“Just Love, Just Trust, Just God”
I love pizza! I love movies. We love to quilt! Love is a many splendored thing. We love our dogs and cats. We love our children and husbands and wives. We love our grandchildren and our parents and grandparents. We use it to describe many kinds of relationships truly marked by real affection and real connection, but that feel very different from one another. The word love means so many things that it has come to mean very little on a daily basis.
Last week was the traditional theme for the fourth Sunday in Advent—Love. The fourth candle is lit for love. And each Christian can say, however they believe it, that God sent Jesus because God loves us—and because God loves the world. Yet the love of which we speak on this final Sunday before Christmas means so much more than any of the loves that I’ve mentioned. It is the love of God for all the world. It is the love that inspired and encouraged Jesus’ life of mission and his willingness to live that mission until his inevitable death on the cross. Yet God didn’t just start loving through Jesus, God has loved the world since creation—and we have scriptural witness to reveal that to us.
God has loved men and women who obeyed God’s will for their lives. Many were men and women who were living examples of how God desire humanity to live. Yet God also loved men and women who lived lives that were often in defiance of God’s will for them . . . they were disobedient, disrespectful and downright naughty. But God’s love for them never wavered—God was angry and God disciplined, but God never stopped loving.
David led quite a life. He spent his youth warring against Saul. He proved his triumph by taking Saul’s wives and concubines. He took Saul’s daughter as his wife, though they had no feelings for one another. Despite his friendship with Saul’s son, Jonathan, he fought Saul and his family until Saul and his family were destroyed or under his power. He stole Bathsheba’s honor and her husband Uriah’s life. He then enjoyed in the peace that eventually filled his governance. David, in my opinion, didn’t merit much from God. He flaunted God’s blessing and the leading of God’s spirit. And though he was thrilled with his accomplishments and God’s actions in his life, he didn’t always understand how to live within God’s will.
And God continued to bless him according to biblical witness. In 2 Samuel, we read that David would not be allowed to build God a temple, but that God would bless David’s lineage with everlasting rule. It hardly seems right. Why and how has David earned this honor? I have no idea.
Yet God stayed in his life, blessing and accompanying him. God stayed with him despite his lack of merit. God loved him through it all and called him to account when necessary. “16Your house and your kingdom shall be made sure for ever before me; your throne shall be established for ever.”
God’s love is just. God doesn’t love because we earn it. God doesn’t stop loving us because we have defied God—God loves humanity by equal measure because it is God’s nature to love humanity. We are God’s very image in some nonphysical, maybe spiritual, definitely mysterious way. God has covenanted; God has eternally promised, it seems, to love us individually and as a whole forever. I say that because there is no other way of understanding God’s continued and continuing attempts to draw us into relationship from the beginning of time until all of our tomorrows.
The story of David exemplifies how much we often don’t deserve the love that God offers and how much God continues to love in spite of the lives we lead. We often imagine David to be the young gentle shepherd boy, caring for his flock; but the story of his life contains very little of the young shepherd and much more of the warrior, womanizer and emotionally immature king who misused his power. He may have been the leader that Israel needed at the time and he seemed to be God’s choice, but for the life of me, I can’t understand it.
If God’s love for each one of us can be seen in this light, we might begin to understand how God’s love is given before we deserve it and even if we don’t. God’s love exists in eternity. . . God’s love exists beyond understanding or logic.
Yet the story of David’s eternal lineage is told this morning to introduce Gabriel’s annunciation of the birth of Jesus . . . a story about a baby who became the man whose life, we have come to understand, was lived completely within God’s will for him. It introduces us to Luke’s description of Jesus’ mother. Mary was a young woman in the backwater village of Nazareth, in the backwater Roman district of Galilee. She was engaged to a man named Joseph, who we are told was of the family of David.
Before their official wedding feast, while their formal betrothal stood, Mary received the news that she would have a baby—a son who would be the Messiah that the people of Israel had awaited ever since the line of David had been corrupted by exile and almost disappeared from any hope of sovereign rule.
Her response to the word that Yahweh God would be their sovereign through the person of her son, according to Luke, provoked her to lift her voice in poetry—and possibly in song. Her words reveal hope, not for her own participation, but for the salvation of all people.
I'm bursting with God-news;
I'm dancing the song of my Savior God.
God took one good look at me, and look what happened—
I'm the most [blessed]* woman on earth!
What God has done will never be forgotten,
the God whose very name is holy, set apart from all others.
His mercy flows in wave after wave
on those who are in awe before him.
He bared his arm and showed his strength,
scattered the bluffing braggarts.
He knocked tyrants off their high horses,
pulled victims out of the mud.
The starving poor sat down to a banquet;
the callous rich were left out in the cold.
He embraced his chosen child, Israel;
he remembered and piled on the mercies, piled them high.
It's exactly what he promised,
beginning with Abraham and right up to now.
The love of God, revealed through the annunciation to Mary and fulfilled in the birth of Jesus Christ, is not about being soft and fluffy about love. It’s not so much about the swaddled infant in the manger whose birth we will celebrate this week—the love of God revealed in Mary’s song of celebration and triumph is just love. It is a love that makes all things equal. It is a love that says that ill-gotten gains, no matter how well justified will be taken and poverty, no matter how well rationalized will be eliminated. Israel—representative of all humanity—was to be the recipient of mercy and the bearer of that mercy into the entire world. The promise God made to all of Abraham’s descendents, physical, spiritual, and in all other ways, would to be made real.
Love, just love, is the agent that God uses to make real the promises that God has made. Love, just love, is the tool that God has chosen to create the world that God has envisioned for us all. Love, just love, is the person that God has given to rescue the world from the pit into which we often stumble and fall. Love, just love, is the redemption we need to see ourselves through the eyes with which God, who loves us, sees us each day and each moment.
Justice isn’t an easy thing for humanity to accomplish alone. We often get caught up in merit as the basis for justice. In my reading of scripture, God doesn’t always take merit into consideration when loving humanity. We often get justice and punishment all mixed up in our minds—justice devoid of love simply means vengeance. Justice does imply discipline—loving parents and others in authority must love to discipline others well—as the love of God characterizes God’s discipline.
Just love isn’t just love—it isn’t desire for particular material things or affection for some kind of object or person. It isn’t even always the affection we feel for those to whom we are attached, though that should be there, too. Just love is only possible when God guides us—just love is made available to us, for us and with us as we step out into the way of life that God offered Mary. Mary was given the opportunity to carry love into the world in the particular way that God chose for her. Let us listen to God’s call of annunciation in our own lives and carry love within us—giving birth to love, to just love, as we walk, talk and live in this community, in this time—and in this world, now and every more. Amen.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Isaiah 9:2-7
Luke 2:1-20
“Reaping the Harvest”
Throughout Advent, our season of preparation for the coming of Christ, we have been adding to the banner you see hanging over the communion table. Last Sunday, if we’d held our worship service, you would have heard the story of how hope, peace and joy come to fulfillment when love enters the equation. Each Sunday of Advent and each addition to the banner built upon the others to form a complete picture. The banner began with an empty hillside and pale seedlings waiting for their growth. We watched as crops appeared and the banner became more alive with color and action. The message was delivered and life began to appear, the sun, the crops and the Holy Spirit graced the scene. And finally a woman and child, cultivating the soil appeared last Sunday in the resulting incarnation of God’s presence. The season of Advent began with the hope, as it always does, that awaits this night of celebration and awaits the culmination of Jesus Christ living within us and dwelling in the world. Let us hear the story of the woman who prepares the soil for sowing and reaping as we contemplate the presence of God in Christ within us and within this world we share.
Whack, whack, whack… oh, how hot the sun.
Whack, whack, whack… oh, how still the air.
Whack, whack whack… oh, how hard the ground.
See how dry… how cracked.
The gardener slowly stood up and, tucking a loose hair into her scarf, she wiped the sweat from her brow with a callused hand. Shifting the bundle on her back, she bent down again and, with her hoe, went back to tilling the hard, hard ground.
Whack, whack, whack… whack, whack, whack.
Oh, what was the use? Would the hard crust of the earth ever break open? Hard ground made her think of hard times and, in that same moment, she thought of a song prayer her people sang: Listen, O shepherd of Israel, you who lead our people like a flock of sheep, who sits upon a throne of angels.
The gardener looked at the ground once again and ran her hands over it. As she did this she thought of how her people’s lives were like this rough ground.
She peered up at the sky and she said to herself, “Shine forth before your people, stir up your might and come to save us! Restore us, O God; let your face shine, that we may be saved.”
The gardener cleared away some stones and tugged at a small vine and another line from a song came into her head. She said it aloud, “You brought a vine out of Egypt; you drove out the nations and planted it. You cleared the ground for it; it took deep root and filled the land.”
The gardener sighed as she looked at the vine in her hand. Oh, how it was like her own family, her own people, trying to live and grow in God’s way but finding it harder and harder to do. The vine needed protection from people stepping on it and a way for the fruit to grow and not be eaten by wild animals. Her people needed protection too. “Restore us, O God; let your face shine, that we may be saved,” she prayed.
Sighing the gardener sat down and brought the bundle around into her lap. Why, it wasn’t just any bundle as she pulled back the covers to see her baby, sleeping peacefully. The tiny hands, bunched under his chin, the soft curly hair and the tiny gurgling sounds made her smile. She brushed the baby’s cheek with the vine and his bright eyes opened. When his little face split into a great big smile, she smiled too.
The child reached out and tried to grab her nose in his hand, and instead pulled the vine from her tight grip. And she remembered… she remembered when she was pregnant, waiting, waiting for her child to be born… she remembered thinking it would never come… she remembered being both excited and scared… she remembered imagining what her child would look like, how it would grow… all the surprises and possibilities… how the child’s coming would reshape everything!
And through the wondering and waiting, hoping, dreaming, and praying, and hardship this child’s birth had indeed changed her world. And gazing into her little child’s forever eyes she took its hand in hers and prayed, “God, let your hand be upon our hands so we can be strong for you. We will never turn back. We will call on your name.”
Gently the gardener planted the vine back into the earth and mounded it up to protect its stem and she started to see the possibilities for her garden. She would remove the stones and twigs, maybe build a wall with them. Perhaps others in her village could help to get water here and still others could help with fertilizer.
Then the gardener kissed her the child as she swung it up onto her back. The child giggled with glee. She felt stronger somehow as she continued to hum, “Let your face shine…”
And in the light of the sun, mother and child toiled and tilled and dug and furrowed, planted and plucked determined to fashion a green and growing place for one and all. Let us pray the words of the psalmist.
PSALM 80:8–18
The Gardener Goes Away
You grew this garden yourself, God
You tilled the soil and pulled the weeds
You planted the seeds and watered it
It became a place of beauty.
The sweet scent of lilacs filled the air;
Blue lupins stood tall,
And shy pansies turned bright faces to the sun.
Why did you stop caring, God?
Kids from the playground trample your tulips,
Commuters use it as a shortcut,
Dogs dig up your flower beds,
Fires smolder in heaps of windblown refuse,
And seedlings wilt for lack of water.
Come back, God,
Come back and take care of us again.
Restore your garden to its rightful glory.
Take control over this chaos,
And we will gladly live under your green thumb forever.
We celebrate the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ within us—celebrating all that Christ is—our hope, our peace, our joy, our love and the very life we live.
In the name of God, incarnate among us, dwelling with us always. Amen.
Luke 2:1-20
“Reaping the Harvest”
Throughout Advent, our season of preparation for the coming of Christ, we have been adding to the banner you see hanging over the communion table. Last Sunday, if we’d held our worship service, you would have heard the story of how hope, peace and joy come to fulfillment when love enters the equation. Each Sunday of Advent and each addition to the banner built upon the others to form a complete picture. The banner began with an empty hillside and pale seedlings waiting for their growth. We watched as crops appeared and the banner became more alive with color and action. The message was delivered and life began to appear, the sun, the crops and the Holy Spirit graced the scene. And finally a woman and child, cultivating the soil appeared last Sunday in the resulting incarnation of God’s presence. The season of Advent began with the hope, as it always does, that awaits this night of celebration and awaits the culmination of Jesus Christ living within us and dwelling in the world. Let us hear the story of the woman who prepares the soil for sowing and reaping as we contemplate the presence of God in Christ within us and within this world we share.
Whack, whack, whack… oh, how hot the sun.
Whack, whack, whack… oh, how still the air.
Whack, whack whack… oh, how hard the ground.
See how dry… how cracked.
The gardener slowly stood up and, tucking a loose hair into her scarf, she wiped the sweat from her brow with a callused hand. Shifting the bundle on her back, she bent down again and, with her hoe, went back to tilling the hard, hard ground.
Whack, whack, whack… whack, whack, whack.
Oh, what was the use? Would the hard crust of the earth ever break open? Hard ground made her think of hard times and, in that same moment, she thought of a song prayer her people sang: Listen, O shepherd of Israel, you who lead our people like a flock of sheep, who sits upon a throne of angels.
The gardener looked at the ground once again and ran her hands over it. As she did this she thought of how her people’s lives were like this rough ground.
She peered up at the sky and she said to herself, “Shine forth before your people, stir up your might and come to save us! Restore us, O God; let your face shine, that we may be saved.”
The gardener cleared away some stones and tugged at a small vine and another line from a song came into her head. She said it aloud, “You brought a vine out of Egypt; you drove out the nations and planted it. You cleared the ground for it; it took deep root and filled the land.”
The gardener sighed as she looked at the vine in her hand. Oh, how it was like her own family, her own people, trying to live and grow in God’s way but finding it harder and harder to do. The vine needed protection from people stepping on it and a way for the fruit to grow and not be eaten by wild animals. Her people needed protection too. “Restore us, O God; let your face shine, that we may be saved,” she prayed.
Sighing the gardener sat down and brought the bundle around into her lap. Why, it wasn’t just any bundle as she pulled back the covers to see her baby, sleeping peacefully. The tiny hands, bunched under his chin, the soft curly hair and the tiny gurgling sounds made her smile. She brushed the baby’s cheek with the vine and his bright eyes opened. When his little face split into a great big smile, she smiled too.
The child reached out and tried to grab her nose in his hand, and instead pulled the vine from her tight grip. And she remembered… she remembered when she was pregnant, waiting, waiting for her child to be born… she remembered thinking it would never come… she remembered being both excited and scared… she remembered imagining what her child would look like, how it would grow… all the surprises and possibilities… how the child’s coming would reshape everything!
And through the wondering and waiting, hoping, dreaming, and praying, and hardship this child’s birth had indeed changed her world. And gazing into her little child’s forever eyes she took its hand in hers and prayed, “God, let your hand be upon our hands so we can be strong for you. We will never turn back. We will call on your name.”
Gently the gardener planted the vine back into the earth and mounded it up to protect its stem and she started to see the possibilities for her garden. She would remove the stones and twigs, maybe build a wall with them. Perhaps others in her village could help to get water here and still others could help with fertilizer.
Then the gardener kissed her the child as she swung it up onto her back. The child giggled with glee. She felt stronger somehow as she continued to hum, “Let your face shine…”
And in the light of the sun, mother and child toiled and tilled and dug and furrowed, planted and plucked determined to fashion a green and growing place for one and all. Let us pray the words of the psalmist.
PSALM 80:8–18
The Gardener Goes Away
You grew this garden yourself, God
You tilled the soil and pulled the weeds
You planted the seeds and watered it
It became a place of beauty.
The sweet scent of lilacs filled the air;
Blue lupins stood tall,
And shy pansies turned bright faces to the sun.
Why did you stop caring, God?
Kids from the playground trample your tulips,
Commuters use it as a shortcut,
Dogs dig up your flower beds,
Fires smolder in heaps of windblown refuse,
And seedlings wilt for lack of water.
Come back, God,
Come back and take care of us again.
Restore your garden to its rightful glory.
Take control over this chaos,
And we will gladly live under your green thumb forever.
We celebrate the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ within us—celebrating all that Christ is—our hope, our peace, our joy, our love and the very life we live.
In the name of God, incarnate among us, dwelling with us always. Amen.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11
Psalm 126
1 Thessalonians 5:16-24
John 1:6-8, 19-28
Psalm 126
1 Thessalonians 5:16-24
John 1:6-8, 19-28
“Wearing Joy on Your Sleeve”
I had a huge conversation this week with my colleagues; we were talking about encountering God, having experiences of God in daily life. I shared my experiences with them. I grew up in church, I sat behind my mother from the time I was 3 weeks old listening and learning. I never knew the experience of suddenly being aware of the presence of God in my life. It took a lot of years before I could look back and see how God had transformed my life because it was so gradual. I know that there are many who have a similar experience. I also know that some folks have had moments of extreme and instantaneous transformation that they can describe in great detail.
And I have heard those kind of experiences from you . . . some of you have described or alluded to those kinds of things. Miraculous transformations, internally or externally, have marked your life of faith. And I have heard about lives of calm continuous faith and serenity not marked by any great transformation, just a simple life of trust and walking through life with God.
And all of these experiences are legitimate and authentic experiences of having God in one’s life. It’s just that sometimes as human beings we don’t really notice anything unless we are exposed to its utter opposite. It is easier to know we are sad if we’ve been ecstatic recently. We might be more likely to recognize joy if it felt in contrast to despair, but we can be joyful without hitting bottom or lying in the gutter. And yet, even if we have hit bottom with despair that doesn’t mean that God has been distant, only that we have had a different journey to God than other folks might have had.
Yet joy never exists in perfection—not in this world. There is a Jewish custom that says you should always leave a corner or some part of your house unfinished as a reminder that all is temporary. Nothing that we create will last an eternity—only God creates eternally and most of that which we experience in God’s creation is also temporary. It may last millions of years, but it is temporary. History and story move on—only God remains constant and continually working toward God’s vision for all creation.
I’ve been blessed enough in the last few months to get some great leaps and bounds toward my own personal vision of joy in my life. Since Carl has come into my life, I feel incredibly blessed and full of joy. Yet I also know that this is just a part of all the dreams that I have. . . and Carl knows that, too. And Carl still has dreams to be fulfilled. In the midst of these moments of time, we are full of joy. Joy is happiness mixed with reality and the anticipation of more yet to come. All is not perfect and never will be, but joy is in me.
And there are wonderful things happening all around us. . . the cycles of nature continue on, renewing the world through the seasons. Flowers and trees will bud next spring because the damp, dark, cold winter has given them respite—a time of dormancy when new growth is developed and readied to sprout. Animals of all kinds may enter a time of slowing down when they are given a chance to rest until the coming seasons of reproduction. Some mammals even give birth through the winter so that when the young are ready to eat solid food, there is solid food available in spring.
Joy isn’t about whether or not human institutions that we have come to rely upon are thriving—that’s a false confidence—joy is about God’s creation continuing to produce and bring forth the life and wholeness that God originated at the outset of the universe. Joy means rejoicing as we see the cycles of life roll on toward God’s intentions. We may not see the culmination of the vision, but there is joy in the process toward which we are focused.
In Isaiah 61.11 we read,
“11For as the earth brings forth its shoots, and as a garden causes what is sown in it to spring up,so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise to spring up before all the nations.”
We all experience the presence of God as God has decided to be made manifest in our lives. We experience the presence of God as we ourselves are built to recognize God. In my conversation with my friends this week, I heard that how we are built makes a difference in how we feel the joy that God gives—it even makes a difference in our recognition of that joy.
In the desert, plants and flowers shoot up out of the ground very quickly in the spring—or the wet season. They don’t wait around to see if the rain will continue, because it doesn’t. Life in the desert takes advantage of the blessing as it falls from the sky. Their growth cycle may be days long from sprout to maturity.
Yet in more temperate climates, plants may take years to mature before they produce fruit. Fruit trees may need a year or more to make much fruit. Even a crop like wheat has varieties that need the winter freezes to mature. Moving here to Illinois made this difference more prominent in my mind. I was used to seeing green wheat in the fields all winter—some with cattle grazing on it. Here I see fields of corn stubble covered with bird—waiting spring planting. And corn is one of those almost instantaneous plants. In less than 60 days, it will grow 2-3 feet, at least that’s what I’ve seen.
How does the righteousness and praise spring up before all nations? Like the earth growing crops and the garden growing food. . . either really quickly with results to be seen immediately or really slowly as they take time to mature and be made real in the lives of people among the nations in the world. The presence and praise of God might spring up quickly in those who are prepared somehow to receive it. . . the presence and praise of God might take a little longer in those whose lives have more obstacles. Or it might be a simple carpet of pasture flowers in one life while the righteousness and justice God brings might be a mighty oak in another person or community
I often get the feeling that the contradictions of scripture express the counterpoint of God’s dance within the history of humanity. God doesn’t feel the same to everyone. The joy God brings to each situation might sometimes bring laughter and in other times or other people bring tears. Yet the joy is still there, even in the realization that life is incomplete, imperfect and yet to be fulfilled. Life is always yet to be and yet we are called to live in what is the now.
We are called to rejoice in today. In the present manifestation of God’s dream for the world, we can praise God.
Psalm 126 sings with happiness and joy when God accomplished good things among the people of Israel—by reestablishing Jerusalem after exile. The psalmist sang,
1When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion,* we were like those who dream. 2Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy;then it was said among the nations, ‘The Lord has done great things for them.’ 3The Lord has done great things for us, and we rejoiced.
Yet when they returned, we read in the histories of Ezra and Nehemiah, things weren’t all cherries and cream. They came back to Jerusalem and had to rebuild their homes, the city, the temple and they had to reestablish their knowledge of God’s work in the lives of their ancestors. The history of that people had to be pieced together from very little written evidence and lots of oral history. The priestly lines knew some things and wrote them down. The prophets knew other things and wrote those down. The people knew other things and told their stories which were eventually written down in places. The gathered the knowledge they had of their past and made a future out of it. Some of the past had been idealized and other parts misunderstood, yet it was their story as it existed for them.
They rejoiced in the story of God’s presence in the lives of their ancestors and in God’s repeated fulfillment of God’s promises in their lives.
Joy to Isaiah meant that all those who were under the boot of oppression whether physical, mental, emotion or political would be freed and given the opportunity to experience liberation. Joy in the psalmist’s eyes meant the remembrance of the great things of the past and the hope that great things would continue into the future for God’s people and with God’s action.
And the people of God express the joy they have experienced—they sing out their joy with great feeling, even if it is quiet, it can be genuine. Not everyone is a great singer, but everyone can sing with great feeling. The people of God have expressed their joy by working on the mission that God has given. Rebuilding and restoring Jerusalem was the joy of the people of Isaiah and of this psalm. Standing up and expressing the joy that Christ brought to their lives was the story of the people of the early church. In Thessalonica, Paul saw joy and prayer, continuous acknowledgment and celebration as a mark of their faith in all that God had done through Jesus. “16Rejoice always, 17pray without ceasing, 18give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”
And when Jesus came into the world, there were witnesses to the joy that his presence brought, John the baptizer was a witness in the fourth gospel. Mary was a joyous witness in Luke’s gospel as her approaching pregnancy was announced to her. Mary and Joseph both welcomed Jesus into their lives with joy in Matthew and Mark celebrated Jesus’ action with quiet determination. Mark gospel isn’t poetic like Luke or a wordsmith like John, but it expresses the joy that the community felt inn that story.
When we wear our joy on our sleeve, we all find our own style . . . some of our differences are dependent on who we are deep inside—those things we cannot change. Some may express joy in the contentment of life—sharing what they have quietly and without fanfare. Some may have exuberant passion and shout their joy from the highest pinnacle—communicating with many at a time, which is great if the person doesn’t become the message. Most of us remain somewhere in between depending on who we are and how we were raised. Yet we are all called to bring attention to the joy that God has given us in some way.
Live joy each day so that others may ask for the secret to your contentment. Live joy each day so that God will be glorified in what you do. Live joy each day so that people will not wonder if God is in you life—they will know.
In the name of God, hope, peace and joy. Amen.
Isaiah 40:1-11
Psalm 85:1-2, 8-13
2 Peter 3:8-15a
Mark 1:1-8
Psalm 85:1-2, 8-13
2 Peter 3:8-15a
Mark 1:1-8
“It’s Now and Forever”
When the season of Advent arrives, we are thrust deeply into preparing for the Christmas holiday. We may think of baby Jesus along with the presents, the tree, the children and the dinners and parties, but Advent prepares us for more than the celebration of Jesus’ birth.
In the words of the prophet Isaiah, we hear,
A voice cries out:‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low;the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain. Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all people shall see it together, for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.’[1]
We prepare the way for God’s own self in our lives, in our communities, in the lives we lead and the decisions we make. We open the way for God, leveling our objections to participation in God’s way. We lift up the potholes that we have allowed to form and smooth out our fear, trusting that God will not lead us wrongly. We may have to risk something, but we can believe in God’s desire for us and for all of creation.
The words of the prophet that we read in Isaiah 40 were written as the people of Judah were returning from exile—their long day and night, 60 years of it, were coming to an end. God was coming to lead them home.
The words of the prophet show us that despite the despair that the people of Israel felt as they entered exile—even as they began to return—God accompanied them like a nurturing shepherd. That God was leading them back, carrying the vulnerable and carefully leading them all. That God’s glory would be revealing in their return and that God’s promise is that “all people will see it together.”
The promise of God was extended to the people of that time and place as they returned home. They were led back safely as if in the arms of God through the actions and leadership of that time and place. They also were led into an unknown future as their newly returning nation met the obstacles that faced them: a ruin of a city and temple, the remnants of a population left behind by those taken into exile and forgotten religious traditions and stories.
The nation had been set back several generations by their experiences and they would continue to be oppressed again and again for several generations. The promise was fulfilled and would continue to be over and over again and in many places and ways.
You see, the promise of God isn’t limited by geography or time. The promise of God happens over and over again. When people gain and lose themselves through their own choices or by the choice of others and are renewed, the promise of God is made manifest.
The New Testament describes how God’s action in the life and actions of humanity were renewed yet again through the life of Jesus Christ.
As Advent began last—beginning the Christian year, we began reading the gospel of Mark. It’s the beginning of year B and today we hear the first words of the second gospel. Mark doesn’t describe Jesus’ birth, but starts with Jesus’ ministry, “The beginning of the good news* of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.* As it is written in the prophet Isaiah,*‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,* who will prepare your way; the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight” ’[2]
The gospel was written to communicate how God worked through and in Jesus to lead God’s people once again. And as we read this gospel through the next year, we’ll hear stories of how the way of God was made clear in the life of Jesus, son of Man and Son of God. Through the reading of this gospel and other scriptures, we also have the chance to renew and rededicate ourselves.
The gospel of Jesus Christ as it revealed God’s action in and through the actions of humanity was fulfilled in Jesus himself and continues to be fulfilled as we live out the ministry of the gospel in our time and place.
The good news continues each day and place where righteousness and justice are lived out in the lives of those who need it. The good news is now and forever, yesterday, today and for always—we are simply called to step into the story and live the gospel now and forever.
To the glory of God; comforter, savior, and peace. Amen.
[1] Isaiah 40:3-5
[2] Mark 1:1-3
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
“The Power of God: Redemption, Forgiveness”
My family always struggled with a shortage of money. I really don’t think we didn’t make enough; I do think that my family had trouble with money management. Eventually because of the farm crisis of the eighties and rising debt we were forced to sell hundreds of acres of farmland that my father had purchased over the years. I imagine it was heartbreaking for him and I know that it was an awful experience for the whole family. And even so, some debt that was owed to a farm-credit company had to be forgiven once we had no more assets to sell. Debt is a heavy weight for a family or an individual. And it always had been.
If you read the ancient laws of the Israelites, debt is a common topic. There are long sections that explain how to deal with debt, especially the debts of a fellow member of the nation of Israel. A man or woman could be sold into slavery until the debt was paid—but they could not be kept in perpetuity. Land could be sold to pay debt, but every seven years could be redeemed back to the original owners and every Sabbath of seven year period or every 49 years, all debt would be forgiven.
When the Hebrew people were in Egypt, they had come there because of a famine several generations before; they left after years of slavery and were probably in debt to the dominant culture of the Egyptians। Those who rule tend to hold the majority of assets । । . it keeps the owners above those being owned. When slaves own land, assets, homes, animals, etc. they tend to be able to free themselves. This would make a culture based on slavery hard to maintain.
Is it harder to forgive sin or forgive debt? And is there a real difference . . .?
Outside of the church, the words redeem and forgive are used most often in the financial world—at least that’s my impression. You can redeem coupons, discount cards, gift certificates or other money substitutes. Redemption in the bible often has a monetary side to it.
One of the familiar examples that occurred to me is in the book of Ruth. When Naomi returned to her homeland with Ruth, her daughter-in-law, she had to find a male family member to redeem the land her husband had sold when he had left there. She found Boaz, who later married Ruth, but Boaz was not the closest kinsman she had—another had to cede his right to the land and to Naomi and Ruth before Boaz could claim the land and Ruth and Naomi. It’s one of the weirder incidents in that book—Ruth and Naomi came with the land of Naomi’s husband or ancestors, Naomi for legal reasons and Ruth because she had vowed to remain with Naomi.
Marriage often contained a financial or economic transaction; modern weddings contain a vestige of that tradition in the exchange of rings—deliberately made from precious metals and sometimes gems to symbolize an economic pledge. Often marriage vows even contain the words “. . . all that I have, I give to you.” Basic family and kin relationships have financial or economic facets, most people expect family to care for family in times of hardship. And there are times when family members can be held responsible for the financial problems of another member.
Redemption of people, especially in the ancient biblical world, means buying them back from something or setting a level of worth in their lives. When God redeems, God reveals that God holds someone to be very valuable.
The biblical stories today reveal that God took the value of the people of Israel very seriously and valued them as highly as anything else that God had created.
God had called the people of Israel out of Egypt so that they could take on their full identity of God’s own people—so that they could be free to reveal the fullness of what God had in mind for them. When they were held in slavery, their self-worth and value dwindled. When others oppress you and convince you that your worth lies only in the fulfillment of their needs, you sink very low in your own eyes. As they followed God’s messenger, the angel as the pillar of cloud and fire, they moved toward being a free people again. When the Egyptians threatened to keep them from that freedom, God intervened again by Moses’ agency.
And by God’s intervention, God expressed God’s intention for the freedom of this small nation for people—for this people of wanderers and for this poor nation without a permanent home.
The warriors of Egypt died as the Pharaoh attempted to renege on his word to free the Hebrews from slavery. It seems his fear of God’s power when his son was killed was overwhelmed by his need to control the Hebrews and his anger at having been defeated in any way. And they died in the vain attempt for oppression to overcome the will of God for life and mercy—for just treatment of one another and for compassion between human beings.
Each party involved—both Moses and Pharaoh was sure that a god was on his side—Moses’ God demonstrated the power necessary to release people from their slavery. And that power came from God’s power to redeem and God’s power to forgive. God redeemed the people of the Hebrews by putting value on their lives and making them as valuable as the Egyptians saw themselves. It may have been stated in the opposite way—they are costing us too much—but in made them valuable enough to be freed. The inconvenience of their freedom became less valuable than the cost of their slavery.
So God redeemed them by showing they were worthy and valuable enough to be loved.
That is powerful stuff—to give another person worth and value. That’s the stuff of incredible love—to love someone in such a way that they feel worthy and valuable of that love. The intention of God was not the violent death of the Egyptians—but to free the Israelites from the forced bondage they experienced. The only way God could stop Pharaoh was to turn back his army at this crucial point in their journey.
And I believe that the Israelites developed a forgiving attitude even toward the Egyptians. As I explained last week, the Passover Seder meal contains elements of mourning for the losses of life experienced by this early enemy. The wine is spilled in mourning and the salt water tears mean sorrow for slavery and for the deaths of the enemy.
Redemption often contains elements of forgiveness. It meant that the Israelites had to leave behind the desire for revenge and that Egypt had to give up what they probably thought the Israelite owed them for saving them a few generations earlier.
Forgiveness of perceived debt—forgiveness of sin—compassion in the face of overwhelming violence—moderation in the face of rhetorical polarization—these are the kinds of forgiveness most needed today and probably forever.
Owing another anything is a difficult place to be—we perceive oppression where there may not be any and we feel that debt deep within us, or at least I do. So when we forgive and . . . AND . . . allow that forgiveness to stand without ever speaking of it again, we do something very powerful—but only if we truly do not hold a debt against another after we have forgiven it.
The power of forgiveness exists in its ability to free—and we must be willing to receive it as well as give it. We have to believe it as strongly when we receive it as when we give it or the power there is also diminished.
The lesson from Matthew’s gospel and Paul’s words in his letter to the church at Rome lift up the importance and power of letting debt and judgment go—especially within the church. They reveal the power of being forgiven as well as the depths of despair in not forgiving another.
Peter’s question to Jesus says that he was trying to be generous to others, but didn’t really understand what that generosity meant. He probably couldn’t imagine being forgiven more than 7 times—how could he imagine forgiving that much? Imagine his face when Jesus told him to forgive 77 times or as many as 490 times—70 x 7 times. But what if they owe me $20 bucks? What if they were responsible for the death of my child? That’s just crazy! And crazy is often very powerful. Crazy just goes where it wants and doesn’t moderate itself. That’s 70 x 7—for every sin, for every person. . .
And so the parable reveals that the generosity of the kingdom must be contagious for it to work—one can’t expect to be forgiven a great debt and not forgive a lesser one. The economy of the kingdom—the household rules—must be held in honor by all and not just some or they don’t work. And this servant/slave must forgive to maintain an economy of generous forgiveness—or it won’t work for anyone.
Several times, I have heard a story about a dream. In this dream, the dreamer is transported to hell where a guide shows room after room of people starving at tables full of food. The problem is that the people’s hands hold long forks too long to reach the mouth of the one holding it. And the forks cannot be put down. So the people struggle and struggle to feed themselves—the dreamer is horrified and asks to see heaven.
So the guide transports the dreamer to another place full of rooms. In this place, room after room of people sit at tables full of delicious food. In their hands, too, are forks too long to get into their own mouths, but in this place, the people do not starve, they feed one another and enjoy the feast. They don’t worry that someone else will get more because they recognize that only by helping and being helped does anyone get anything.
Forgiveness and generous treatment of others is so powerful that it can keep people alive in the midst of a starving world—when poverty threatens some in the world, the hope lies in the fact that there is plenty to share globally. The power of God isn’t in wrath—it is in God’s will to redeem in the face of violence from others. The power of God isn’t in vengeance—it is in God’s will to love in the face of overwhelming greed and jealousy.
Redemption means that we have been—and all have been—recognized to be valuable to God, now and forever. It means we have been assigned worth through the attention of God—that all of creation has been assigned worth for the same reason. “For God so loved THE WORLD that God gave God’s own and only son so that all who belief will be redeemed—saved. God did not send God’s own and only son into the world to condemn, but to save—to redeem.” Redemption means not judging another because, in Paul’s words, “10Why do you pass judgment on your brother or sister?* Or you, why do you despise your brother or sister?* For we will all stand before the judgment seat of God.* 11For it is written, ‘As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall give praise to* God.’ 12So then, each of us will be accountable to God.”*
In today’s world, it is hard to imagine forgiving the trillions of dollars of debt owed by the billions of people who inhabit this world. Yet it is a global truth that all of us are in debt in some way to another—and certainly we indebted to God. Even those who do not believe in a God who blesses are able to see that holding people hostage with debt is not the same as holding them accountable for how economies are conducted. Nations often function in debt—but that’s not the same as irresponsibly amassing debt in feats of futility. Even individuals may occasionally have necessary debt—it’s hard to own a home or a car without debt for most people in affluent cultures.
The indictment of the biblical system of slavery—where one slave could be forgiven and hold another accountable—reveals the corruption of any ownership of one person by another. And it reveals the evil of a system that holds economic debt above life. . .
In Paul’s words, “For we will all stand before the judgment seat of God.*” and in Jesus’ words, “in anger his lord handed him over to be tortured until he should pay his entire debt. So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister* from your heart.”
In the name of God, holder of power—the power to redeem all from whatever enslaves, the power to forgive all that holds us in chains. Amen.
If you read the ancient laws of the Israelites, debt is a common topic. There are long sections that explain how to deal with debt, especially the debts of a fellow member of the nation of Israel. A man or woman could be sold into slavery until the debt was paid—but they could not be kept in perpetuity. Land could be sold to pay debt, but every seven years could be redeemed back to the original owners and every Sabbath of seven year period or every 49 years, all debt would be forgiven.
When the Hebrew people were in Egypt, they had come there because of a famine several generations before; they left after years of slavery and were probably in debt to the dominant culture of the Egyptians। Those who rule tend to hold the majority of assets । । . it keeps the owners above those being owned. When slaves own land, assets, homes, animals, etc. they tend to be able to free themselves. This would make a culture based on slavery hard to maintain.
Is it harder to forgive sin or forgive debt? And is there a real difference . . .?
Outside of the church, the words redeem and forgive are used most often in the financial world—at least that’s my impression. You can redeem coupons, discount cards, gift certificates or other money substitutes. Redemption in the bible often has a monetary side to it.
One of the familiar examples that occurred to me is in the book of Ruth. When Naomi returned to her homeland with Ruth, her daughter-in-law, she had to find a male family member to redeem the land her husband had sold when he had left there. She found Boaz, who later married Ruth, but Boaz was not the closest kinsman she had—another had to cede his right to the land and to Naomi and Ruth before Boaz could claim the land and Ruth and Naomi. It’s one of the weirder incidents in that book—Ruth and Naomi came with the land of Naomi’s husband or ancestors, Naomi for legal reasons and Ruth because she had vowed to remain with Naomi.
Marriage often contained a financial or economic transaction; modern weddings contain a vestige of that tradition in the exchange of rings—deliberately made from precious metals and sometimes gems to symbolize an economic pledge. Often marriage vows even contain the words “. . . all that I have, I give to you.” Basic family and kin relationships have financial or economic facets, most people expect family to care for family in times of hardship. And there are times when family members can be held responsible for the financial problems of another member.
Redemption of people, especially in the ancient biblical world, means buying them back from something or setting a level of worth in their lives. When God redeems, God reveals that God holds someone to be very valuable.
The biblical stories today reveal that God took the value of the people of Israel very seriously and valued them as highly as anything else that God had created.
God had called the people of Israel out of Egypt so that they could take on their full identity of God’s own people—so that they could be free to reveal the fullness of what God had in mind for them. When they were held in slavery, their self-worth and value dwindled. When others oppress you and convince you that your worth lies only in the fulfillment of their needs, you sink very low in your own eyes. As they followed God’s messenger, the angel as the pillar of cloud and fire, they moved toward being a free people again. When the Egyptians threatened to keep them from that freedom, God intervened again by Moses’ agency.
And by God’s intervention, God expressed God’s intention for the freedom of this small nation for people—for this people of wanderers and for this poor nation without a permanent home.
The warriors of Egypt died as the Pharaoh attempted to renege on his word to free the Hebrews from slavery. It seems his fear of God’s power when his son was killed was overwhelmed by his need to control the Hebrews and his anger at having been defeated in any way. And they died in the vain attempt for oppression to overcome the will of God for life and mercy—for just treatment of one another and for compassion between human beings.
Each party involved—both Moses and Pharaoh was sure that a god was on his side—Moses’ God demonstrated the power necessary to release people from their slavery. And that power came from God’s power to redeem and God’s power to forgive. God redeemed the people of the Hebrews by putting value on their lives and making them as valuable as the Egyptians saw themselves. It may have been stated in the opposite way—they are costing us too much—but in made them valuable enough to be freed. The inconvenience of their freedom became less valuable than the cost of their slavery.
So God redeemed them by showing they were worthy and valuable enough to be loved.
That is powerful stuff—to give another person worth and value. That’s the stuff of incredible love—to love someone in such a way that they feel worthy and valuable of that love. The intention of God was not the violent death of the Egyptians—but to free the Israelites from the forced bondage they experienced. The only way God could stop Pharaoh was to turn back his army at this crucial point in their journey.
And I believe that the Israelites developed a forgiving attitude even toward the Egyptians. As I explained last week, the Passover Seder meal contains elements of mourning for the losses of life experienced by this early enemy. The wine is spilled in mourning and the salt water tears mean sorrow for slavery and for the deaths of the enemy.
Redemption often contains elements of forgiveness. It meant that the Israelites had to leave behind the desire for revenge and that Egypt had to give up what they probably thought the Israelite owed them for saving them a few generations earlier.
Forgiveness of perceived debt—forgiveness of sin—compassion in the face of overwhelming violence—moderation in the face of rhetorical polarization—these are the kinds of forgiveness most needed today and probably forever.
Owing another anything is a difficult place to be—we perceive oppression where there may not be any and we feel that debt deep within us, or at least I do. So when we forgive and . . . AND . . . allow that forgiveness to stand without ever speaking of it again, we do something very powerful—but only if we truly do not hold a debt against another after we have forgiven it.
The power of forgiveness exists in its ability to free—and we must be willing to receive it as well as give it. We have to believe it as strongly when we receive it as when we give it or the power there is also diminished.
The lesson from Matthew’s gospel and Paul’s words in his letter to the church at Rome lift up the importance and power of letting debt and judgment go—especially within the church. They reveal the power of being forgiven as well as the depths of despair in not forgiving another.
Peter’s question to Jesus says that he was trying to be generous to others, but didn’t really understand what that generosity meant. He probably couldn’t imagine being forgiven more than 7 times—how could he imagine forgiving that much? Imagine his face when Jesus told him to forgive 77 times or as many as 490 times—70 x 7 times. But what if they owe me $20 bucks? What if they were responsible for the death of my child? That’s just crazy! And crazy is often very powerful. Crazy just goes where it wants and doesn’t moderate itself. That’s 70 x 7—for every sin, for every person. . .
And so the parable reveals that the generosity of the kingdom must be contagious for it to work—one can’t expect to be forgiven a great debt and not forgive a lesser one. The economy of the kingdom—the household rules—must be held in honor by all and not just some or they don’t work. And this servant/slave must forgive to maintain an economy of generous forgiveness—or it won’t work for anyone.
Several times, I have heard a story about a dream. In this dream, the dreamer is transported to hell where a guide shows room after room of people starving at tables full of food. The problem is that the people’s hands hold long forks too long to reach the mouth of the one holding it. And the forks cannot be put down. So the people struggle and struggle to feed themselves—the dreamer is horrified and asks to see heaven.
So the guide transports the dreamer to another place full of rooms. In this place, room after room of people sit at tables full of delicious food. In their hands, too, are forks too long to get into their own mouths, but in this place, the people do not starve, they feed one another and enjoy the feast. They don’t worry that someone else will get more because they recognize that only by helping and being helped does anyone get anything.
Forgiveness and generous treatment of others is so powerful that it can keep people alive in the midst of a starving world—when poverty threatens some in the world, the hope lies in the fact that there is plenty to share globally. The power of God isn’t in wrath—it is in God’s will to redeem in the face of violence from others. The power of God isn’t in vengeance—it is in God’s will to love in the face of overwhelming greed and jealousy.
Redemption means that we have been—and all have been—recognized to be valuable to God, now and forever. It means we have been assigned worth through the attention of God—that all of creation has been assigned worth for the same reason. “For God so loved THE WORLD that God gave God’s own and only son so that all who belief will be redeemed—saved. God did not send God’s own and only son into the world to condemn, but to save—to redeem.” Redemption means not judging another because, in Paul’s words, “10Why do you pass judgment on your brother or sister?* Or you, why do you despise your brother or sister?* For we will all stand before the judgment seat of God.* 11For it is written, ‘As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall give praise to* God.’ 12So then, each of us will be accountable to God.”*
In today’s world, it is hard to imagine forgiving the trillions of dollars of debt owed by the billions of people who inhabit this world. Yet it is a global truth that all of us are in debt in some way to another—and certainly we indebted to God. Even those who do not believe in a God who blesses are able to see that holding people hostage with debt is not the same as holding them accountable for how economies are conducted. Nations often function in debt—but that’s not the same as irresponsibly amassing debt in feats of futility. Even individuals may occasionally have necessary debt—it’s hard to own a home or a car without debt for most people in affluent cultures.
The indictment of the biblical system of slavery—where one slave could be forgiven and hold another accountable—reveals the corruption of any ownership of one person by another. And it reveals the evil of a system that holds economic debt above life. . .
In Paul’s words, “For we will all stand before the judgment seat of God.*” and in Jesus’ words, “in anger his lord handed him over to be tortured until he should pay his entire debt. So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister* from your heart.”
In the name of God, holder of power—the power to redeem all from whatever enslaves, the power to forgive all that holds us in chains. Amen.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
God's House
Isaiah 49:8-16a
Psalm 131
Matthew 6:24-34
Picture, if you will, a home—not just a place where people live, but where the members of a family feel like they belong. There is warmth in this place—there are times that people disagree—but never a time where people are abandoned or excluded from one another. In the heart of the house is a parent, a mother, a father—it doesn’t matter—it is one who is responsible for the love and the care that all receive. Some of it is directly from the parent’s hand, or from the other members of the family—all the children of God. I can hear God speaking with wonder and love at the sight of those children, working, resting and living their lives.
When I woke from resting, my little one was sitting against me awake but relaxed and secure because I was there. I know she wondered why I slept while she was awake—I was tired, creation takes a lot of energy and time. I needed the rest to be ready for my continuing work—and I needed to rest to show her how important it was to rest after hard work had been done. She was concerned, I know, and wanted to be near me even as I slept. But I know, even if she didn’t know yet, that she’d have been in my arms immediately, cradled against me, comforted and safe before any real hurt came to her.
Though no longer a nursing infant, she was still comforted by the warmth of my body reminding her of the hours we’d spent in that most intimate of connections between mother and child. We had both needed it—that memory—and we would continue to need it as she grew more and more independent of me and as I grew freer of the constant need of an infant. In that close contact was the reminder that we would always be connected—even if we weren’t in physical contact with one another.
She didn’t need my touch constantly anymore—she could work and play for hours on her own or with her brothers and sisters. As she grew that time would grow longer and longer. Yet no matter how she grew—or how much her siblings grew—she would still need to know me, to know I was with her to support, to listen, to advise—even to discipline, correct and curtail her behavior.
And when that is necessary, even now, my child grows angry at me and at herself, and at all who are around her for awhile. But after reaching my limits and her own, I always gather her up in my arms and remind her that I love her. Even now, when she is too young to understand, I explain what her actions meant—why she wasn’t to do it any more—how her actions could hurt her or other. She doesn’t understand yet—but she will and these words will be a reminder, written within her—at least that is my hope and will for her life.
I speak to her brothers and sisters, too, as they grow and as they learn more about themselves and about the lives that they will lead as they become adults. I can look at their little sister and at them and see how they change from moment to moment—what they need from age to age. And they know the stories of my love for all of them—how I have cared for them from century to century and from nation to nation.
I have watched them journey from age to age; Abraham’s journey to the land of my promise took years because he and I had to learn all about one another. And Sarah had to trust me, too, as her journey toward motherhood took longer than she’d planned. I never abandoned any of Abraham’s children, though some promises are better remembered than others.
Jacob, his sons and daughter, his wives and all of his family lived in my promise, yet they journeyed beyond the land of Abraham for a time. The journey back there took awhile because, again, those children and I had to relearn and renew the covenant that I’d had with their ancestors so many centuries before. I learned that they needed strong boundaries and clear expectations so that they and all who met them would understand that they were my children—and that they still are my children.
As my children, no one has ever made me angrier than they have made me. I have cried at their indifference and raged at their callous disregard for me by their disregard of one another. Some of them are wealthy and generous; some are wealthy and miserly to the point of evil; some are poor and hard-working; some are poor and lazy; some are completely helpless and must be cared for by the others; some are so good at caring for others that they forget about their own needs.
When they make me angry, I show them why. When the wealthy and powerful took advantage so many centuries ago, I sent them away from the land of my promises. I never left them alone, but revealed to them that blessing and riches didn’t go with them and with my presence among them. I sent them messages through those who continued to listen to my voice. While they were still in exile, I said,
I have kept you and given you as a covenant to the people,to establish the land, to apportion the desolate heritages; 9saying to the prisoners, ‘Come out’, to those who are in darkness, ‘Show yourselves.’They shall feed along the ways, on all the bare heights shall be their pasture; 10they shall not hunger or thirst, neither scorching wind nor sun shall strike them down,[1]
My servant spoke these words to them—wrote them to last for generations, so that all of my children would know that my love outlasts my anger and my disappointment. And they wondered still if I loved them. My daughter said, ‘God has forsaken me, God has forgotten me.’ I argued,
15Can a woman forget her nursing-child, or show no compassion for the child of her womb?Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. 16See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands;[2]
Then, as now, some believed in my love and some did not—most did. And I continued to walk with them as they began to rebuild the city that had been destroyed. They built me a home there—not that I was limited to that space—but my children seem to need a place to visit me, just to know I’m there. I created them that way, it seems.
And some took note of my presence with great affinity. They realized that my presence didn’t always announce itself with trumpet blasts and thundering drumbeats. Often they felt me in the peace of which I am made.
. . . my heart is not lifted up, my eyes are not raised too high;I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. 2But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; my soul is like the weaned child that is with me.[3]
These children of mine—the ones who listen and the ones who write and speak of me—they are the joy of my heart. I want to be their joy, too. So I continue to touch and to care, even though it hurts more than anyone can imagine. My children, some more than others, have listened and carried my words as if they were my own. My son Jesus taught them by recognizing my presence in the care I extended to the simples of my creations—the ones who do my will without words.
Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, 29yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. 30But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? 31Therefore do not worry, saying, “What will we eat?” or “What will we drink?” or “What will we wear?” 32For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. 33But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.
34 ‘So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.[4]
I spoke through my son, Jesus, and I spoke through Isaiah, my child and my servant and through Jeremiah, one of my youngest at the time. My household continues to be built in spurts and starts—sometimes well and sometimes badly so that walls have to be torn down and rebuilt on strong foundations. But my message has continued throughout the movement of time and in whatever place my children live. I care for you with my own hand—and I charge you to care for one another because that’s also how I care for you. I and building a house—built of the lives and love of my children founded on my love and my life. It is founded on the love of Jesus, my son, too, who created a family of his followers to build after he left them. My spirit through him continued to inspire and to move my children to do the work that he left, that I have commissioned in the world. My house—the kingdom of Jesus’ preaching—is being built by my hand and by the hand of all who do my will and love with the love that I give them.
My house is not built all at once and each child’s contribution may not seem significant to that one or any other. But it is being built, even as I and all of you live within it. Another of my children, Robert Kennedy, saw this truth, this incremental homebuilding 40 years ago. “Let no one be discouraged by the belief there is nothing one man or one woman can do against the enormous array of the world’s ills, against misery and ignorance injustice and violence. . . . few will have the greatness to bend history itself, but each of us can work to change a small portion of events, and in the total of all those acts will be written the history of our generations.”[5]
This is the home that I see God building; these words are the words that I imagine God speaking to us through the stories of God’s work in history—through God’s work in us and in all of God’s children.
Ponder these words, imagine God’s home being built—in microscopic increments—in the lives, hopes and dreams of all who seek God’s love in their lives, whether they know it or not.
To the glory of God. Amen.
[1] Isaiah 49.8-10
[2] Isaiah 49:15-16
[3] Psalm 131.1-2
[4] Matthew 6.28b-34
[5] Behold, Pentecost 2 3008 (Year A), May 18-August 31, 2008, 2008, p. 23.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Creation, cont'd
Genesis 1:1-2:4a
Psalm 8
2 Corinthians 13:11-13
Matthew 28:16-20
Many people I know tend to struggle with self-image—some people feel unworthy and nothing they do or say means anything and some continually strive for praise, seeming to boast about themselves. Most of us tend to one or the other. Either we don’t receive praise for our accomplishments well because we don’t want to seem arrogant or we seek out praise and approval because we need to build ourselves up. I have always had the feeling that even those who seem arrogant and overly confident in themselves were trying to make up for some kind of emptiness inside. I could be wrong. And I know that there are people who seem to have a good, solid awareness of their worth—not perfect—but aware of their inherent worth to their families, friends, employers and to God. They can say, along with the psalmist, “I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”[1] They can balance their lives as they hear the psalmist witness again,Psalm 8
2 Corinthians 13:11-13
Matthew 28:16-20
3When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; 4what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals* that you care for them?[2]
It’s healthy and whole to recognize the wondrous ways that God has created us—each one of us. It’s freeing to realize that God creates wonders and we are among them—perhaps not the most impressive, but we are among them. Though we may recognize God’s influence and genius in the complex accomplishments of humanity; we can also recognize God in the ways we respond to weakness and the ways that mercy brings us together. The recent trend to recognize disabilities as different abilities may seem only about political correctness, but people who cannot see, hear or live that way that the healthiest among us may reveal understandings that those of us with sight and hearing would never recognize on our own.
On Star Trek: The Next Generation, Jordy was blind. The technology of the future had provided him with the ability to see—and to see in an unusual way. He could make out objects for practical purposes, but his visor provided him with the ability to see physical features unseen by the normal human eye. He could see molecular makeup of the objects around him because his visor was made to do that. One storyline revealed that it was possible for him to have sight if he received a particular treatment but he was hesitant because he would lose his particular perspective and he had been blind from birth. He worried that it would change his identity in basic, important ways. But technological advancement isn’t what I mean when I say that those with different abilities reveal gifts most of us can’t imagine.
God created us in great diversity, blessing us through our genes to produce a fantastic variety of people, not to mention, plants, animals, fungi and microscopic life. Our differing abilities are revelations of the variety that comes out when we adapt to our circumstances, when some of us survive because of our differences and others develop ways of understanding that fit particular settings of time and place.
One of my great-nieces was born with a genetic disorder that means, consequentially, she won’t ever be able to have children. She has lower than average intelligence and aptitude for learning, too, although that isn’t always the result of her particular disorder. Sometimes it has no effect on intellectual development, though it always has distinct physical effect of infertility. She is also very pretty with big blue eyes and caramel-blond hair. She is very loving and thrives on affection. Her disorder will not be passed onto children, yet her loving nature is a gift to the people in her world.
She is a gift all unto herself—her life will never be about genetic legacy, only about what she does and gives to those around her. I think it’s a wonderful result of a potential tragic situation. I hope that those who are closest to her lift up the gifts she has to give as she grows into her life.
The first account of creation in the bible is recounted in the first chapter of Genesis. If we listen while it is read, we can hear God’s intention for goodness and order in creation. What we don’t hear is an account of historical or biological accuracy. We hear of God’s intention to imbue creation with the ability to continue to create on its own. We hear God’s call for humanity to have dominion as God has dominion—in our own image, God says. To rule as God rules means to rule with mercy, justice, compassion and an awareness of the power to bring harm or injury.
As the first chapter of Genesis’ account of creation builds from its chaotic beginning—we hear God’s desire for an orderly progression: the light of day and the dark of night; the border between water and air; the tidal bounds between sea and land and plants to grow on the land. Then we hear about each realm of creation once again. The light of day is given an orb to rule it, the sun and the dark of night a lesser orb, the moon along with the stars. The water and the skies are filled with fish and birds respectively. Then the land is filled with creeping creatures and herd animals and finally with humanity as the crown of creation—not because we are more wondrous, but because we are to be responsible for what has been created in the same way that God is responsible for all that God has done.
God creates a time of rest, too, a day in each week that demonstrates the abundance of all that God has done. Order within the chaos of creation includes time when humanity and those creatures that live with humanity can rest and take time from toiling for their sustenance.
The story of creation in Genesis 1 isn’t how God created the heavens and the earth; it is why God created the heavens and the earth.
God created so that creation could continue to create—to grow and develop as species, not just humanity, but all creation. God created so that humanity could learn about God from the experience of dominion and authority. What is it like to be God—have and raise a loving child, teach others to value what you value and love what you love: farming, teaching, mining, cooking, sewing, whatever it is . . .
As we continue reading the story of God’s interaction with humanity throughout the biblical witness, we read of God’s development in relationship with humanity. When God encountered homicide, God didn’t kill Cain; God exiled him from those he knew best. When God found that humanity had become exceptionally violent and corrupt, God re-created humanity through Noah and his sons. Even then, as Noah demonstrated, God hadn’t perfected humanity, just gave them a new and less complicated start. And God made a covenant to never destroy all life again. God’s walk with human beings continued in Abram, later Abraham, and Sarai, later Sarah, and with Hagar, the mother of Ishmael.
God created humanity, not to fail, but to carry within each one, the possibility of creation—the image of God’s own self. In the materials for this week, I ran across a wonderful comment on this text. In Genesis 1:26, we read, God says, “Let us make humankind* in our image, according to our likeness.” A rabbi was once asked why the creation account in Genesis 1:1-2:4a says God created humankind “in our image”? If God is one, to whom does the “our” refer? The rabbi said God looked into the future and saw that after humans were created, some would bring about righteousness on earth but others would bring evil. God reconsidered creating humans so that no evil would come to earth but then realized that no righteousness would come either. So God lifted up mercy and said to her, “Let us make humankind in our image,” and then humankind was born.[3]
We contain the possibility and the potential for good that God has created in us. We also contain the possibility and the potential for evil. Sometimes that is more obvious to us. But each of those possibilities, for good and evil, are necessary for us to continue to create. We are given full freedom to do the worst we can—and we are given the opportunity to create the best that we can imagine.
The story of creation continues throughout the biblical witness—as humanity tries and fails and tries and succeeds over and over again. Most of the stories of humanity, we hear from the people of Israel, God’s designated witnesses—but we hear a little from beyond them, too. Stories of a righteous Moabite women and a stubborn, but grateful Aramite generals reveal that God worked beyond the borders of Israel, too. The story of Job doesn’t mention Israel, but God reveals great truth and wisdom in the story of his tribulation and life.
Creation continues as we read the stories of God’s work in Jesus. I don’t believe that Jesus intended to reinvent the wheel, as it were, when he began to preach, teach and heal in Galilee and Judea. He spoke the simple truths that he had learned from the history of his people and that he had experienced as he lived within his special relationship with God. He saw corruption and greed within those meant to carry on religious tradition and he saw righteousness in men like Nicodemus and Joseph of Aramathea.
He commissioned his disciples as a new creation to baptize a covenanted people, like Israel, that would witness to God’s work in their lives beyond the life of Jesus himself. The creation became the church and is witnessed to by the stories that its members began to tell about Jesus. Some of the stories are written in the gospels—Matthew, Mark, Luke-Acts and John are witnesses to four traditions that kept Jesus’ stories alive in their communities. And then we have the less story-filled, letters of Paul and other teachers of the early church who taught by argument and example rather than by story as in the gospels.
And as time passes and history moves us from age to age, God continues to work within the lives of human beings all over the earth. When great tragedy strikes, God works through our creative responses to alleviating suffering—toward giving mercy as the rabbi might say. God’s witness is in our call to justice for those who are hurt in places like Myanmar and China. And God’s witness is in the voices that seek to open Myanmar to relief workers—at least in my opinion.
The self-image of humanity takes quite a beating in the daily news—if we listen to the worst that we do to one another. And we do awful things. Yet we also create and nurture wonderful things, too. When we think of Islam today, we may only think of terrorism and the hatred that we receive in some quarters of that religious faith. But scholars within Islam were the finest medical minds in centuries past. They were open-minded and more compassionate toward religious diversity than Christians of the same era.
Creation continues, as always, going up and down through times of growth and times of destruction, hopefully moving us onward toward the restoration of the health and vitality that God created within each of us and within all created by the voice of God, by the hand of our creator, by the order and the process that God began.
To the glory of God in whose image we are made—in whose universe we are called to serve and live. Amen.
[1] Psalm 139.14b
[2] Psalm 8.3-4
[3] Seasons of the Spirit, May 18, 2008, Logos Productions.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Embodied Spirit
Often when I talk to folks about the universality of God—that God is everywhere and that God is indescribable—I hear from them that of course, then, God is spirit. And I agree, but with some hesitation . . . I also wonder if that means that they are uncertain about God’s embodiment, that God exists with some substance, not as ethereal stuff. Spirit is one of those churchy kinds of words that has been influenced more by Western philosophical understanding than through the understandings of the biblical tradition in the old testament.
In western philosophy, spirit and body are two separate things—one eternal and potentially perfect and the other mortal and terminally flawed. This comes through Plato and Aristotle from Socrates—you might not think that’s important to you, but it is because it is one of the ways that Christianity has been informed by culture rather than scripture. Plato regarded the objects of the real world as being merely shadows of eternal Forms or Ideas. Only these changeless, eternal Forms can be the object of true knowledge.[1] But our knowledge is, by virtue of our limitations, only a perception. Aristotle proposed a group of universals that represent the common properties of any group of real objects. The universals, unlike Plato's Ideas, have no existence outside of the objects they represent.[2] It is through Aristotle that we have an understanding of ultimate function of the ideal—that an object can look like one thing, say a loaf of bread and be another thing, the body of Christ.
These ideas are pervade our culture, such as when we deny the importance of the physical body and its needs—people starving themselves for the sake of “ideal” beauty when a healthy body needs so much more care. Or we deny the importance of the physical when sexual infidelity is swept under the carpet because it doesn’t “that’s just how men or women are.” Or it is denied when we regard only sexual fidelity within marriage as important when emotional or mental fidelity is just as crucial to its health.
It also helps to understand how important these are when we are encouraged to forget physical suffering because we’ll be rewarded for our faith in that eternal someday—when the physical suffering of the oppressed: historically slaves heard this message and more contemporarily when the poor are encouraged to be good rather than to strive for the betterment of their lives and the lives of their families. In South America, for example, abject poverty was deemed the inevitable plight of the poor and it would be reconciled in eternity. This comes from the idea that the accepted form of social structure is God planned and God-ordained.
Christianity began to be influenced more by these western ideas of dualism very early in its history, but not right away. And Jesus in himself denies this dualism—that flesh is evil and spirit is good—because he was flesh, he was embodied. Beyond the time of the first century, that became a problem when people began to believe that all flesh was evil. They had to find a way of understanding how the flesh of Jesus was not as sinful as all other flesh.
And sometimes, with the background and understanding that we have as inheritors of the ideas of flesh and spirit, we read the New Testament as if it also supported this idea of flesh as evil and spirit as good. The gospel of John can be misread this way—but it contains its own defense against the dualism. This gospel is about God enfleshed in Jesus Christ—it is about God tabernacling or dwelling in the tent of humanity as the first chapter of John explains.
Despite the mortality of the human body—that it is impermanent, limited by time and durability—it is not by definition evil. Jesus was resurrected as a body of flesh, blood and breath, as is described in this gospel, too. In this gospel, Jesus visits the disciples several times embodies, eating, drinking and breathing, partly to reveal that he was a enfleshed still as they were. And on this day of Pentecost when we celebrate the gift of the Holy Spirit, we also celebrate that the Holy Spirit dwells in flesh within people who are members of the body of Christ and within the body that is made up of all of Christians. The individual person and the church of Jesus Christ are together and separately vessels of the Holy Spirit.
In John’s gospel, the gift of the Holy Spirit was given to the disciples as they gathered in a secluded room, quietly and intimately. 21Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.’ 22When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.[3] His very breath—the air expelled from Jesus’ lungs—was Holy Spirit, Holy Breath, Holy Wind. The life it contained, his spirit incarnate, was conferred to the flesh and bodies of his disciples as they shared the very air he breathed.
Breath and wind are synonymous, identical things in the Old and the New Testament—using the same word to describe how it is that God enlivens flesh, ruach. The wind of God blows in the first few words of Genesis; the breath God blew into the body into the human being that God made of the soil; the winds of all directions blown into life in Ezekiel’s valley of dry bones. It is also the same in the New Testament—breath and spirit, wind, life—pneuma. Jesus said that we must be born from above, by water and spirit; John the baptist describes Jesus as the one who would baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.[4] Jesus assured his disciples that in the words of their breath, the Holy Spirit would be present. When they bring you to trial and hand you over, do not worry beforehand about what you are to say; but say whatever is given you at that time, for it is not you who speak, but the Holy Spirit.[5] The body of Christ continues and lives according to the manifestation of the Holy Spirit and the Holy Spirit does its work and moves through the people it inhabits.
Luke described the Holy Spirit in the book of Acts in a very distinct way from the way that the Holy Spirit is depicted in John . . . there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. 3Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. 4All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. [6] Still, it was as enfleshed in the bodies of the disciples, now apostles—but filling them, enflaming them, inspiring them to speak in the known languages of all the Jewish people who lived in the lands beyond Israel. As the disciples spoke, as they were deemed drunk, they reveal God’s Spirit—God’s life—in a way that had never been experienced before. And it had come to them with a noise like wind—it had come to them as tongues of fire, settled on each of them.
I don’t pretend to understand the hows and whys of these two very different descriptions of the initial gift of the Holy Spirit in the New Testament. What I know is that between John and Luke we have a more complete picture of what kind of gift that it was God gave to the body of Jesus Christ. It is simple and intimate, full of the warmth of breath and living flesh. It is comforting and comfortable, revealing that we are never alone with the Spirit of God within. It is the life of the body of Christ, ever incarnate, ever present in the flesh and blood of its members. And it is passion and fire, ceaseless energy, diversity of tongues and races, the movement and dance of the whole body and of each member in that body. The Holy Spirit is intimate, warm and close; the Spirit is scary, mysterious and risky to live with.
And within all of its manifestations, it is the source of all that we bring to the body of Christ. It comes to us through the waters of baptism and in the words of the preacher. The Spirit is conferred by the hands of those designated by the church as pastors and elders and it is given by the hands of kindness by each Christian who gives love to those in sorrow or who are in need.
The gifts of the Spirit can be revealed in the most educated theologian, the most charismatic and moving preacher, and in a smile of welcome from a child or in a caress of caring when that’s what is needed most. The Holy Spirit fires our blood in some manifestations and calms us serenely in others. We must have both, the comfort and the serenity—the passion and the fire.
It is the incarnation that is important—living out the manifestations of the spirit, however they exist within each one and within this community of faith within the body of Christ. I have seen outstanding generosity within this body and I have seen profound theological action. I have seen righteous anger in many faces—some with whom I have agreed and some with whom I have not. I have seen courageous dependability in the faces of those facing tragedy or death.
And the Holy Spirit gave each one according to what was needed and to whom it was given. Each one of us has the ability to carry out ministry through the gifts of the spirit, through the membership in the body of Christ and through the waters of baptism. We are called upon to live them as we are taught by those who know how to love, as we are taught directly through the presence of the spirit.
Julia Kasdorf, a poet born into the Mennonite and Amish community of Miflin County, Pennsylvania wrote it this way.
“What I learned from my mother”
I learned from my mother
how to love the living
to have plenty of vases on hand
in case you have to rush to the hospital
with peonies cut from the lawn
black ants still stuck to the buds.
I learned to save jars
large enough to hold fruit salad
for a whole grieving household
to cube home-canned pears and peaches
to slice through maroon grape skins
and flick out the sexual seeds
with a knifepoint.
I learned to attend viewings
even if I didn’t know the deceased
to press the moist hands of the living
to look in their eyes and offer sympathy
as though I understood loss
even then.
I learned that
whatever we say means nothing
what anyone will remember
is that we came.
I learned to believe
I had the power
to ease awful pains materially
like an angel
like a doctor.
I learned to create
from another’s suffering
my own usefulness
and once you learn how to do this
you can never refuse.
To every house you enter
you must offer healing
—a chocolate cake you baked yourself
the blessing of your voice
your chaste touch.[7]
What we do, how we live, where we go and what we say as embodied and very fleshly human beings inhabited by the Holy Spirit are, by our nature and those to whom we must ministry, are embodied, enfleshed, physical kinds of things. We feed the sorrowing and those in need of food. We touch those we love and those who are in need of our touch, to be clean, to be clothed, or to be assured of their own worth and existence. Without flesh and body and what we do with them, the Spirit within us serves no purpose not even to ourselves. When we deny the passion or the comfort, we deny the gift we are given. Without the Body, what is Spirit? Without Spirit, what is Body?
[1] http://encarta.msn.com/encnet/refpages/RefArticle.aspx?refid=761563506&pn=2
[2] Ibid.
[3] John 19.21-22
[4] Matthew 3.11b
[5] Mark 13.11
[6] Acts 2:2b-4
[7] Julia Kasdorf
In western philosophy, spirit and body are two separate things—one eternal and potentially perfect and the other mortal and terminally flawed. This comes through Plato and Aristotle from Socrates—you might not think that’s important to you, but it is because it is one of the ways that Christianity has been informed by culture rather than scripture. Plato regarded the objects of the real world as being merely shadows of eternal Forms or Ideas. Only these changeless, eternal Forms can be the object of true knowledge.[1] But our knowledge is, by virtue of our limitations, only a perception. Aristotle proposed a group of universals that represent the common properties of any group of real objects. The universals, unlike Plato's Ideas, have no existence outside of the objects they represent.[2] It is through Aristotle that we have an understanding of ultimate function of the ideal—that an object can look like one thing, say a loaf of bread and be another thing, the body of Christ.
These ideas are pervade our culture, such as when we deny the importance of the physical body and its needs—people starving themselves for the sake of “ideal” beauty when a healthy body needs so much more care. Or we deny the importance of the physical when sexual infidelity is swept under the carpet because it doesn’t “that’s just how men or women are.” Or it is denied when we regard only sexual fidelity within marriage as important when emotional or mental fidelity is just as crucial to its health.
It also helps to understand how important these are when we are encouraged to forget physical suffering because we’ll be rewarded for our faith in that eternal someday—when the physical suffering of the oppressed: historically slaves heard this message and more contemporarily when the poor are encouraged to be good rather than to strive for the betterment of their lives and the lives of their families. In South America, for example, abject poverty was deemed the inevitable plight of the poor and it would be reconciled in eternity. This comes from the idea that the accepted form of social structure is God planned and God-ordained.
Christianity began to be influenced more by these western ideas of dualism very early in its history, but not right away. And Jesus in himself denies this dualism—that flesh is evil and spirit is good—because he was flesh, he was embodied. Beyond the time of the first century, that became a problem when people began to believe that all flesh was evil. They had to find a way of understanding how the flesh of Jesus was not as sinful as all other flesh.
And sometimes, with the background and understanding that we have as inheritors of the ideas of flesh and spirit, we read the New Testament as if it also supported this idea of flesh as evil and spirit as good. The gospel of John can be misread this way—but it contains its own defense against the dualism. This gospel is about God enfleshed in Jesus Christ—it is about God tabernacling or dwelling in the tent of humanity as the first chapter of John explains.
Despite the mortality of the human body—that it is impermanent, limited by time and durability—it is not by definition evil. Jesus was resurrected as a body of flesh, blood and breath, as is described in this gospel, too. In this gospel, Jesus visits the disciples several times embodies, eating, drinking and breathing, partly to reveal that he was a enfleshed still as they were. And on this day of Pentecost when we celebrate the gift of the Holy Spirit, we also celebrate that the Holy Spirit dwells in flesh within people who are members of the body of Christ and within the body that is made up of all of Christians. The individual person and the church of Jesus Christ are together and separately vessels of the Holy Spirit.
In John’s gospel, the gift of the Holy Spirit was given to the disciples as they gathered in a secluded room, quietly and intimately. 21Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.’ 22When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.[3] His very breath—the air expelled from Jesus’ lungs—was Holy Spirit, Holy Breath, Holy Wind. The life it contained, his spirit incarnate, was conferred to the flesh and bodies of his disciples as they shared the very air he breathed.
Breath and wind are synonymous, identical things in the Old and the New Testament—using the same word to describe how it is that God enlivens flesh, ruach. The wind of God blows in the first few words of Genesis; the breath God blew into the body into the human being that God made of the soil; the winds of all directions blown into life in Ezekiel’s valley of dry bones. It is also the same in the New Testament—breath and spirit, wind, life—pneuma. Jesus said that we must be born from above, by water and spirit; John the baptist describes Jesus as the one who would baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.[4] Jesus assured his disciples that in the words of their breath, the Holy Spirit would be present. When they bring you to trial and hand you over, do not worry beforehand about what you are to say; but say whatever is given you at that time, for it is not you who speak, but the Holy Spirit.[5] The body of Christ continues and lives according to the manifestation of the Holy Spirit and the Holy Spirit does its work and moves through the people it inhabits.
Luke described the Holy Spirit in the book of Acts in a very distinct way from the way that the Holy Spirit is depicted in John . . . there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. 3Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. 4All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. [6] Still, it was as enfleshed in the bodies of the disciples, now apostles—but filling them, enflaming them, inspiring them to speak in the known languages of all the Jewish people who lived in the lands beyond Israel. As the disciples spoke, as they were deemed drunk, they reveal God’s Spirit—God’s life—in a way that had never been experienced before. And it had come to them with a noise like wind—it had come to them as tongues of fire, settled on each of them.
I don’t pretend to understand the hows and whys of these two very different descriptions of the initial gift of the Holy Spirit in the New Testament. What I know is that between John and Luke we have a more complete picture of what kind of gift that it was God gave to the body of Jesus Christ. It is simple and intimate, full of the warmth of breath and living flesh. It is comforting and comfortable, revealing that we are never alone with the Spirit of God within. It is the life of the body of Christ, ever incarnate, ever present in the flesh and blood of its members. And it is passion and fire, ceaseless energy, diversity of tongues and races, the movement and dance of the whole body and of each member in that body. The Holy Spirit is intimate, warm and close; the Spirit is scary, mysterious and risky to live with.
And within all of its manifestations, it is the source of all that we bring to the body of Christ. It comes to us through the waters of baptism and in the words of the preacher. The Spirit is conferred by the hands of those designated by the church as pastors and elders and it is given by the hands of kindness by each Christian who gives love to those in sorrow or who are in need.
The gifts of the Spirit can be revealed in the most educated theologian, the most charismatic and moving preacher, and in a smile of welcome from a child or in a caress of caring when that’s what is needed most. The Holy Spirit fires our blood in some manifestations and calms us serenely in others. We must have both, the comfort and the serenity—the passion and the fire.
It is the incarnation that is important—living out the manifestations of the spirit, however they exist within each one and within this community of faith within the body of Christ. I have seen outstanding generosity within this body and I have seen profound theological action. I have seen righteous anger in many faces—some with whom I have agreed and some with whom I have not. I have seen courageous dependability in the faces of those facing tragedy or death.
And the Holy Spirit gave each one according to what was needed and to whom it was given. Each one of us has the ability to carry out ministry through the gifts of the spirit, through the membership in the body of Christ and through the waters of baptism. We are called upon to live them as we are taught by those who know how to love, as we are taught directly through the presence of the spirit.
Julia Kasdorf, a poet born into the Mennonite and Amish community of Miflin County, Pennsylvania wrote it this way.
“What I learned from my mother”
I learned from my mother
how to love the living
to have plenty of vases on hand
in case you have to rush to the hospital
with peonies cut from the lawn
black ants still stuck to the buds.
I learned to save jars
large enough to hold fruit salad
for a whole grieving household
to cube home-canned pears and peaches
to slice through maroon grape skins
and flick out the sexual seeds
with a knifepoint.
I learned to attend viewings
even if I didn’t know the deceased
to press the moist hands of the living
to look in their eyes and offer sympathy
as though I understood loss
even then.
I learned that
whatever we say means nothing
what anyone will remember
is that we came.
I learned to believe
I had the power
to ease awful pains materially
like an angel
like a doctor.
I learned to create
from another’s suffering
my own usefulness
and once you learn how to do this
you can never refuse.
To every house you enter
you must offer healing
—a chocolate cake you baked yourself
the blessing of your voice
your chaste touch.[7]
What we do, how we live, where we go and what we say as embodied and very fleshly human beings inhabited by the Holy Spirit are, by our nature and those to whom we must ministry, are embodied, enfleshed, physical kinds of things. We feed the sorrowing and those in need of food. We touch those we love and those who are in need of our touch, to be clean, to be clothed, or to be assured of their own worth and existence. Without flesh and body and what we do with them, the Spirit within us serves no purpose not even to ourselves. When we deny the passion or the comfort, we deny the gift we are given. Without the Body, what is Spirit? Without Spirit, what is Body?
[1] http://encarta.msn.com/encnet/refpages/RefArticle.aspx?refid=761563506&pn=2
[2] Ibid.
[3] John 19.21-22
[4] Matthew 3.11b
[5] Mark 13.11
[6] Acts 2:2b-4
[7] Julia Kasdorf
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Sunday's Sermon--April 20 2008
Sermon April 20 2008
1 Peter 2:2-10John 14:1-14
“There’s a Place for Us (and Them)”
The two young people, a man and a woman, were on two different sides of a wall—not a brick wall, but one created by the people who loved each of them. As one told the story, her family hated his because of an ancestral feud or differences in social class. As another told it, the his race was considered superior to hers. The walls between them didn’t keep them apart because, as the story is often told, love conquers all. Romantic love, in popular wisdom, is the ultimate force; nothing can defeat it. Shakespeare told it about Romeo Montague and Juliet Capulet; Leonard Bernstein (music), and Stephen Sondheim (lyrics) told it about a young Puerto Rican woman named Maria and a young man named Tony. They found homes in one another’s lives for the short, very short time of the story.
The title of today’s sermon comes, with modification, from West Side Story—“Somewhere” is a song sung by the young man and woman as they sought some place, some time where they could be together and happy. They sought a world that wouldn’t keep them apart for race, class, language or place of birth
There's a place for us,
Somewhere a place for us.
Peace and quiet and open air
Wait for us
Somewhere.
There's a time for us,
Some day a time for us,
Time together with time to spare,
Time to look, time to care,
Someday!
Somewhere.
We'll find a new way of living,
We'll find a way of forgiving
Somewhere.
There's a place for us,
A time and place for us.
Hold my hand and we're half way there.
Hold my hand and I'll take you there
Somehow, Someday, Somewhere!
John’s gospel describes Jesus as the incarnate Word of God who came to humanity and set up his tent among us, according to the prologue the author wrote. Jesus lived—made a home within humanity so that humanity could experience God as they never had before. He lived, taught, touched, fed and cared for those he met because that was the Word of God within him. He brought people home to God and brought God home to humanity. He was the place in which God and humanity dwelled.
In today’s text from this gospel, Jesus has turned his face toward Jerusalem and the inevitable death he faced there. As he was speaking to his disciples in this selection, he was assuring them of his continuing care for them even as he was no longer present. He was assuring them that God would be with them just like now and that God cared just as he did. In my paraphrase, “Worrying won’t help a thing. You can count on God; you can count on me. There is no place where God does not live—you are never without God’s presence.” And “You know me—you know God. I am in God; God is in me. God speaks through me; God in me does the work that I do. Listen, God is in me; I am in God. Believe me as I speak; or believe because of what God does through me. God is in you, too, as you understand that God is in me.”
Jesus built a home among humanity so that humanity could understand that God dwelled within them and dwelled among them. Jesus didn’t live just to die and leave—Jesus lived to reveal God, to reveal that God loved the world so much that Jesus, God’s son, would be our way to God. We are called in this story to feel safe in God’s care as the disciples were to feel safe, no matter what happened to Jesus. Yet as the story continued, as Jesus neared Jerusalem, his arrest and crucifixion the uncertainty in the disciples grew. It was a scary time and Jesus needed them to realize that God was in their midst now and God would care for them always.
Feeling safe and secure is one of the greatest feelings that we can foster in one another. Some children are exposed to uncertainty and danger way too soon in their lives and they never develop the assurance that they can rely on anyone. One of the pioneering researchers of child development described it as a journey with stage one as trust vs. mistrust. Infants and small children must learn that they will be fed when they are hungry, comforted when they are hurt or sad, and cared for when they are sick. This time is crucial so that they can move on to learn more in their lives. An insecure infancy and childhood creates a person must relearn trust or they cannot trust anyone else in their lives. Now, all children and infants are exposed to times when their needs aren’t immediately addressed—that’s natural, but if children are taught not to trust the people that love them insecurity may trouble them for their whole lives.
Providing a safe place to live is important when we are children. We need shelter from the weather: warmth in winter, shade in summer. Those specifics may differ from culture to culture. A tent for a nomadic society is enough. A building is necessary for our society—whether we share it or not. That is basic to who we are as humans. We need a place. But we also need more.
Having a home, in my view, is how we judge our relative happiness in life. If we belong somewhere, we have a home—wherever we live. If we don’t have a feeling of belonging, then we may live in a mansion, but home eludes us.
The stories handed down through generations reveal the importance of belonging. The story of Romeo and Juliet, which was adapted from an older poem which was adapted from the even older story of a couple named Tristan and Isolde telling of the timeless desire to find belonging in the life of one other person. This, too, is a natural inclination that brings young people together to form the basis of a family and a home. But this kind of belonging is usually just the beginning of their life together. It’s the most exciting, that’s why we tell stories about it, but it is just the beginning.
Many of us also find a sense of belonging within our families of origin. Mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers, maybe even grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, form communities of kinship in which we can feel at home. As I described before, family is where we learn to belong from the very beginning. Care and feeding, loving touches and words, learning rules and encouraging curiosity are ways that families create a sphere where we feel we belong. Families are a further creation of the feeling of belonging that couples find in one another—ideally—yet they are more flexible in many ways. Families are made up of lots of combinations of relationships. Parents relate to one another—and belong together as lovers and friends. Children relate to parents as sources of security and discipline, of care and nurture—and relate to one another as peers and competitors, as sources of authority or advice, as people who teach them to love differences as well as similarities. And grandparents and all the others fulfill those functions—simply out of the way that we structure society. It doesn’t have to be intentional and usually isn’t, we learn and grow within them as love is expressed in all of those very embodied ways.
But sometimes, though we love one another, the differences between us and those we are related to can cause us pain and may even cause us to separate from one another. We are related by law and biology, but we may not feel connected as we think we should be. Sometimes that’s because of our lack of care by those who are supposed to love us, but sometimes it is just differences created by the complex and mysterious God that made us. Or we may just realize in our growth and development that we can belong in other places, too. And we like to belong—it’s who we are
I understand that we also find belonging—we find a home—in families of choice. We weren’t born into them or adopted formally by them—families of choice are formed through relationships arising from our choices. Groups of friends may become close enough to one another that they feel like family—they even disagree and continue to love one another just like family. They are a home for those who belong. I believe that for families of origin to be home they also have to be families of choice.
But we also can make a home within a family of choice called church. We can belong and feel love and care within the body of Christ. We can continue to create hospitality and welcome so abundant within the body of Christ that it can expand. We can take the words of Jesus seriously, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.”
We make a choice of family when we join ourselves to the church of Jesus Christ, making a confession of faith in him and being welcomed into the body by its members. And as members of this family, we have Jesus’ example and his teaching to continue. Not just to do as he did—as his disciples—but to continue his family in continuity. We are called to continue walking in the way, and the truth and the life that God sent to live among us. We are called to find home in Jesus and to share that home with those who are in need of one, too.
This home, this church, is built of nothing less that the members of the body of Christ—like described in 1 Peter, each one of us is called to be a “living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight, and 5like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house.”
Jesus promised to make a place for us—and in 1 Peter we read that we, too, are a place, a home a dwelling place for the praise and glory of God—a home now and a home forever more. That’s what Jesus promised and that what we have. That’s what Jesus promised and what we will have for an eternity. One doesn’t cancel the other—one simply draws us in and then sends us out to share what we have. The home we gain is embodied in us—as it was embodied in Jesus. We are homes to God’s presence as we realize God lived in Jesus and we, together, are a home to those in need because God dwells in all of us.
There is a place for us and them
—here within each and among this community.
There is a time for us and them—now.
There is a place for us and them—the home of God. There is a time for us and them—and it is an eternity. Amen.
1 Peter 2:2-10John 14:1-14
“There’s a Place for Us (and Them)”
The two young people, a man and a woman, were on two different sides of a wall—not a brick wall, but one created by the people who loved each of them. As one told the story, her family hated his because of an ancestral feud or differences in social class. As another told it, the his race was considered superior to hers. The walls between them didn’t keep them apart because, as the story is often told, love conquers all. Romantic love, in popular wisdom, is the ultimate force; nothing can defeat it. Shakespeare told it about Romeo Montague and Juliet Capulet; Leonard Bernstein (music), and Stephen Sondheim (lyrics) told it about a young Puerto Rican woman named Maria and a young man named Tony. They found homes in one another’s lives for the short, very short time of the story.
The title of today’s sermon comes, with modification, from West Side Story—“Somewhere” is a song sung by the young man and woman as they sought some place, some time where they could be together and happy. They sought a world that wouldn’t keep them apart for race, class, language or place of birth
There's a place for us,
Somewhere a place for us.
Peace and quiet and open air
Wait for us
Somewhere.
There's a time for us,
Some day a time for us,
Time together with time to spare,
Time to look, time to care,
Someday!
Somewhere.
We'll find a new way of living,
We'll find a way of forgiving
Somewhere.
There's a place for us,
A time and place for us.
Hold my hand and we're half way there.
Hold my hand and I'll take you there
Somehow, Someday, Somewhere!
John’s gospel describes Jesus as the incarnate Word of God who came to humanity and set up his tent among us, according to the prologue the author wrote. Jesus lived—made a home within humanity so that humanity could experience God as they never had before. He lived, taught, touched, fed and cared for those he met because that was the Word of God within him. He brought people home to God and brought God home to humanity. He was the place in which God and humanity dwelled.
In today’s text from this gospel, Jesus has turned his face toward Jerusalem and the inevitable death he faced there. As he was speaking to his disciples in this selection, he was assuring them of his continuing care for them even as he was no longer present. He was assuring them that God would be with them just like now and that God cared just as he did. In my paraphrase, “Worrying won’t help a thing. You can count on God; you can count on me. There is no place where God does not live—you are never without God’s presence.” And “You know me—you know God. I am in God; God is in me. God speaks through me; God in me does the work that I do. Listen, God is in me; I am in God. Believe me as I speak; or believe because of what God does through me. God is in you, too, as you understand that God is in me.”
Jesus built a home among humanity so that humanity could understand that God dwelled within them and dwelled among them. Jesus didn’t live just to die and leave—Jesus lived to reveal God, to reveal that God loved the world so much that Jesus, God’s son, would be our way to God. We are called in this story to feel safe in God’s care as the disciples were to feel safe, no matter what happened to Jesus. Yet as the story continued, as Jesus neared Jerusalem, his arrest and crucifixion the uncertainty in the disciples grew. It was a scary time and Jesus needed them to realize that God was in their midst now and God would care for them always.
Feeling safe and secure is one of the greatest feelings that we can foster in one another. Some children are exposed to uncertainty and danger way too soon in their lives and they never develop the assurance that they can rely on anyone. One of the pioneering researchers of child development described it as a journey with stage one as trust vs. mistrust. Infants and small children must learn that they will be fed when they are hungry, comforted when they are hurt or sad, and cared for when they are sick. This time is crucial so that they can move on to learn more in their lives. An insecure infancy and childhood creates a person must relearn trust or they cannot trust anyone else in their lives. Now, all children and infants are exposed to times when their needs aren’t immediately addressed—that’s natural, but if children are taught not to trust the people that love them insecurity may trouble them for their whole lives.
Providing a safe place to live is important when we are children. We need shelter from the weather: warmth in winter, shade in summer. Those specifics may differ from culture to culture. A tent for a nomadic society is enough. A building is necessary for our society—whether we share it or not. That is basic to who we are as humans. We need a place. But we also need more.
Having a home, in my view, is how we judge our relative happiness in life. If we belong somewhere, we have a home—wherever we live. If we don’t have a feeling of belonging, then we may live in a mansion, but home eludes us.
The stories handed down through generations reveal the importance of belonging. The story of Romeo and Juliet, which was adapted from an older poem which was adapted from the even older story of a couple named Tristan and Isolde telling of the timeless desire to find belonging in the life of one other person. This, too, is a natural inclination that brings young people together to form the basis of a family and a home. But this kind of belonging is usually just the beginning of their life together. It’s the most exciting, that’s why we tell stories about it, but it is just the beginning.
Many of us also find a sense of belonging within our families of origin. Mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers, maybe even grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, form communities of kinship in which we can feel at home. As I described before, family is where we learn to belong from the very beginning. Care and feeding, loving touches and words, learning rules and encouraging curiosity are ways that families create a sphere where we feel we belong. Families are a further creation of the feeling of belonging that couples find in one another—ideally—yet they are more flexible in many ways. Families are made up of lots of combinations of relationships. Parents relate to one another—and belong together as lovers and friends. Children relate to parents as sources of security and discipline, of care and nurture—and relate to one another as peers and competitors, as sources of authority or advice, as people who teach them to love differences as well as similarities. And grandparents and all the others fulfill those functions—simply out of the way that we structure society. It doesn’t have to be intentional and usually isn’t, we learn and grow within them as love is expressed in all of those very embodied ways.
But sometimes, though we love one another, the differences between us and those we are related to can cause us pain and may even cause us to separate from one another. We are related by law and biology, but we may not feel connected as we think we should be. Sometimes that’s because of our lack of care by those who are supposed to love us, but sometimes it is just differences created by the complex and mysterious God that made us. Or we may just realize in our growth and development that we can belong in other places, too. And we like to belong—it’s who we are
I understand that we also find belonging—we find a home—in families of choice. We weren’t born into them or adopted formally by them—families of choice are formed through relationships arising from our choices. Groups of friends may become close enough to one another that they feel like family—they even disagree and continue to love one another just like family. They are a home for those who belong. I believe that for families of origin to be home they also have to be families of choice.
But we also can make a home within a family of choice called church. We can belong and feel love and care within the body of Christ. We can continue to create hospitality and welcome so abundant within the body of Christ that it can expand. We can take the words of Jesus seriously, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.”
We make a choice of family when we join ourselves to the church of Jesus Christ, making a confession of faith in him and being welcomed into the body by its members. And as members of this family, we have Jesus’ example and his teaching to continue. Not just to do as he did—as his disciples—but to continue his family in continuity. We are called to continue walking in the way, and the truth and the life that God sent to live among us. We are called to find home in Jesus and to share that home with those who are in need of one, too.
This home, this church, is built of nothing less that the members of the body of Christ—like described in 1 Peter, each one of us is called to be a “living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight, and 5like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house.”
Jesus promised to make a place for us—and in 1 Peter we read that we, too, are a place, a home a dwelling place for the praise and glory of God—a home now and a home forever more. That’s what Jesus promised and that what we have. That’s what Jesus promised and what we will have for an eternity. One doesn’t cancel the other—one simply draws us in and then sends us out to share what we have. The home we gain is embodied in us—as it was embodied in Jesus. We are homes to God’s presence as we realize God lived in Jesus and we, together, are a home to those in need because God dwells in all of us.
There is a place for us and them
—here within each and among this community.
There is a time for us and them—now.
There is a place for us and them—the home of God. There is a time for us and them—and it is an eternity. Amen.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
The first one
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about looking for the joy in situations—especially where there seems little joy to find. It seems to help me, seeking out, not the positive exactly, but the worthwhile and meaningfulness in everyday things that are just what I do.
The heavens are telling the glory of God;
and the firmament proclaims God’s handiwork.
Day to day pours forth speech,
and night to night declares knowledge.
There is no speech, nor are there words;
their voice is not heard; yet their voice goes out through all the earth,
and their words to the end of the world. (Ps. 19.1-4, NRSV)
This is one of my favorite passages from the psalms, the words of the speechless and the voice of the voiceless shouting out God’s glory—what is purposeful, healthy, joy-filled, worthwhile, meaningful, etc.
Today wasn’t full of a great deal of activity, but it was full of some meaningful moments. Maybe they weren’t terribly full of glory in a magnificent sense, but nonetheless. A group I led made some decisions that will bring meaning and happiness to a child in need. I had a good conversation with someone facing a painful future. I spoke for courage for another who may need to make some difficult decisions. I learned that I am appreciated by people whose lives I have touched. I resolved some financial issues in the short-term.
One of the things that I enjoy about being a pastor is bringing words out of a wordless situation—expressing memories, probing for hope, sharing my own experiences out of a desire to connect. My hope is that I can share something worthwhile in my life—not big or import, just something with meaning.
The heavens are telling the glory of God;
and the firmament proclaims God’s handiwork.
Day to day pours forth speech,
and night to night declares knowledge.
There is no speech, nor are there words;
their voice is not heard; yet their voice goes out through all the earth,
and their words to the end of the world. (Ps. 19.1-4, NRSV)
This is one of my favorite passages from the psalms, the words of the speechless and the voice of the voiceless shouting out God’s glory—what is purposeful, healthy, joy-filled, worthwhile, meaningful, etc.
Today wasn’t full of a great deal of activity, but it was full of some meaningful moments. Maybe they weren’t terribly full of glory in a magnificent sense, but nonetheless. A group I led made some decisions that will bring meaning and happiness to a child in need. I had a good conversation with someone facing a painful future. I spoke for courage for another who may need to make some difficult decisions. I learned that I am appreciated by people whose lives I have touched. I resolved some financial issues in the short-term.
One of the things that I enjoy about being a pastor is bringing words out of a wordless situation—expressing memories, probing for hope, sharing my own experiences out of a desire to connect. My hope is that I can share something worthwhile in my life—not big or import, just something with meaning.
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