Sermon March 24, 2019

First Christian Church, Olney, IL

Isaiah 55:1-9

Psalm 63:1-8

1 Corinthians 10:1-13

Luke 13:1-9

“Fed by the Glory”

Holy One, through your everlasting covenant we can find delight in the abundance that you provide. In the realm of your making, all have enough to eat and drink. In your kindom, the family of your people are witnesses to all that you do for creation. No one is left out, even those who do not know your name will be drawn into your presence. We thirst only for you; we seek your glory and your steadfast love. We sing for joy. May we be satisfied, knowing of your faithfulness to all generations. We reveal who you are in us through the fruit that we bear—the actions that we take—the love that we share. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O God, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.

This morning our text is from the prophet Isaiah—the prophet-poet who, one might say, expresses the full biblical message in these nine verses. “God loves us, no matter what, and reaches out to us even (or especially) in the worst of times, making promises that are not just pie-in-the-sky, not just theoretical.”^[1]The promises are about the moment when the prophet is speaking—and not about what would happen someday. 

Isaiah affirms and reaffirms that the message of God to and through the Jewish people was one of hospitality, inclusion, and plenty. Isaiah reminds and announces that God’s covenants with peoples are eternal and unbreakable however those covenants are test and tried. Isaiah raises up God’s hospitality and welcome generosity, like others had before and since, to encourage hope and to reveal, yet again, that through God’s people, God is calling to the entire world. 

The Jewish people were in exile in Babylon when the prophet addressed them with these words of sustaining joy and hope. In Isaiah, the prophet had spoken to them sternly when needed, yet also spoke tenderly, even joyfully, as here to convey that whatever had happened—like defeat in battle and exile—God had not abandoned them and that God’s great mercy and love were still theirs. 

After many decades in exile, the people needed a message of hope—a soon-to-be fulfilled promise of an end to their captivity and a new way of life in their home where they could live lives faithful to God who had made an everlasting covenant with them. These words, we might say, are a “comfort food” for the soul of the people. 

The people who would be returning from exile would have told the stories of their ancestors: stories of the journey out of Egypt when the people ate manna and drank the adequate, but never overwhelming, water that was available in the desert. God gave them enough in the wilderness; yet on this return home, it’s not manna and just enough water. Isaiah characterizes the food on this return as wine and milk—rich and nourishing drink. Isaiah says that they will delight in rich food—good food. 

One writer compares this call to the Jewish people in exile to his mother’s voice calling him to supper as a child: “Come and get it!” was music to his ears, not a command but

"good news." He and his brother were happy to run home when they heard these words, just as the people long ago, in exile, in “desolation and death," would have thrilled to hear an invitation to come and enjoy free food, wine, milk, and the restoration for which they longed.^[2]It would have sounded to their hungry hearts like their mother, calling them home to supper. The same might be said of us, today.

In this time and place when our appetites and our food sources tend to run toward over-indulgence or fattiness, we might not think of wine, milk, and rich food as a blessing. Our nation and culture are relatively wealthy, food is always available even if we can’t buy it. Another part of our problem is that historically, our bodies were made to use calories very efficiently to conserve the food that we ate. Now we have such abundance that fat is the problem. 

But during most of human history, fat was absolutely the best. As cooks and chefs know, fat carries flavor probably because our taste buds are made to respond to it—even if our digestive systems sometimes struggle. One of my seminary professors and friends says that this word delight, in Hebrew, comes from the word fat—so that this text might say, delight yourselves in delightful food or fatten yourselves with the fattiest food. Maybe not as appetizing today, but in days of famine or poverty, fatty foods are life giving. In this nine verse poem, Isaiah presents God as a provider of all that is needed and so much more. 

Isaiah also recalls poetically the everlasting nature of God’s promises, God’s covenant with God’s people by recalling the stories of David. David was promised that his line would be everlasting, and yet, David’s line suffered the consequences of his often horrible choices, of their mindless and horrible choices, and of the consequences of the of changing empires and political power struggles within and nearby the united kingdom of Israel and Judah. Isaiah was writing this as their exile seemed to be endless. In other words, the people were feeling that God, the God of Abraham and the God who loved David, had abandoned them—with exile that promise felt over. 

Yet in this time of despair and disappointment, Isaiah brings God’s word of hope for a time of restoration and for a time when the hope of Israel would be a beacon to the world—that is when God’s power and presence would shine in and through Israel, drawing all people, nations, to God through them. 

What is God saying to us today through this poetic prophetic scripture of Isaiah? 

The voice beginning the text sounds almost like a street vender:

Ho, everyone who thirsts,

come to the waters;

and you that have no money,

come, buy and eat!

But then it is: 

Come, buy wine and milk

without money and without price.

Having gotten our attention, HO!—come and buy!—then what? 

As the spiritual goes, “God is trying to tell us something. . .” We may have settled so comfortably into a routine and worldview that keep us busy and distracted that we've lost touch with our deepest selves, made in the image of God, and our spirits may be thirsty, starving, and homesick, even if we can’t name those feelings on our own.

Another author describes the heat of the southwestern United States, where the humidity is so low that they post signs like those in the Grand Canyon National Park that say, "'Stop! Drink water. You are thirsty, whether you realize it or not.'" Isaiah the poet is doing the same thing, "telling us something true about ourselves at every moment of our lives," he writes. "We may not be immediately aware of how we have wandered away from God – how life has lost its meaning in pursuit of a promotion or raise, how we have gotten buried under the demands of economic and social status".^[3]

We may not realize how thirsty we are, indeed. We may not realize how weary we have become, how buried, how pressed down. And we may have lost a sense of how precious we are in God's eyes.

What is it that we are worth to God? How do we or God determine our value? 

This text, in its beginnings, challenges worth in monetary or quantifiable terms. Come buy and eat!—without money! Come, drink and live! without money or price. 

Just as its original audience wonder if God thought it was worth it anymore to redeem them from their exile we, too, may have wondered why we are worth God’s redemption. I struggle as many do, with an uneasy peace in this world that imposes a "pseudo-order" on our lives. Just as “they gave their lives (and their faith) over to imperial productivity" (Texts under Negotiation), we are easily trapped from our earliest days into

thinking that worth is equated with productivity, that a dollar amount can be assigned to our value (think of the term "net worth”).

In a practical example, the compensation received by family members of those who died on 9/11 was based on the victims' earning potential. Stop and think about the grief(and the needs) of the widow of a minimum-wage worker in a restaurant in the World Trade Center. How can we tell her that her husband's life was worth less than that of the executive 100 floors above?

Perhaps our exile from the ways of God, the ways that Jesus taught us, unlike that of many others is self-imposed. Like the Jews who assimilated in ancient Babylon and found a relatively comfortable way of life if they adopted the values and ways of the empire, we might not perceive ourselves as exiles, either, Brueggemann writes (Hopeful Imagination: Prophetic Voices in Exile).

However, like the sign that warns us that we may not realize that we are thirsty, the prophet wakes us up with a call to come back to God, the source of what will truly satisfy our souls. 

And what satisfies our souls is nothing we can purchase. What we need is what is given without cost to ourselves, without any price we can actually pay. 

We are all caught up in a world that is greed-driven, profit-focused, yet what we really need, what will really satisfy our deepest hunger and thirst is God. That’s what Isaiah tells us. That is the truth that lies within us—making us restless in the midst of plenty and especially in the midst of excess. 

In this day, when our economy seems a little better, yet poverty persists and is growing in the vast differences between rich and poor, I don’t know about you, but I get frustrated. I get frustrated when I read that 3 people in this nation own enough to be worth more than the bottom 50% of the people in this nation. 

Most of us in this room work honestly and hard to provide for families or have worked throughout most of our lives for that purpose and to be able to contribute to the wider community and to the church. That’s not an evil thing—to work hard and provide for ourselves and for other who cannot live with their means. Instead, God calls us: Come and eat! Come and buy! … to demand from our wider society the kinds of course corrections that will avoid turning more of us into something that violates the kinds of values that we share: generosity, hope, mercy, justice, gratitude, love, etc. 

In the church, we give thanks for all good gifts and struggle to discern and articulate alternatives to the powers—the systems and practices —that deny those gifts to any of God's children. Like our secular culture these days, we're mindful that we can consume junk food for our spirits as much as our bodies, and we have to learn to say no.

And … we have to be aware that this bread “always comes with a price. Eat royal bread and think royal thoughts. Eat royal bread and embrace royal hopes and fears," but we remember that “we are children of another bread". [Our bread is holy, perhaps, a sign of all that Jesus offers us: life, relationship, justice in economics as well as justice in worship and particularly at the table, but it is not reserved for a select few. It is a sign of Jesus’ intentions.]

Like Jesus speaking of the reign of God, we are called to “redescribethe world," so that we might know the difference between exile and home, and learn to "live out of the promise,” together.^[4]

I don’t know if anyone is attempting a Lenten discipline or has given anything up so that giving or sharing what you have is easier in this season, but in this second full week, we may have become discouraged, because we are trying to rely on pure willpower as the strength and determination for our lives. That’s not surprising. We tend to live in the pool of self-determination in our culture—whatever you or I do or do not do must be your own or my own full responsibility, no question. But maybe Lent is here to teach us how to reorder our priorities instead of our diets—maybe we should be hungering and thirsting for justice, mercy, peace, healing, acceptance, hospitality, love—not only for ourselves, but for all of God’s children. This core of the biblical message sounds like shalom. 

When we gather at the table in just a little bit, we are reminded of everyone who lives beyond our walls, in the neighborhood, in the city, in the countryside and world around us. Those of us here need the realization of our great hunger and thirst for the presence of God—and those outside these walls and other walls this morning also hunger and thirst for a community of meaning in which to put down roots. 

Ho! We bring glory to God who calls out to us from all around in the plenty of creation, in the need of bodies and souls, in the hope of our future in relationship with one another. Amen.

---

^[1]http://www.ucc.org/worship_samuel_sermon_seeds_march_24_2019

^[2]Ibid. (The Lectionary Commentary: The Old Testament and Acts) 

^[3]Ibid. (Daniel Debevoise, Feasting on the Word Year C, Vol. 2) 

^[4]Ibid.1. Finally Comes the Poet 2. Hopeful Imagination

Sermon March 17, 2019

First Christian Church, Olney, Illinois

Luke 13:31-35

(This post contains material that need references--will be added later.)

“Journey toward Trust”

Adonai, God, our Shield, you make promises and keep your word, providing for us what we need in the ways that you choose. As Abram received both son, descendants, and land from your hands, we receive your gifts as you choose to give them. Hear us when we pray, hide us in your sheltering tent. Teach us your way. Help us to live as citizens of your realm and way of life. May our values reflect our citizenship in you and in no other. May we live those who follow you faithfully. We seek to trust you, sheltering under your wings, willing to love you as you love us. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O God, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.

Each Sunday as we approach the day of Jesus’ crucifixion, we receive in the lectionary texts of some foreboding—drawing our eyes, ears, and awareness toward the cross and crucifixion—and texts of promise and fulfillment. Sometimes a text is a mixture of the two. 

Luke reminds us that Herod the Tetrarch—who’d like to be called king—had killed John the Baptizer and that he was very capable of killing anyone including Jesus. The foreboding text reminds us that God’s people of that day were drawn away from the way that God would have them live because Herod’s leadership was counter to God’s own. The foreboding also reminds us, as we walk this lenten journey, that part of the Lenten message is repentance—repentance from trusting in the power of violence, from following the ways of greed and abusive power, and from the distraction of our own comforts and security. 

In it the Pharisees warned Jesus about Herod’s desire to kill him. Now, often we talk about the Pharisees as if they were the most dangerous people around, though they argued with Jesus, argument and debate were and are ways in which people learn particularly in the Jewish faith.  But I think that in this case they understood that Jesus was treading on thin ice since Herod had killed John the Baptizer. 

Jesus wasn’t afraid—at least he wasn’t concerned anymore than he had been. Instead, he pointed out that he wasn’t yet done with his work and that the fox in the henhouse would be there to do what he was going to do when Jesus was done doing what needed to be done.

Herod was bent on conforming the people to the values of the Roman Empire—that’s what would have benefitted him most. Jesus’ mission was to call the people to repent and to remember who they were and to be faithful to the ancient promises of God. 

Now, it’s true that Luke later offers a glimpse into Herod’s psyche later in the gospel that may mean he was fascinated by Jesus as a wonder working celebrity—but his fascination was that of a spoiled man looking for entertainment rather than someone interested in deepening or discovering his faith. And here on the road to Jerusalem Jesus revealed that Herod’s scheming was no more than words in the big picture of God’s plan. God’s word has power; Herod’s words were useless. Jesus trusted in God; Herod’s plotting was nothing. 

The actions of the powers that be: Herod in Galilee, Pilate in Jerusalem, religious leaders concerned with their own power, the wealthy and prestigious, and the mighty Roman Empire itself—had a lot of havoc to wreak in the meantime, but Jesus headed toward Jerusalem fully aware of the kind of dangers he faced. All of the powers of one kind or another, some dependent upon others, dislike the way Jesus talked about the first being last and the poor being rich and the rich being poor and the hungry being filled and the full being hungry, etc. The good news wasn’t good to those with prestige and power. 

Jesus pointed out that he wasn’t the first prophet to say these kinds of things: Jesus’ words of concern for Jerusalem sheltering like chicks under his mother hen wings recalls God’s ancient promises of God’s tender care. They also remind us that Israel was held to a high standard of faithfulness because God’s covenant was carved upon their hearts. They are, were, and had alway been God’s chosen people because God wanted Abraham’s descendants to be a light of God’s presence to the world. When Jesus spoke and healed and raised people from the dead and drove out evil and feeds masses of people, he did what God had been doing throughout God’s relationship with human beings. All that Jesus did was rooted in the Jewish ways of thought and life, where the Israelite and the foreigner were treated with respect and where poverty was addressed with generosity and hospitality. 

Jesus was a prophet in a long line of prophets who proclaimed both God’s mercy and God’s judgment. Jesus’ cry of anguish in this text would have been familiar as much as it was distressing. God was always trying to gather God’s children—the children of Jerusalem—into God’s unwavering love even when God’s children ignored that desire or just wanted something else. 

Jesus lamented over Jerusalem with the image of a mother hen who tenderly, if passionately protects her chicks. She’s fierce and unselfish, doing whatever it takes to care for her chicks, even it meant losing her life. The end of his life was, after all, where Jesus was heading. 

One commentator draws on the image of a "farmyard fire" as the threat to the hen's babies, when "those cleaning up have found a dead hen, scorched and blackened, and live chicks sheltering under her wings." In the same way, Jesus longed to save Jerusalem, to warn her of impending doom; she would not listen to his warnings, and he would end up offering his life as well.

Jesus’ tenderness and despair was certainly for those were afraid to come close to him—those in Jerusalem and elsewhere, but his despair was also for those powers that be who thought of themselves as foxes, wolves, and powerful predators and in the long run were powerless in the face of God’s powerful protection. 

Jesus lamented the ones who would ultimately reject him. How would our Lenten observance be affected if we took the opportunity to lament those who deny Jesus’ love, "the unjust….U.S.-based and global terrorists…. those who deny resources to the poor and who oppress those with no advocate?” 

Thinking of oppressors of the poor as “terrorists” certainly expands its current meaning and adjust our perspective, maybe uncomfortably so. Where would we put ourselves in this picture. What about "our own silence and collusion with international crimes of poverty, hunger, and disease?" Would Jesus cry over our cities, our institutions, as well?

Thinking of oppressors of those who live under racial discrimination and religious bigotry as “terrorists” may help us to understand and stand up against the violence that has happened recently in our world. When a synagogue was shot up in Pittsburgh, did we think of the man who did it as an individual who was deranged or did we think of him as a man participating in the oppression of Jewish people, often derided for their particular faith? When we heard about the mosque in Christchurch, New Zealand where a man shot and killed 49 people at prayer—children, women, and men—does it help us realize that his hateful violence and claims of white supremacy are an attempt to terrorize Muslims and other non-white people all over the world? When the most powerful segment of any nation (or world) tries to eliminate another segment through violence, coercive actions like removal from their ancestral lands, or stripping them of their culture or language can we see that as terrorism, historical and contemporary? 

If we think of these moments of violence as weakness or sin of individuals, we can’t stand up against the system that produces them. If we realize that they are symptoms of a larger oppressive structure that has caused the blame for societal ills to fall upon Native Americans, African Americans, and Latino Americans, then we can talk about that and teach the truth instead. Instead of setting the poor of each of these groups and poor whites against one another, as they often are, we can realize that systems keep all kinds of people in poverty: low wages and high costs of medical care are just one small set of circumstances that can send people into poverty very quickly. And poverty becomes generational very easily. 

The great 20th century preacher, William Sloane Coffin, Jr said, “Nothing is more dangerous than misunderstanding evil. Evil has an irremediable stubbornness about it. And it must be recognized, it has to be constrained, but it can never be resolved. St. Augustine said, “Never fight evil as if it were something that arose totally outside of yourself.””

All of us bear responsibility for evil as it is perpetrated in our world when we don’t criticize bigotry and hatred or hold ourselves to a standard of living that prioritizes compassion, mercy, and love over violence, prejudices about race, gender, sexuality, religious, or even past sins and crimes. It’s not enough to avoid doing evil in our individual behaviors, we need to look at the ways that some of the stories we tell about ourselves as Americans, as descendants of Europeans, and even as Christians. We can participate in greed even if we ourselves aren’t particularly greedy because our money and lives revolve around systems of greed. We can participate in racism even if we ourselves don’t carry racist beliefs because many systems like city zoning, legislation, and law enforcement policies have built in policies that perpetuate bias according to race. 

Even if the intention isn’t there, (and sometimes it is) racism is there when, for example, Native Americans are incarcerated at a rate 38% higher than average. In South Dakota, Native Americans compost 60% of the federal caseload, but only 8.5% of the population. 

In 2016, Black Americans were 12% of the U.S. population and 33% of the prison population; Hispanic Americans were 16% of the U.S. population and 23% of the prison population; and white Americans were 64% of the U.S. population and 30% of the prison population. Too many poor people of any race are there and Black and Hispanic and Native Americans are over represented by race. Too many people profit from mostly the poor being incarcerated. The poor and vulnerable of all races suffer when people stand to get wealthy from imprisoning others. 

Our problems as a nation and world are deeply rooted in historical practices that continue to echo with race biases that came from Europe and this nation perfected. They are deeply connected to the ways that Christian traditions have treated people who originated outside Europe. And we need to find ways to understand those problems, confess them as sin, repent from them (that means leaving them behind), and repaying the losses that they have caused. 

That’s one way we can reject the world that Herod wanted—one of a greed for power and alliances with those who can get us the most. Jesus offers a different world—a kindom of God’s way, God’s standards and ethics, God’s mercy and love. 

We can accept what Jesus offers—shelter and life through repentance and living lives according to his way: love one another, loving our enemies, the last being first/the first being last, etc.—as chicks under his wings. 

If we are moving toward trusting God more in the face of the horrible things that happen in the world, then we have to realize that moving close to Jesus means being real about who we are and who Jesus wants us to be. 

Just like the ancient prophets that Jesus pointed out were rejected, Jesus imagined a world for all people where his disciples, where we, protect the vulnerable and care for the weak, whatever the objection, whoever it offends. Jesus loved the city of Jerusalem even as it "refuses what makes for shalom," and his words warn us today against the kind of lives that are more anxious about our own selves than we are about our neighbors. 

“Neighborliness is a beautiful and compelling vision for both our internal and external affairs, and it would fulfill both religious aspirations and secular ones, finding common ground for all of us to stand on, whether we are "religious" or not. 

“In other words, it's a vision we could all embrace. We don't need to impose our religious beliefs on one another, or punish one another for infractions of religious laws. But we can all hold up an ideal, an ethic, of neighborliness that would inspire us to share, to be just, to include rather than exclude, to heal and repair and strengthen, to protect the vulnerable, to care about one another and show respect for every person. …"neighborliness" [is] a vision for every city, every community, every nation”. 

This journey we travel through life is no less difficult and foreboding than the stories that accompany us through our journey with Jesus through Lent. We can trust that the way of Jesus, the way that God had given the prophets, the way of equity, justice and mercy is the way that will lead us, as the body of Christ together, to a world where we have more neighbors and friends than enemies. 

To the glory of God, One God, The Most Gracious, Dispenser of Grace. Amen.

Sermon March 10, 2019

Deuteronomy 26:1-11

Luke 4:1-13

“The Space Between”

Adonai, God of Abraham and Sarah, wandering Arameans who sought your will for their lives, if we find ourselves enjoying the benefits of settled lives with adequate resources that satisfy our needs, we come to you in thanksgiving and joy, celebrating your abundance by sharing what we have. We stand, we live, we hope in the shadow of your presence and trust in your provision for us and for those who need us. We hope in the Living Word, Jesus Christ, in whom there is no distinction between people, wherever they are born, wherever they live. May his words teach us your word in ways that build up, ways that connect all people to your love, ways that do not separate anyone from your love. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O God, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.

The season of Lent is modeled on the forty days that Jesus spent in the wilderness after his baptism. We are told the story of his temptation. This was a time of preparation  for his entry into the activity that would characterize him as Messiah, as Son of God, as Savior. I imagine the struggle in the wilderness also included his own concern about living out God’s intentions for him as well as the most faithful ways that he could do all that God wanted. 

The story of Jesus in the wilderness something with the story of the people of Israel from Deuteronomy—both Jesus and Israel are on the cusp of a new kind of life. Jesus was about to begin his ministry, revealing how God wanted to be revealed and how lives were meant to be changed by God’s presence renewed; Israel was about to begin their lives in the land of God’s promise: after their presence in Egypt first as economic refugees, then as slaves and finally with their identity as God’s people with a rule of life that revealed how God lived in and through them. 

They each stand in the space between their former lives and the lives God has given them to live—and for similar reasons. God called Abraham and Sarah and their descendants to be a light to the world, revealing the one God and creator of all to all peoples. Jesus, in a reaffirmation of God’s desire to love the entire world, was also beginning his life of revelation, beginning the work God had given him to do. 

While Lent isn’t the only time that we can consider what kind of life God is calling us to live—it is a time of introspection when we can consider that life particularly as a community as well as the lives we live as individuals. 

You, as a congregation, are in a space and time between so in this Lenten season we can take the time to consider who we are, where God calls, and what happens next.And today is just the beginning—the moment before the journey, really, it’s the moment before the next leg of the journey or the next phase in our lives. 

The book of Deuteronomy is a second telling of the story of Moses and the people coming out of Egypt, it was written or found in a time later in Israel’s history when they needed to be reminded who they were and where they’d come from. So this story is a reminder of a story within a reminder. “Your ancestors did this to remember who they were—don’t forget who you are.” They were thankful—and hopeful. They brought the first of the harvest to celebrate that they were living in the land God had promised. And it wasn’t just blessed and taken back. It was shared with the Levites (those who depended upon the temple for their livelihood) and the aliens, people who were not a part of the original promise, but enjoyed the bounty of God’s gifts alongside everyone who was. 

They remembered who they had been—and knew that it would always be a part of their lives. They’d been immigrants, descended from Abraham and Sarah. They’d been slaves, first dependent upon Egypt for food and life, then enslaved and oppressed by their benefactors. They’d been freed, only through God’s power and will, then spent time in the wilderness (40 years) learning to be a free people after their enslavement. And finally, they were a free people with a land of abundance where they could settle and live peacefully among the other inhabitants of the land. 

At a time like this, in the space between where we’ve been and where we are going, we can stop and remember who we have been, who you have been in this community and to one another and hold onto that as you become who you’ll be. According to one credible witness from your past, you are a small, loving and faithful congregation. As far as I can tell, that has always been the identity you’ve claimed and there is no reason to believe that that isn’t who you’ll always be. Small, to a certain degree, is a flexible characteristic; loving and faithful are non-negotiable. 

How is it that you live out that history? And how do we do so in ways that God calls us in all circumstances to be the light of the world, a conduit of God’s grace, witnesses to God’s love in Jesus Christ and in the ways we relate to one another? 

In just this short time I’ve been with your community so far, you’ve shared generously with a family so that they’d have a Christmas celebration, not just have what they need, but an abundance to be able to smile and laugh together with happiness.  You’ve shared time and resources to care for the hungry and food insecure in Olney at Good Samaritan. You have been loving people who need whatever extra we have so they can get from day to day more easily, maybe with less suffering and anxiety. 

I know—also from what you’ve said that it’s not as easy as it has been at times in the past, but if loving and faithful is who you are, then holding onto that is vital to who you will be tomorrow and vital to your specific revelation of God, your particular and specific message from God to this community. Your message may not be the biggest or the loudest, but if you embrace loving and faithful as who you are, it could be the most loving, merciful, and even the most generous and neighborly or hospitable around. Your welcome could mean life to a stranger, life to someone rejected by their family or others, life when some one feels like all hope has been lost. 

I’m not dictating your message or identity; I am simply telling you what I’ve seen and heard from you in these last few months, in this space in between how it’s been and what the future brings. 

Jesus, as I’ve said, was in that space as he fasted in the wilderness following his baptism.  Matthew and Luke tell a detailed story of Jesus’ temptation, where the devil—offers Jesus some very specific choices that characterize how Jesus could choose to use his power, claim his identity, and carry out his purpose. In one way, I see it that the Jesus is tempted to the convenience of what the devil offers and Jesus knows that the means to the goal of his life and calling were inextricably interwoven with the purpose of his life. The message of his life was the way that he lived it and the way he lived his life was the message. 

The works that the devil tempted Jesus to do were not out of the realm of possibility and power that Jesus’ would express. Jesus didn’t turn stones to bread, but he fed 5,000 to 15,000 people with just a few loaves and some fish and he fed others, not just himself. He gave of his power so that the poor folks who followed might survive to the next day. Jesus expressed power over nature when he calmed the seas; and he did it for the sake of his friends and their faith, not just to claim power. Jesus called upon God for help as he faced his crucifixion and understood that God’s love and will for the entire world meant that he had to face his own painful and violent death without violence and resistance so that his death would lead us all to resurrection. His life and teachings, his death and resurrection means that we can live our lives unconcerned with mere survival; we can live with purpose and meaning, pursuing better lives for the people in our world and finding meaning there. 

We are in a space between in other ways, too, in a position to choose our next place of movement or being. One step away may be where we circle up and take care only of ourselves, focusing on survival, slowly dying in the process or toward nurturing the tender life we carry together. In another direction, we step toward some identity that is not our own, owning judgment or exclusion instead embracing a name that points toward love and grace. One step takes us toward despair; another step might cultivate   invitation and inclusion and the contagious joy of warmth and hospitality. We might join to embrace difference and nurture our core identity of love and faith all at the same time. 

We won’t always enjoy the steps we need to take as we sort out the best of ourselves from what we need to leave behind. We might need to ask difficult questions that are hard enough to ask, let alone answer. We might even have to argue with one another with understanding and love to decide and take the steps we need to take into the future God has for us.

We can take this season of Lent as our time in between considering the past, present, and future as we focus on who we have been and who we can be. We can pray and wonder, as we hear stories of God’s intentions for God’s people and hear of Jesus’ work and journey toward Jerusalem, where God’s will leads us for the sake of God’s coming kindom and for the nurture of God’s people here and throughout the world. 

And—in the words of Julian of Norwich, 14th century scholar and poet, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”

To the glory of God, our joy, our hope, our love. Amen.

You could say it's been interesting

Psalm 122

A Song of Ascents. Of David.
¹ I was glad when they said to me,
   ‘Let us go to the house of the Lord!’ 
² Our feet are standing
   within your gates, O Jerusalem. 

³ Jerusalem—built as a city
   that is bound firmly together. 
⁴ To it the tribes go up,
   the tribes of the Lord,
as was decreed for Israel,
   to give thanks to the name of the Lord. 
⁵ For there the thrones for judgement were set up,
   the thrones of the house of David. 

⁶ Pray for the peace of Jerusalem:
   ‘May they prosper who love you. 
⁷ Peace be within your walls,
   and security within your towers.’ 
⁸ For the sake of my relatives and friends
   I will say, ‘Peace be within you.’

(The New Revised Standard Version (Anglicized Edition), copyright 1989, 1995 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. http://bible.oremus.org/?ql=356611975)

I think I've been a little lost, somewhat sad, and drifting along. I'm feeling that blessing/curse, "May you live in interesting times." Interesting times are varied, changeable, unusual, unexpected.

I know that many of us have been stunned by the national events of the past six months. At the same time, many of us have also gone through personal life changes that have increased our emotional stress, despair, and/or depression. 

I left the congregation I'd been serving for over 6 years in August of 2016--a decision made because there were barriers arising. I believe that they were signs of the end of a fruitful relationship between us. In spite of some glimpses and glints of green sprouts, there were those determined to stamp them out, purposefully and not.  If you've been a pastor or other leader in the church, you might recognize those times when the same mouth speaks both words of affirmation and death. You might know the one(s) who both recognizes your gifts and rejects them--God only knows why. 

So . . . I've been lost, sad, and drifting for the reasons I share here. 

Woman traveling in pear.

And I struggle with spiritual disciplines--I always have and suspect that I always will. I love the idea of sitting down at the same time several times a day and working on my conversation with God in several creative and exciting ways. The reality is different. I'm not sure I have a scheduled discipline gene, but I still try and hit the mark about 30% of the time--more often if my discipline is helping another be disciplined. I think, as my mother and I used to joke, that's why we travel in pairs.  

It's not that I must be always accountable to someone else--someone with skin on, someone incarnate maybe? But it certainly helps.

It helps me because relationships help me reach goals I've set. I stay accountable to promises made within a relationship with someone else--more accountable than those promises I make to myself. I'm sure that says something about me, about my self-worth. I also think that it says something about what I find important. It is important for me to live up to the expectations and promises that I have made to other people. This may be done out of a need for approval; it may also be done because I deeply when someone doesn't live up to a promise or a responsibility in my life. So when I fall short, I anticipate the disappointment felt by that person. I know how much it hurts me when people ignore a commitment to me--a commitment of any size--that I don't want anyone else to feel that way. 

So, right now, feeling adrift from the church as a part of a regular congregation and and having few concrete nearby relationships I am adrift from discipline--spiritual and otherwise. But I've decided to work on it through this blog and hopefully in ways that move me into communities where I can form and re-form relationships.

Psalm 122 reminds me that God's people have needed a place, time, or people to help us maintain our connections to God and one another. The biblical witness of God's relationship with human beings is rarely (if ever) a matter of an individual's relationship to God. God approaches individuals--Noah, Abraham, Moses, etc. with the purpose of creating a people whose existence will be a witness to God, who will be a light to the nations, who will be the conduit of God's word for all generations. The way that God relates to people is to extend God's presence into the people and through their lives into a community. God's covenants establish God's desire to relate and God's promises and expectations establish what it is that we are to reveal about God's desire to be revealed as peace, as love, as a light to all peoples.