Moscow First United Methodist Church
Worshiping, Supporting, Renewing

 By Pastor Sue Ostrom unless otherwise indicated

March 14, 2010

Romans 8:9-17

Sanctifying Grace:  Living in God’s House

         Over the last three weeks we have been looking at salvation.  We have traveled from sin as the state in which we are separated from God to prevenient grace in which God initiates the search for us before we realize we are lost, to justification, that great work God does for us.  I suggested to you that salvation is a house.  Prevenient grace is the pathway leading up to the house.  Justification is the doorway through which we enter into the house.

         Today at last we begin to live in God’s house.  The big word for it is sanctification.  Unlike justification, which is an event, sanctification is a lifelong process. 

         I’ve lived in six different houses as an adult.  Doug and I are pretty efficient at moving into a house.  The first priority is getting the bed set up and made, and towels hung in the bathroom and soap and shampoo in the shower.  Next comes the kitchen.  I know we have begun to make a new house our home when we hang the pictures on the walls.  After that we can relax, put our feet up, and get on with the business of living in the house.  It may take a while to remember where we put the mixing bowls, and did we ever unpack Great Grandma’s hand painted water pitcher? But the basic functions of fixing dinner and getting up in the morning presentable to the world can go on.  Because we live in parsonages I’m always aware of the gifts others leave for us.  It may be freshly painted walls, groceries in the refrigerator, or the packet of appliance warranties and instructions.  I know I’m there by grace.

         In the same way, sanctification is more than God’s forgiveness, great a gift as that is.  Sanctification is woven into God’s greater purpose of spiritual transformation.  Paul puts it this way:  “if Christ is in you, though the body is dead because of sin, the Spirit is life because of righteousness.  If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you.”  God’s forgiveness is an event, like walking over the threshold.  It is what God does for us.  Living as a forgiven person my whole life long is an ongoing process.  It is what God and I do together.

         Forgiveness may be an event in which God washes us clean of our sins, but few, if any of us, stay clean ever after.  We need God’s forgiveness day after day after day.  It’s not enough, however, to simply say, “God will forgive me.”  True as that is, sanctification, living in God’s house my whole life long, means opening myself to the indwelling of God’s Holy Spirit so that day by day sin loses its power over me and a little bit at a time I become more and more like God.

                  When I move into a parsonage, I know it is the church’s house and my home.  In contrast, sanctification means I know I am living in God’s house and that my heart becomes God’s home.  Paul uses the analogy of adoption.  “For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received a spirit of adoption.  When we cry, ‘Abba! Father! It is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God.”

         Like Haitian orphans settling into an American home, our adoption as God’s children means learning to speak God’s language, trusting that God will always love and care for us, and living by the rules of God’s house.

         The houses I’ve lived in have never been ranch houses miles from anyone else, but part of a neighborhood.  Living in the house means living in the neighborhood.  Our current neighborhood is more connected than any other I’ve been in.  We have occasional block parties, neighbors share garden produce with each other, and watch out for each other’s homes when we’re going to be gone.    Living in the neighborhood has meant that when I wanted a clothesline I checked the neighborhood covenant to be sure it was permitted, and also mentioned it to the people on either side of me.

         Often when Christians talk about salvation we make it sound like it is an individual experience, like living on a ranch where the nearest neighbor is miles away and no one cares if I put up a clothesline.  We talk about salvation as the assurance that someday I’ll go to heaven and the hell with everyone else.  I think that view misses a significant part of what it means to live in God’s house, which is that God’s house is part of the neighborhood.  Salvation is fundamentally social in nature.  As John Wesley put it, “there is no holiness but social holiness.”

         Living in God’s neighborhood recognizes that both the support and the accountability of a community are crucial for growth in holiness.  The early Methodists met together in classes of 10-12 people each.  They prayed for each other, studied together, helped each other out, and occasionally called one another to task should someone fall into sin.  They truly lived both the support and the accountability of God’s neighborhood.

         In many ways, we have lost the sense of living in a neighborhood.  Many of us want our Christianity to be a matter of me and Jesus in the garden, with little thought for others, except for worship in a large group once a week.  Churches are finding, however, that is not enough.  They are discovering that meeting together in spiritual growth groups is crucial for their sanctification.  One of my goals, which I hope will become our goal as a church, is to form a network of small groups. The first one has begun to meet at Fairview Estates.  I hope to form a second one after Easter, and more next fall.  As we pray and study together, help each other out, and hold one another accountable we will grow together in faith and holiness.

         Living together in God’s neighborhood is also expressed in community transformation.  Since my present home borders with McDonald Elementary School, being neighbors sometimes means tossing a ball (once it was a shoe) back over the fence.  In Toppenish it meant painting out graffiti sprayed by gangs.  In Omak it meant making friends with my neighbor’s five children.  Twins Heidi and Heather used to help me rake leaves in the fall. They helped by sitting on top of the leaves I’d piled in the wheelbarrow to take to the garden.  Heather and Heidi are in their 20’s now and long past the point of riding in wheelbarrows, but I still miss them each fall.  In small ways I hope I helped to transform the neighborhood.

         In Wesley’s time, community transformation meant visiting people in prison, building schools, and helping to free people from the chains of alcoholism.  In later years, Methodists built hospitals and founded universities. 

We here at First United Methodist Church are still thinking about what it means to live in God’s neighborhood.  The youth group and mission committee are exploring the possibility of an intergenerational mission trip to southwestern Washington state to help ongoing reconstruction from two years of flooding.  The mission committee has also made plans to sponsor a free community meal to be held every fourth Wednesday.  We are encouraging other churches to take different Wednesdays in the month.  Our hope is that eventually there will be a free meal every Wednesday somewhere in Moscow.

Whether we think of neighbors as the Fort Russell District or the global community, our holiness must be expressed as social holiness.

         Next week we’ll look at the end goal for all holiness:  perfection in love.

 

 

March 7, 2010

Romans 5:1-11

Justifying Grace: On the Threshold

         From Adam and Eve hiding in the Garden of Eden to the prodigal son squandering his inheritance on wine, women, and song even before Dear Old Dad died, the Bible tells us stories of how human sin separates people from God.  Two weeks ago as we began this series on salvation I defined sin as separation.  In addition to separating us from God, it separates us from ourselves, from other people, and from God’s creation.

         Last week, then, we began to explore salvation from sin and for life.  I suggested to you that God begins to search for us before we even know we are lost.  God is the One who initiates bridging the separation caused by sin.  When we begin to look for God it is actually an indication that God is looking for us.  Our prayers to God are our answer to God.  This concept is called prevenient grace, or the grace that goes before.

         Today we move on to justifying grace.  As with prevenient grace, justifying grace is largely the work of God rather than human work.  There are a couple of ways to think about justification.  One is legal and the other is relational.

         In a legal sense, justification is God as the Judge pounding the gavel and pronouncing, “Not guilty,” not because we have paid the fine for our sinful deeds but because Christ has.  Paul puts it this way, “For while we were still weak, at the right time, Christ died for the ungodly.  Indeed, rarely will anyone die for a righteous person – though perhaps for a good person someone might actually dare to die.  But God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us.”

         Justification makes everything right.  These days we use that term in word processing.  Click on the justify icon and suddenly the entire text is lined up with clear lines on the left side of the page.  God’s “not guilty” ruling lines us up with God.

         The other way to think about justifying grace is relationally.  Paul says, “Therefore since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.”  In an old Peanut’s cartoon, Snoopy and Woodstock have been angry with each other.  Charlie Brown comes up to Snoopy and says, “I have a suggestion.”  “Doesn’t everyone,” Snoopy sighs.  Charlie Brown continues, “Why don’t you try to find out what it was that you broke at Woodstock’s party?  Maybe that would be the first step toward your reconciliation.”  Snoopy responds, “I always trip on that first step.”

         With justifying grace, the situation is reversed.  Woodstock, the wronged party, would come to Snoopy and forgive him for breaking something at the party.  God is still the initiator here and takes the first step.  We have peace with God, not because we have confessed our sins and paid for the broken vase, but because God has said, “You are more important to me than any object.  I forgive you.  Let’s be friends again.”

         With God as the initiator, justification is the result of what God has already done for us in Christ.  Other words are pardon or forgiveness of our sin.

         The question then, becomes, if justification is the great work God has done for us, what part, if any, do we play?  Are human beings simply the passive recipients of God’s salvation, or does it matter at all what we think and do in the whole process?  In the most classic of Christian teaching, we have to confess our sins to God and ask for forgiveness.  Salvation may be the free gift of God, but we have to accept the gift and unwrap it.  Otherwise it is just a pretty box sitting on the shelf.  After time it will become a mere dust collector, clutter, which does no one any good.

         Our part in justification is faith.  Faith is one of those words which Christians bandy about.  We sound very holy and pious when we use it, but to be truly honest we aren’t quite sure what we mean by it.  Sometimes we equate faith with belief, as if faith were a matter of intellectually ascribing to a series of statements or precepts.  I believe that God is the maker of heaven and earth.  I believe Jesus is my Lord and Savior.  I believe Jesus is fully human and fully divine.  Some people readily ascribe to each of these statements, and so we say they have faith.  Others wrestle with them. They point out that the earth surely formed over billions of years not in seven twenty-four hour days.  They note the paradox of being both human and divine.  “They have no faith,” we conclude sadly.”

Faith is more than knowledge or even ascribing to a set of beliefs.  I prefer to think of faith as trust.  That takes us back to the relational piece of justification.  A relationship is necessarily between two or more parties, in this case between a person and God.  Faith means trusting God to look out for my best interests.  Faith is walking hand in hand with God through dark valleys and up steep mountains, in the darkness of the night or the brightness of the noon day sun.  Faith is not only saying that God loves me, it is living out that love in the privacy of my home and the public glare of the mall.  Faith is an attitude of the heart along with the knowledge of the head.  It means accepting that God has forgiven me and then living free of the claims of guilt.

Sin is the death of our trust in God and God’s trust in us.  Faith is God’s gift to us, telling us that God chooses to trust in us once again.  We have to choose to trust in God and then to live it out on a daily basis.

         Last week as we talked about prevenient grace I said, “if salvation is a house, then prevenient grace is the pathway leading up to the house.”  Justification is the threshold into the house, the doorway.  Our part is stepping from the pathway leading up to the door and over the threshold.  God, the Host, opens the door for us and greets us, saying, “Welcome, come on in!  Let me take your coat.  How about a cup of tea?”  We may come in with muddy shoes from playing in the dirt or dripping wet from walking in the rain, or bearing a bouquet of daffodils.  Regardless, God throws the doors open wide and receives us with joy.

         Next week we will begin to explore sanctification or what it means to live in God’s house as holy people.

         There on the threshold, today we can sing with Charles Wesley,

And can it be that I should gain              an interest in my Savior’s blood?           Died he for me who caused his pain!  For me, who him to death pursued?   Amazing love, how can it be, that thou, my God, shouldst die for me?

        

 

 

February 28, 2010

Luke 15:1-7

Prevenient Grace

         “The wages of sin is death,” I began my sermon last week.  As I explored the topic of sin, I suggested to you that sin means the death of innocence and of trust and of belonging.  Another way to understand sin is as separation.  After Adam and Eve disobeyed God by eating the one fruit specifically forbidden to them, they hid, or were separated from God.  They blamed each other and the serpent, or were separated from each other.  The very earth upon which they depended for their lives was cursed so that thistles and thorns grew from it.  (Think of that next summer when thistles invade your garden!)  Adam and Eve were separated from creation itself.

         Sin is a reality in our lives.  Whether it is my own sin which alienates me from those I love most, or societal sin that has led to crime and environmental degradation, the truth of sin faces us every day. Cheery stuff here at the end of winter, isn’t it?  Like the smoker who can’t seem to give up those last three cigarettes a day, it can feel hopeless.

         Last week I promised that we would spend these next four weeks exploring salvation from sin and for life.  The prepositions are important.  It’s not enough to say we are saved from sin.  In addition we need to recognize we are saved for life.  If the wages of sin are death then the benefits of salvation are life.

         So it is today that we begin to think about salvation with a good Wesleyan phrase:  prevenient grace.  John Wesley, the founder of what became the United Methodist Church, thought of salvation as a house.  Prevenient grace is the pathway leading up to the house.  But I get a head of myself.  First a definition.

         Prevenient is not a word most people use in everyday conversation.  The closest we get to it to talk about prevention, as in the blocking of something from happening.  Preventative medicine tries to keep people healthy so that they do not get sick.  Both my mother and her mother before her have had strokes.  I know strokes are in my family genome.  I hope that regular walking and a healthy diet will prevent me from their fate.  Walking several miles a day is not only a prevention of strokes, it is the start to a healthy life.

         So, prevenient grace is the grace which goes before.  I prefer to think of it as the first step on a pathway of life and health, rather than a saving from a dire fate.  Prevenient grace starts, not with me, but with God.  It is the beginning of salvation. 

         The parable of the lost sheep as told by the Gospel of Luke is a parable about prevenient grace.  The shepherd leaves behind the rest of the flock to search for one lost sheep.  The sheep may not even realize it is lost when the shepherd begins the search.  We don’t know why it was lost:  perhaps it put its nose in the grass and absent mindedly grazed its way away from the other 99 sheep.  Maybe it lay down in the sun for a nap and woke up to realize everyone else was gone.  Maybe it chased away the other sheep from the tastiest patch of grass to keep it for its own pleasures.  The parable never tells us, though it may give us a hint.

         Jesus tells the parable to some Pharisees and scribes who criticize him for eating with sinners and tax collectors.  Often paintings of this parable show a little white lamb who is innocent and sweet.  This context always leaves me with the impression that actually this sheep is a big, smelly, feisty old ram.  Now it is true the shepherd lays the sheep on its shoulders, but I wonder if instead the shepherd had to fasten on a collar and tug on a leash to get it to come, helped maybe by a smart sheep dog nipping at its heels.

         Regardless, the shepherd is the one who initiates the search for the sheep rather than the sheep sending out an emergency text message asking for help.  It is a story of prevenient grace because it tells us that no matter how far we have been separated from God, God never gives up on us.  God is the one who searches for us when we are lost.

         Many people ask about unanswered prayer, especially after a major disaster like the Haiti earthquake and now a second one in Chile or a friend with a chronic illness that doesn’t get better despite excellent medical care and persistent prayer.  “Why doesn’t God answer my prayer?” they wonder.  It is a good question.  I’ve asked it myself when I’ve prayed and prayed and prayed for something that seems to me to be totally unselfish and a good thing.

         Prevenient grace flips that question around.  If God is the one who initiates the search for me, then my prayer may actually be an answer to God’s prayer for me.  God is the one who moved my heart in compassion to think about the people in Haiti living under bed sheets and wishing they could cook their own meals.  God is the one who nudged me to wonder about undeserved suffering and my own comfortable life.

         In doing some reading about small group ministries, recently, I read one book about seeker small groups.  These are groups where people can talk about spiritual things they do not understand.  They are especially designed for people without much of a church background.  I like the concept.  The book did talk a lot about God’s concern for lost people and getting them to cross the line to a formal confession of faith in Christ.  I was uncomfortable with the implication that there is a firm dividing line between those who are lost and those who are saved.  I believe in Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior, or as this book put it as my Teacher and my Leader.  I can even give you a general time line of a couple of months when I first began to believe in Christ.  I can’t tell you when, if ever, I crossed the line to faith.  To be honest, there are days when I feel more lost than found.

         I’d feel a lot better about the whole concept if we talked instead about answerers than seekers, because I think that first asking the questions is actually a way of answering God.  My questions are a sign that God, who has been searching for me, perhaps for a long time, has found me.  Maybe God lays me over God’s shoulders to carry me home, like that little lamb in the pictures.  Or maybe God has to tug at me and push me and sic Lassie to nip at my heels before I finally start towards home.  However you think of it, it is God’s prevenient grace that opens me up to the very concept of God and all the questions that come with it.  When I begin to realize I am lost, it is only because I have been found.

         If salvation is a house, then prevenient grace starts me up the pathway to the house.  For some of us that pathway is just a few feet long and leads through a garden where the crocus are blooming and the forsythia is budding out.  For others of us the pathway is long and dusty and surrounded by thorns and thistles.  Home is miles away.  Either way it is God’s prevenient grace that starts us up it.

         Next week we’ll get to the door way of the house, or what is called justification.  The week after that we will explore sanctification or living in the house.  Meet you there.

 

 

February 21, 2010

Genesis 3:1-13

Romans 5:12-14

The Wages of Sin

         Have you ever driven down the highway and seen a billboard proclaiming in big black letters, “The wages of sin is death.”  Or perhaps you’ve read it on a bumper sticker or on a reader board in front of a church.  The wages of sin is death.  What an appealing message.

         There was a time when coming to worship meant being warned in no uncertain terms of the punishment that awaited sinners.  Hellfire and damnation were the order of the day.  I suppose that is still true in some circles.

         These days, at least in the churches I am most familiar with, the opposite is more true.  Sin is not my favorite preaching topic and in twenty-five years of ministry I can’t recall a single sermon I’ve preached on hell.  Thus far no one has complained.

         So it is a step out of my usual style to devote a sermon to sin, but that’s what I’m going to do on this first Sunday of Lent.  It’s a necessary first step for the Lenten series ahead when we’ll be looking at salvation.  For the most part I’d rather think about what we are saved FOR, but it is appropriate to begin by thinking about what we are saved FROM.

         The Apostle Paul puts it succinctly: “The wages of sin is death,” or as he says in our reading today, “sin came into the world through one man, and death came through sins, and so death spread to all because all sinned.”  The connection between sin and death actually goes back to the very beginning.  God says to the first people wandering freely in a garden, “You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, nor shall you touch it, or you shall die.”

         My first question is, what sort of death?  Classic Christian theology has understood it to mean the death of both body and soul.  Once united in life, in death they are separated forever.  Life leaves the body which then decomposes and eventually becomes mere dust.  So last Wednesday those of you who came to the Ash Wednesday service heard me say to you, “Dust you are and to dust you shall return,” as I put ashes on your foreheads.  In this understanding, the soul is condemned to eternal torment unless the person has repented of sin and received God’s forgiveness before the death of the body.

         Among my struggles with this most classic of Christian teachings is that it does not really address the rest of Adam and Eve’s experience in the garden.  Responding to their statement that they could eat from any tree except the one in the middle of the garden, the crafty serpent tells them, “You shall not die, for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.”  The serpent is correct.  The man and the woman eat of the forbidden fruit and do not die, at least not physically.  Their eyes are opened and they know they are naked.

         The death that takes place here is the death of innocence.  It is a death all humans experience as we mature.  Little children can be naked and unashamed.  Gradually they learn to value their privacy.  It happens at different ages for different people.  I once went to visit a family with five children, ranging in age from three to ten.  It was summer and the kids were playing in the sprinklers.  Three year old Natalie kept coming into the house without her swimming suit.  Her Mom would put it back on her and pretty soon Natalie would show up without it.  It was all perfectly innocent and natural.  Ten year old Abby, on the other hand, was embarrassed by her little sister’s natural state in front of the preacher.  As I prepared to leave, four year old Ryan came in, for the first time without his swimming suit.  “I’m naked!” he announced.  “I can tell,” I answered.  I didn’t care, though if older children or adults had been nude I would have left immediately.

         At age three or four Natalie and Ryan could be naked and totally innocent.  Later in life self consciousness develops and, sadly, with it sin.  Potty humor turns to profanity and profanity to pornography.  Separated from our best selves, humans sin in a wide variety of ways.  It may be in sensationalizing or degrading sex, or it may be in despising one’s own self or becoming addicted to work or drugs or gambling so that one fails to live out life as the gift God intended it to be.

         Like human children, Adam and Eve tested the limits.  They couldn’t accept God’s word at face value but had to see if God really meant it.  The death of innocence was also the death of trust – both their trust in God and God’s trust in them.  No longer could they explore the garden freely.  Once they went beyond God’s limits God sent them forth from the Garden of Eden, like teenagers sent out from the protection and provisions of home.  Prodigals that we are, human beings leave God’s care to spread our wings. Occasionally we crash to the ground in a pig pen or a barren desert.

         At its most basic level then, sin is death – death of innocence and trust and belonging. Death means separation.  Sin means separation.

         Adam and Eve were not only separated from themselves, they were separated from God.  With the death of their innocence they were ashamed to appear before God, even with fig leaves to cover their nakedness.  When they heard the sound of God walking in the cool of the evening breeze they hid.

         Sin, in whatever form it presents itself, separates us from God.  Whether I am swearing at the computer or lusting after that good looking guy in the other checkout line at the grocery store, I don’t want God to see me.  My hiding is no more effective than Adam and Eve cowering behind a tree, but it does keep me from living freely in full relationship with God.  When I cut God out of my life I lose the power of God’s Spirit and am reduced to life in the shadows.

         Sin also leads to separation from other people.  Adam and Eve played the blame game, unwilling to each take responsibility for their own actions.  From sibling rivalry to domestic violence, marital squabbles to gang warfare, sin separates us from each other.  We experience that separation in our own lives and watch it tear our communities and our world apart.

         Finally, sin separates us from God’s creation.  “Cursed is the ground because of you,” God says to Adam, “thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you.”  Climate change, acid rain, toxic waste dumps, and polluted ground water; human separation from creation makes the headlines on a daily basis.

         The wages of sin is death.  Whether it is the death of the body, the separation of body and soul, the death of innocence, or separation from God, sin is a reality in our lives.

         So what to do?  Over the next four weeks we will be exploring salvation from sin and for life.  Stay tuned.

 

 

February 14, 2010

Luke 9:28-36

Down in the Valley

         For the last six weeks, we’ve been hearing a variety of epiphany stories in which people had their eyes opened to new understandings and experiences of God.  We started with the magi who came from a distant land to worship the child Jesus.  Then we moved on to Jesus’ baptism, heard his first sermon in Nazareth, and finally saw the miraculous catch of fish.  Today we conclude this series with Jesus’ transfiguration.  He takes his three closest disciples on a hike up a mountain.  They see his physical appearance change and his clothes become dazzling white.  Moses and Elijah meet with him, a cloud overshadows them, and a voice from heaven affirms, “This is my Son, the Chosen; listen to him.”

         Perhaps even more than all the other epiphany stories, this one is a story of glory.  Imagine being there when the two greatest figures from the Hebrew Bible show up.  The best modern day equivalent I can think of would be if President Obama met with Abraham Lincoln and Harriet Tubman, or if John and Susannah Wesley stood before us today.  Our choir/praise team often lead us in glorious music but wouldn’t it get your attention if Tom/Tony’s face actually glowed?  Like Peter we too would probably want to hold onto that moment.

         Throughout this series we’ve been asking, “What is the purpose of this epiphany?”  It is interesting to note then that “when the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone.  And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.”  At one level this seems odd.  With so much glory you’d think that Peter, James, and John would be so excited they couldn’t keep their mouths shut.  Some things are just so big they have to be told, like the child who has helped buy Mom a Valentine’s Day present and bursts into the house shouting, “It’s a secret – we bought you a box of candy for Valentine’s Day!” 

On the other hand, I can understand their silence.  I mean, who is going to believe them when they say, “Guess what!  We saw Moses and Elijah!”  “Uh huh, sure Pete.  And how many wine skins did you empty on that hike?”  I can picture Thomas looking at Andrew and rolling his eyes while he makes little crazy signs next to his head and points to Peter.  “Here, Pete, how about a cup of coffee?  Then you just lie down for a little bit.  You’ll feel a lot better after a nice nap.”  Some things are so big it is hard to explain them to those who weren’t there.

         This story of Jesus’ transfiguration is incomplete without the next verses:  “On the next day, when they had come down from the mountain, a great crowd met him.  Just then a man from the crowd shouted, ‘Teacher, I beg you to look at my son; he is my only child.  Suddenly a spirit seizes him, and all at once he shrieks.  It convulses him until he foams at the mouth; it mauls him and will scarcely leave him.  I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not.’  Jesus answered, ‘You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you?  Bring your son here.’ While he was coming, the demon dashed him to the ground in convulsions.  But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the boy, and gave him back to his father.  And all were astounded at the greatness of God.”

         Too big not to tell or so huge it couldn’t be explained, they could not stay up on the mountain to bask in all that glory.  And down in the valley they met with the usual problems and challenges of life – in this case a child with epilepsy.  His desperate father begged the disciples to heal him but they could only stare in fear and revulsion. So much for their epiphany, so much for transfiguration, so much for glory.  They kept their epiphany to themselves and shook their heads in helpless frustration.  Jesus scolded the disciples, “You faithless and perverse generation!  How much longer must I put up with you?” Then he cast the epileptic demon out of the boy and sent him home in his father’s care.

         Today’s epiphany challenges us to take the glory of the mountain top down into the misery and pain of the valley.  That fun and relaxing vacation has to end, and at some point you have to go back to work.  The warm glow of summer camp, when God seems right beside you, comes to an end and you have to go home to chores and soon enough, school.  That perfect moment of the Humanitarian Bowl when the Vandals went for the two point conversion and won the game in the last four seconds only lasts for so long.  Then it’s back to homework and your obnoxious roommate and the tuition bill that must be paid.  Glory is fleeting.  Real life is down in the valley.  Real Christianity is down in the valley.

         So the question before us today is, with all our epiphanies, do we keep silent, unable or unwilling to share their light with others?  Once in the valley what good is our faith when confronted with endless need in Haiti and even here at home in Moscow?  What about the person who walks into my office with a story of how the heat is about to get shut off?  What about the friend whose life is one disaster after another?  Most of us want to help but at some point compassion fatigue sets in.  I’ve heard enough tales of woe from people who want money for rent or utilities or food that I confess I am cynical.  I’d rather be on the mountain top, basking in God’s glory than down in the valley with swarms of pesky mosquitoes and yet another sick kid.

         The purpose of this last epiphany story, however, is to challenge me to roll up my sleeves and spread God’s glory down in the valley.

         Part of life in the valley means confronting my own faithlessness and perversion.  Yes there are people who work the system and take advantage of others’ compassion.  Yes, my resources are limited and I cannot fix everyone’s problems.  Yes, my faith is finite and some problems seem too big to solve.  That’s precisely when the glory of the mountain top can open my eyes to see the light of God.

         The Cavendish United Methodist Church is a tiny little church with only a handful of mostly elderly members.  Recently their pastor described how they looked around their little town and wondered what they could do to help those having a tough time making ends meet.  They decided to offer a soup kitchen twice a month from 11:00-1:00.  They listed about twenty people they knew of who might come.  The first day everyone gathered.  11:00 and no one came.  11:30: no one.  “Well,” they thought, so much for that idea.”  Then at 11:45 the door opened and a few people walked in.  Then a few more and a few more.  Nobody recognized any of them.  People ate and talked and at 1:00 no one wanted to leave.  The glory of the mountain spread into that little valley to people they have never before met.  I haven’t heard what happened in later weeks.  Maybe no one came back.  Maybe twice as many people came.  What I do know is that for one day at least that little log cabin church was transfigured.  Down in the valley.

 

 

February 7, 2010

Luke 5:1-11

Fully Alive

         Meet somebody new and the first question many of us ask is, “Where do you work?”  When the new acquaintance is a student, we ask, “What’s your major?” which gives us a hint of what kind of work that person hopes to do.  If the person is retired, we ask, “Where did you work?”

         Work consumes most of our waking hours and often our thoughts even when we are not at work.  Many of us receive our primary identities through work: teacher, farmer, engineer, Mom, business owner.  One of the challenges people face in retirement is figuring out who they are apart from their work.  Work can provide great fulfillment.  It can also be sheer drudgery.

         Very often we think of ministry as something totally separate from work.   People like me are in what is often called a set-apart ministry.  Ministry IS my work, whether that’s preaching a sermon, visiting the home bound, or attending a meeting.  That is not the case for the rest of you.   When a lay speaker fills the pulpit for me, that person has to write a sermon in the evenings or on weekends, times they could be watching the ball game, cleaning the house, or visiting with friends.  When you come to church meetings, you do so on your own time.  If I go on a mission trip it’s part of my job.  If you go you probably have to take vacation time.  Ministry calls you away from work.  When Jesus called the fishermen to follow him they left everything, nets, boat, and all.

         Or did they?  In today’s Gospel reading Jesus does not show up on Saturday morning after they’d had a good night’s sleep and were wondering just what to do with the day.  He does not appear at the end of the shift when the nets have been washed and the catch has been sold.  Jesus notices the fishermen in the middle of their work.  They had been fishing all night long.  It was one of those times when despite hours of back breaking labor they had nothing to show for their efforts.  There were no fish.  Surely in addition to being physically weary they were dispirited and depressed.  Work is hard enough at the best of times, but when it yields nothing it seems pointless.

         Jesus did not call them away from their work but on to further work.  He told them, “Put out into the deep water and let your nets down for a catch.”  Peter said, “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing.  Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.”  As soon as he did they caught so many fish the nets started to break.  One can imagine the energy which must have filled him.

         This story is clearly about more than fish, miraculous as this catch was.  Indeed, it never tells us what happened to all those fish.  It doesn’t say if they were sold, or given away, or salted and stored for future use.  The story does tell us what happens to Peter and the others.

         Knee deep in fish, Peter has a God Moment.  He falls at Jesus’ feet and says, “go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.”  He understands that he is in the presence of something bigger than he is and so he recognizes his own sinfulness.

         The same thing happened to Isaiah.  He too was at work.  In his case that meant the temple, for apparently he was a priest.  Even those of us in the set apart ministries can have God Moments at work, as we’re fussing about the candles and if there are enough bulletins.  Isaiah saw God in all God’s immensity.  Like Peter he recognized his smallness and his sinfulness.  “Woe is me! I am a man of unclean lips,” he cried, “yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts.”

         Whether our sins are the ordinary ones of gossip and silence when someone tells a racist joke, or the big ones like murder and adultery, when we find ourselves in the presence of the divine, we know our sin.  Touch up the paint on a wall and suddenly the whole room seems dingy.  Compared to God’s purity our lips, indeed our lives, are unclean.

         So there at work, Peter and Isaiah confess their sin.  Absolution – forgiveness – came for Isaiah through the burning coal touched to his lips. For Peter it came in Jesus’ words.  “Do not be afraid.”  And there, at work, both Peter and Isaiah heard God call them to ministry.  Isaiah was to speak to Israel of her sin.  Jesus told Peter, “From now on you’ll be catching people.”

         I’ve never liked that phrase, “catching people,” or the traditional “fishers of men.”  I imagine reeling in a flopping fish and then chopping off its head and throwing it into the frying pan.  I’m highly suspicious of ministry which manipulates people, or traps them into conversion.

         But that is not what this passage is talking about.  The Greek word used here for catching was not the one used for the taking of prey.  It means instead to rescue or to save.  God’s realm requires not dead fish but people, fully alive.  It is why both Peter and Isaiah confess their sin, for sin confines us and holds us back from being the best that we can be.  They could be fully alive for God and for themselves only by revealing their sin and allowing God to heal them and forgive them.

         Just as the story of the miraculous catch of fish is not really about fish but is about Peter, so this story, in the end, is about us.  Have you ever had a day at work like Peter did, a day when no matter how hard you worked it all seemed pointless?  This story is for you.  Have you ever looked at yourself and said, “Woe is me, for I am a mess?”  This story is for you.  Have you ever just wanted to put away your tools and go home for a hot shower and a cold beer and forget all about work?  This story is for you.

         This story is for you because Jesus calls you, not away from work into some set apart ministry but in your work as ministry.  Like Peter, Jesus calls you into work, whatever it is, and promises miracles.  The miracle probably won’t be thousands of fish or dozens of students.  It won’t be that everything will go perfectly and you’ll get a $1000 bonus.  (Pity.)

         The miracle is that God will make you fully alive right there, staring at the computer screen or standing at a sink full of dirty dishes.  “Do not be afraid,” Jesus says, “I have made you clean.”  The sin rolls off you like soap suds off the plates you’re rinsing in the sink.

         Whatever you do, and more importantly, the way you do it, proclaim to the world that God loves them in the muck and grime and back breaking labor of their jobs.  Speak to your colleagues, your clients, your family, and tell them that God loves them.   Tell them about it through your compassion, your honesty, your integrity.  Tell them with a smile and a friendly word as you walk in the door at the start of the shift, in words of encouragement to the new person in the office, in the thanks you give to someone else for their efforts.

         This story is for you because you too can be, not a dead fish served up on a platter but a fully alive person, living ministry right there at work.

 

 

January 31, 2010

Luke 4:21-30

God’s Church

         An African American businesswoman was out of town for a conference one Sunday so she attended worship at the church closest to her hotel.  It happened to be a very Caucasian, very staid church.  When the pastor made a point that spoke to her, she called out, “Amen!” People glared at her.  The pastor said something else which touched her and she cried out, “Preach it, brother!” The head usher caught her eye, put his finger to his lips, and shook his head.  The third time it happened, he said, “Madam, if you cannot keep quiet you will have to leave.”  “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m just so happy since I’ve found the Lord.”  “Madam,” he replied, “you may have found the Lord but I am quite sure you did not find him here.”

         Recently the Education Committee got a note from Susan Cunnington who has moved to Mississippi with her family.  She reported that they are attending a new church where the people are very friendly but that it just isn’t the same.  “Every Sunday Grace and I say, ‘we miss OUR church.’” 

         I wish the Cunnington’s well and hope they settle into their new lives.  It’s kind of nice to hear they miss us.

         I’m always glad to hear the sense of ownership and belonging that comes with phrases like “OUR” or “MY” church.  Cunnington’s were only here for about three years so it is good to know they connected in a meaningful way.  It is a significant moment when people new to a church begin to think of it as “MY” church.  And I’m deeply concerned when long time members no longer feel connected enough to say, “OUR” church.

         That said, there is peril in those words.  MY church is a good thing when people find support and friendship in church.  It is dangerous when the friendships of church become exclusive.  “We’re a friendly church,” people sometimes say and visitors leave with at best a quick hand shake from the pastor.  MY church is a good thing when people have enough sense of ownership to work together to address the challenges and opportunities of ministry, whether that is teaching Sunday School, putting out DIce on a slippery sidewalk even when that is not their job, or making regular financial contributions.  MY church is a dangerous thing when the church’s programs and ministries are for my own comfort and preferences alone.

         The people of Nazareth had watched Jesus grow up.  They had taught him in Sabbath School, prayed with and for him, and shown him how to care for the needy among them.  So they were justifiably proud when they heard stories about him teaching in other cities.  And they were excited to hear him when he came home to Nazareth to speak in their own synagogue.  He was their boy and he had made a name for himself which reflected well on them.

         That day in church Jesus read from the scroll of Isaiah. “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,” he said, and one can imagine the glow on his face and theirs.  Jesus went on to announce his mission “to bring good news to the poor, proclaim release to the captives, and the year of the Lord’s favor.”  Chances are most of the people there that day lived at a subsistence level.  They needed good news.  They had waited all their lives for the jubilee which was the year of God’s favor.  So when Jesus rolled up the scroll they sat in anticipation.  When Jesus said, “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing,” their hearts rejoiced.

         Imagine their shock then when Jesus told them, “no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s home town.”  Imagine their confusion when he referred to two stories from Scripture in which God worked, not through a Jew like them, but through a Gentile, a foreigner, the very type of person they had been taught to avoid.  In an instant their pride turned to rage and they were ready to throw Jesus off the cliff.

         Nazareth wanted Jesus’ power and prestige for themselves.  “How will we benefit from our boy who has made good?” they wondered.  When Jesus told them the ear marks were not for them but for others they were furious.  They had long understood themselves to be God’s Chosen People, but now Jesus suggested God also chose others.  Jesus’ message was offensive because he was telling theme his mission included the very people they had been taught to think of as “them.”

         “The church is here for those who are not here yet,” several of us heard last summer at the School of Congregational Development.  “The mission of God is more important than our own comfort or preferences.”  The message Karen, Connie, and I heard at that event was very much like what Jesus said to the people of Nazareth.  It was much like what he said to his own parents as a twelve year old when they found him in the Temple.  “Did you not know I must be about God’s business?”  This is not MY church, or even OUR church.  It is GOD’S church and sometimes that makes church downright UNcomfortable and not at all what I prefer.

         The first step in recognizing this is God’s church is when we learn to tolerate changes that are not in line with our preferences because we recognize they matter a great deal to someone else.  It was a significant step for this congregation when it began to include contemporary music in addition to traditional hymns.  Some people loved it and others put up with it out of respect for them.  The same thing is true for language that changes the words in hymns and prayers to make them more gender inclusive.  Both sides have had to give out of respect for other’s preferences.  So, we still say, “Our Father” when we pray the Lord’s Prayer, and the choir recently sang “Jehovah” in place of “Father” in one of their anthems.  The mission of the church is more important than my preferences.

         The second step in recognizing this is God’s church is to actually embrace the change instead of just tolerating it.  Perhaps that means a heart to heart talk between the person who struggles with Father as an image for God and the person who finds great comfort in that image.  Some people who started out tolerating praise music now find themselves singing it in the car, and others who have been bored with hymns hum them in the shower.  This congregation embraced that change by starting The Connection, our evening contemporary worship service.

         The third step in recognizing this is God’s church is to actively listen for God’s call and to look for ways to extend its ministry.  The Connection has not grown the way we had hoped.  Next Sunday we’ll be asking you to fill out a survey on a proposal to move it to the morning.  The Connection evaluation team is suggesting that it meet from 9:15-10:00 AM, concurrent with Sunday School.  What is now our morning service would continue to meet at 10:30 AM, and coffee hour would take place from 10:00-10:30, between the services.  During the summer The Connection would be held in the evening and the traditional service would meet at 9:30 as it has usually done.  Our hope is that this change will allow for more interaction between the two services, build energy and critical mass at both Sunday School and The Connection through that combination, and still provide people with a choice in worship style and time.

         Actively listening for God’s call may extend our ministry beyond the walls of this building.  Truly we have a beautiful place and equally truly the church is not a building, or a steeple, or a clock tower.  It is the people of God proclaiming good news on the city streets and in playgrounds, at school and work, in Friendship Square and at the mall.  It could mean sponsoring a section of highway to keep clear of litter, or holding worship in East Side Park.  It could mean sponsoring the roof on the next Habitat for Humanity house with both money and labor.  It just might mean that people will find God not because they are here but because we are there.

 

 

January 24, 2010

Luke 4:14-21

A Mission on the Margins

         Five and a half years ago when I met with the Staff Parish Relations Committee for what I call an introview to discuss becoming pastor here, I asked them, “Do you have a mission statement?”  There was silence and then some laughter.  They did have a mission statement – written in 1986.

         I asked that question because, at their best, mission statements can give focus and direction to an organization.  Realistically, the process of writing a mission statement is the most valuable part.  Very often once that is done it gets forgotten in a file.  Since that meeting we have updated the mission statement.  The Church Council now reads it at the start of every meeting, and it was also read at each of the neighborhood coffees held last fall.  There’s been talk of another rewrite.  We haven’t gotten to that yet, so this morning I invite you to join me in reading the current one:

The First United Methodist Church of Moscow, Idaho takes as our mission to be the body of Jesus Christ, ministering to a community which draws strength from its diversity.  Our mission centers on the worship of God, expressed through varied forms of prayer, preaching, music, and ritual.

         As a family of believers, we commit ourselves to sharing the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  Recognizing the character of our rural area and university community, we promote Christian education and spiritual growth for all.

         We look beyond ourselves to the world at large, supporting God’s work through our United Methodist and ecumenical connections. Our faith is based upon the Bible, and we are inspired by the Holy Spirit to form a social conscience.

         Our love and fellowship enrich, support, and renew us.

 

         Recognizing that mission statement is a bit long, the Church Council did refine it down to three words which you’ll note are printed on the cover of every bulletin: worshiping, supporting, renewing.

         The term mission statement may be a recent one, but the concept is not.  After Jesus had gone through his temptations and begun his ministry he stood before the people of his home town in Nazareth to read the Scripture for the day.  He turned to the scroll of the prophet Isaiah and read what must have been familiar words to them:  “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.  He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”  Then Jesus looked his old teachers and neighbors in the eye and said, “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

         This was Jesus’ mission statement, though he likely did not call it that.  These verses guided his ministry, set his priorities, and told him how to use his time:  good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, let the oppressed go free, proclaim the year of God’s favor.  The common theme that emerges is that Jesus’ ministry is to those on the edges of society.  Whether it is the poor, the blind, or the captive, all of these people lived on the margins.  Sure enough, read through Luke’s gospel and you’ll find story after story of Jesus reaching out to people on the edges of society: he cast out demons, healed lepers, and told parables about lost sheep and Good Samaritans.  He affirmed that he came to call not the righteous but sinners.

         Throughout history the Christian Church has been at its most vital when it has taken the message of God’s love to the edges of society.  John Wesley, the founder of what became the Methodist movement, moved beyond the established church of his day.  He preached in the fields, at mines, or anywhere people would listen to him.  Initially he felt uncomfortable doing so.  As people responded to his message his enthusiasm grew.  The Methodist Church started among the poorest of British society, people on the edges.  It is difficult to prove why something did not happen, but many historians credit the Methodist movement with preventing a British version of the French Revolution.  It began schools for the poor, advocated for better working conditions, and addressed problems like alcoholism.  Alec Guiness, the founder of the famed brewery, established a legacy of using his money to serve the down trodden all because he had heard Wesley preach.

         Often the original vision which inspires a movement fades away as the years pass.  Wesley worried about the future of his movement when his followers did become more prosperous precisely because they claimed the values of sobriety and hard work he preached.  Sure enough, as the United Methodist Church has become middle class we have grown stagnant in our faith.  United Methodist Churches in the United States are shrinking.  It is no coincidence that the places where we are growing are places where there’s more poverty, like Africa and parts of Asia.

         The Council of Bishops has identified four areas of focus for the United Methodist Church.  They aren’t written as a mission statement but they serve the same purpose.  Ministry with the poor is one of those four areas.  The Bishops are calling us back to our roots, not just as Methodists but as Christians.  They are calling us back to Jesus’ mission statement to bring good news to the poor and release to the captives.

         At the neighborhood coffees held last fall, one of the themes that emerged was concern for people right here in Moscow who are troubled economically.  As I read notes from those coffees I saw comments like these:  “a need to do something more directly for our community’s hungry . . . We ought to be able to provide a weekly evening meal and fellowship, at least in conjunction with other churches.”  “Should we be doing more for those in need?”  “Church needs to place special emphasis on assisting during economic stressful times.”  At one coffee several people told about other churches they knew of who have soup kitchens or ways of feeding the hungry.  People wondered if we could do something similar.  “Could we do something out of our kitchen for those in Moscow who are having tough times?  A community meal, especially for families?” one coffee asked.

         As a church we already do important ministry for people in tight spots.  We give general support to Sojourner’s Alliance which offers transitional housing to people in danger of becoming homeless.  In addition, we’ve bought school clothing for families or supplied underclothing or hygiene items.  We also support the Food Bank with in kind donations and cash gifts.  The UMW generously give me money each year for a pastor’s discretionary fund which I give to The Moscow Interfaith Alliance who send it to the Community Action Council.  They use that money to provide gas vouchers, bus tickets, and motel rooms to people in need.  It is all good work.  It is all second hand.

         The vision of a community meal would be a new challenge.  There are far more questions than answers.  The Church Council has included it as a topic for more discussion.  It is not in our current mission statement, but I wonder.  Maybe, just maybe, the Spirit of the Lord is upon us.  Maybe, just possibly, God has anointed us to bring good news to the poor.  Maybe God is sending us to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.  Maybe the day will come when we too will say, “Today, this Scripture has been fulfilled.”

 

 

January 17, 2010  --  Dale L. Cockrum, District Superintendent

John 2:1-10        10:30 Worship Service

The Wedding At Cana

     Have you ever had one of those terrible dreams in which you find yourself in some situation for which you are totally unprepared? For preachers, the dream usually has Sunday come again on Monday, and there I am heading up to the pulpit, and not prepared. I’m caught totally by surprise by a week that has unexpectedly skipped six days, and my mind goes blank. And I stand there, in front of all these people—anxious, afraid, embarrassed—and there’s no place to hide.

     I suppose such a dream reveals some insecurity and fear. If I think that through a little, I know it to be true. I do have a fear of running dry, of running out of inspiration, out of useful ideas and material. I have to take this old, empty stone jar to the Lord, and ask Jesus to fill it up again, or to work a miracle to transform the contents into something that might be helpful, or interesting and inspiring.

     That’s why I relate to this second chapter of John’s Gospel. I identify with that host family in coming up empty. Now, to tell the whole story, I have also experienced the miracle of filling and transformation that they experienced. I have seen joy and laughter and understanding come at the very point that I thought everything was a flop.

     This year, Vancouver, B.C. is the site of Olympics. Some years ago, JoAnna and I were there for the World’s Fair. The theme was Transportation, and one of the exhibits featured film, either actual footage or recreations of early attempts at flight. Here were people, like Icarus of the Greek myth, who believed that we have the ability to fly, to break away from a flat, two-dimension existence into three-dimensional fullness, soaring and swooping like birds. Shown were anonymous inventors and engineers who followed in Icarus’ footsteps. The problem was that every attempt, every single attempt at flying ended with a crash. Those early planes would make a big arch and crash back to earth. They would soar over cliffs and hang suspended for a second, then gravity takes over and down they go. A lot of them never even made it off the ground, especially the ones powered by human arms and legs. The extension wings would waggle back and forth haplessly, until the pilot gave up in exhaustion.

     I think a lot of people still have that feeling—all that effort and no result. They had a hope of flying, but all they did was crash and burn. Young people who have poured everything into preparing for a career, only to discover that there’s no fulfillment in it, or worse, that no one will hire them. Marriage partners who have staked their whole identity and happiness on a marriage, only to discover that their partner wants a divorce. Newly retired people who suddenly have lost the purpose for which they lived and no longer know why they should even get out of bed. If you know what it is to feel empty, to feel drained, to feel like the plug has been pulled and the energy and joy and zest and enthusiasm is gone—I think you will appreciate the message of the 2nd chapter of John.

     There’s a wedding feast in progress at Cana of Galilee. Cana was practically next door to Nazareth, so Jesus could easily have attended. At the time, weddings in Israel were grand events—the most joyous, festive, happy occasion of the ancient world. The ceremony itself took place late in the evening after a wonderful feast. Afterwards, the couple was escorted by torchlight to their new home. They didn’t go on a honeymoon, exactly, but for the week following the ceremony, they were treated like a king and queen. They wore crowns, dressed in beautiful clothes, and their word was law—for that week. There was so much poverty and hardship that the wedding feast and the week of festivities that followed were one of the supreme occasions of life.

     It says something to me that Jesus was invited. Think about it, that Jesus was invited to this couple’s wedding. You don’t invite someone to your wedding who’s a killjoy, who’s sour and grumpy. Jesus knew how to laugh; he joined in the songs and the festivities. This couple wanted him to be there. They figured that the time would be more fun with him there!

     In the midst of the wedding feast, a crisis developed. To us, it may seem trivial. But John says, “The wine was gone....” It may be that the couple and their families underestimated the size of the group that would come celebrate with them. Maybe they had poured all their resources into getting what they could and it wasn’t enough. We don’t know, but we can imagine what an embarrassment this must have been for them.

     In the first chapter of his gospel, John emphasizes that in Jesus we see God; and here is the Lord of Creation, the mighty Word of God, who begins his ministry by caring about a small problem of embarrassment in a poor family’s home in a small town in a backward country.

     John says this is Jesus’ first miraculous sign, by which Jesus revealed his glory; it was an Epiphany! And because of these signs, because of these Epiphanies, his disciples put their faith in him. This first sign doesn’t occur in Jerusalem or Rome, Alexandria or Athens. Cana was even smaller than Nazareth.

     And if the God of the Universe could care then and in that place, can you see that God cares about your home and mine, that God wants our homes to be places of joy, and fullness and hope!

     The six stone jars were used for Jewish purification rites, and in the context of this story they stand for all the ways in which we try to get everything right ourselves. We work so hard. We are so serious. We try so desperately. But we fail. We come up empty.

     Even the number of jars is significant in John’s telling of the story. In Jewish numerology seven is the number that is complete and perfect; and six isn’t quite there; six stands for everything that is unfinished and imperfect. The way John tells the story, those six stone jars stand for the imperfections of the Jewish law; any legalistic approach to religion doesn’t help us go on to perfection either. Jesus came to do away with the imperfections of the law and to put in their place the new wine of the gospel of his grace.

     Jesus fills each of the jars with wine. Now figure for a moment. Six stone jars, each of which held 20-30 gallons, would have held something like 150 gallons of wine there! No wedding party on earth could drink 150 gallons of wine (though I could be wrong!)
I believe the point we’re to get here is that the grace of Jesus is inexhaustible; there’s enough for all; there’s a glorious superabundance of it. So later John (10:10) reports that Jesus said, “I have come that you might have life, and have it in all its fullness, in all its abundance!”

     That’s the message of the Water turned to Wine. There is one who would like to be invited to your home, and into your heart. He wants to fill the emptiness and make life more abundant, more exhilarating, with resources that can never be exhausted.

     And listen to the wine steward—he doesn’t know what happened! He just says, “Everyone serves the good wine first; and when the people are pretty well out of it, they bring out the Ripple. But you have kept the best wine until now!” This morning, you may feel that you’ve already experienced the best life has to offer. But God has more in store for you. The best is yet to come!

     In the last half of the second chapter of John, the scene changes. We’re no longer at a happy wedding in Cana of Galilee. We’re in Jerusalem, the center of political and religious power in Judea. And we’re there during the Passover, the most significant of Jewish religious holidays. Jesus is standing in the outer court of the Temple, the Court of Gentiles, the closest non-Jews are allowed to come to the presence of God, but a place where they might worship, too.

     But they can’t, because here in this place of worship, the hustle and hassles of a temple-sponsored bazaar intrude. Aimed at Jewish pilgrims who came from all over the known world, the booths in the bazaar offer for sale the sacrificial animals required in the Passover observance. But the whole thing has been twisted; greed is the driving force here, not devotion. Each animal offered for sacrifice must be approved by the priests, and you know they won’t approve any animal not sold by the temple profiteers. The price for the animals is greatly inflated, double or more the going price in other markets. And the pilgrims are forced to pay a temple tax, which they can’t pay in the currency of their native lands. It has to be in special temple coinage, which moneychangers in the temple are glad to provide, for a fee of course.

     Jesus sees poor people being cheated. He sees the rich taking advantage of the pilgrims’ devotion and love of God. He sees Gentiles turned away from worship in the one place they can approach God in the Temple. And his visage changes. No longer the fun-loving, jovial wedding guest, now his eyes blaze. He makes a whip out of rope and strikes with lightning speed. He turns over the cages of sacrificial animals and the tables of those selling them. Cages, coins, and people are scattered. He shouts, “Take these things away; you shall not make my Father’s house into a market!”

     So we discover that God’s role in our lives is not just to comfort us when we’re afflicted, it is to afflict us when we get too comfortable.

     Paul teaches us that the body is meant to be a temple of God. But the temple has been invaded. Little by little, the good things are displaced by distractions. We are diverted. We no longer have time for God, or, in God’s name, for people who hurt. The Temple created by God, for God and us to meet together, becomes a place of deception and cynicism. Our lives are possessed by the idea that profit is the only measure of worth.

     Ray Balcomb tells of reading a news story about a woman in Nebraska who went to a United Methodist pastor and asked him to conduct a funeral for her dog. The idea struck him as improper and, claiming a full schedule, he declined as tactfully as possible. She asked him if he could recommend any other pastor who might do such a service, and he suggested that she try the local Baptist preacher. She asked what she ought to pay the Baptist preacher for conducting a service for her dog, and he replied, “Whatever you feel it’s worth.” “Would $1,000 be enough?” she wanted to know. The preacher looked at his calendar again and said, “You know, I think maybe I can squeeze in the time tomorrow after all. Why didn’t you tell me your dog was a United Methodist?!”

     It’s the little compromises that get us. And so there are tables that need turning in our lives. There’s upsetting that needs to happen. We need help in getting rid of those things that stand in the way of worship, in the way of a rich relationship with God and others. We need to understand that there is a silent struggle going on for our temples, for our lives. The great issue of existence is the question of who will be sovereign over us. Will we be so taken with success or failure in the marketplace that we drive out any room for worship? Will we seek our own comfort to the exclusion of meeting the needs of the poor and the oppressed, or will we follow our Lord wherever He may lead?

     The second chapter of John reminds us that we can never separate personal faith and social concern. The Lamb of God, the guest at the wedding feast, is also the Lord with eyes that flash like lightning, who takes whip in hand and turns over the tables, and shouts in the depths of our lives, “Take these things away!” It’s then, only then, that he can fill the emptiness, and turn the water of despair into the wine of joy. He wants us to live like bridegroom and bride, full of love and full of joy.

     The tables are turned now, once again, and Jesus himself is the host in this service of worship. It’s he who invites us to sit at his table, and share the goodness and grace we can find only there.

     It’s here in worship that the power of sin in our lives can be broken, and it’s here that we can be filled. The best is yet to come! Amen…

 

 

 

January 17, 2010 – 6:00 PM Service

John 2:1-11

Cheers!

         (Enter pulling a large suitcase on wheels.)  Go to the airport and chances are good that you’ll pull behind you a suitcase like this, packed with clothing and toiletries and maybe a book or two.  The advent of wheels on suitcases has made getting them into the airport and to the counter ever so much easier.  You only have to lift it out of the car and onto the scales rather than lugging it all the way.  The average piece of checked luggage weighs 44 lbs.  I’m glad I don’t have to carry it.

         44 pounds is also the weight of the water that many women in Asia and Africa carry on their heads every day, sometimes for miles.  Imagine carrying this suitcase on your head even for a block much less for miles.

         I can fill a glass with clean drinking water any time I wish.  I can wash my hands, flush a toilet, or water a houseplant.  According to UNICEF, 884 million people in the world lack access to safe water.  Every twenty seconds a child dies from diarrhea caused by unclean water.

         Why, O God?  We cry upon hearing such dire statistics.  What did those children do to deserve such a fate when our kids go through six outfits a day, each of which has to be washed.  How can you let your people suffer for lack of such a basic thing?

         Maybe it is no surprise that water plays such an important role in the Bible and our faith.  Last week we heard how Jesus was baptized in the  Jordan River.  Contrary to the words of the old spiritual, the Jordan’s waters were more likely muddy and tepid than chilly and cold.  Today we read about Jesus’ first miracle in which he turned water into wine.  Jesus was a reluctant miracle worker here, and that, I think is part of the purpose of this Epiphany story.

         Jesus, his mother, and the disciples were all at a wedding in the village of Cana.  Mary told Jesus the wine had run out.  “What concern is that to you and me?” he replied. “My hour has not yet come.”  But Mary said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.”  Jesus noticed six stone jars and ordered the servants to fill them with water.  Voila! The water turned to wine.

         Those jugs were made of stone so they were probably not the kind that women filled at village wells.  Their purpose was ceremonial not hygienic.  They were used for the rites of purification.  When people came into contact with ritually unclean things like some bodily discharges or committed various sins, they were to wash themselves and their clothing as a way of being ceremonially cleansed.  The jars in this case were more like baptismal fonts than water pitchers.  It makes sense then that they were so big, holding twenty or thirty gallons each.  What was a reasonable amount of water for cleaning one’s body became an enormous amount of wine, however, one-hundred and twenty to one hundred and eighty gallons!

Wine in the Bible is often a way of talking about joy.  Wine is associated with the good times – weddings and other festivals.  Wine is a way of celebrating prosperity and life.  Anticipating the restoration of Israel after years in exile, Amos said, “the mountains shall drip sweet wine.”

 Drunkenness, however, was a metaphor for dulling one’s mental and spiritual perceptions:  “for the drunkard and the glutton will come to poverty,” says Proverbs, “and drowsiness will clothe them with rags.”  The abundance of wine at the wedding in Cana was a sign of God’s joy, not an invitation to inebriation.

         Jesus, as I said, was at best a reluctant miracle worker.  It took Mary’s prodding to move him to act.  She became the catalyst for his generosity.

         In a world where by now ten children have died for lack of clean water, it is Mary who inspires me.  In the desert of economic trouble where people thirst for any sign of God’s generosity we must look to Mary.  Why does God fail to act? we wonder, and it is Mary who reminds us that we too can become catalysts for God’s generosity.

         Many years ago when I was the student pastor of a little country church in southern Indiana, a man in the church became critically ill.  Theron ended up in the hospital in Indianapolis, about an hour’s drive.  Every day I went to pray with him.  To do so I had to drive through a number of small towns.  One day a reader board on a church in one of those towns said, “Prayer is the pause that refreshes.”  I was tired from all those trips and from my concern for
Theron.  “Bosh,” I thought, “prayer is the pause that drains.”  Then I began to think about prayer in general.  Certainly prayer can refresh, as when we sing together in praise of God, or confess our sins and feel God’s healing wash us clean.  Intercessory prayer, however, like my prayers for Theron’s healing, is more like a transfusion.  I could not heal Theron of the infection which had settled in his spine and paralyzed him.  I could offer up to God my love and energy so that God could give them to Theron.

         Prayer for others is one way we can be catalysts for God’s generosity.  God will no more take my energy from me without my permission than a doctor will take one of my kidneys to transplant into someone without my permission.  So I offer it to God, freely and wholeheartedly, trusting God to use it to bring joy and life where they are most needed.

         Annual Conference is the yearly gathering of lay and clergy representatives of United Methodist Churches from a roughly statewide region.  We gather to worship, to connect with each other, and to conduct some business.  Clergy are required to be there.  It’s just part of our jobs.  Some clergy, however, serve in ministries beyond local churches, like campus ministries or hospital chaplaincies.  They often have to take vacation time to be at Annual Conference.

         Now it used to be that the Conference paid a per diem to those attending to help with the costs.  With budget cuts those funds are now gone, but even in the years when they were there, they were not available to clergy in appointments beyond the local church.  One year a proposal came to extend the per diem to those pastors.  Money is always tight, so it got some debate.  Finally Larry rose to speak.  He was the chair of the Conference Finance Committee.  “These people will be drinking from wells they have not dug!” he argued. Many of us gasped at the harshness of his logic, the question was called for, and the motion passed overwhelmingly.  Never before have I heard an argument against something make the reasons for it so convincing.  Good old Larry was a catalyst for our generosity.

         The Wells of Hope project of the United Methodist Committee on Relief is just one example of giving access to clean water through wells the recipients may not have dug entirely by themselves.  More than two hundred wells have been dug in Afghanistan alone, each one serving about two hundred people.  That’s four thousand people who can now get a drink, wash their hands, or do the supper dishes in clean water.  Our gifts to the United Methodist Committee on Relief are a catalyst for God’s generosity.  The joy overflows.  (drink water)  Cheers! Jesus has worked another miracle.

 

 

January 10, 2010

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

A Bright Idea

         When cartoonists want to show that a character has gotten a bright idea they will show a light bulb that clicks on over its head.  The church word for this is Epiphany meaning revelation.  Last week was Epiphany Sunday when we heard of the wise ones who came from afar to discover both the promise and the threat of the Child Jesus.

         Epiphany is more than a one time event, however.  It is a season.  From now until Lent we’ll be exploring different epiphanies, asking “What is the purpose of this epiphany?     

 Today we hear about Jesus’ baptism, a pivotal story.  Every Gospel tells it in some form.  It is also an awkward story.  John’s baptism is for repentance for the forgiveness of sins.  We usually think of Jesus as the sinless one and so it seems odd that Jesus would seek out such a baptism. 

         Luke refers to it in the past tense.  “Now when all the people were baptized and when Jesus also had been baptized,” he says.  Jesus is just one of the crowd.  Only after the baptism, while he is praying, do the heavens open up, the Holy Spirit descends, and a voice says specifically to Jesus, “you are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.”   This is not a public pronouncement but a private affirmation straight from God to Jesus.

         The purpose of this epiphany becomes clearer when we put it in context.  Luke tells the familiar story of Jesus’ birth, and only one childhood story, before he goes on to tell about the baptism.  After that he recites Jesus’ genealogy, describes Jesus’ temptations, and then has Jesus launch into ministry.  These seemingly unrelated stories actually all fit together in one epiphany about Jesus.

         The Jesus who stands in line with everyone else to be baptized is also the Jesus whose genealogy concludes, “son of Adam, son of God.”  Jesus the son of Adam is also subjected to temptation.  Only after he has dealt with that can he begin his ministry.  Jesus lived within the broken world of all humanity.  He was not set apart in a protective bubble, isolated from the tragedies of the world.  The wonder we celebrated just a few weeks ago at Christmas was that God became flesh.  Jesus was fully human, prone to all the temptations that plague the rest of us.  He was a son of Adam, Adam who yielded to the forbidden fruit.

         “You are my beloved Child,” the voice of God proclaims to him at his baptism.  “Son of Adam, son of God,” concludes the genealogy.  Jesus was also fully divine.  It is the paradox of the incarnation, indeed of the Christian faith. Jesus was fully human and fully divine.  The purpose of this epiphany story is to tell us that Jesus brings the divine into the tragic structures of this world.

         Today as we celebrate Africa Sunday, our thoughts turn to that vast continent.  Certainly there is a lot of tragedy in Africa.  In past years we’ve told tales of the hyperinflation that has devastated the Zimbabwean economy.  We’ve also told of the oppression of the Mugabe government.  Opponents simply disappeared.  It seemed highly suspicious when Morgan Tsvangurai’s car was rammed into by another car shortly before the election.

         The good news this year is that Mugabe and Tsvangirai have formed a unity government.  In place of the worthless Zim dollar they are now using US currency.  A colleague of mine who recently visited there told me this change, “somewhat works, except that there are a LOT of extremely old and dirty US bills there!”  My friend also wrote, “A country that was once doing fairly well agriculturally was at the brink of starvation which led to several things:  (too) many people now live in Harare because that is where the work is for some. Lots of young men roam the streets seeking ways to make a dollar: one favorite pastime is five of them standing in a parking place (blocking it) with a couple of them out in the street directing your vehicle into that place – for a tip, of course.”  Carolyn also noted “The fields in the countryside are now beginning to grow crops again; not large fields but small fields that can be made with a large hoe like an adz. . . . There were VERY few cattle or goats, something that would have been prevalent 7 years ago.  Almost all of the monkeys and baboons are gone because they became a food source when it got really rough.”

         Jesus brings the divine into the tragedy of Zimbabwe.  One bright light is Africa University.  Carolyn was there for the inauguration of their new president.  She said, “Africa University is highly valued.. . . Some 39 countries in Africa are represented by the students.  The population of the school went down from 1400 to about 1200 when they switched to US currency because it is so hard to come by. . . . the students  feel very fortunate to be attending the university; each of them has an understanding that while they are there, they help to support the AIDS orphanage across the valley and learn about modern agriculture techniques, and that when they graduate, they will return to their own country to help it grow.”   The bright idea of Africa University continues to turn on lights for students from across that continent.  It is all possible because of the support of United Methodists from around the world.  Our church struggles to pay all of its apportionments but for the last five years we’ve paid 100% of our Africa University apportionment through Africa Day.

         Tragedy still plays itself out in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.  Civil war has plagued it for years, as both sides attempt to claim the country’s rich natural resources.  The war has left orphaned children in its wake. 

         Into this tragedy came the bright idea of Jamaa Letu, originally built to house 60 girls.  Our child, Patience Ekange is now 15.  Like her many of the girls are nearing adulthood.  Our Conference is exploring options for emancipation grants to help these girls as they begin independent lives. 

         What about the boys? People have asked.  Twenty boys have been housed in a substandard facility.  The good news is that enough funds have been raised that construction has begun on a new facility for these boys.  Our mission committee hopes to raise enough money today to sponsor a boy as well as Patience.

         Africa is a big continent.  It has 56 countries.  It includes rural and urban areas, deserts and rainforests, and people who are Christian, Muslim, and other religions.  So often we think of it as a place that needs our ministry, as indeed it does.  The reverse is also true.  The Christian faith is spreading rapidly in much of Africa.  We have a good deal to learn from it.   Already our church has known the blessings of students who come here to study at the University of Idaho and in the process end up teaching us.  Jesus the son of Adam and the son of God is in ministry in Moscow and in Africa that black and white might all know the truth that we too are the beloved children of God.  Now there’s a bright idea!

 

 

January 3, 2010

Matthew 2:1-12

Opened Eyes

         The summer I was ten years old my mother took me to the doctor for a pre-camp physical.  As a routine measure they checked my eyes.  With my right eye I could read the big E at the top of the chart – and nothing else.  And that was the good eye.  My mother was shocked to learn I was so near sighted. I was not.  My desk partner had been reading the chalkboard to me all year long.  I was ten and did not want glasses so I had told no one.  And then I flunked the eye exam.

         We came here to Moscow to Dr. Duffy’s for that first pair of glasses.  I had not wanted them but as we drove home to Pullman I was amazed at the new world that opened to me.  I could see leaves on trees and clods of dirt in the fields for the first time in my memory.

         My experience was hardly unique.  Whether it is the first pair of glasses as a child or cataract surgery as an adult, many of us have experienced the wonder of new sight.  What happens to us is called an epiphany.  Epiphanies happen in other ways too:  a sudden moment of understanding when after half a semester the prof’s lecture finally makes sense, a new idea that will cure cancer or at least figure how to get all the dishes in the cupboard, a revelation in which you realize who your adult child actually is.

         Today marks the beginning of the season of Epiphany in the church year.  Our Bible reading tells us of the magi’s visit to the child Jesus.  Often that is how people have understood the Feast of the Epiphany.  That story is only one of many epiphany stories in the Bible, however.  Epiphanies where people receive new understandings of God come up regularly.  We will spend the next seven weeks hearing of these epiphanies: the baptism of Jesus, Jesus’ first miracle turning water into wine, his inaugural sermon in Nazareth, the miraculous catch of fish, and at last Jesus’ transfiguration.  As we hear these stories let us listen for the new light that dawns and ask, “what is the purpose of this epiphany?”

         Today’s tale is a familiar one.  Babylonian magi who study the skies for signs of important events notice a new star.  Somehow they understand it to mean that a new king of the Jews has been born.  They travel to Jerusalem to pay him homage.   

         Unlike most of the people in the Gospels who follow Jesus, the magi are not Jewish.  Ancient Babylon lay where much of present day Iran and Iraq are.  Had they been Jewish, their understanding of God would have been shaped by the Scriptures – what today we call the books of history like Genesis and Exodus, the psalms and the prophets.  They would have looked for epiphanies in Temple rituals and scholarly discussions of the old texts.  But the magi were not Jewish and so they saw God signs that came to them through nature.

         Their epiphany did not deliver to them a complete faith, neatly wrapped up with a bow on top.  It was more like a scavenger hunt than a Christmas present.  The star was the first sign.  It’s not clear how they knew it meant a king of the Jews had been born, but they read it so, and logically enough went to the palace of the Jewish King, Herod.  The star only told them something important had happened not where it took place.  Once in Jerusalem they had to ask for directions, at which point Herod sent someone to look up the prediction in the Bible.  That sent them on to Bethlehem.  We usually think of the star as a searchlight, like the ones auto dealers in large cities flash in the sky to draw people to come look at the newest hybrid cars.  But the star was no searchlight.  Remember they only went to Bethlehem after they stopped in Jerusalem.  Once they had found Jesus and offered their treasures, they got another revelation, this time through a dream.  It warned them not to tell Herod where Jesus was because Herod wanted to do away with any new king who might threaten his hold on power.  Epiphanies, you can see, take time to unpack.

         Epiphanies come to us in many ways.  Like the magi they may be a hodgepodge of something in nature, a verse from the Bible, a word of guidance from a friend, and a dream in the night. 

God can speak to us through a natural object or phenomena: a heart shaped rock when you’re feeling unloved, butterflies and rainbows when life seems hopeless, a star in the sky. For anyone else those things may seem ordinary and uneventful, but the timing of them in your life makes them God Moments. 

Reading the Bible is very often a cross cultural experience filled with hard to understand passages and mysterious symbols.  Like the magi it helps to discuss them with others, to get their thoughts about what parts speak to our needs.  God created us as social beings who need others to explore new ideas and make sense of life. 

Depending on who you talk to dreams are the workings of the subconscious, meaningless firings of the brain, or supernatural phenomena.  I believe our lives are so busy that sometimes God has to put us to sleep to get a word in edgewise.  It helps to sort out the symbolism but even at a subconscious level God can send us epiphanies.

         As the magi had to learn to tell the difference between the joy of the young child at home with his mother and the threats of a jealous king, so our epiphanies require us to sort out the promise from the threat. 

         Religion can be used for wonderfully good purposes that nurture life and hope.  Sadly too often it is used for evil purposes that harm others.  Whether it is the fanatic who sets out on a holy mission to kill abortion doctors or the insurgent who blows up a market place in Jerusalem, holy wars are among the most dangerous causes in the world.  All of the world’s major religions have been misused to justify evil behavior.  They had led to immense suffering and pain.  The Herod’s of this world still lash out in violence against those whom they perceive as threats.  They range from terrorists trying to blow up an airplane to heads of state launching invasions to wipe out an evil empire.  Always it is the innocents who suffer the most.

         Faith in a higher power also offers the promise of hope and peace.  Bishop Desmond Tutu led South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission.  As this nation emerged from the dark cloud of apartheid, Bishop Tutu guided them towards healing by exposing the evil to the light of truth and then granting forgiveness.  What many had anticipated would be a blood bath was peaceful.  South Africa still has lots of problems, but the spiritual values of truth and forgiveness fulfilled their promise.

         As we begin this new year, I invite you to watch for epiphanies in your life.  Another name for them is God Moments. They don’t always come in expected ways.  Epiphanies often happen in places other than church and at times when prayer is the furthest thing from your mind.  Who knows, your next epiphany could come in the middle of math class or while you are waiting for a red light to change.  You could have a God Moment while folding the laundry or shoveling snow.

         In the next weeks we will hear about other surprises when light dawned and the glory of God appeared over people.  With new vision they recognized God at work in their lives.  We just might too.

 

 

December 27, 2009

I Samuel 2:18-20

Luke 2:41-52

Messy Families of God

         “How many children do you have?” people ask when they first meet me.  It’s a usual enough question, like asking a student, “What’s your major?” or “where are you from?”  Answering it, however, it a bit more complicated.  I have never born or adopted children.  My husband has children from his first marriage, and while they’ve never lived with us, I’ve helped pay child support, tuition, and plenty of emergency pleas for help to the Dad ATM.  My step son’s death last March raises its own problems.  Do I say, “We have three by my husband’s first marriage, one of whom is dead,” which is probably more information than a first time acquaintance needs to know, or do I say, “two,” which leaves out  an important part of the family.  And then there’s our foster son, Anthony, who only lived with us for a year, and who was 19 when he did so he was never an official ward of the state.  While that was over 13 years ago, Anthony still claims us as his parents.

         The complications of that question are hardly unique to my family.  Families come in many forms: the traditional nuclear family of Mom, Dad, and 2.4 children, single parents with children, blended families, grandparents raising grandchildren, couples with no children, . . . . the possibilities are endless.

         Even in the best of situations, families are messy.  Most of us have an Uncle Jay somewhere, who tells racist jokes, gets drunk at family parties, and goes off in a sulk at the slightest provocation.  Families have rebellious teenagers, grouchy Dads and Mom’s with PMS.  They have children who sass their parents, get involved with drugs, or do any number of embarrassing if not destructive things.  The nicest of couples grieve over infertility or an oops baby who comes after the parents have the energy and will to face more 2 am feedings.  Families mourn over elders who live past the point that life is a blessing.  Some families truly harm each other through neglect or abuse.  Oh yes, families are messy.

         Today’s readings from the Bible tell of two families. Hannah had been unable to conceive a child.  Her husband, Elkanah, had children by his other wife, Peninnah, so clearly Hannah was the one who was infertile.  In that era a woman’s worth was measured by the number of baby boys she produced, so not only did Hannah grieve for the babies she couldn’t cradle in her arms, she was scorned as worthless.  Peninnah is actually called her rival, which gives us a picture of the complications of polygamy.  Hannah’s infertility only fueled more ill feelings.

         Eventually, of course, Hannah did conceive and gave birth to Samuel whom she dedicated to God and sent at a young age to serve in the temple alongside the old priest, Eli.  Samuel’s family thus included his parents, his father’s other wife, and Eli.  Talk about a blended family!

         Jesus also grew up in an extended family, something probably more common than not in his day.  It’s always a little shocking to hear that it took a full day traveling home to Nazareth after the trip to Jerusalem before his parents realized he was missing.  What kind of parents were they, we think, to go a full day before noticing he was not with them?  They had traveled with a large group of relatives and friends, however.  People of that time understood that it takes a village to raise a child and Mary and Joseph assumed the village was doing its part.  Family for Jesus included aunts and uncles, cousins and neighbors – a whole hodgepodge of people.

         When Joseph and Mary found Jesus at last, in the temple talking to the teachers of the law, they learned to their surprise that Jesus’ definition of family was broader even than their understanding of extended family.  “Child, why have you treated us like this?” Mary scolded in relief tinged with anger.  “Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety!”  Jesus’ reply sounds like a mouthy pre-teen.  “Why were you searching for me?” he says, and then enlarges family.  “Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” as if that were the most natural and obvious thing in the world.  Of course family included God as parent as much as it included Mary and Joseph as parents.  It is also interesting to note that as a twelve year old, Jesus amazes the teachers of the law with his understanding when the adult Jesus disputed with the teachers of the law.

         Today is the third day of Christmas, the festival of the incarnation.  We are more used to thinking of Christmas as Jesus’ birthday and that gets close to the truth.  On Christmas Eve we read about shepherds and angels and a babe lying in a manger.  “Unto us a child is born,” we sang.  The wonder of the incarnation is not limited to a baby’s low cry or a child wrapped in swaddling cloths, however.  Incarnation is the wonder that God became human, that the divine took on flesh.  Jesus was fully human and fully divine.  That meant that in Jesus God experienced the full range of humanity, including dirty diapers and teen age acne, grief and joy, hunger and pain. 

         Jesus was born in the same messy fashion that all of us are born.  The incarnation took place in the context of a family – messy, complicated, and occasionally contentious as families are wont to be.  It was a family that included Mary and Joseph and eventually a whole slew of brothers and sisters.  Jesus’ family most likely included an Uncle Jay whom most of them preferred to avoid, and an Anthony whom legal records would not have named but who became family anyway, and all those friends and neighbors who slapped Jesus’ hands when he reached for another fig off the dessert plate.

         The incarnation, God made flesh, was the way in which God entered into human life to redeem it from within.  By sharing in the complications of family, God was able to bring good out of the weakness and even evil of family.  Jesus' messy, imperfect family nurtured him so that he grew in wisdom and in years.  Sometimes they lost track of him and other times they treasured him in their hearts.  Samuel’s unusual family provided him with everything from clothes to his spiritual training.  He too grew in wisdom and in years.  Samuel became the priest who consecrated kings.  Jesus became the Savior of the nations.  And both of them came out of imperfect families.

         In spite of, or because of them, our families too are the source of life and salvation for us.  God becomes flesh among us today in the slow healing that takes place as couples resolve their differences and manage to make their marriages work.  The incarnate God redeems old hurts as the family celebrates Uncle Jay’s life in all its fullness.  It expands to include Anthony for whom family had been only a source of pain.

         In our disconnected world where neighbors don’t know each other’s names, and kids play video games alone rather than tag all through the neighborhood, village takes on a new meaning.  We sometimes talk about the church as family.  That presents us with new challenges like learning to appropriately discipline other people’s children when they race through coffee hour in an out of control game of tag, or accepting with grace someone else sending your child to the back of the line until everyone else has gotten treats before they go back for more.  It presents us with opportunities, as when veterans of marriage mentor newlyweds who wonder if they can stick it out together.  It means young and old learning together that God’s house may be here in the church on Sunday, at the city park on July 4^th, or at an intergenerational mission trip in some distant city.  It means growing in wisdom and years as the family of God.

 

 

December 24, 2009

Isaiah 9:2-7

The Authority of Peace

         A couple of months ago I talked with a friend of mine who is the pastor of the United Methodist Church in North Pole, AK.  North Pole is actually just outside Fairbanks and not at the top of the world.  Still, Santa’s House is one of the major economic engines in town, along with nearby Eielson Air Force Base.  My friend told how recently their family had been glad to have a visit from a friend who at the ripe old age of 20 had just returned from his third deployment in Iraq.  As she welcomed him to their home, Karen offered to make him a mocha.  She noticed he sat with his hands wrapped around the mug and stared at it without drinking any of it.  “Is there something wrong?” she asked.  “Oh no,” he answered, “I’m just enjoying having it.  You don’t get anything like this in Iraq.”  Later as they sat at the dinner table she again noticed him staring at the utensils by his plate.  “In Iraq,” he explained, “you only get one utensil.  I have to relearn how to use a knife, a fork, and a spoon.” 

         The authority of war speaks loudly in our nation this Christmas. As we sit down to festive tables laid with the best silver knives, forks, and spoons, let us remember the soldiers who halfway across the world eat their MRE’s with multi-utensils and the children in refugee camps who are glad to have one spoon to eat their gruel with.  As we sit down to open packages cleverly disguised to look like something other than what they are, let us remember children whose legs were blown off when they reached for a toy that turned out to be a land mine, or soldiers returned home who cringe when they see a pop can by the side of the road because in Afghanistan such an object could well be an explosive device.

         Bowing to the authority of war, earlier this month President Obama ordered an additional 30,000 troops sent to Afghanistan.  He is talking to our allies hoping to get them to send another 10,000 troops.  Some of those young people will come home in body bags.  None of them will be the same.

         The authority of war has ruled for centuries.  The prophet Isaiah spoke to the nation of Judah as they were being annexed to Assyria.  That yoke weighed down Judah.  She lived in a land of deep darkness.  The boots of tramping warriors and garments rolled in blood were as real to them as they are today to the people of Afghanistan oppressed by the Taliban and none too thrilled by the presence of foreign troops among them either.  Whether it is orders that send young people to battle thousands of miles from home or the violence of fanatics who attack our country, the authority of war is heavy handed and grim.

         We read Isaiah’s prophecies on Christmas Eve, however, because he spoke instead of the authority of peace:  “For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority shall rest upon his shoulders’ and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.  His authority shall grow continually, and there shall be endless peace.”

         The authority of peace does not stem from a Congressional vote or the biggest arsenal.  It does not come from generals or guns, from international alliances or military strategies.  “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light,” Isaiah promised, “those who lived in a land of deep darkness – on them light has shined.”

         The authority of peace comes to us from light which draws us to it out of the darkness.  Often these days by the time I walk home in the afternoon it is dark outside.  I walk from streetlight to streetlight drawn forward by each one to pass through the darkness.  At last I am drawn in to the lights of home which promise warmth, a friendly welcome, and supper.

         The authority of peace comes to us from light that guides us and leads us. As a flashlight or a lantern can illumine the way forward, so the light of Christ both reveals the violence and discord within us and assures us of God’s healing forgiveness.  It also shows us the way to walk in peace in our families and communities.  Loving God and our neighbors allows us to become lights in the world.

         The authority of peace comes to us from light that cheers us.  “The light shines in the darkness and the darkness shall not overcome it,” says the Gospel of John.  Be it little twinkly lights on a Christmas tree or the candles we’ll each light in a few moments, light has the power to brighten our lives.  Seasonal Affective Disorder is now widely recognized as a condition in which winter darkness causes depression.  The cure is light: sunlight if you can get it, or specially designed electric lights if you can’t.  It’s hard to feel at peace when you lack the energy to get out of bed in the morning, and depressed people are more likely to be irritable.

         “You have multiplied the nation, you have increased its joy,” said Isaiah, “they rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest.”  Last summer my siblings and I planted a family garden at my brother’s place.  Well, to be truthful, I planted a row of potatoes and my brother and sister planted lots of things.  By August we could tell the harvest would be bountiful.  My brother admitted, “I’m better at growing things than eating them.”  I on the other hand, was great at eating things even if I had not planted them.  Over a three week period in late August and early September I harvested sixty pounds of tomatoes from the four plants my brother had put in.  Doug and I are still rejoicing at the harvest as we enjoy spaghetti, chili, and other dishes made from the tomatoes I chopped up or made into sauce and froze.

         The authority of peace speaks to us in the power of seeds –little things that grow to nourish us and others.  Organizations like Church World Service and the United Methodist Committee on Relief recognize that food security makes for peace.  They provide seeds, tools, and training so that people from Nicaragua to the Sudan can feed themselves.  When teenagers in inner cities learn to grow their own food in community gardens they learn patience and cooperation.  It takes time, after all, for a tomato to ripen, and shared effort to keep the weeds at bay.  Peace slowly builds.

         “You will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger,” the angel told the shepherds.  “And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest heaven and on earth peace among those whom he favors.”  The authority of peace speaks to us in a baby’s low cry.  Parents the world over know there is nothing as powerful as the cry of a tiny, helpless infant.  Nothing else could rouse them from their warm beds at 3 AM, but the wails of a baby will do it.  And the authority of peace shines as that wailing baby greets them with smiles and coos. Hope dawns.  “For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority shall rest upon his shoulders’ and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.  His authority shall grow continually, and there shall be endless peace.”

 

 

December 20, 2009

Micah 5:2-5a

Luke 1:47-55

 

The Impossibility of Peace

         The impossibility of peace presents itself to us on a daily basis.  The war in Afghanistan has now entered its eighth year.  Vowing to finish what we have begun, President Obama has committed an additional 30,000 troops, a decision he made after a three month process of consultation with military and diplomatic advisors.  He assures us they will not be there forever.  I hope he is right.  Terrorism is a hard foe to pin down.  We’ve been in Iraq for six years and while we are slowly reducing troop levels and things appear to be getting better, the future is far from certain.  Soldiers and civilians die nearly every day.  The impossibility of peace.

         Then there are North Korea and Iran, both developing nuclear potential, and neither of them willing to engage with other countries or sign nuclear nonproliferation treaties.  Dare we let them continue unchallenged?  The impossibility of peace.

         Arthur Toynbee once noted that civilizations nearly always rise with war and dissolve with siege.  Sadly history seems to be written around wars.  Our own country is no exception: the American Revolution, the French and Indian wars, the Civil War, WWI, WWII, Korea, Vietnam, the Persian Gulf War, Afghanistan, Iraq . . . . I’ve undoubtedly left out several smaller ones.  The impossibility of peace.

         Things were no different in Bible times.  Micah prophesied in the nation of Judah.  As he spoke Assyria was gaining power and a few short years later would conquer Israel.  Judah would survive (barely) only by paying tribute to Assyria.

         “Now you are walled around with a wall,” Micah said to Judah, just before the start of our lesson today, ‘siege is laid against us.”  Judah knew at best a partial peace made possible only through submission and defeat.  Dictators are benevolent only in their own minds.  Judah knew too well the impossibility of peace.

         Yet Micah dared to dream of a different future.  “But you, O Bethlehem of Ephratha, who are one of the little clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel,” and then concludes, “and he shall be the one of peace.”  When the angel announced to her that she was to give birth to the Savior, Mary sang, “my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.”

         Mary and Micah knew peace is possible only through unexpected sources.  Bethlehem was a by-water, a wide spot on the road, the kind of little town interstates bypass.  It was no Jerusalem with a grand temple to draw people to it, no Babylon that was the capital of an important nation with important people making important decisions.  Micah was from Nowheresville himself, a village no one ever remembers named Moresheth.  Can anything good come out of Bethlehem? He knew people would ask.  Can anything good come from Plains, GA or Crawford, TX?

         Mary sang of her lowliness for she knew that she was as much of a nobody as Bethlehem was a nowhere.  “From you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel,” Micah said to Bethlehem, “And they shall live secure for now he shall be great to the ends of the earth.”  “From now on all generations shall call me blessed,” said Mary.

         Peace begins with humility. “He has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts,” sang Mary, “He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly.”  Jesus became the One of peace by welcoming the children and washing the feet of the disciples.  We too can be the Ones of peace when we say, “I’m sorry,” to our spouses after a fight, or, “Tell me about your idea,” to the child who has nagged all while you are trying to fix supper. Peace is beginning in our world with soldiers who build trust by playing soccer with Iraqi kids or having a third cup of tea with a tribal elder in Afghanistan.  Peace begins with unimportant people and in out of the way places for God has a habit of working through the unexpected.

         “And he shall stand and feed his flock in the strength of the Lord,” Micah said.  In later years other prophets echoed him.  Jeremiah said, “I myself will gather the remnant of my flock.”  Ezekiel chastised evil shepherd kings who failed to care for their people and reported that God would replace them:  “I will set up over them one shepherd, my servant David, and he shall feed them and be their shepherd.”  Finally Isaiah used nearly the same words as Micah, “He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep.”

         With the image of a shepherd king the prophets taught that peace is built through nurture.  Certainly shepherds had to be strong in order to protect their sheep from outside threats like mountain lions.  Equally critical, however, was the shepherd’s role in leading the sheep to green pastures and still waters where they could drink in safety.  Just as important was the shepherd’s tender care in midwifing a ewe as she gave birth to triplets or binding up a sheep injured on a sharp stone.  As an unexpected source of peace, Bethlehem was a place of nurture.  The name Bethlehem means “house of bread,” because Bethlehem was in the bread basket of Israel.  “He shall fill the hungry with good things and send the rich away empty,” Mary sang.

         It is no coincidence that many Peace Corps volunteers take with them agricultural skills when they go to poor countries.  Peace is often built one loaf of bread and one bowl of rice at a time.  More and more our military has become a peace keeping or peace making team by spending at least as much time distributing food as they do dropping bombs.  Peace begins by filling empty bellies and it grows as people gain the skills to feed themselves and their families.  Peace begins in unexpected places and through unexpected people.

         So we come today on this fourth Sunday of Advent to add peace to our vocabulary of faith.  We come as ordinary enough people; senior citizens watchful of icy spots on the sidewalks, small business owners, employees, and faculty members grateful for a job in this down economy, students happy to be done with finals, and little children excited about the Christmas play.  We’re a good church but we’re hardly the biggest church in town and we haven’t set the world on fire yet.  We too can become the ones of peace, however, for God has looked with favor on our lowliness and called us blessed.  We too can be the ones of peace

For Christ is born of Mary,              and gathered all above,

While mortals sleep the angels keep their watch of wondering love.

O morning stars together proclaim the holy birth, and praises sing to God the King and peace to all on earth.