lot of it. And this kind of laughter rightly celebrates the sheer joy of existence in all its manifold array. After all, God created it and called it good. This kind of laughter thanks and praises him for it. That must be why it seems to make the world go around.

It is said too that laughter is the best medicine, and there is too much truth in these words. They refer to the kind of laughter that acknowledges our foibles – our personality flaws, our self-importance -- most of all our taking ourselves so seriously. It is a needful acknowledgment of them, but mostly it is a kindly acknowledgement of them, a forgiving acknowledgment, an acknowledgment that sees ridiculousness for ridiculousness and give it its due. That must be why it is such good medicine.

But there are many kinds of laughter, and not all of them are salutary. There is the laughter that is coarse and unrestrained, even a little frightening; the laughter that gives expression to more of a grimace than a smile. It is often heard in bar rooms and like haunts. It is laughter born of an attempt to escape -- escape from thinking, escape from responsibility, escape from oneself. And if it’s loud enough and hard enough, one can about convinces oneself that this is really living.

There is the laughter that is used to mock or humiliate, laughter whose source and aim is cruelty. This kind of laughter, sad to say, children are often guilty of, and for reasons I have never been able to fathom, permitted by their parents and teachers to be guilty of. My son has long since forgotten it, but once when he was about seven he received a bow tie as a present from his grandfather who wears bow ties. He wore it to his Christmas pageant as school. He came home that day no longer wearing the bow tie and with red, swollen eyes. “What happened?” I asked him. “They all laughed at me,” he said.

And then there is the laughter of disbelief. This is the laughter of hope dashers and nay sayers, the laughter of cynics and conformists. Ira Gershwin wrote some of his best song lyrics about it. “They all laughed at Christopher Columbus when he said the world was round. They all laughed when Edison recorded sound. They all laughed at Milton and his steamboat, Hershey and his chocolate bar. They told Marconi, wireless was a phony, it’s the same old cry.”

This laughter of disbelief, I fear, was Abraham and Sarah’s laughter. God first appeared to Abraham and commanded him to journey to a faraway land that the nation he would someday father would occupy. Abraham obeyed God’s command, but nothing came of it. Many uneventful years passed in that faraway land. And time was not on his side, because Abraham and Sarah were getting on in years, and they as yet had no offspring. How was he to father a nation with no offspring? Then after twenty five years, the Lord appeared to Abraham again, to announce that his offspring was soon to be born. But perhaps because it was after twenty five years, for by this time Abraham was an old man, he merely fell on his face and laughed.

Next it was Sarah’s turn to laugh, as we heard in this morning’s Old Testament lesson. The Lord soon thereafter appeared to Abraham again in the form of three men in order to waylay his disbelief. “I will surely return to you in due season, and your wife Sarah shall have a son.” But Sarah, who was eavesdropping, too laughed. Both of them laughed the laughter of disbelief – the laughter of the hope dashers of nay sayers, the laughter of conformists and cynics.

But perhaps this is to be too hard on them. Perhaps this is not quite on the mark. Perhaps there is another kind of laughter of disbelief. Because if you think about it, belief, particularly belief in someone demands great vulnerability. Believe in someone and you can be disappointed. Believe in someone, and you can be hurt. Believe in someone, and you can be betrayed. Believe in someone, and you can be humiliated. So perhaps deep down Abraham and Sarah wanted desperately to believe, but they were afraid to take the chance. They were afraid to risk it. So they laughed to protect themselves. They laughed against their deep want to believe as if to say you can’t fool me. We are more familiar with this kind of laughter than we might be aware. It is, I believe, nothing less than emblematic of the position to which our times have driven us.

We live in times in which belief has about been superseded. By what I’m not sure; it seems a lot of default ignorance and confusion, but the evidence against belief is overwhelming and continues to mount. There is the rise of science, which offers a plausible and reasonable explanation for reality, one that seems to those unsure of biblical interpretation to stand over against the Bible, to cast it in error. And then there are all the nineteenth and twentieth century philosophers and ideologues who in one way or another have all pronounced God dead. And then there are the two world wars of the twentieth century that have raised the problem of evil in such a way that it can no longer be ignored or neglected. God is all good and all powerful? Tell that to the boys in the trenches. Tell that to the Jews in the extermination camps. And then there is popular culture that shuns God altogether, that takes his name as either a curse word or a social gaffe. Then there is globalization that has opened our eyes to the world religions, worthy enough belief systems. So what makes us think ours is true, and not just a relative cultural expression of religion?

All of this has carried us and continues to carry us farther and farther away from belief. But on the other hand, it has not quite won us over. Every so often we glance back over our shoulders to see if we have really become unmoored from belief -- from God and the whole of the Christian tradition -- if we are really now just adrift. And we do not feel delighted to be free of it. We feel sad to see it go, and we are frightened.

And then there are stirrings in our hearts when we think of Jesus himself. There remains something so true about him. He seems to make whole and complete all the fragments of our experience. And too there are deeper stirrings in our hearts that tell us we still want and need a lord and savior, that we still hope all of his promises to us are true – that we are forgiven and loved, that our loved ones are forgiven and loved, that we will some day know all suffering and injustice to have been a temporary affliction.

But on the other hand, we live in times in which belief has been about superseded and the case against it is strong. And so we too laugh in disbelief, not wanting to look and feel credulous, but at the same time, inwardly hoping against hope.

But we must not forget how the story of Abraham and Sarah ends, for in fact their laughter of disbelief is meant to teach us that our laughter of disbelief is unfounded, because at the birth of Isaac Abraham and Sarah laugh once again -- the most sublime and profound laughter of all, the laughter that rejoices in the certainty of belief. It is meant to teach us that that is the laughter to which our laughter of disbelief will always and inevitably give way. Amen.

Epiphany - Fanfare

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Sun, 05 Apr 2020 13:31:03 GMT

Matthew 2:1-12

I always miss my dad around the holidays. In this I know I am not unique. We all miss our lost loved ones around the holidays. That’s one reason the holidays can be bittersweet. The thing about my dad was that he really got it. With him, I never once in my life felt misunderstood. He was forever confirming my experience of reality.

Case in point. Not surprisingly, I love the Bible and have loved it from a very young age. I chose my college specifically because there were two great biblical scholars there, one who taught Old Testament and one who taught New. I declared my major to my advisor when I registered for my first semester – Religion with an emphasis on Bible. He winced ever so slightly. “ Why don’t you hold off on declaring your major until next year?” he suggested. “I am sure you can come up with something more practical.” When I told my dad my major, on the other hand, he responded, “Excellent choice. Really, really sound judgment.” “My advisor said it was impractical,” I replied. “Nonsense,” my dad insisted. “The Lord will provide.” And the Lord has.

One of the many things I love about the Bible is that it there is always more to glean from it. You’d think that if you read a book continuously for fifty years, it would get old. Just the opposite, the more you read it the more it discloses.

I have over the last few weeks, not surprisingly, been reading the Nativity accounts, just as I have been doing year after year around the holidays. But this time something struck me about them. It struck me that the nativity accounts were incongruent with the life of Jesus.

For Jesus was, if he was anything, down to earth. He took an informal view, for instance, of the ritual formalities of his religion, much to the chagrin of the religious establishment. “Then Pharisees and scribes came to Jesus and said, ‘Why do your disciples break the tradition of the elders? For they do not wash their hands before they eat?” “…Jesus went through the grain fields on the Sabbath; his disciples were hungry, and they began to pluck heads of grain and to eat. When the Pharisees saw it, they said to him ‘Look, your disciples are doing what is not lawful….'”

On top of that, Jesus valued in people not the qualities that tend to mark people for greatness –some exceptional talent or acquisition – but rather qualities that were rather ordinary – mercy, meekness, goodness, humility, discernment. “Blessed are the merciful,” “Blessed are the meek,” “Blessed are the pure in heart.” “Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” “The eye is the lamp of the body.”

And consider of the company he kept. “As he sat at dinner in the house, many tax collectors and sinners were sitting with him and his disciples.” “A woman in the city, who was a sinner, having learned that he was eating in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster jar of ointment.”

True enough, for one who was down to earth, Jesus did do some remarkable things. He healed the sick, the blind, the deaf, the dumb, and the paralyzed. He even raised the dead. But these things were born of his deep compassion for human suffering and to assure people his deep compassion for human suffering was God’s deep compassion for human suffering.

And too, he fed a multitude, not once but twice, but this was out his great concern for human need, and again to assure people that his great concern for human need was God’s great concern for human need.

And too, he stilled a storm and walked on water, but this to get through to his inner circle, his disciples, who had proven themselves very slow to learn, who he really was – to demonstrate that he was the word of God through whom all things were created.

Jesus was down to earth. Never, never did he do any of these things for the sake of fanfare.

In fact, to the extent that he could he tried to keep these things a secret. “Immediately his leprosy was cleansed. The Jesus said to him ‘See that you say nothing to anyone…’” “Many crowds followed him, and he cured all of them, and he ordered them not to make him known.” This was because he knew people would be prone to misunderstand these things – to conclude that he did them precisely for fanfare, to proclaim himself some kind of wonder worker or magician. Yes, it may still be asserted that Jesus was down to earth, despite the remarkable things he did.

Yet his birth was the occasion for fanfare -- the Star of Bethlehem and the Magi, the angels and the shepherds. This is what struck me as incongruent. Why was there fanfare? But it struck me next that it perhaps wasn’t really fanfare at all.

But, you may reply, a uniquely brilliant star rising in the eastern sky, for the whole world to see? And perhaps the whole world did see it, just as the whole world saw eclipses, shooting stars, and other heavenly spectacles; just as the whole world saw just recently a uniquely brilliant star.

The whole world may have well have seen the Star of Bethlehem, but it didn’t attach any significance to it, save for three Magi, who read the stars for their portents and knew that the Star of Bethlehem portended the birth of the king of the Jews and came from far off lands to pay him homage. But they then returned to their homelands, sensing perhaps but never knowing the fullness of it.

And so with the angels and shepherds. The shepherds heard the angels’ glad tidings and songs of praise and made their way to the manger and were amazed, but it was an isolated event devoid of any trajectory.

After all, had the whole world understood the significance of the Star of Bethlehem and the angel chorus, Jesus would not have been misunderstood by everyone for the whole of his ministry, would not have had to accommodate their misunderstanding, and would not, above all, have been crucified. The whole world would have known who he was from the start and would have afforded him the honor due him.

So the fanfare was in fact modest fanfare, or perhaps better to say, obscure fanfare. But what could be the possible purpose of obscure fanfare, if there even is such a thing as obscure fanfare? Fanfare by definition means with a loud flourish of trumpets. Fanfare was precisely to call attention to itself. Obscure then fanfare is a paradox. But then again, paradox is not lost on a God who was both human and divine.

The paradox can better be grasped in the understanding that God sent his son into the world for all intents and purposes, incognito -- a root out of dry ground with no form or majesty that we should look upon him -- born to sacrifice himself for our sin. And God stuck to his plan. By his crucifixion no one knew who he was, not those who slew him, not even his own disciples. Yet, at his birth, God was so filled with fatherly love that he could not let the event go unnoticed. The birthday of his only son go unnoticed?

So in celebration, God fixed in the sky the Star of Bethlehem that beckoned the wise men from the east who, beholding him, laid aside the wisdom of the gentile world, and too the pride they must have taken in it, and fell down on their knees in adoration. And God sent angels with glad tidings and songs of praise to announce his birth to unlettered shepherds, part of the humble folk who would come to so love him, so that they too could pay him homage. It was, for the occasion, a perfect celebration. The rest of the world wagged on. God’s plan was not breached.

And so, the Star of Bethlehem, the Magi, and the angels and the shepherds serve for us as reminders of the father’s deep love for his son, love that must have swelled and broke his heart when his son willingly and obediently did what he had come to do -- sacrifice himself for our sin.

And from here it is easy to see what God wants from us. It’s very simple really. He wants us to love his son as he does. For this is the beginning and the end, indeed the only beginning and the only end, of being a Christian – to love the Son of God. May that be our Epiphany gift to him. Amen.

Advent - Mary's Leap Of Faith

Tue, 31 Mar 2020 18:27:01 GMT

Luke 1:26-38

The angel Gabriel appeared to Mary with the announcement, “Greetings favored one, the Lord is with you!”

Mary did not know what to make of his words, but she knew what to make of him. His reputation preceded him -- the angel Gabriel, the archangel Gabriel to be exact. There were but four archangels - Raphael, Uriel, Michael, and Gabriel. Their reputations preceded them all. But why would an archangel appear to her? It made no sense. Mary had nothing to recommend or distinguish her. Just the opposite, she was a lowly girl.

But on the other hand, this was the archangel Gabriel. He could not be in error. He continued. “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. You will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus...:”

Confusion compounded confusion. First the angel Gabriel was appearing to her, and second, the angel Gabriel was foretelling the impossible. “But how can it be?” Mary stammered. “I am a virgin.” “The Holy Spirit will come upon you,” he assured her. “The child to be born will be called the Son of God.”

Now they say that life can turn on a dime, and without question it can - for better or for worse. But this was pushing the envelope. One minute a lowly girl and the next the mother of the Son of God. But again, this was the archangel Gabriel. Mary could only have been at this point utterly disoriented. But she had her wits about her sufficiently to make one of the greatest leaps of faith in human history. “Here I am, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your will.” Then the archangel Gabriel departed from her.

Now you may or may not be able to relate to this. Personally, I can relate to it. I do not rate an archangel, but I have felt the presence of angels in my life -- dimly, ambiguously -- but I don’t know how else to describe them. And they inspired me to make leaps of faith. If not an angel then perhaps you have experienced a sign or a portend that inspired you to make a leap of faith. But here’s the thing. The angel Gabriel departed from her. My angels departed from me. Your sign or portend passed. Nothing remained but our leaps of faith, which we were left to ourselves to live out.

Mary then was left to herself with her hard to believe pregnancy. Her finance Joseph didn’t believe one word of Mary’s story. You have to admit, it was quite a large pill to swallow. He was a decent man, though. He refused to indulge his feelings of betrayal. He refused to be vindictive. He planned to end the engagement without scandal….until an angel appeared to him and verified Mary’s story.

Then there was the math. We do that kind of math today. We hear of a baby being born “prematurely” seven months after the wedding. And we smirk. So it was with Mary -- recently engaged and sporting a baby bump. And she couldn’t exactly tell her story to the world. Better to countenance the smirks -- and the gossip and the dirty looks.

Of course, there were consolations along the way. Mary’s kinswoman Elizabeth had her own encounter with the angel Gabriel and was pregnant with John the Baptist. She was a safe harbor for Mary. And when Mary sought that safe harbor, Elizabeth greeted her, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.” Yes, there were consolations that served as confirmations of her leap of faith. But these were the exceptions and not the rule. The rule was hardship.

We will soon hear the oft repeated story of Jesus’ birth. Maybe Mary, when she heard of the imperial order to register for a census in far off Bethlehem, felt relief to escape from the harsh judgment that surrounded her. But the journey could not have been an easy one. Just the opposite, it would have been difficult, terribly difficult - in the last days of her pregnancy astride a donkey for a hundred miles.

Then after knocking on the door of every inn in Bethlehem, to be left to labor in a stable. We tend to sentimentalize it. We shouldn’t sentimentalize it. It’s not meant to be sentimentalized. It would have been painful, frightening, and dangerous, not to mention cold and dark. In this way was the Son of God born and the announcement of the archangel Gabriel fulfilled. There was at least the consolation and confirmation of the shepherds and the angels.

But the thing about leaps of faith is that they set you on a new course. You never return to where you were before them. So it was with Mary. The announcement of the archangel Gabriel was fulfilled, but for Mary it was just the beginning, and the hardship behind her was nothing compared to the hardship before her. She had great hopes for her son, but those hopes were to be dashed. Days after he emerged from obscurity, he garnered enemies, powerful enemies, enemies intent upon his demise. She tried desperately to deter him from his path. That’s a horrible position to be in, when you try desperately to deter something -- something unthinkable, something unbearable -- then come to confront the reality, against every fiber of your being, that it can’t be deterred. That might be the hardest reality that can be confronted.

She landed at the foot of his cross, her son in his death agony, an agony compounded by his witness to his mother’s grief. He did what he could for her. He called to his disciple John to care for her as if she were his own mother.

And finally, at long last, at the other side of hardship, the resurrection, where at last the fullness of it broke in upon her. When at last she knew that her son, the Son of God, had bequeathed humanity salvation from sin. Mary lived out her days with John caring for her surrogate son as he ministered to the nascent church he founded. Thus was Mary’s leap of faith.

So what can we learn from Mary’s leap of faith about our own? We learn that after the mysterious impetuses that inspire us to make them, we will be left to ourselves. We learn they will involve hardship. We learn there will be consolations and confirmations along the way. We learn we will never return to the people we once were. And we learn too, specifically, about the power of example. If that lowly girl could make that leap of faith; if she could see it through as she did, then we’ve got no excuse. We can see ours through as well.

What’s more, she would want us to. She foresaw that all generations would call her blessed precisely so we could recognize hers as an example to follow. And so it is apt this second Sunday of Advent that we honor that blessed woman by following her example. May our souls, like hers, magnify the Lord. Amen.

His Brother’s Keeper

Thu, 12 Mar 2020 12:52:47 GMT

Genesis 4:8-11

Throughout the various stages of my life, I have spent a great deal of time in graveyards. When I was growing up, my family lived directly across from a graveyard. My sister and I used to play there. Our parents probably would not have approved; nor would have the graveyard keeper, for that matter, so my sister and I had an unspoken agreement not to divulge where we were going when we said we were going out to play.

But in fact, I can state from personal experience that graveyards are great places for children to play. We could sense the rich and varied ambience that graveyards exude. Graveyards are at once peaceful, mysterious, poignant, beautiful, sad, hopeful, and sometimes a bit frightening. And we were cognizant too, of course, of all the souls at rest who surrounded us. We used to pretend that we knew them. Somehow I think that they would not have minded our presence there.

When I grew up and became a pastor, I continued to spend a great deal of time in graveyards. It’s part of the job description, albeit found only in the fine print. Pastors preside over graveside services. One year, in the early days of my ministry, there were upwards of twenty of them. And too, pastors accompany the grieving to graveyards. It helps those who have lost a loved one to hear a psalm or a prayer, to connect their loss with the biblical promises.

And as I grow older, there is an additional reason to spend a great deal of time in graveyards. The generation behind me is now being to be laid to rest. As the Bible expresses it, “That generation was gathered to their ancestors.” And I have even begun to go to graveyards for those in my own generation who have been laid to rest. No doubt I will continue to spend a great deal of time in graveyards for the rest of my life. And when I am laid to rest, of course, I will spend endless time in a graveyard.

I am not complaining. There’s much to be said for graveyards. Just as there are no atheists in foxholes, there is no superficiality in graveyards. No hiding behind roles or masks. No avoidance through busyness or distraction. No denial through triviality or pretense. Graveyard’s declare life’s greatest mystery; for in graveyards, life confronts death. Emily Dickenson wrote, “The distance that the dead have gone does not at first appear.” In graveyards you can’t help but wonder about the distance the dead have gone. I remember once standing before my father’s gravestone and murmuring to myself, “Where are you now, Dad?”

Spending all this time at graveyards, I have read many a gravestone. In fact I have become something of an expert in the area. There are a couple of standard types of gravestones. One situates a person in his or her family – loving wife, beloved son, this kind of thing. The other situates a person in his or her career or vocation. There’s a special insignia for a lawyer or a doctor, for instance; and of course, for a soldier. But then there is the type of gravestone that deviates from the standards. I have decided that’s the kind I want, and I even decided what I want my gravestone to say – “She was her father’s daughter.”

I want it to say that because I heard it so much growing up. “You sure are your father’s daughter!” And that always gave me comfort and happiness. I knew who I was, and I knew whose I was. So I will take final comfort and happiness believing that I am my heavenly father’s daughter. She was her father’s daughter.

The reason that I have already decided what I want my gravestone to say is not that I am one of these people who has everything planned with regard to her death. I run across a lot of these kinds of people. They have every single imaginable detail and contingency planned. Either they don’t want to burden their relatives, or they don’t trust their relatives not to screw things up. They have the outfit they want to be laid out in, including the jewelry. They have the readings and hymns they want performed at the service. They have the restaurant where they want the reception and even the courses of the meal. They have the coffin and the plot. Their finances are in impeccable order. That’s not me. My hat’s off to them, but that’s not me. I have already decided what I want my gravestone to say because I saw a gravestone once, one of the deviations from the standards, and it moved me. It continues to move me even to this day. The reason I have already decided what I want my gravestone to say is simply that I am copying a good idea.

The gravestone said, “He was his brother’s keeper.” That’s how some man wanted to be remembered, or how someone remembered him. Either way. He was his brother’s keeper. It boiled down the Bible in such a human way. "Do unto others as you would have others do unto you." " This I command you, that you love one another." "Bear one another’s burdens." " He was his brother’s keeper."

It’s ironic really that those words were first voiced in a negative light. Cain had just murdered his only brother in cold blood, and God came looking for him. When God caught up with him, Cain was like a defiant little child - trying to stick his chest out, trying to maintain his position , trying to hide his fear. “How would I know where he is?” Cain mouthed off. “Am I my brother’s keeper?” But unwittingly Cain testified against himself. His words disclosed that he was indeed to have been his brother’s keeper.

Undeniably, there are many Cain’s in our own generation that still, in their own ways, construe those words in a negative light. There are those who would say that to be a brother’s keeper is to set a standard for him to live up to, a standard of course, that’s probably based upon nothing more than their own ignorance or passion or prejudice, a standard that they embody but that the brother does not. They are their brother’s keeper by standing fast and firm against their brother’s sin.

And then there are those who would say to be a brother’s keeper is to avoid or ignore him. This way of being a brother’s keeper still assumes a set standard or one kind or another. It says I’m white, or I’m straight, or I’m healthy, or I’m sober, or I’m rich, or I’m educated, or I’m saved, ….and you aren’t, so rather than standing fast and firm against your sin, I’m just going to pretend that you don’t exist. It’s kind of a skewed version of that bumper sticker you may have seen that reads, “Co-Exist.” Let’s Co-Exist in the same way islands coexist.

And then there are those who would say to be a brother’s keeper is simply a matter of getting out the check book. Send something off to this cause or that - to deal with the brother abstractly or mathematically and so avoid personal risk or unpleasantness. You can be your brother’s keeper and never have to look him in the eye. Yes, there are all sorts of ways to construe those words in a negative light, and so, like Cain, deny our obligation to be our brother’s keeper.

But I don’t think that man in the graveyard denied his obligation to be his brother’s keeper. I think he really was his brother’s keeper. I think he took people’s burdens -whoever they were and whatever they were - upon himself. My grandmother knew how to do this. Whenever I told her about a problem I was having she’d say, “What do you think we should do about it?” My problem instantly became her problem too. I think that man was just this way. And I think he was just this way because he was possessed of a God given respect for the dignity of all people. And even in his death, he is still serving as a model as to what life is all about.

Graveyards. Maybe the reason they intrigue me so is that they call to mind our common destiny as human beings. We are born. We struggle through this life for a span, and then we die. Death awaits us all. But whether we struggle together or alone seems to be the decisive thing. He was his brother’s keeper. He would not let anyone struggle alone, just as Jesus Christ would not let anyone to struggle alone. Holy Lord God, Let it be said of us. Amen.

Beauty

Tue, 10 Mar 2020 12:52:47 GMT

I Samuel 16:6-13

Each semester at the college where I teach, the Faculty Women’s Caucus offers a number of educational presentations of particular interest to faculty women. The topics are about what you’d imagine – offerings by the faculty of the Women’s Studies Department about their research, reports about gender discrimination or pay inequality in higher education…this sort of thing.

Last week, however, the educational presentation was somewhat atypical. It was on female body image. At first I wasn’t going to go. I knew the bottom line – women have negative body images. I recently read somewhere that nearly 75% of women dislike their bodies; in fact, find their bodies “ugly.” Yes, I knew the bottom line, and, quite frankly, I just wasn’t in the mood for a downer.

I ran into a colleague, however, just before the presentation, and she asked if I was going. She said she was going because her daughter was struggling with issues around body image. So I tagged along with her. To describe the presentation as a downer would be something of an understatement. It was utterly devastating.

Young women in this culture hardly stand a chance. They are confronted everywhere they turn with fraudulent photo-shopped images of a nonexistent ideal to which they could never live up. Even if they could see through these as motivated by greed - as the means to sell them products, the peer pressure around them is overwhelming. Everyone else is giving into it. If they don’t, they feel all the more like Ugly Ducklings.

The result is low self- esteem, underachievement, depression, eating disorders, self-mutilation, elective surgery, and the belief that no one, especially boyfriends or partners, could ever love them for themselves. By the time a young woman was telling of her little sister’s suicide, we were all wiping our eyes, but I had to duck out to pick up my daughters from school.

As I was making my way, I began thinking about my daughters – that having been born in China, they don’t look like the girls of the dominant culture; that they are adolescents; that they could easily grow blind to their essential value; blind to their intrinsic beauty. By the time I picked them up I was in a full blown panic - wild eyed like the prophet Elijah and twice as fierce.

As I swept them to the car, I began informing them, perhaps a bit too stridently, a bit too urgently, that each of them was beautiful, and that that was an iron clad fact, regardless of the cultural brainwashing they would soon undergo. "But Mom," one of them began, "I am not pretty like the other girls." What?!" I shrieked. "How could you say such a thing?! Beauty takes many forms - many colors, shapes, and sizes. We are going to the Art Institute tomorrow, and I am going to show you a thing or two about human beauty!" She looked at me like I was the prophet Elijah. It was then that I realized that I was not thinking clearly. I should not have hollered in their faces that they were beautiful, even though I know them to be. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a child that isn’t beautiful. I should have told them what the Bible says on the issue, which happens to be spelled out in our Old Testament Lesson.

Samuel had been ordered by the Lord to anoint a successor to King Saul. He was instructed that that successor would be found among the sons of Jesse. Jesse had eight sons, which would be a distinction in any age – but it was particularly so in the biblical age when male children were a highly valued necessity for survival. Jesse was particularly proud of his first three sons, Eliab, Abinadab, and Shammah. They were the oldest. They were now young men. They served as leaders and role models for the others.

While the younger sons remained at home, Eliab, Abinadab, and Shammah were soldiers in King Saul’s army. Jesse hoped that in time the others would follow in their footsteps. But as each passed before Samuel, none were chosen to be anointed. So it was with the rest of the sons, save for the eighth, the youngest, whose name was David. No one had bothered to summon him. He was just a young lad, a stripling as the Bible describes him, which meant that he was skinny as a bean pole. Next to his brothers he must have appeared something of a pipsqueak. Samuel requested that he be brought forth. When Samuel beheld him, he heard the word of the Lord, Rise and anoint him, for he is the one.

But why? Why David? The Bible makes it crystal clear. It is because, The Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart. In the eyes of the Lord, then, beauty derives from the heart.

And what did the Lord see in David’s heart? He saw faith. He saw true and ardent and inviolable faith. Faith is what produced David – It produced his courage to slay Goliath; It produced his drive to found the nation of Israel. It produced his inspiration to set the Ark upon Mt. Zion. David heart was filled with rock solid faith in the Lord’s promises and in his role to play in their enactment, so the Lord saw in him beauty.

And as reward for all that David’s faith inspired him to do, the Lord consecrated him with one final crowning distinction. The Lord promised David that from him would issue the dynasty from which the Son of David and the Son of God, Jesus Christ would arise.

And in Jesus Christ, the Lord proved, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that in his eyes beauty derives from the heart, and in Jesus’ heart the Lord too saw faith - faith next to which even David’s was but a pale harbinger.

Outwardly Jesus was as the prophet Isaiah foresaw him, "A root out of dry ground…with no form or majesty that we should look at him….a man of suffering and acquainted with infirmity…." But as Jesus taught about God’s kingdom, as he demonstrated the quality and power of that kingdom in his miracles, as he spoke a word of exposure to hypocrisy, a word of compassion to victimization, a word of mercy to sin, and a word of hope to all the world, the Lord saw faith that was the perfect and unwavering embodiment of his own truth. And as Jesus hung on the cross for that faith - emptying himself, humbling himself, obedient unto death – even then, particularly then, the Lord saw beauty.

What I should have told my daughter, and what I hope they will come to believe and affirm, is that in the Lord’s eyes beauty has little to do with, let’s not mince words, concealing a face – a face that is meant to laugh and cry and eat and drink and speak and sing and show emotion - concealing a face behind a generic cosmetic mask. And it has little to do with reducing a body – a body that is equipped for exertion and endurance and strength and vocation and intimacy and survival – reducing a body to a fashion mannequin. In the Lord’s eyes, beauty has to do with the heart.

So when the Lord’s sees a faithful heart, and all traits that faith may produce in a given individual – love or courage or truth or self-sacrifice or fairness or determination or integrity or gentleness or prayer or praise….then the Lord sees beauty. The Lord does not give as the world gives, and we may thank him for that. The Lord gives according to his eternal purposes.

During one of my trips to China, I was in a restaurant with my newly adopted daughter. Suddenly there was a subtle commotion - a hush, murmuring, whispers. Someone important had entered. I figured it was a Chinese celebrity of some sort. But the tenor was not one of giddiness and excitement. The tenor was one of awe and reverence. I finally saw what everyone was looking at. It wasn’t’ a Chinese celebrity. It was a blind American woman had adopted a young blind boy and his sighted, slightly older caretaker. The little boy was emaciated. He had not been well treated. He must have been four or five, but he was so weak that he was reclined in a stroller. As his new mother fed him, she soothed and comforted him with soft words, tears of love and concern welling in her eyes. Tears welled in my eyes too, as they did in the eyes of everyone there, so moved were we all by the beauty of those three people. And I knew at that moment that God had gifted me to see them through his eyes. Amen.

The Company He Keeps

Tue, 04 Feb 2020 19:48:09 GMT

Amos 6:1-3 Luke 5:12-16

One of the last conversations I ever had with my father happened to be about parenting. We were arguing whether there was any rhyme or reason to it. My father, who the older he got grew more and more laisser faire, was arguing against rhyme or reason. "But surely parenting is not just a crap shoot?" I protested, fearful that all my parental ministrations over the last thirty-five years had been for naught. My father stubbornly maintained his position. "But look at the massive influence you had upon my formation," I persisted. "Ah, but look at the utter lack of influence my mother had upon mine," he countered. He had me there. My father and his mother were the original odd couple. And so we digressed, as people do before a mystery that has never been solved, and revisited their relationship.

My father was an only child, born of parents well into their forties. His mother wore the pants in the family. After my father arrived, all of her time and energy and ambition were focused upon him. She had such high hopes for him. She wanted him to be successful; that is, successful as she defined success – She wanted him to be a man of prominence and respectability – complete with a lovely wife, a stately home, a prestigious career, and upward social connections -- a combination, perhaps, of Cary Grant, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, and Henry Ford.

But my father was not the stuff of her hopes, so very early in his life, the battle lines were drawn. The battle was not violent or vicious. It was more of a standoff. My father had his own center, as some people strangely do, and sensed that her regime was one to be lived out. And so throughout his youth, she proposed, and in one way or another, he disposed. He remained true to his center, despite all the forces she could marshal.

My father did grow to be a successful man. He was a pastor, a professor, a theologian, and an author. But it was not as his mother defined success. He was, in fact, a disappointment to her. Every time she would see him approaching in his corduroy and tweed, his hair after the fashion of Albert Einstein’s, a look of long suffering would come into her eyes.

Even after my father was well into his fifties, when there was no hope for her hopes, she never relinquished the battle. By this time, however, there was little in her arsenal except various adages that offered the proof of her position. "Oh Ron," she’d say, every time she cast her eyes downward, and they lit upon his desert boots, "Don’t you know you can judge a man by the shine on his shoes?" Or when one of her neighbors approached, "Remember, Ron, that a firm handshake makes a firm impression." Or as he pulled up in his beat-up Volkswagen Wagon, "How many times have I told you Ron, that nothing succeeds like the appearance of success."

My father and I in that conversation didn’t solve the mystery as to how he grew to be the man he was free of parental influence, but I did come to understand why he believed there was no rhyme or reason to parenting. As we were ending the conversation he said, "You know, there was one adage of hers I actually took to heart." "Oh, yeah?" I said, "Which one?" "You can judge a man by the company he keeps." I just laughed. I thought he was being ironic or sarcastic or some such.

He knew I had missed his meaning, but my father had a funny way of allowing himself to be misunderstood. He had a funny way of trusting that his words would some day come to be apprehended. I guess it’s not so funny really.

And Jesus answered them, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.’ The Jews then said, “This temple has been under construction for forty-six years, and will you raise it up in three days?’ But he was speaking of the temple of his body. After he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this; and they believed.” Somehow, for my dad, allowing himself to be misunderstood was an act of faith – faith, I guess, that the truth will eventually out.

And it worked, because just last week I was passing the place where his house once stood, and it summoned memories of the company he kept. First there were the animals. He was an animal rescuer and took on the tough cases. He favored big dogs, better to say enormous dogs, since they were hard to place. Dugan, for instance, his otter hound weighed nearly 200 pounds, and most of that was fur and slobber. And then there were my foster brothers and sisters of all colors, shapes, and sizes. He was always giving the older ones advice and direction for when the system cut them loose. And then there were the war protesters. I grew up during the Vietnam era. My father had been a conscientious objector during the Korean War and was concerned that their protest take legitimate forms. He made one exception in the case of a young man on a hunger strike who took up residence in the basement. My sister and I thought he was a living skeleton. And then there were his students. The house was always full of them, and my father’s conversations with them always seemed urgently important. And then there was his mother. After his father died, he took her in, and she lived with us until she died.

You can judge a man by the company he keeps. I realized as I reminisced that my father wasn’t being ironic or sarcastic. He really took that adage to heart. He thought you could judge a man by the company he kept. He wanted to be judged by the company he kept. And this, it would appear, is because Jesus did.

Think of the company that Jesus kept. First there were his disciples, his closest company. And who were they? Peter and Andrew, James and John were fishermen -- Am ha’aretz, men of the earth – peasant stock, uneducated, ordinary, rough around the edges…. nothing in particular to recommend them. Then there was Levi, a despised tax collector for the Roman Empire. And Judas, a frustrated revolutionary. And Thomas, a skeptic. A rag tag group if you ask me – his closest company.

And we hear in our Gospel Lesson about the first man with whom he kept company after he called his disciples. It was a leper, a carrier of a disease that was infectious and disfiguring, a disease without a cure. This of course, made him an outcast, just as similar diseases do today. But not to Jesus. Jesus cured him, and then to vouchsafe that he would be an outcast no more, recommended him to the established methods by which he could return to his community.

After that it was a man who was paralyzed, another whose condition rendered him an outcast, for not only was he handicapped, it was deemed in those days that his sin made him so. Again, that he might be returned to his community, Jesus cured him with a word of forgiveness.

After that it was a Roman Centurion. The Jews were at that time occupied by the Romans. A Roman Centurion should have been counted his political enemy. After that it was widow who had lost her only son; after that a woman who had earned herself a notorious reputation; after that Mary Magdalene, who was demon possessed; after that a beggar; and after that a group of little children.

Yes, Jesus kept strange company, noticeably strange company, the kind of company that would make you take notice, that would make you rubber neck, even. So I think it’s safe to conclude Jesus wanted to be judged by the company he kept. And so, if he wanted to be judged by the company he kept, what judgment can we make of him for the company he kept? We can make the judgment that everyone mattered to him. Everyone - though he had a special place in his heart for those in need, and the greater the need the more special the place.

And if Jesus wanted to be judged by the company he kept, we should seek to be judged by the company we keep as well. It begs the question, what company do we keep? Does the company we keep reflect that everyone matters to us?

For there is always the risk that it’s more like what is recorded in our Old Testament lesson. In it, Amos takes after the notables…ones…to whom the house of Israel resorts. The notable ones were the upper crust, the elite, the prestigious - to whom the people of faith pandered to keep company. And what did Amos have to say to them? That the people of faith, for their arrogance of class and race and nation, would come to punishment.

How surprised Amos would have been to discover that in the fullness of time Jesus bore that punishment himself, in the hope that he could soften arrogance of the people of faith; in the hope that he could make everyone would matter to us – that God’s people could be one. Amen.

The Human Family

Sun, 02 Feb 2020 19:50:59 GMT

Ruth 1:15-18 John 19:23-27

When the tsunami hit Indonesia in 2004 it devastated more than just the human family. The animal kingdom was devastated as well. One story that came out of that devastation is particularly remarkable; and it holds, I think, a lesson for the human family.

Flooding from the tsunami washed a family of hippos down a river and carried them out to sea. There was little hope that they would survive and little that could be done for them. Rescue teams were meager and had to be deployed to help people. And indeed, the hippos perished, all except for a baby who was found the next day stranded on a coral reef. The sight was so heart wrenching that the rescue teams left off helping people to save him. He was named Owen for the man who was able to wrestle a net over him. Physically, Owen was fine. Emotionally, he was a wreck. He was described by the rescue team as traumatized and terrified. Since he could not survive in the wild, he was brought to an animal sanctuary.

There, Owen immediately rushed up to a giant tortoise named Mzee, and the rest, as they say, was history. It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. Mzee had no prior experience as mother, especially considering the fact that Mzee was a male. And Mzee was no spring chicken. He was approaching the 150 year mark. But despite his inexperience and his age, Mzee took to motherhood right away. The two slept side by side that night, and the next morning Mzee shared his breakfast with Owen then led him to the water for a morning swim.

Within a week, they two were inseparable. Owen clearly adored his new mother. He was often seen licking Mzee’s face as they passed the time snuggling. And if anyone got too close to Mzee, Owen stood guard ready to defend him. Maybe he felt that he’d already lost one mother, and he wasn’t about to lose another.

When, a few months later, another hippo was introduced to familiarize Owen with his own kind, Owen was polite, but indifferent. By this time Owen and Mzee had developed their own way of communicating. They found a sound they could both make – a sort of hiss – and they used it to call to each other or attract each other’s attention. Baby hippos stay with mothers for several years. Clearly they had both settled in for the long haul.

As I said, there’s a lesson in all this for the human family. I suppose, in fact, there are several lessons. There is a lesson about resiliency in the wake of catastrophe. There is a lesson about hope when all is lost. But the main lesson, for me at least, is a lesson about family. You can’t deny that Mzee and Owen were an atypical family, but neither can you deny that they were a family. They found each other in life - in this life, not storybook life, but life that is riddled by disasters, natural and otherwise. They found each other in life, and they created a family.

They did, after all, just what family members do, or at least are supposed to do – they nurtured each other, they supported each other; they depended upon each other; they protected each other, they learned from each other. And dare I say it? They loved each other. Yes, they were an atypical family, but precisely therein lies the lesson about family. The lesson is that a family need not be typical. It need not be comprised of the typical members. What creates a family is the relationship between its members, no matter how atypical those members may be. Go tell Owen that Mzee is not his mother. I dare you.

There are members of the human family, however, who would not be quick and eager to internalize this lesson, and a good many of those members happen to be church goers. This is because the church, by and large, has not smiled upon these atypical families. You could even state it more strongly and say that the church, by and large, has refused to countenance them. It believes that they fall somewhere on the sin spectrum and therefore undermine the church and larger society.

And of course. it enlists the Bible as support. Adam and Eve are chiefly called up. Adam and Eve - a typical family: a husband, a wife, and two sons. If the Bible supported atypical families, it concludes, there’d be no Adam and Eve. There’d be some kind of atypical family instead.

But maybe we need to squint at the Bible a bit harder. Is it really appropriate to call up Adam and Eve as support for the typical family? Eve, after all, occasioned nothing less than the fall of humankind, and their sons didn’t get along as well as brothers should. One, recall, murdered the other. Does the Bible really offer Adam and Eve as support for the typical family, or does it offer them as evidence of our self-imposed alienation from God and the violent havoc it wreaks within human relationships?

And while I’m at it, could it possibly be that the Bible’s import is to support the typical family over against the atypical family? Such relatively small potatoes as those? The most influential book in human history? A book that has served more to inspire humankind and advance human culture than any other? A book that proclaims the redemption of all the cosmos through the same word that created it? A book that is so profound and mysterious, so utterly great, that we can only but sense that it must point back to God?

And in fact, if we do keep squinting at the Bible, if we are allowed to look past Adam and Eve - who are presumably standing guard at its portal frowning upon the atypical family - we discover that the Bible in fact offers the very lesson that Mzee and Owen offer – that what creates a family is not typical members, but the relationship between its members. In fact, the Bible even goes so far as to offer that atypical families may have a thing or two to each typical families about the ways of God.

Consider our Old Testament lesson. It doesn’t seem at superficial reading to be as scandalous as it really is. What is not superficially evident is that Naomi was an Israelite, and Ruth was a Moabite. Israelites considered Moabites, stated bluntly, to be scum. It was only out of exigency that Naomi found herself with a Moabite daughter in law.

Naomi, her husband, and her two sons (a typical family) were forced to take refuge in Moab during a famine. The famine was so protracted that the sons had to marry Moabite women or not marry at all. So they did, but in short order Naomi’s husband and two sons died, leaving Naomi with Moabite daughters in law. When the famine ended and it became possible for Naomi to return it Israel, it wasn’t even on Naomi’s radar that she and her Moabite daughters in law should stay together. Moabites were scorned and despised by the Israelites. So Naomi told them that it was time for each to return where they had come from.

But Ruth wept, and begged, and clung to her. Do not press me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go, I will go…your people shall be my people, and your God my God… Naomi, after all, was the only mother Ruth had. And she loved her. And when Ruth returned with Naomi to Israel, she was such an exemplary daughter in law that the prejudice of the Israelites was overcome. The Israelites concluded, even, that Ruth was the agent of God’s blessing to Naomi. But what an atypical family. Two women, and of enemy peoples.

And consider our gospel lesson. In it, Jesus himself creates an atypical family. As he hung from his cross dying he looked down upon grieving Mary, and did the best he could do for her. He called down to the John, “Here is your mother.” And John thereafter took her into his home. But this, if you think about it, is surpassing strange in light of the fact that Mary had a large brood of her own children. Why did Jesus entrust his mother to John?

It can only be that at the time of Jesus’ death, his brothers and sisters had renounced him, took him be insane or demon possessed. They didn’t understand who he was or what he had come to do. But John did. John understood. Jesus knew that for this reason he would be a better “son” to Mary than his own brothers and sisters. Had he not taught, Whoever does with will of God is my true brother or sister?

And in truth it should come as no surprise that Jesus did just this. It is presaged all over his teaching that Jesus prized atypical relationships. Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you…If you love only those who love you, what reward is that?...If you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others?...That which you do to the least of these my brothers and sisters, you do unto me.

When it comes right down to it, about Jesus Christ there was nothing typical whatsoever. I’d name him to be the most atypical man who ever lived. He set out to throw his life away for the sake of God’s love and his love. Hardly typical.

Though, admittedly, the contest of biblical interpretation is impossible to win. In other pulpits a message opposite to mine is doubtless being preached this hour. So what how are we to conclude the contest of biblical interpretation?

I’d say an interpretation wins if it really causes us to think, really troubles our facile, conventional assumptions and self-interest; I’d say it wins if it brings those in the margins into the center; I’d say it wins if it takes cause with those who have fallen victim to stigmas and stereotypes; I’d say it wins if it defends the vulnerable, if it treats all people, and I mean ALL people, according to their God given dignity; I’d say it wins if it trusts other people to make their own decisions about how to live their lives, if it is sparing in judgment, if it affirms that fear may indeed be overcome with love.

Or maybe the contest of biblical interpretation is simply won by Owen and Mzee, when God gives us to see in them their Creator’s love. Amen.

The Eleventh Commandment

Sat, 01 Feb 2020 19:52:25 GMT

Exodus 20:1-17 Luke 16:19-31

My friends have told me on various occasions that I have little appreciation for the tongue in cheek. They say I am too serious minded. When friends convey these types of criticisms, it puts you on notice. So I am on notice that I have little appreciation for the tongue in cheek. So I am on notice that I am too serious minded. But just because you are put on notice does not mean you can readily change your basic disposition, even if you irritate your friends.

Well, I irritated them again last week. We were having a light conversation at a restaurant over a bottle of wine. One of them quipped, “Thou shalt not be bereft of wine on a lovely summer evening. It should be the eleventh commandment.” “No, it shouldn’t.” I returned. “Do you have something better in mind?” she asked, expecting another quip. “Thou shalt not exploit the vulnerable,” I stated definitively. “Thou shalt not exploit the vulnerable.” she repeated. Then she shot me a look as if to say, “You wrecked the mood once again.” She was right. So I picked up the check to atone for my sin.

But believe it or not I’ve thought a lot along the lines of an eleventh commandment, or a twelfth, or a thirteenth for that matter. I’ve thought about it for many years. She had unwittingly offered me a cue. So, I just couldn’t help myself.

Moses, scholars tell us, received the Ten Commandments a long time ago -- around 1250 BCE. And we just heard something of the historical circumstances. Moses had earlier escaped with the Israelites from Egyptian bondage. And it was a close call. Pharaoh, King of Egypt, who perhaps should have been called Pharaoh, King of Vacillation, when Moses miraculously produced a plague, promised to let the Israelites go. But thereafter he hardened his heart and refused to let them go. This went on ten times before he finally, in a moment of weakness, actually let them go.

But a moment of weakness is just that. It is a moment of weakness. The moment passed, and he hardened his heart again. He and his army took out after them. The Egyptians were in chariots. The Israelites were on foot. They found themselves trapped against the banks of the Red Sea, the Egyptians bearing down on them. But the wind was blowing and blowing hard. It dried a straight for them to cross. When the chariots attempted to follow, the wheels got mired in the mud. The Israelites were free at last.

But their problems had in a sense just begun. God charged Moses to lead them to the Promised Land, but the Promised Land was far off. To get there they had to wander for countless years, again, on foot, through the desert, beset by every hardship imaginable – Hunger. Thirst. Enemies. Poisonous snakes. You name it. Morale was low by the time they happened into the Sinai wilderness. Then something finally happened to boost their morale. Some big. Something huge. Something world historical. God gave Moses the Ten Commandments – laws that would fashion them into God’s people, laws that assured them that they had a future.

The Ten Commandments were given under these particular historical circumstances, these and these alone, and some of them reflect it. Of course, some of them are good for every historical circumstance. Like the first commandment. You shall have no gods before me. That one’s a constant. There’s one God. Therefore, he is first and foremost. Therefore, he is the truth. Therefore, he is the way. Therefore, he is the life. Period.

But what about the second commandment? You shall not make for yourselves an idol? Or as the King James Version puts it, “Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image.” The second commandment reflected those particular historical circumstances. The Israelites were heading into pagan territory. The pagans made idols -- graven images -- of their gods. Then they attempted to manipulate them to get what they wanted out of them. The God of Israel was not to be “worshiped” in that way. But for us today, in our own particular historical circumstances, this commandment is not all that germane. We are not heading into pagan territory. We’re not inclined to make an idol of God.

This brings me back to my original point, about what I’ve thought long and hard about. What if the Ten Commandments had been given to our particular historical circumstances? Or what if they could be amended to include our particular historical circumstances? What would they be? I have drummed up all sorts of contenders, for instance: “Honor God’s creation.” But the top contender for me is: “Thou shalt not exploit the vulnerable.” The Israelites did not need that one at the time the Ten Commandments were given. They were the vulnerable.

But not for long. Within two centuries or so the Promised Land had become mighty nation, and a nation of social hierarchies, as are all nations. But no sooner were there power up and power down than the vulnerable appeared, and no sooner did the vulnerable appear than they began to be exploited. This in fact was why God called up the prophets. To expose the exploitation of the vulnerable. To condemn the exploitation of the vulnerable. "Rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow," declared the prophet Isaiah. "If you do not oppress the alien, the orphan, and the widow….then I will dwell with you in this place," declared the prophet Jeremiah. "Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever flowing stream," declared the prophet Amos.

And why was this such a big deal? Because if you think about it, it’s hard to imagine anything more wicked than exploiting the vulnerable. It’s not as though the vulnerable had done anything to their exploiters for which their exploiters were seeking revenge. It’s not as though they were in their exploiters way. It’s not as though they posed a threat to their exploiters. It’s merely because they were weak and powerless and downtrodden. It’s merely because they were defenseless. It’s merely because they could. So their exploiters made their lives all the more sad and bitter and hopeless and miserable. That’s wicked.

And, as I said, all nations are nations of social hierarchies, and so it has continued down through the centuries to this day. The vulnerable are exploited. As it was in the Bible, they are yet the alien, the orphan and the widow, and add to that the working poor, trafficked children, refugees, minority races and creeds, the criminalized, veterans of war. This is why it is for me a top contender for the 11th commandment. The exploitation of the vulnerable needs perennially to be exposed and God’s judgment declared upon it.

Perhaps though it is sufficient simply to say that Jesus deplored the exploitation of the vulnerable. This is why, above all, he condemned hardness of heart. This is why he told the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus. This is why he healed of the afflictions that made the vulnerable the vulnerable. This is why he blessed the merciful and proclaimed that the meek will inherit the earth. And this is in large part why he hung on his cross. To declare to the vulnerable that soon they would be with him in paradise.

I recently read about a man. There was much to commend him. He cut a fine figure physically. He was handsome, and his bearing and carriage were suggestive of one with military training. He was patriotic. He was a man of deep conviction. He was a diligent worker who achieved prosperity. He provided for his family. He loved his dog. But he also happened to be a Nazi prison guard at Auschwitz. He formed a part of the gauntlet through which women and children were forced to walk to the gas chambers. He exploited the vulnerable. So, clearly, all the other good he did was erased, not just erased, it was made vile. Because if you exploit the vulnerable, that’s what defines you, that and that alone. It’s the weak link that makes you a useless and broken chain.

"You will always have the poor with you," Jesus declared. Let us pray that as his followers we have the faith and the courage to protect and defend them. Amen.

Time

pastor-genevaucc@sbcglobal.net (Rebecca Clancy) — Mon, 09 Sep 2019 22:07:15 GMT

Genesis 12:1-9 Mark 1:9-14

There’s one thing that we all here have in common. We all have a great deal of time on our hands. Some of us may be too busy, and so it may seem like we have very little time on our hands. But this is just an illusion. Even if we are too busy, we still have a great deal of time on our hands. Consider the matter statistically and mathematically. If the average life expectancy in the United States is close to 80 years, that works out to nearly 30,000 days. Yes, we all have a great deal of time on our hands.

And there’s another thing we all here have in common. This time that we have on our hands can generally be divided into the good times and the bad times. We may have our own ideas about what constitutes the good times, but there are doubtless common currents – the magical moments of our childhoods, falling in love, the birth of a child or grandchild, the recognitions and achievements we receive commensurate with our individual strengths and gifts, vacations and travel, rites of passage, the things we have done that really seem to have mattered… And then there are the more quotidian good times, the good times that occur day by day -- morning coffee, dog walks, the good will of our neighbors, honest exchanges, holidays, laughter, sunsets, family time.

But too there are the bad times. Again, as individual as our personal tragedies may be, generalities can be made. What about the people you relied upon and trusted who didn’t live up to your expectations; or worse, downright let you down; or worse still, deliberately betrayed you or did some violence unto you? And then there is illness. There are accidents. There is the loss of loved ones, the loss of anything for that matter - jobs, homes, relationships, youth, hope….And too, there are the more quotidian bad times, the bad times that occur day by day – anxieties, fears, headaches, bills, dysfunctional relationships.

So what are we to make of all this time that we have on our hands, the good times and the bad times? How are we to consider it? What conclusions can we draw about it? What can be our take-away? We could, I suppose, simply weigh the good times against the bad - take all the good times and place them on one side of a scale and take all the bad times and put them on the other. If the scale tips toward the good, then we’ve had, in the balance, a good life. And if tips toward the bad, then the news is not so good. I guess that’s one way to think about it, but this is a bit simplistic. I think we could do better.

To do better, however, we must get out our New Testaments. And here’s a wrinkle. We must get out our Greek New Testaments. Because only in our Greek New Testaments can we discern that in the New Testament there are two words for time. The first is Chronos. Chronos refers to sequential time, to all the time between our births and our deaths, to all the time we have on our hands, those 30,000 days.

Chronos then is quantitative time.

Then there is Kairos. Kairos is a bit harder to define. Kairos is that time that is opportune, appointed, decisive, significant, defining, inspiring, life changing, challenging, laden with meaning. In other words, from a New Testament perspective, you could say that Kairos is that time when God acts in our lives, when God is on the move in our lives, when God puts us to use. Kairos then is qualitative time. The New Testament, and the Bible overall, acknowledges these two kinds of times.

Take Abraham’s story as an example of Chronos time and Kairos time. Abraham’s story is a good example, because it keeps close tabs on Abraham’s age. The first seventy-five years of Abraham’s life were Chronos time. He was just, to put it bluntly, some random pagan herdsman in Mesopotamia. No doubt he too had his good times and bad times, but it was all Chronos time.

Kairos time came for Abraham when, after seveny-five years, God introduced himself to him, and introduced himself not just to Abraham but through him to all humankind, because before God introduced himself to Abraham, God had not yet made an appearance in human history. “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you, and I will make of you a new nation….and in you all the nations will be blessed.” And Abraham did. He left everything behind and did as God bade him, thus unleashing the most momentous chain of events in human history.

But after that it was back to Chronos time. Abraham left everything behind and did as God bade him, but then nothing much happened for ten long years. He lost track of his wife. He found her again. He divided up some grazing pasture with his nephew. He got into a skirmish with the locals. In fact, so little happened that he grew impatient.

This impatience is all too familiar in my life, at least. At times I rise above myself. I stop praying for silly or selfish things and pray that God set before me some great undertaking, that God point me in the right direction, that God set my feet in lofty places. “You know I am the woman for the job!” I finish my prayer. And then I expect that God, who I know has indeed worked miracles in my life, and who I know will work more, will work another one immediately, merely because I am impatient. This is not the way God works. God grants us our Kairos time, but not on our terms. So it was with Abraham. He grew impatient for more Kairos time.

At the end of ten years, God granted Abraham more Kairos time. He made a covenant with Abraham to the effect that God was as good as his promises, that he would indeed make of Abraham a great nation that would bless the nations. But after that more Chronos time. Abraham got enmeshed in a lot of family dynamics, and not the good kind either. He took a second wife who bore him a son. This made his first wife resentful. Many hard words were exchanged. But the Kairos time kept coming too -- renewed promises, unmistakable signs, and finally the birth, in his old age, of the son through whom the nation that would bless the nations would come into being. And Abraham came to learn that Kairos time was the whole reason for Chronos time.

And so it is with us. Our Kairos time is the whole reason for our Chronos time. And indeed we all have our Kairos time – when we see God’s justice on the move in history and we join in that movement, when we sense that our prayers have been answered, when we experience a coincidence that we know was not a coincidence at all, when we find it in our hearts to let go of the injuries done to us and to forgive, when we commit a humble act of love and we feel blessed by it, when discern the work God has called us to do, when we look up to the glory of the heavens and know there to be a Creator, when we leap and the net appears…..And this Kairos times gives meaning, comprehension, and purpose to all the time we have on our hands.

You know, come to think about it, all this holds true for Jesus himself. He spent his first thirty years as a Galilean carpenter. Thirty years in obscurity. Scholars scratch their heads and wonder what he worked on. They posit he may have been on the construction crew in a Galilean town named Sepphoris. At any rate, nothing he built survived. Talk about Chronos time. But then he heard the summons of John the Baptist, and he knew that his hour was at hand. He began his ministry with the words, “It’s Kairos time, for the Kingdom of God has now drawn near.” In fact, it is because of his Kairos time, that we have our own. And so it is right to praise him and to devote to him all the time we have been bequeathed. Amen.

The Sacrifice of Isaac

Tue, 13 Aug 2019 18:27:17 GMT

Genesis 22:1-13

Certainly the account of the Sacrifice of Isaac, which records God’s demand for the sacrifice of Abraham’s beloved son and long awaited heir, is one of the most difficult and troubling accounts in the entire Bible.

Earlier in the narrative, the text tells us, Abraham had answered the call of a previously unknown God. Prior to God’s call and Abraham’s answer, there had been no history between God and humankind. The God who was to become the God of Israel and the father of Jesus Christ was, in his call to Abraham, just introducing himself. Prior to that introduction, Abraham was but an undistinguished, semi-nomadic herdsman meting out his living in Mesopotamia. His religion could only have been paganism, since paganism was the only religion that existed.

Then seemingly out of no where, God called to Abraham – “Go from your country and your kindred…Go from you father’s house to the land that I will show you…I will make of you a great nation….I will bless you and make your name great…Your descendants shall be like the stars in the sky….” Hence began the covenant between God and Israel that culminated in the birth, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Abraham’s righteousness, the text tells us, was his faith in this unknown God, faith that, despite appearances, despite odds, this unknown God would make good on his promises – His promises of land, of nationhood, and of a son and heir.

And it must be recalled and underscored that this was a heretofore unknown God. Abraham’s faith is made all the more remarkable by this fact. We today take for granted that we are the inheritors of an ancient and enduring tradition that bolsters and fortifies our faith. We as Christians owe a great debt for the strength of our faith to our Christian forbears, the keepers of the tradition, the clouds of witness – people like the apostle Paul, Augustine of Hippo, Martin Luther, Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King, Jr., Mother Teresa, Desmond Tutu, etc., etc., etc. We owe a great debt to the strength of our faith to our culture that is shaped by and still, despite the ravages of

post-modernity, adheres to Judeo-Christian assumptions and values. But Abraham did not inherit any tradition. He had only the call of an unknown God. Yet he believed, and “his faith was reckoned to him as righteousness.”

As a down payment to Abraham that this unknown God made good on his promises, Abraham and Sarah received their long awaited son and heir, whom, the text tells us, they loved very dearly. And then this unknown God commanded of the faithful Abraham the unthinkable -- the sacrifice of Isaac – a command that shattered all rationality and all moral order. And if the command itself was not horrific enough, it represented the abrupt severance of all God’s promises to Abraham. For the promises did not rest just with Abraham. The promises depended upon his heir for their fruition. In this horrific command God added insult to injury by appearing to renege on his promises.

So what are we to make of all this?

For one thing, the account of the Sacrifice of Isaac contains a certain, albeit inferred recognition. It is the recognition that there is an uncompromising

codicil attached to each and every event of human and cosmic history – namely, that God will not be justified by human beings. God’s ways are GOD’S ways, and they often make absolutely no sense to us. This is why even a life of faith is still a life with no guarantees. God who has revealed himself to us as a God of love, justice, and mercy; his love, justice, and mercy notwithstanding, can and does permit the events of life to fall upon people, the righteous and unrighteous alike, with a force that can crush all calculations and hopes under burdens so unbearable that one can hardly endure the thought of going on with God.

Had Abraham become a so-called “protest atheist” upon hearing God’s command to sacrifice Isaac, that we could understand, but what is bewildering and miraculous about Abraham and all others who live by faith in this strange and confounding world of ours, is that they carry on with God. In the face of episodes of inexplicable suffering, tragedy, and moral disorder, they carry on with God, hoping against hope that God will not require more than they can endure, but knowing that he may indeed require more than they can endure. The faithful carry on with God in faith that God knows what he is doing, that he is not arbitrary or cruel or capricious or powerless or nonexistent, but that he is a righteous God. This faith, this faith that come what may carries on with God; this is the faith of Abraham.

I have spoken before of my father’s death from cancer. Near the onset of that cancer, I was privileged to witness the faith of Abraham. My father’s diagnosis was dire, and his prognosis was not hopeful. We did what many other families have done. We made a pilgrimage to the Mayo Clinic. My stay there made a deep, ineffaceable impression upon me. My father was on a ward with people who were very very sick. Suffering and death hung over the place – it was palpable. But in that grave place there was an air I had never breathed before or since. All the wall that we humans so pridefully erect and that divide us – walls of race, walls of class – were torn down. Human pretensions and conceits were recognized on that ward for the trivial tings that they are; because fear, tragedy, loss, and death are great equalizers. But coupled there with the deep sorrow was deep compassion and empathy; coupled with fear was hope; coupled with tragedy beyond explanation was faith.

And when many of us came together for worship on Sunday – and the snapshots are still vivid in my memory – sick children comforting weeping parents; two young women who were twins – one hale and healthy, one ashen and bald from chemotherapy; doctors and nurses in large numbers worshiping and praying with those they south to heal – the faith in that place witnessed to the faith of Abraham, the faith that come what may carries on with God.

Of course, not all life in faith is lived is desperate crisis and disorder. It is often the case that we can exercise a certain control over our destinies by living upright lives. Lives of moderation, hard work, justice, and decency often find positive responses in the world, and those exhibiting such attributes prosper. As well they should. Life with God can be like a long comfortable marriage.

But sometimes, with Abraham, we are delivered into realms so foreign to our standards of justice, so offensive to our morality, that our explanations fall to pieces, and this is where we may and we must look to Abraham as a model for our faith.

But there is yet more to Abraham’s faith, more than the fact that it perdures. There is yet the very key to it. They is yet the reason why it perdures. It does not perdure because it is stupid or stubborn. It does not perdure because it is irrational or blind. Abraham’s faith in the ultimate righteousness of the God who commanded such a thing as the sacrifice of Isaac would be utterly incomprehensible if Abraham’s faith was not given to know that some how, some where, some way, some time God would vindicate the terrible justice of his ways.

The intervention of God’s angel only deferred the larger question, for not only do angels not always intervene, but Isaac someday had to die. All finite life in this cosmos will be sacrificed in fulfillment of God’s order.

But there inhered in Abraham’s faith – as one of its properties, in its quality, of its essence, the knowledge that the way of God’s righteousness will not remain forever opaque, and when the way of his righteousness is ultimately revealed, our faith in him will have been justified.

It is here that Abraham, without prophet, without Christ, and without tradition, stood at the brink of the mystery. It is here that faith inspired him to know what Christ’s resurrection would proclaim some 1900 years later – that faith is given to look forward to God’s ultimate redemption and salvation. Amen.