Cuba Community Thanksgiving Service
Pastor Amy Wharton
Joel 2:21–27
“The Joy of Dirt”
As a child, I spent most of my summers barefoot traipsing through the sandy dirt of northwest Oklahoma, walking through the black/purple mulberries and making mud pies on the make believe oven of my make believe kitchen getting dirtier than I can even remember. My feet were purple for months and full of thorns from the sandburrs of that part of the country. But I loved it, not caring about shoes for months at a time, only struggling into the most uncomfortable pair of white patent mary-janes for Sunday school and Church.
When I was in college, spending so much time inside with concrete floors and walls surrounding me in the residence halls and in classrooms, I yearned to walk barefoot in the dirt—to feel the earth under my feet and to get my hands dirty digging in a garden. My desire was that of a young girl, to walk through the hot sand of that driveway in northwest Oklahoma. I needed that connection to the earth, to a purpose and meaning as I continued to grow into the life that I was leading.
Those were the images that began flashing through my heart and mind as I read this scripture in the words of the prophet Joel.
21Do not fear, O soil;
be glad and rejoice,
for the Lord has done great things!
22Do not fear, you animals of the field,
for the pastures of the wilderness are green;
the tree bears its fruit,
the fig tree and vine give their full yield.
I remembered the happiness and satisfaction I experienced during summers with nothing concrete to accomplish and no responsibility, except the ultimate responsibility of childhood—to play and create with my mind and no one around to discourage my seemingly random actions. Along with memories of entertaining myself creating and playing in a make-believe world of my own, comes visions of hours spent trying to wheedle more concrete playthings from my mother or less creative hours spent in front of the television. Though they seemed care-free, the meaning and satisfaction I remember came from doing exactly what a child is called to do as a child—learn by playing, learn by imitating and learn by experiencing the world around me.
The freedom from the bondage of externally created fun that my mother encouraged as she pushed me out into the warm sunshine are the first and fondest images I have. I was encouraged in those fond times to enjoy the freedom of those days and weeks, to use them as the gifts that they were, to grow my mind and exercise my body, doing all of the things that play does for a child and all that play can do for the adult heart, mind and body as well.
The scripture from Joel describes the land of Israel as God’s people were freed from the time of drought and the plague of locust and brought back to a time of abundance in the land of God’s promise to Abraham and Sarah and their descendents. They were returned to rediscover the meaning of their lives as the inhabitants of that Promised Land. To praise their God as they worked the soil, tended the gardens, enjoyed the fruits of their labor. The people themselves, certainly are to be blessed—those who return and those who remained. The blessing extends into the abundant pouring of rain, which may be a hard to handle blessing at times in our lives—and onto the floors of the threshers, covered in grain and the overflowing vats of wine and oil.
But the beginning of the passage is about the joy of the soil itself—and the expression of that joy in the generous and overflowing abundance food available to the animals as the trees bear fruit, as the figs and the grapes and the olives are weighed down with enough and more to share. It calls to mind when Jesus speaks of the rocks and stone
The sure sign of God’s abundance is that it is more than could ever be needed—more than could be prudently given. Yet God’s action is always more than we think it could be and more than we could ever imagine.
This abundance follows days, weeks and months—even years of devastation in which the people suffer greatly. The devastation is described by the prophet as the land’s response to the people sin—the devastation of locusts, gnawing on the crops like hungry lion, destroying vines, stripping fig trees. Lamentation rises as people mourn for those lost to hunger, thirst and heat.
The prophet wrote in the time after exile when the people of Israel hoped to enjoy abundance—this vision from the second chapter. Yet the people have experienced devastation, destruction that comes with drought and infestations of locusts.
The promise of God given to Joel is that the devastation and the need are not signs of the day of the Lord. The destruction of the infestations of locusts is not the sign of God. The fires that often come with drought after abundance were not the action of God. The starvation was not God’s will; the hungry people and the thirsty land were not what God wanted.
This—this rejoicing of the soil—this gladness of the dirt—this hope of the animals for the return of fruits to the trees and abundance to the fields from which they could eat. And the full stomachs of the people of God—this would be the sign that it was God’s day.
26You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied,
and praise the name of the Lord your God,
who has dealt wondrously with you.
And my people shall never again be put to shame.
27You shall know that I am in the midst of Israel,
and that I, the Lord, am your God and there is no other.
And my people shall never again
be put to shame.
So, I wonder, isn’t it a sign of God’s blessing and presence in our action when we take action to feed the hungry and house the homeless? Whenever we raise our voices with the purpose of providing for the needy, do we not invoke the action of God? When we ask for justice on behalf of anyone who is oppressed by any government, including ours, are we not speaking the word of God to the places of power?
The word in Joel also reminds us that the praise of God and the abundance of God are integrally linked. The abundance of God’s action within us and toward us elicits praise from us because we are taught to realize that abundance and mercy are the signs of God’s presence. When God is involved—as God’s purposes, plans, missions or intentions are pursued, the day of the Lord glimmers within us and around us. Generosity reveals God. Joy reveals God. Satisfaction with our blessings reveals God. Praise acknowledging God’s presence and work reveals God.
Those days when I was separated from the soil and I craved that contact were also days when I was craving the direction I needed in my life. I didn’t need to know Jesus Christ as my savior so much as I needed purpose and mission. I wanted my life to have meaning so that I could lift my voice in praise, knowing that God had directed my life in some concrete way. And I’ve found that in those times, I make choices that direct my life and my purpose for a time. And none of those choices has meant that my pockets run with gold or my bank account overflows—none has guaranteed that I won’t have times when I don’t have enough money, but when I have that direction, praise comes more easily. In my life, it isn’t wealth that has given my reason to rejoice, but when I can fulfill a purpose serving God.
When we can walk through the hot and sandy soil or the wet muddy soil or past the overflowing fields or barns full of an abundant harvest or into the places of scarce resources where God needs us to share the good news of God’s generous blessings, then we, too, can celebrate, praising God and lifting up our voices along with the dirt—rejoice and be glad!
Amen.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Sermon November 22 2009 morning worship
Cuba Christian Church
2 Samuel 23:1-7
Psalm 132:1-12, (13-18)
Revelation 1:4b-8
John 18:33-37
“A Wise Reign”
Once upon a time there was a kingdom where there lived a princess trapped in a tall tower . . .
Once upon a time there was a kingdom where the king and queen were very sad because they had no children. One day, to the joy of all, the queen announced she would have a baby. . . .
Once upon a time there was a kingdom . . .
Whenever I hear about a kingdom, I get images in my head of fairy tales, nursery rhymes, or children’s stories, often produced by Disney. There are even a few hymns that contribute to that kind of image of kingdom.
“O worship the King All glorious above;
O gratefully sing His power and his love:
Our Shield and Defender, the Ancient of days,
Pavilioned in splendor and girded with praise.
O tell of his might, O sing of his grace,
Whose robe is the light, whose canopy space.
His chariots of wrath the deep thunder-clouds form,
And dark is his path on the wings of the storm.”
In that hymn I see the pavilions or colorful tents with colorful fabrics and a standard or flag flying with the symbols and colors of knights. I imagine war stallions thundering or horses pulling a chariot to war—and visions of the shining armor of a warrior king going to battle.
Often and in familiar traditions, the sovereignty of Jesus has been depicted that way—that kind of warlike imagery for the kingdom of God, ushered in through the life of Jesus justified the crusades that led thousands, if not millions of Christians to fight battle after battle for Jerusalem and other cities in what had been Israel.
And in the scripture today, despite Pilate’s denial of his interest in whether or not Jesus claims a kingdom for himself, there are political concerns in Pilate’s question. “Are you the king of the Jews?” In Pilate’s and in the Roman Empire there was one king of Israel—and of the whole empire of Rome—Caesar. Jesus’ presence before Pilate can only be understood if there were some criminal charge against Rome and sedition and criminal rebellion against Caesar were the only possibilities. But Jesus answered Pilate’s question this way, “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.”[1] Jesus was not interested in defeating the political regimes or the kingdoms and nations that were in power—yet he was concerned about the existence of justice and righteousness because he loved those that Rome ruled, in Jerusalem, in the Roman province of Judea and throughout the world.
The rule of Jesus was not demonstrated by an overwhelming and violent show of force in the face of opposition to his authority and power—the wise reign of Jesus began when he quietly rose from the tomb where his death by crucifixion had put him. The wise reign of Jesus was not described by his death on a cross that normally signaled shame—his reign was described by his daily actions as he taught people. He taught that the kingdom was like a mustard seed—or a pearl of great price—or a woman who lost a coin—or a woman who took four measures of flour and made bread—or any number of parables. Jesus taught about the kingdom when he saved the life of a servant in a Roman centurion’s home and when he healed the mother-in-law of Peter. He revealed the household and neighborhood of God’s dwelling place when his power flowed into a woman who had been hemorrhaging for 12 years and into a 12 year old girl who had just died. He showed the intention of God’s indwelling presence when he accepted the anointing of an unnamed woman as he approached his death. He revealed God when he forgave all who participated in his death—the ones who betrayed, the ones who denied, the ones who accused, the ones who convicted and the ones who throughout history would misunderstand and believe that God’s wrath was satisfied by his blood.
The indwelling Wisdom with which Jesus reveals himself is reason John described Jesus as the Word of God incarnate. Wisdom and Word are very similar, yet wisdom in Greek is a feminine noun and Word is a masculine. These have nothing to do with human gender, but it is more grammatically comfortable to describe a male with a masculine noun than with a feminine one. The Wisdom of God, Word of God, which was in Jesus’ physically, mentally and emotionally—in all he did and said, is consistent with how it is that Wisdom spoke and taught within First Testament scriptures. Wisdom was a sought after asset in governors, kings and in anyone who wanted to live according to God’s guidance.
In the book of Proverbs, where we hear the most about Wisdom, her actions are clearly those that faithful people would respect and favor.
20Wisdom cries out in the street;
in the squares she raises her voice.
22‘How long, O simple ones, will you love being simple?
How long will scoffers delight in their scoffing
and fools hate knowledge?
23Give heed to my reproof;
I will pour out my thoughts to you;
I will make my words known to you.[2]
4‘To you, O people, I call,
and my cry is to all that live.
5O simple ones, learn prudence;
acquire intelligence, you who lack it.
6Hear, for I will speak noble things,
and from my lips will come what is right;[3]
The Wise reign of Jesus as it is described within the witness of the entire scriptural standard reveals that it is internal to the persons and communities where Jesus is called upon to be the authority—where the tenets of God, which have been revealed from the beginning, are held firmly as the standards for the lives of those who wish to be faithful.
One author writes of Wisdom as the guide and rule by which the household of God exists and in which the presence of God is revealed in Jesus.
[Wisdom’s] is the power of person-making among those diminished
by pain who do not know their own dignity;
[Wisdom’s] the grace of conversion to turn from dead-end ways
to walk the path of newness of life;
[Wisdom’s] the light
of conscience;
[Wisdom’s] the power to shake up assured certainties
and introduce the grace of a new question;
[Wisdom’s] the strength to foment discomfort
among the unduly comfortable;
[Wisdom’s] the oil of comfort (cum + fortis, “making strong”)
known in experiences that heal refresh and invigorate;
[Wisdom’s] the vigor that energizes the fire
of active, outgoing love.
The creative power that knits us into life continuously
and mends the torn fabric of our lives,
forming in the process fine new and possibly surprising patterns.[4]
In the beginning of the gospel of John, Jesus is named Word or Logos (Greek for Word), he could have easily been named Wisdom or Sophia (Greek for Wisdom). This reveals continuity within God’s intention for the internal knowledge that our home, the realm of our belonging, the kingdom of God, can be lived out by following the wisdom that Jesus revealed in his lifetime and beyond as he lives among us and within us through the power of resurrection.
Jesus’ testimony of truth to Pilate reveals that the way his lived his life from beginning to end was a revelation of all that God wanted him to be—not a violent man who fought back when he was threatened, but a man who stood his ground against power that destroys instead of heals and makes whole. When he showed anger it was not against those who threatened him, but against those who took advantage of others—who were unjust and greedy or who made faithful living seem impossible to anyone other than the rich or privileged.
Jesus gave people dignity when others would take it. (Think of the woman at the well who had gone through 5 husbands, when have you been in need of dignity?)
Jesus gave people the grace of new life. (Think of the lepers who came to him to be made whole, how has God shown you a new way of living?)
Jesus taught people that they could live by the conscience they were given. (Think how he told Nicodemus that he was very close to the kingdom, where have you experienced the way that God would have you live?)
Jesus gave people an opportunity to be shaken by his teaching. (Think how his own hometown rejected him as a revealer of God’s truth, when have you had to follow God’s way instead of parents’, friends’ or others’ ways?)
Jesus made the powerful uncomfortable in their power. (Think of Pilate, Herod and some leaders within the Jewish faith, how has your privilege or the privilege of others been challenged by the knowledge of Jesus’ words and deed?)
Jesus gave comfort—made strong—those who needed new life. (Think of Lazarus and a 12 year old little girl, also a woman whose son had died and those who were freed from mental torment.)
Jesus breathed life into dead people and situations with love. (Think of the disciples who were given purpose and direction like never before, how has Jesus’ example and action revealed a purpose and direction for you?)
Jesus taught God’s never-changing desire for justice, mercy, equitability and hope in ways that seemed utterly new. (Think how you and others have been changed by the knowledge and awareness that the stories of Jesus have brought you.)
I have come to understand God in particular ways over the years—ways that have shown me that sometimes I need all that God has offered me in the life of Jesus—in the ways of wisdom—to move into life each day. And it takes all of God’s wisdom for the guidance I need as I step into the way that God would have me go.
In my life this realization of the Wisdom of God in the life of Jesus has been a powerful force—the knowledge that God has given intellect as a gift, that we don’t have to ignore the mind. It has given me the awareness that whatever I learn can be helpful in my ministry as long as I am careful not to use it for my own gain. I have learned that the opportunities to learn new things and meet people and help in ways I hadn’t realized were possible were invitations from God that I could accept or not. I have learned that God works in me when I make the best choice and when I don’t make the best one, just another one—and even when I make stupid choices, Wisdom’s guidance is still possible, I may just need to pay more attention.
The image of a fairy tale kingdom was far from the heart and mind of Jesus as he stood in the Pilate’s headquarters that day and acknowledged the kingdom that God was revealing in him. In his mind, as I understand it, were the teachings that he had shared throughout his life—revealing the wholeness, comfort and dignity that God was offering. The home and belonging that he revealed would not have any purpose in an armed uprising against Rome, but in the daily living to which he called those who would follow him.
Let us make Jesus’ welcome in all that we do and say—in the ways that the Wisdom of God is revealed in our hearts and minds. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] John 18:36b
[2] Proverbs 1:20, 22-23
[3] Proverbs 8:4-6
[4] From She Who Is: The Mystery of God in Feminist Theological Discourse by Elizabeth A. Johnson New York: Crossroad, 1992
2 Samuel 23:1-7
Psalm 132:1-12, (13-18)
Revelation 1:4b-8
John 18:33-37
“A Wise Reign”
Once upon a time there was a kingdom where there lived a princess trapped in a tall tower . . .
Once upon a time there was a kingdom where the king and queen were very sad because they had no children. One day, to the joy of all, the queen announced she would have a baby. . . .
Once upon a time there was a kingdom . . .
Whenever I hear about a kingdom, I get images in my head of fairy tales, nursery rhymes, or children’s stories, often produced by Disney. There are even a few hymns that contribute to that kind of image of kingdom.
“O worship the King All glorious above;
O gratefully sing His power and his love:
Our Shield and Defender, the Ancient of days,
Pavilioned in splendor and girded with praise.
O tell of his might, O sing of his grace,
Whose robe is the light, whose canopy space.
His chariots of wrath the deep thunder-clouds form,
And dark is his path on the wings of the storm.”
In that hymn I see the pavilions or colorful tents with colorful fabrics and a standard or flag flying with the symbols and colors of knights. I imagine war stallions thundering or horses pulling a chariot to war—and visions of the shining armor of a warrior king going to battle.
Often and in familiar traditions, the sovereignty of Jesus has been depicted that way—that kind of warlike imagery for the kingdom of God, ushered in through the life of Jesus justified the crusades that led thousands, if not millions of Christians to fight battle after battle for Jerusalem and other cities in what had been Israel.
And in the scripture today, despite Pilate’s denial of his interest in whether or not Jesus claims a kingdom for himself, there are political concerns in Pilate’s question. “Are you the king of the Jews?” In Pilate’s and in the Roman Empire there was one king of Israel—and of the whole empire of Rome—Caesar. Jesus’ presence before Pilate can only be understood if there were some criminal charge against Rome and sedition and criminal rebellion against Caesar were the only possibilities. But Jesus answered Pilate’s question this way, “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.”[1] Jesus was not interested in defeating the political regimes or the kingdoms and nations that were in power—yet he was concerned about the existence of justice and righteousness because he loved those that Rome ruled, in Jerusalem, in the Roman province of Judea and throughout the world.
The rule of Jesus was not demonstrated by an overwhelming and violent show of force in the face of opposition to his authority and power—the wise reign of Jesus began when he quietly rose from the tomb where his death by crucifixion had put him. The wise reign of Jesus was not described by his death on a cross that normally signaled shame—his reign was described by his daily actions as he taught people. He taught that the kingdom was like a mustard seed—or a pearl of great price—or a woman who lost a coin—or a woman who took four measures of flour and made bread—or any number of parables. Jesus taught about the kingdom when he saved the life of a servant in a Roman centurion’s home and when he healed the mother-in-law of Peter. He revealed the household and neighborhood of God’s dwelling place when his power flowed into a woman who had been hemorrhaging for 12 years and into a 12 year old girl who had just died. He showed the intention of God’s indwelling presence when he accepted the anointing of an unnamed woman as he approached his death. He revealed God when he forgave all who participated in his death—the ones who betrayed, the ones who denied, the ones who accused, the ones who convicted and the ones who throughout history would misunderstand and believe that God’s wrath was satisfied by his blood.
The indwelling Wisdom with which Jesus reveals himself is reason John described Jesus as the Word of God incarnate. Wisdom and Word are very similar, yet wisdom in Greek is a feminine noun and Word is a masculine. These have nothing to do with human gender, but it is more grammatically comfortable to describe a male with a masculine noun than with a feminine one. The Wisdom of God, Word of God, which was in Jesus’ physically, mentally and emotionally—in all he did and said, is consistent with how it is that Wisdom spoke and taught within First Testament scriptures. Wisdom was a sought after asset in governors, kings and in anyone who wanted to live according to God’s guidance.
In the book of Proverbs, where we hear the most about Wisdom, her actions are clearly those that faithful people would respect and favor.
20Wisdom cries out in the street;
in the squares she raises her voice.
22‘How long, O simple ones, will you love being simple?
How long will scoffers delight in their scoffing
and fools hate knowledge?
23Give heed to my reproof;
I will pour out my thoughts to you;
I will make my words known to you.[2]
4‘To you, O people, I call,
and my cry is to all that live.
5O simple ones, learn prudence;
acquire intelligence, you who lack it.
6Hear, for I will speak noble things,
and from my lips will come what is right;[3]
The Wise reign of Jesus as it is described within the witness of the entire scriptural standard reveals that it is internal to the persons and communities where Jesus is called upon to be the authority—where the tenets of God, which have been revealed from the beginning, are held firmly as the standards for the lives of those who wish to be faithful.
One author writes of Wisdom as the guide and rule by which the household of God exists and in which the presence of God is revealed in Jesus.
[Wisdom’s] is the power of person-making among those diminished
by pain who do not know their own dignity;
[Wisdom’s] the grace of conversion to turn from dead-end ways
to walk the path of newness of life;
[Wisdom’s] the light
of conscience;
[Wisdom’s] the power to shake up assured certainties
and introduce the grace of a new question;
[Wisdom’s] the strength to foment discomfort
among the unduly comfortable;
[Wisdom’s] the oil of comfort (cum + fortis, “making strong”)
known in experiences that heal refresh and invigorate;
[Wisdom’s] the vigor that energizes the fire
of active, outgoing love.
The creative power that knits us into life continuously
and mends the torn fabric of our lives,
forming in the process fine new and possibly surprising patterns.[4]
In the beginning of the gospel of John, Jesus is named Word or Logos (Greek for Word), he could have easily been named Wisdom or Sophia (Greek for Wisdom). This reveals continuity within God’s intention for the internal knowledge that our home, the realm of our belonging, the kingdom of God, can be lived out by following the wisdom that Jesus revealed in his lifetime and beyond as he lives among us and within us through the power of resurrection.
Jesus’ testimony of truth to Pilate reveals that the way his lived his life from beginning to end was a revelation of all that God wanted him to be—not a violent man who fought back when he was threatened, but a man who stood his ground against power that destroys instead of heals and makes whole. When he showed anger it was not against those who threatened him, but against those who took advantage of others—who were unjust and greedy or who made faithful living seem impossible to anyone other than the rich or privileged.
Jesus gave people dignity when others would take it. (Think of the woman at the well who had gone through 5 husbands, when have you been in need of dignity?)
Jesus gave people the grace of new life. (Think of the lepers who came to him to be made whole, how has God shown you a new way of living?)
Jesus taught people that they could live by the conscience they were given. (Think how he told Nicodemus that he was very close to the kingdom, where have you experienced the way that God would have you live?)
Jesus gave people an opportunity to be shaken by his teaching. (Think how his own hometown rejected him as a revealer of God’s truth, when have you had to follow God’s way instead of parents’, friends’ or others’ ways?)
Jesus made the powerful uncomfortable in their power. (Think of Pilate, Herod and some leaders within the Jewish faith, how has your privilege or the privilege of others been challenged by the knowledge of Jesus’ words and deed?)
Jesus gave comfort—made strong—those who needed new life. (Think of Lazarus and a 12 year old little girl, also a woman whose son had died and those who were freed from mental torment.)
Jesus breathed life into dead people and situations with love. (Think of the disciples who were given purpose and direction like never before, how has Jesus’ example and action revealed a purpose and direction for you?)
Jesus taught God’s never-changing desire for justice, mercy, equitability and hope in ways that seemed utterly new. (Think how you and others have been changed by the knowledge and awareness that the stories of Jesus have brought you.)
I have come to understand God in particular ways over the years—ways that have shown me that sometimes I need all that God has offered me in the life of Jesus—in the ways of wisdom—to move into life each day. And it takes all of God’s wisdom for the guidance I need as I step into the way that God would have me go.
In my life this realization of the Wisdom of God in the life of Jesus has been a powerful force—the knowledge that God has given intellect as a gift, that we don’t have to ignore the mind. It has given me the awareness that whatever I learn can be helpful in my ministry as long as I am careful not to use it for my own gain. I have learned that the opportunities to learn new things and meet people and help in ways I hadn’t realized were possible were invitations from God that I could accept or not. I have learned that God works in me when I make the best choice and when I don’t make the best one, just another one—and even when I make stupid choices, Wisdom’s guidance is still possible, I may just need to pay more attention.
The image of a fairy tale kingdom was far from the heart and mind of Jesus as he stood in the Pilate’s headquarters that day and acknowledged the kingdom that God was revealing in him. In his mind, as I understand it, were the teachings that he had shared throughout his life—revealing the wholeness, comfort and dignity that God was offering. The home and belonging that he revealed would not have any purpose in an armed uprising against Rome, but in the daily living to which he called those who would follow him.
Let us make Jesus’ welcome in all that we do and say—in the ways that the Wisdom of God is revealed in our hearts and minds. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] John 18:36b
[2] Proverbs 1:20, 22-23
[3] Proverbs 8:4-6
[4] From She Who Is: The Mystery of God in Feminist Theological Discourse by Elizabeth A. Johnson New York: Crossroad, 1992
Sermon November 15 2009
Pastor Amy Wharton
Cuba Christian Church
1 Samuel 1:4-20
1 Samuel 2:1-10
Hebrews 10:11-14, (15-18), 19-25
Mark 13:1-8
“The Birth of Promise”
Our lives are filled with a myriad of emotions—even in moments of joy and satisfaction, we are aware of the tragedies that have been a part of our lives. And in times of joy in our lives, we are aware of the sorrow that is contained in others lives at the same time as our joy. Within a community of faith, we are to be more than aware, we are to stand with one another in all of those times.
But we are not called upon to deny how we feel, whether we are happy or sad, angry or in grief, singing praise or moaning a song of lament. Whatever our age or situation we can share who we are with God and hopefully with a family of faith.
Imagine, if you will, Hannah’s situation in 1 Samuel chapter 1. She has been married to Elkanah long enough to be considered barren. She has had no babies, but his other wife Peninnah has had several sons and daughters and she was proud of this accomplishment. In the Jewish common faith, at this time, it was important that women have children for many different reasons. Sons provided for a woman’s future, no matter how long a mother lived, if she lived beyond the death of her husband, she was her son’s responsibility. A son was her future in that way, but sons and daughters were eternal life to a mother and father. They were the means to carry one’s beliefs and memories into the future. Though they were unaware of much biological detail, they knew that children carried a portion of them into the future. The Jewish people had no clear belief in life beyond death, but they knew that children—their offspring—carried pieces of themselves beyond the death of the parents.
Hannah’s barrenness plagued her for these reasons, but also because, like many women, she had a desire for a baby to hold and care for. No matter how her husband cared for her and guaranteed her future, she also wanted a child.
Imagine . . . that kind of desire for children as you imagine this woman at the tabernacle at Shiloh. She stood outside the place of presence and prayed and wept—she was so distraught that Eli the priest thought she was drunk when he saw her. She had lost control and looked disreputable—her voice unheard, but her distress plain and her lips moving with prayer and supplication.
She was full of sorrow, full of disappointment, and I would imagine, full of anger and some resentment of her husband’s other wife Peninnah who provoked her because she had had no babies.
She was hopeless; she was in despair; she was so beside herself that she aired her depth of feeling in public where the priest could see her. Can you imagine that kind of pain in your life?
Have your felt hopeless? in despair? beside yourself?
When have you felt like life has passed you by and you are left with little to nothing?
Hannah felt like empty; persecuted by another person; her husband’s love couldn’t make up for her feelings of loss and sorrow.
Yet she didn’t curl up and avoid the problem. She took it to the tabernacle or temple where the Jewish people worshipped God. She took it to the place of presence, the place they called God’s footstool—where heaven met earth—and she prayed.
Her desperation seemed pointless and a little crazy to Eli, but when he heard her desire, he said and knew somehow that God would give her the child she wanted so much. So she went away with hope inside of her—such hope, life and promise that she and Elkanah soon conceived and she was full of the joy that she had always wanted.
There are times we have feelings of barrenness within us as individuals, certainly, but what about those times in the church when we feel lifeless and exhausted. What do we do when it feels that way within the church? Where is the life we seek and how do we find it?
Hannah began her search on this day by going to God—she poured her heart out to God and didn’t worry about what other people were thinking of her as she did it. She wept, tears running down her face; she wept, eyes red and nose running; she wept and continued to tell God of her desire, her desperation and her love that she would give a child.
If we look for life, let us enter into that conversation with God—tell God and tell God and tell God. And then listen, waiting for the answer that we seek. Her answer came through Eli, who had no idea what that Hannah was asking God, yet he saw her faith and her desire and knew that God’s loving way would grant her what she wanted. Sometimes the desires of our hearts have to be expressed so that we understand what we are asking. If we ask for something for the life of this congregation, what are we asking for? What changes will be needed for that to happen? We can’t expect new life without change. Who will tell us the answer to our prayers? Who can we trust to tell us that God will grant our deepest desires? Then we can trust that God wants for us to live, but there is always more and there is always required action on our part.
When Hannah received the assurance she wanted from the Eli, the priest, she went back to her husband’s tent happily and gratefully. She shared a meal with her husband. The scripture doesn’t tell us what they talked about, but I can’t imagine that she didn’t tell him a little about why she was happy. Once we have set our eyes on new life, we can talk about that new life with those we know and trust. New life, what form does that take? If I know it is possible, then who will it be. What form of new life is coming? Hannah asked for a baby, but when we want new life in this congregation, what are we asking for? More people? Less stress on each person? Change? Will there be new faces and new visions?
We can talk those things out with those we trust. And then trust God to help us do what needs to be done. Once Hannah received a word of encouragement from Eli the priest, she ate and drank with her husband and when they returned to their home, they did what they needed to do to conceive. There was action required on her part—conception, certainly, but also pregnancy, labor and birth. She needed her husband and she needed the assurance of God’s cooperation in the whole process. She poured out her soul to God and she poured out her trust to her husband and relied on them both to receive the promise that Eli had made—even though he didn’t know what he was promising.
Before Hannah knew what Eli would have to say. Before she was assured that her son would be born. She told God that her son would have a purpose and a mission, if she had anything to do with it. Her son would be God’s own person, serving God faithfully and keeping himself apart from pollution. His life would be God’s life. She promised that that child would know God because she would make sure of it. She didn’t ask God for a son simply for her own self, but so that God would be revealed in the birth of her son in some way. She promised that her boy would be the answer to her prayers, but also would be a servant to Israel’s God.
She didn’t ask for the son because she wanted to be cared for; it seems that she trusted in her husband for that. He assured her of that; it seems to me that her supplication was more visionary than a family of her own because she gave her son, Samuel to the temple when he was just a toddler.
And there is joy in her dedication. She sings a song of joy when she gives Samuel, because she received him, but in him, she has the assurance that God loves and cares for those who are tormented and that God is on the side of God and not torment and
oppression.
Her words reveal more than familial or maternal love; her words are about the future of her people, especially as her people continue their trust in God.
There is no Holy One like the Lord,
no one besides you;
there is no Rock like our God.
3Talk no more so very proudly,
let not arrogance come from your mouth;
for the Lord is a God of knowledge,
and by him actions are weighed.
4The bows of the mighty are broken,
but the feeble gird on strength.
5Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread,
but those who were hungry are fat with spoil.
The barren has borne seven,
but she who has many children is forlorn.
6The Lord kills and brings to life;
he brings down to Sheol and raises up.
7The Lord makes poor and makes rich;
he brings low, he also exalts.
8He raises up the poor from the dust;
he lifts the needy from the ash heap,
to make them sit with princes
and inherit a seat of honor.[1]*
She exalted that God is God and she was not—that God had the power of life and death. She rejoiced that in God a world of injustice and pain could be overturned—changed beyond recognition if God decided to do it. Poor would be rich; rich would labor for their money. The hungry would be full; the full would be made to realize where food came from. The women would be fertile; the fields would be rich; the needy would be taken from the trash heap; the princes would be no higher than anyone else.
The song of Hannah sounds very similar to the song of Mary that we will hear in just a few weeks during Advent; the joy of this Samuel’s mother is similar to the joy of Jesus’ mother because in each God was working. In each one, God would reveal justice and mercy and in each one God’s love would be shown. In each one there would be great difference, but God would still be in the life of each.
The life of Samuel wasn’t about full fledged, complete answers to problems or questions; but Hannah’s prayer provided great opportunity for new things to happen in Israel.
Eli was a priest, the bible says, who had not heard “the word of God.” I don’t know exactly what that means, but my impression is that God felt distant from Israel. Eli’s sons were corrupt and unworthy of priesthood and that was a tragedy for him. Samuel, the answer to Hannah’s prayer and the subject of her exaltation song was the beginning of a new relationship between God and the people of Israel. Samuel’s birth was the beginning of the end of judges ruling in Israel. Samuel’s life as a prophet propelled him into the life of a kingmaker—he and God chose Saul to be king. When Saul’s reign led outside of God’s desires, God chose David and Samuel anointed him. Hannah’s song was a sign of that new relationship between God and Israel—or it expressed her hope in that new relationship.
Hannah’s prayer and her song of joy were not offered in a perfect world—or in one where she was perfectly satisfied with her situation. Her husband’s other wife tormented her—and Hannah felt bereft by her lack of children. Her song of joy was sung about a world of justice and righteousness and goodness among the faithful. Yet none of those things were real and in existence as she sang them. And they didn’t all come into existence in the lifetime of her son, but she and her son knew that those dreams and visions were the intentions of God for all of humanity beginning with Israel, the people of God.
As Jesus said in Mark’s gospel, “7When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. 8For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.”[2]
The end of things is never in the labor and the pain; the end is in the birth of new life. God’s intention is expressed in that vision, in the vision of pain leading to new-found life and hope. Birth is a great metaphor for what is to come because it doesn’t come easily for any kind of birth. But, Jesus assures us, the pain is not the purpose; the pain is not the result of God’s work; the struggle, the war the famine, the earthquake, the greed of nation against nation or religion against religion are not signs of God, but simply signs that the new life we await hasn’t come yet.
In a world of unrest and anxiety, in times of uncertain resources and shaky economic prospects, let us follow Hannah’s example and pray. Let us pray for new life and promise God that the gift of new life will have a purpose. Let us pray, not caring what other people think and listening for the assurance that God has heard us. Let us pray, and then move, act and do what is necessary to make that new life possible.
Let us focus on new life, new dreams, new visions and the promise of birth—God’s promise, yesterday, today and always.
To the glory of God and only God’s glory. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] 1 Samuel 2:2-8
[2] Mark 13:7-8
Cuba Christian Church
1 Samuel 1:4-20
1 Samuel 2:1-10
Hebrews 10:11-14, (15-18), 19-25
Mark 13:1-8
“The Birth of Promise”
Our lives are filled with a myriad of emotions—even in moments of joy and satisfaction, we are aware of the tragedies that have been a part of our lives. And in times of joy in our lives, we are aware of the sorrow that is contained in others lives at the same time as our joy. Within a community of faith, we are to be more than aware, we are to stand with one another in all of those times.
But we are not called upon to deny how we feel, whether we are happy or sad, angry or in grief, singing praise or moaning a song of lament. Whatever our age or situation we can share who we are with God and hopefully with a family of faith.
Imagine, if you will, Hannah’s situation in 1 Samuel chapter 1. She has been married to Elkanah long enough to be considered barren. She has had no babies, but his other wife Peninnah has had several sons and daughters and she was proud of this accomplishment. In the Jewish common faith, at this time, it was important that women have children for many different reasons. Sons provided for a woman’s future, no matter how long a mother lived, if she lived beyond the death of her husband, she was her son’s responsibility. A son was her future in that way, but sons and daughters were eternal life to a mother and father. They were the means to carry one’s beliefs and memories into the future. Though they were unaware of much biological detail, they knew that children carried a portion of them into the future. The Jewish people had no clear belief in life beyond death, but they knew that children—their offspring—carried pieces of themselves beyond the death of the parents.
Hannah’s barrenness plagued her for these reasons, but also because, like many women, she had a desire for a baby to hold and care for. No matter how her husband cared for her and guaranteed her future, she also wanted a child.
Imagine . . . that kind of desire for children as you imagine this woman at the tabernacle at Shiloh. She stood outside the place of presence and prayed and wept—she was so distraught that Eli the priest thought she was drunk when he saw her. She had lost control and looked disreputable—her voice unheard, but her distress plain and her lips moving with prayer and supplication.
She was full of sorrow, full of disappointment, and I would imagine, full of anger and some resentment of her husband’s other wife Peninnah who provoked her because she had had no babies.
She was hopeless; she was in despair; she was so beside herself that she aired her depth of feeling in public where the priest could see her. Can you imagine that kind of pain in your life?
Have your felt hopeless? in despair? beside yourself?
When have you felt like life has passed you by and you are left with little to nothing?
Hannah felt like empty; persecuted by another person; her husband’s love couldn’t make up for her feelings of loss and sorrow.
Yet she didn’t curl up and avoid the problem. She took it to the tabernacle or temple where the Jewish people worshipped God. She took it to the place of presence, the place they called God’s footstool—where heaven met earth—and she prayed.
Her desperation seemed pointless and a little crazy to Eli, but when he heard her desire, he said and knew somehow that God would give her the child she wanted so much. So she went away with hope inside of her—such hope, life and promise that she and Elkanah soon conceived and she was full of the joy that she had always wanted.
There are times we have feelings of barrenness within us as individuals, certainly, but what about those times in the church when we feel lifeless and exhausted. What do we do when it feels that way within the church? Where is the life we seek and how do we find it?
Hannah began her search on this day by going to God—she poured her heart out to God and didn’t worry about what other people were thinking of her as she did it. She wept, tears running down her face; she wept, eyes red and nose running; she wept and continued to tell God of her desire, her desperation and her love that she would give a child.
If we look for life, let us enter into that conversation with God—tell God and tell God and tell God. And then listen, waiting for the answer that we seek. Her answer came through Eli, who had no idea what that Hannah was asking God, yet he saw her faith and her desire and knew that God’s loving way would grant her what she wanted. Sometimes the desires of our hearts have to be expressed so that we understand what we are asking. If we ask for something for the life of this congregation, what are we asking for? What changes will be needed for that to happen? We can’t expect new life without change. Who will tell us the answer to our prayers? Who can we trust to tell us that God will grant our deepest desires? Then we can trust that God wants for us to live, but there is always more and there is always required action on our part.
When Hannah received the assurance she wanted from the Eli, the priest, she went back to her husband’s tent happily and gratefully. She shared a meal with her husband. The scripture doesn’t tell us what they talked about, but I can’t imagine that she didn’t tell him a little about why she was happy. Once we have set our eyes on new life, we can talk about that new life with those we know and trust. New life, what form does that take? If I know it is possible, then who will it be. What form of new life is coming? Hannah asked for a baby, but when we want new life in this congregation, what are we asking for? More people? Less stress on each person? Change? Will there be new faces and new visions?
We can talk those things out with those we trust. And then trust God to help us do what needs to be done. Once Hannah received a word of encouragement from Eli the priest, she ate and drank with her husband and when they returned to their home, they did what they needed to do to conceive. There was action required on her part—conception, certainly, but also pregnancy, labor and birth. She needed her husband and she needed the assurance of God’s cooperation in the whole process. She poured out her soul to God and she poured out her trust to her husband and relied on them both to receive the promise that Eli had made—even though he didn’t know what he was promising.
Before Hannah knew what Eli would have to say. Before she was assured that her son would be born. She told God that her son would have a purpose and a mission, if she had anything to do with it. Her son would be God’s own person, serving God faithfully and keeping himself apart from pollution. His life would be God’s life. She promised that that child would know God because she would make sure of it. She didn’t ask God for a son simply for her own self, but so that God would be revealed in the birth of her son in some way. She promised that her boy would be the answer to her prayers, but also would be a servant to Israel’s God.
She didn’t ask for the son because she wanted to be cared for; it seems that she trusted in her husband for that. He assured her of that; it seems to me that her supplication was more visionary than a family of her own because she gave her son, Samuel to the temple when he was just a toddler.
And there is joy in her dedication. She sings a song of joy when she gives Samuel, because she received him, but in him, she has the assurance that God loves and cares for those who are tormented and that God is on the side of God and not torment and
oppression.
Her words reveal more than familial or maternal love; her words are about the future of her people, especially as her people continue their trust in God.
There is no Holy One like the Lord,
no one besides you;
there is no Rock like our God.
3Talk no more so very proudly,
let not arrogance come from your mouth;
for the Lord is a God of knowledge,
and by him actions are weighed.
4The bows of the mighty are broken,
but the feeble gird on strength.
5Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread,
but those who were hungry are fat with spoil.
The barren has borne seven,
but she who has many children is forlorn.
6The Lord kills and brings to life;
he brings down to Sheol and raises up.
7The Lord makes poor and makes rich;
he brings low, he also exalts.
8He raises up the poor from the dust;
he lifts the needy from the ash heap,
to make them sit with princes
and inherit a seat of honor.[1]*
She exalted that God is God and she was not—that God had the power of life and death. She rejoiced that in God a world of injustice and pain could be overturned—changed beyond recognition if God decided to do it. Poor would be rich; rich would labor for their money. The hungry would be full; the full would be made to realize where food came from. The women would be fertile; the fields would be rich; the needy would be taken from the trash heap; the princes would be no higher than anyone else.
The song of Hannah sounds very similar to the song of Mary that we will hear in just a few weeks during Advent; the joy of this Samuel’s mother is similar to the joy of Jesus’ mother because in each God was working. In each one, God would reveal justice and mercy and in each one God’s love would be shown. In each one there would be great difference, but God would still be in the life of each.
The life of Samuel wasn’t about full fledged, complete answers to problems or questions; but Hannah’s prayer provided great opportunity for new things to happen in Israel.
Eli was a priest, the bible says, who had not heard “the word of God.” I don’t know exactly what that means, but my impression is that God felt distant from Israel. Eli’s sons were corrupt and unworthy of priesthood and that was a tragedy for him. Samuel, the answer to Hannah’s prayer and the subject of her exaltation song was the beginning of a new relationship between God and the people of Israel. Samuel’s birth was the beginning of the end of judges ruling in Israel. Samuel’s life as a prophet propelled him into the life of a kingmaker—he and God chose Saul to be king. When Saul’s reign led outside of God’s desires, God chose David and Samuel anointed him. Hannah’s song was a sign of that new relationship between God and Israel—or it expressed her hope in that new relationship.
Hannah’s prayer and her song of joy were not offered in a perfect world—or in one where she was perfectly satisfied with her situation. Her husband’s other wife tormented her—and Hannah felt bereft by her lack of children. Her song of joy was sung about a world of justice and righteousness and goodness among the faithful. Yet none of those things were real and in existence as she sang them. And they didn’t all come into existence in the lifetime of her son, but she and her son knew that those dreams and visions were the intentions of God for all of humanity beginning with Israel, the people of God.
As Jesus said in Mark’s gospel, “7When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. 8For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.”[2]
The end of things is never in the labor and the pain; the end is in the birth of new life. God’s intention is expressed in that vision, in the vision of pain leading to new-found life and hope. Birth is a great metaphor for what is to come because it doesn’t come easily for any kind of birth. But, Jesus assures us, the pain is not the purpose; the pain is not the result of God’s work; the struggle, the war the famine, the earthquake, the greed of nation against nation or religion against religion are not signs of God, but simply signs that the new life we await hasn’t come yet.
In a world of unrest and anxiety, in times of uncertain resources and shaky economic prospects, let us follow Hannah’s example and pray. Let us pray for new life and promise God that the gift of new life will have a purpose. Let us pray, not caring what other people think and listening for the assurance that God has heard us. Let us pray, and then move, act and do what is necessary to make that new life possible.
Let us focus on new life, new dreams, new visions and the promise of birth—God’s promise, yesterday, today and always.
To the glory of God and only God’s glory. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] 1 Samuel 2:2-8
[2] Mark 13:7-8
Sermon November 8 2009
Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17
Psalm 127
Hebrews 9:24-28
Mark 12:38-44
“What Do We Risk?”
How far would we go, what would we give up or risk for the sake of a loved one in desperate need?
When one of my siblings had a very small child, my sibling once said, “I would be willing to kill to protect my child and I would give up my life for my child, if I knew it would save that child’s life.” I’ve heard similar descriptions of your commitment to your children when they were young and vulnerable. And I know that people sacrifice deeply for those they love: young or old, man or woman, sick or healthy, loving or not so lovable.
It’s generally not considered socially acceptable behavior to kill—but to protect a loved one, especially someone too vulnerable to protect themselves, we often can understand and forgive those who might. Yet it also falls within our socially acceptable behavior, in our culture and norms to protect those we love with violence if necessary. What if, instead, someone we love needs us to break rules that govern what we might call sin to survive?
In a book I am reading about the Post World War II and the Holocaust, more men than women survived the death camps because men were used as labor in mines and other places. Women sometimes survived the death camps because they would trade their company for food or warmth, not only for themselves, but for their children or even for their husbands or other family members. And in this book, there are women who continued to share their company once they were in Palestine in camps run by the British.
During the same period of time, a book, later a movie, was written describing one woman’s situation. The Germans were holding her and her children in a camp; she was the lover of one of the officers, hoping to save her children. At one point, simply because he could, he told her that one of her children was going be killed and she had to choose which one. If she didn’t choose, then both of them would be killed. The choice she made (and I can’t remember what she chose) almost destroyed the rest of her life. But it doesn’t matter, neither choice would be considered moral or acceptable under normal circumstances.
In each of these cases, one could argue that risking socially unacceptable behavior is outweighed by the lives that were saved. Maybe it’s hard to imagine being in those situations, yet I believe that most of us have had moments when we might have made morally ambiguous choices for reasons of survival—either of those we love or of others.
What is the risk that we take when we express love? How far would we be willing to go to save life or give life? What does it mean to risk social unacceptability and expectation?
The story of Ruth and Naomi is one of those kinds of stories—lifted up to us in today’s scripture. Last week’s regular lectionary text described how Ruth chose to stay with Naomi when she left Moab. Naomi had moved there with her husband during a famine in the land of Judah; he died and her sons married Moabite women and then they died without children. As Naomi left Moab to return to Judah where she might have had family, Orpah and Ruth, her daughters-in-law came with her. She begged them to go back to their families because she had nothing to give them; she had no husband for them to marry or other support structure. Orpah listened and left, but Ruth stayed with Naomi, despite her gloomy prospects.
Today’s scripture occurs after they arrive in Bethlehem. They’ve found Boaz, who is a distance relative of Naomi’s. Ruth and Naomi are in need of the basics for survival, so Ruth has gone out into Boaz’s fields and is gleaning grain—the excess of the fields so that they have something to eat. But Naomi has a longer term plan; she believes that Boaz will be her kinsman redeemer—someone who will take her and Ruth in as his right and duty, Naomi send Ruth so that he will begin to notice them. He does notice her as she gleans his fields—she was a stranger, probably looked and dressed differently than the local women and he spoke to her.
Once that had happened, Naomi told Ruth what to do in today’s text, “2Now here is our kinsman Boaz, with whose young women you have been working. See, he is winnowing barley tonight at the threshing-floor. 3Now wash and anoint yourself, and put on your best clothes and go down to the threshing-floor; but do not make yourself known to the man until he has finished eating and drinking. 4When he lies down, observe the place where he lies; then, go and uncover his feet and lie down; and he will tell you what to do.” (3:2-4) My guess is that Naomi knows that Boaz needs a wife and that he has noticed Ruth. I further would guess that Ruth wasn’t against the idea of marriage to Boaz either, so Naomi sends Ruth to offer herself as a wife. And Ruth is willing.
Yet we might wonder at this situation—and wonder if it was acceptable in their social and religious situation. And it was probably a bit scandalous. In reference to Ruth 3:10, Kathleen A. Robertson Farmer writes in the New Interpreter’s Bible, “. . . what Ruth did is scandalous in the eyes of the world and an act of loving kindness . . . .” She offered herself, after the threshing, she “made herself known to the man.” This was knowledge in the biblical sense—done out of loving kindness or hesed in the Hebrew; and it was done out of necessity for the both of their survival.
Boaz had shown himself to be a kind and decent man to the women who worked in his field and had already said he would protect Ruth from the other men in the fields. This is a story where she risks his further protection and provision, but they need to be able to rely on a system of living. They cannot live beyond the barley harvest (which is celebrated during the feast of Pentecost) if they do not take this risk and put themselves at the mercy of Boaz—and depend upon the provision and mercy that God put into the law.
In the law, Deuteronomy, we can read these provisions:
Every third year you shall bring out the full tithe of your produce for that year, and store it within your towns; the Levites, because they have no allotment or inheritance with you, as well as the resident aliens, the orphans, and the widows in your towns, may come and eat their fill (Deuteronomy 14:29).
Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, “Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land” (Deuteronomy 15:11).
When you reap your harvest in your field and forget a sheaf in the field, you shall not go back to get it; it shall be left for the alien, the orphan, and the widow (Deuteronomy 24:19).
When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not glean what is left; it shall be for the alien, the orphan, and the widow (Deuteronomy 24:21).
God saw the need to care for those who had no family system of caring to survive—and in the story of Ruth we hear how that system might have worked in one particular case. While the gleaning of fields provided a stop gap solution to the problem, women and their dependent children had to be provided for in the long term. In some cases, there was an allotment that was kept for those without land or a means of supplying food so that they could live. But there was also a system of redemption that was available as a longer term solution. A woman who was widowed could redeem her husband’s portion of land or other resource by marrying a man in the family—his closest kin. In Boaz and Naomi’s case, there was another closer relative—and they had to work out a deal—and then Ruth stood in Naomi’s place as wife.
Ruth’s willingness to give herself was risky—she didn’t know Boaz that well. She had seen his kindness, yet risked herself for the sake of Naomi’s future. Not only did she provide a husband’s support and family for Naomi in that way, but her son, Obed became Naomi’s future. He was her way of carrying Naomi’s family into the continuing covenant with God and God’s future for God’s people.
What do we risk to follow the way that Jesus has called us to walk? The widow is a common thread in today’s texts and risk is also common. In the gospel lesson, a poor widow was held up as an example to the disciples who had watched wealthier donors to the temple give hundreds of times more wealth than she could ever give. But Jesus sees the risk she takes in her gift and calls that more than was given by any other. The widow was an example because she believed in her gift’s purpose. She had faith in the God whose home was in that temple. And even though Jesus often disagreed with the leaders of the temple, especially the scribes—and would be arrested on their word and pressure—he still admired her gift to the temple because it was given in faith. She had faith in the God who was represented and worshiped at the temple, even if she knew (like everyone did) that it’s leadership was flawed.
Can we risk criticism by being more generous that might be wise as individuals and as a church? What is it that we are called to risk for the way that Jesus is calling us to walk each day?
The scribes built walls around the law—making sure that details of the law were protected from disobedience while widows and poor children were neglected—he and other saw it every day. Then Jesus saw that the widow gave to support the priests and other workers at the temple and saw that her risk and her generosity was a greater gift because it revealed God’s continuing work in the community that gathered and worshiped.
We risk when we stand up and walk the road that Jesus calls us to walk instead of the way that leads to greater wealth—as a church or as an individual or family. We risk social eyebrows lifting when we reach out in acceptance of diversity rather than in an attempt to fix the ways that people live their lives the best way they know how. We risk losing our generous gifts when those who receive from us are not grateful, but we’ve been faithfully obedient.
We don’t always know the outcome of our risk—we can’t always count the cost in the spiritual world. God’s work can’t be put into a ledger sheet and quantified. The gains that we make are often spiritual. Did your loving kindness change a moment in someone’s life? Did your decision not to be judgmental give someone an opportunity to experience a sense of belonging like never before? Did your willingness to listen rather than talk mean a moment of comfort to a stranger?
What do we risk on our journey with Jesus? Are we willing to risk when it is necessary?
To the glory of our living God. Amen.
Psalm 127
Hebrews 9:24-28
Mark 12:38-44
“What Do We Risk?”
How far would we go, what would we give up or risk for the sake of a loved one in desperate need?
When one of my siblings had a very small child, my sibling once said, “I would be willing to kill to protect my child and I would give up my life for my child, if I knew it would save that child’s life.” I’ve heard similar descriptions of your commitment to your children when they were young and vulnerable. And I know that people sacrifice deeply for those they love: young or old, man or woman, sick or healthy, loving or not so lovable.
It’s generally not considered socially acceptable behavior to kill—but to protect a loved one, especially someone too vulnerable to protect themselves, we often can understand and forgive those who might. Yet it also falls within our socially acceptable behavior, in our culture and norms to protect those we love with violence if necessary. What if, instead, someone we love needs us to break rules that govern what we might call sin to survive?
In a book I am reading about the Post World War II and the Holocaust, more men than women survived the death camps because men were used as labor in mines and other places. Women sometimes survived the death camps because they would trade their company for food or warmth, not only for themselves, but for their children or even for their husbands or other family members. And in this book, there are women who continued to share their company once they were in Palestine in camps run by the British.
During the same period of time, a book, later a movie, was written describing one woman’s situation. The Germans were holding her and her children in a camp; she was the lover of one of the officers, hoping to save her children. At one point, simply because he could, he told her that one of her children was going be killed and she had to choose which one. If she didn’t choose, then both of them would be killed. The choice she made (and I can’t remember what she chose) almost destroyed the rest of her life. But it doesn’t matter, neither choice would be considered moral or acceptable under normal circumstances.
In each of these cases, one could argue that risking socially unacceptable behavior is outweighed by the lives that were saved. Maybe it’s hard to imagine being in those situations, yet I believe that most of us have had moments when we might have made morally ambiguous choices for reasons of survival—either of those we love or of others.
What is the risk that we take when we express love? How far would we be willing to go to save life or give life? What does it mean to risk social unacceptability and expectation?
The story of Ruth and Naomi is one of those kinds of stories—lifted up to us in today’s scripture. Last week’s regular lectionary text described how Ruth chose to stay with Naomi when she left Moab. Naomi had moved there with her husband during a famine in the land of Judah; he died and her sons married Moabite women and then they died without children. As Naomi left Moab to return to Judah where she might have had family, Orpah and Ruth, her daughters-in-law came with her. She begged them to go back to their families because she had nothing to give them; she had no husband for them to marry or other support structure. Orpah listened and left, but Ruth stayed with Naomi, despite her gloomy prospects.
Today’s scripture occurs after they arrive in Bethlehem. They’ve found Boaz, who is a distance relative of Naomi’s. Ruth and Naomi are in need of the basics for survival, so Ruth has gone out into Boaz’s fields and is gleaning grain—the excess of the fields so that they have something to eat. But Naomi has a longer term plan; she believes that Boaz will be her kinsman redeemer—someone who will take her and Ruth in as his right and duty, Naomi send Ruth so that he will begin to notice them. He does notice her as she gleans his fields—she was a stranger, probably looked and dressed differently than the local women and he spoke to her.
Once that had happened, Naomi told Ruth what to do in today’s text, “2Now here is our kinsman Boaz, with whose young women you have been working. See, he is winnowing barley tonight at the threshing-floor. 3Now wash and anoint yourself, and put on your best clothes and go down to the threshing-floor; but do not make yourself known to the man until he has finished eating and drinking. 4When he lies down, observe the place where he lies; then, go and uncover his feet and lie down; and he will tell you what to do.” (3:2-4) My guess is that Naomi knows that Boaz needs a wife and that he has noticed Ruth. I further would guess that Ruth wasn’t against the idea of marriage to Boaz either, so Naomi sends Ruth to offer herself as a wife. And Ruth is willing.
Yet we might wonder at this situation—and wonder if it was acceptable in their social and religious situation. And it was probably a bit scandalous. In reference to Ruth 3:10, Kathleen A. Robertson Farmer writes in the New Interpreter’s Bible, “. . . what Ruth did is scandalous in the eyes of the world and an act of loving kindness . . . .” She offered herself, after the threshing, she “made herself known to the man.” This was knowledge in the biblical sense—done out of loving kindness or hesed in the Hebrew; and it was done out of necessity for the both of their survival.
Boaz had shown himself to be a kind and decent man to the women who worked in his field and had already said he would protect Ruth from the other men in the fields. This is a story where she risks his further protection and provision, but they need to be able to rely on a system of living. They cannot live beyond the barley harvest (which is celebrated during the feast of Pentecost) if they do not take this risk and put themselves at the mercy of Boaz—and depend upon the provision and mercy that God put into the law.
In the law, Deuteronomy, we can read these provisions:
Every third year you shall bring out the full tithe of your produce for that year, and store it within your towns; the Levites, because they have no allotment or inheritance with you, as well as the resident aliens, the orphans, and the widows in your towns, may come and eat their fill (Deuteronomy 14:29).
Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, “Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land” (Deuteronomy 15:11).
When you reap your harvest in your field and forget a sheaf in the field, you shall not go back to get it; it shall be left for the alien, the orphan, and the widow (Deuteronomy 24:19).
When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not glean what is left; it shall be for the alien, the orphan, and the widow (Deuteronomy 24:21).
God saw the need to care for those who had no family system of caring to survive—and in the story of Ruth we hear how that system might have worked in one particular case. While the gleaning of fields provided a stop gap solution to the problem, women and their dependent children had to be provided for in the long term. In some cases, there was an allotment that was kept for those without land or a means of supplying food so that they could live. But there was also a system of redemption that was available as a longer term solution. A woman who was widowed could redeem her husband’s portion of land or other resource by marrying a man in the family—his closest kin. In Boaz and Naomi’s case, there was another closer relative—and they had to work out a deal—and then Ruth stood in Naomi’s place as wife.
Ruth’s willingness to give herself was risky—she didn’t know Boaz that well. She had seen his kindness, yet risked herself for the sake of Naomi’s future. Not only did she provide a husband’s support and family for Naomi in that way, but her son, Obed became Naomi’s future. He was her way of carrying Naomi’s family into the continuing covenant with God and God’s future for God’s people.
What do we risk to follow the way that Jesus has called us to walk? The widow is a common thread in today’s texts and risk is also common. In the gospel lesson, a poor widow was held up as an example to the disciples who had watched wealthier donors to the temple give hundreds of times more wealth than she could ever give. But Jesus sees the risk she takes in her gift and calls that more than was given by any other. The widow was an example because she believed in her gift’s purpose. She had faith in the God whose home was in that temple. And even though Jesus often disagreed with the leaders of the temple, especially the scribes—and would be arrested on their word and pressure—he still admired her gift to the temple because it was given in faith. She had faith in the God who was represented and worshiped at the temple, even if she knew (like everyone did) that it’s leadership was flawed.
Can we risk criticism by being more generous that might be wise as individuals and as a church? What is it that we are called to risk for the way that Jesus is calling us to walk each day?
The scribes built walls around the law—making sure that details of the law were protected from disobedience while widows and poor children were neglected—he and other saw it every day. Then Jesus saw that the widow gave to support the priests and other workers at the temple and saw that her risk and her generosity was a greater gift because it revealed God’s continuing work in the community that gathered and worshiped.
We risk when we stand up and walk the road that Jesus calls us to walk instead of the way that leads to greater wealth—as a church or as an individual or family. We risk social eyebrows lifting when we reach out in acceptance of diversity rather than in an attempt to fix the ways that people live their lives the best way they know how. We risk losing our generous gifts when those who receive from us are not grateful, but we’ve been faithfully obedient.
We don’t always know the outcome of our risk—we can’t always count the cost in the spiritual world. God’s work can’t be put into a ledger sheet and quantified. The gains that we make are often spiritual. Did your loving kindness change a moment in someone’s life? Did your decision not to be judgmental give someone an opportunity to experience a sense of belonging like never before? Did your willingness to listen rather than talk mean a moment of comfort to a stranger?
What do we risk on our journey with Jesus? Are we willing to risk when it is necessary?
To the glory of our living God. Amen.
Sermon November 1 2009
Cuba Christian Church
Pastor Amy Wharton
Isaiah 25:6-9
Psalm 24
Revelation 21:1–6a
John 11:32–44
“For All the Saints”
At every funeral that I do, I read words from this chapter in the book of Revelation—God will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there shall be an end to weeping and mourning and pain, for the old order has passed away. In the book of Revelation we are told again and again that creation is moving forward toward the kind of fulfillment that God has in mind—not utter destruction, but the absolute opposite, utter and ultimate creation. And while the story grows with that kind of movement, the words of this prophet John look back into the past and show that God has been moving toward this culmination since God’s word first rolled over the chaos preceding creation.
And just like the word of God over chaos during creation, God will not destroy, but build and build and build and create and create and create. God will make life anew where there is nothing but death and God will make joy where there is sorrow and God will make love and family where there is loss and mourning.
The new heaven and the new earth are created out of the old—not replacing them. They become the seeds for the new. Like the flower in the bulb, the oak in the acorn, the new has been the potential of the old all along.[1] And through our living closely in connection to God we can sometimes glimpse flashes of that new in faithful lives we see around us—and in lives lived faithfully and lovingly, sometimes we can be the lenses through which others might see the household of God being lived.
It is often said that the past informs the present, but it may be just as true to say the future informs the present. When we faithfully place ourselves in God’s presence, new possibilities for life and service become visible. All Saints Day is a time to remember the saints who have gone before us and to give thanks for the blessings God has given us to share with others.[2]
As Protestants that came out of the Reformed tradition that began in the northern British isles several hundred years ago, we don’t often celebrate days like All Saints Day, unlike some Protestant groups, it’s not required of us—some may even wonder why we are doing it today. Part of the reason this year is an opportunity for a special Sunday of participation, but that’s not all. After reading and studying the scriptures of this day, I see that we need to be reminded—as the churches in Revelation needed to be reminded—that creation has a purpose, that the body of Christ has a purpose, that the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) has a purpose and that this congregation, Cuba Christian Church, a particular church in a particular town at a particular time also has a God-given purpose.
Our purpose, here and now, is to continue to reveal that Jesus is alive within us—and to continue to reveal, here and now, that we believe that we are a part of God’s purpose for all of history and creation—however small it may be, we are a part of God’s culmination of creation. We have been called and created for a specific purpose that it is our joy and purpose to find and to perform—not once, but daily and until ultimate culmination that God has planned. We don’t need to know the end, to understand that we are a part of creation’s journey with God to wherever and whenever God is carrying us.
A central tenet of Judeo-Christian beliefs is that the universe has been created by God for a purpose; therefore, history has meaning and purpose. According to this belief, history is not an endless cycle where events are destined to repeat themselves, but rather a path with a destination. As the Bible begins with creation in Genesis, so it ends with re-creation in Revelation. There, John speaks of the goal of God’s creation – a purpose never fully realized in the history of time and space, but not entirely beyond history, either. [3]
So what does that mean for us, this particular congregation within this particular place and time? What is our purpose and meaning?
I believe we have to be willing to seek that meaning out—through our study of scripture, through our gatherings of fellowship, through our worship and praise, through our care and comfort of one another. We seek meaning as we live out our approximation of purpose each day.
A. We must, as this particular congregation, work together in trust and faith in whatever we do.
In some ways, working together is one of the things that we do best. We have had the example of some of the saints of the past who taught us well. I’ve heard stories of so many in the past 10 years that I won’t attempt to name them all. And some are still actively practicing their saintliness or living lives of holy purpose here and now. I have heard stories of laughter and joy as people cooked meals so that their love would be shown to those who experienced the loss of a loved one at a funeral dinner. I have heard the love and laughter of women gathered to quilt, women of many Christian traditions brought together in a purpose. I have heard the men of faith and purpose work hard to raise money and awareness of our needs as a congregation.
I have heard us express some lack of faith that what we do is not enough. We don’t always trust that God will take the work we do and make it enough—yet God can raise the dead. And we are also called to trust in one another that we each will share the gifts that God gives—not to the point that we die of exhaustion, but each and every one is called to contribute as God calls and directs. We must trust that each one of us is working at the purpose that God gives. And each one of us must pursue the trust of the other. We can, as individuals, seek to merit the trust that we are given by each other. Can your neighbor trust you to faithfully pursue prayer, study and work as guided by the Holy Spirit or do we, as individuals and as a congregation need to work on areas within that kind of life?
In the past few years, the elders of this congregation have begun to pursue a process that I hope will continue. Each month they meet—even when I am unavailable—to nurture their relationship with one another and decide how best to be elders together. In that process the shut-in communion continues and continues to need everyone’s participation. There has been incredible growth and see that growth continuing in the foreseeable future. It takes work—I understand that there have been cycles of activity and inactivity within the elders before. Yet that model of their journey toward full participation is to be celebrated—it ain’t over, but it’s been well worth the journey so far.
The work in the kitchen in this congregation has always been commendable, even as leadership shifts and changes, even as we wonder how much more we have in us. The hands-on work of this congregation is probably our most “saintly” accomplishment, but it is still a process and journey toward fulfillment remind us that only God brings the consummation, the culmination or wondrous perfecting where the journey meets destination.
B. We must, as this particular congregation, come together as often as possible to worship God and be sent out with the word of God that we receive.
Not to reiterate my newsletter article too much, but we have to come together in worship as a congregation within the body of Christ to be effective members of the body of Christ. We need to worship God—that’s why we come, to acknowledge that God is God and we are not. We come to thank God for all that was and is and is to come—for the creation and the covenant and the Christ and the church and the consummation. Some of these we know, some of these we look forward to.
We come together, not simply giving God praise alone, because we remind one another of the breadth and depth of God’s work. In me and my experiences, God has worked in the ways that I have seen and recognized. In you and in your experiences, God was worked in the ways that you have seen and recognized. And we hear the stories of others who broaden and deepen our experiences, understanding that God’s work cannot be boxed, but will be experienced in many ways.
I won’t go into greater detail hear about our need to worship together and often just read my article in the newsletter—but I will say that out of worship comes the energy we need, when we gather together and go out with the strength we receive.
C. We must, as this particular congregation, decide how best we can give love and mercy to one another, and more importantly to those who have no one to love them and have never experienced mercy.
We love our friends and those we know quite easily and well sometimes in this community; we are to be commended in most cases for the comfort we give. Yet we also are on a journey toward fulfillment here, too. We often get caught up in caring for those whose wheels are the squeakiest or whose problems seem the most tragic. Or, though most of us have outgrown our adolescence, we sometimes like to help those who appeal to us through their popularity or charm or personality. We like to help those we like and who seem to like us because it feels good. We want to feel appreciated and gratified that our help is received as gratefully as we would receive it. We want to reach out to those who probably need us less than others who may not seem as grateful.
Or we want to reach out with the purpose of guaranteeing our own existence into the future instead of reaching out because we are on a journey toward the household that God is forming—we seem to want to be the consummation, not part of the journey. We are important and significant and necessary—all parts of the body of Christ are those things, yet we are also limited like all mortal creations. Let our vision go beyond the now and allow the future
We must, as this particular congregation, decide each week to work together, worship together and love others. On this day to remember the saints who have gone before us and to give thanks for the blessings God has given us to share with others, we are called forward with visions. We are called forward with the vision from Isaiah where the shroud of death is destroyed as the whole world gathers for a feast. We are called forward to welcome God’s household of joy in the psalm. We are called forward to the new Jerusalem in the book of Revelation. And we are called out of death in to life everlasting with Lazarus. Visions of renewal, of new covenant, of all creation singing praises to God –these glimpses of God’s hope for the new heaven and the new earth can inspire us to bring renewal right here, right now.
Let us maintain our faith in those visions that have called people of faith into the future for thousands of years—we don’t need a purpose beyond our potential, just the willingness to walk our part of the journey today. We need to be willing to follow the example of the saints we have known, walking into the future God has in store for us.
We need to work together in trust; we need to worship together with commitment and faith; we need to serve one another and beyond our walls with courage and the hope of God’s power.
We are called this day to be the saints that God calls us to be, in this day—as in the days before and for all the days ahead.
To the glory of our loving and merciful God. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] Biblical background, p. 86, All Saints’ Day, Pentecost 2 2009
[2] Ibid.
[3] Ibid.
Pastor Amy Wharton
Isaiah 25:6-9
Psalm 24
Revelation 21:1–6a
John 11:32–44
“For All the Saints”
At every funeral that I do, I read words from this chapter in the book of Revelation—God will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there shall be an end to weeping and mourning and pain, for the old order has passed away. In the book of Revelation we are told again and again that creation is moving forward toward the kind of fulfillment that God has in mind—not utter destruction, but the absolute opposite, utter and ultimate creation. And while the story grows with that kind of movement, the words of this prophet John look back into the past and show that God has been moving toward this culmination since God’s word first rolled over the chaos preceding creation.
And just like the word of God over chaos during creation, God will not destroy, but build and build and build and create and create and create. God will make life anew where there is nothing but death and God will make joy where there is sorrow and God will make love and family where there is loss and mourning.
The new heaven and the new earth are created out of the old—not replacing them. They become the seeds for the new. Like the flower in the bulb, the oak in the acorn, the new has been the potential of the old all along.[1] And through our living closely in connection to God we can sometimes glimpse flashes of that new in faithful lives we see around us—and in lives lived faithfully and lovingly, sometimes we can be the lenses through which others might see the household of God being lived.
It is often said that the past informs the present, but it may be just as true to say the future informs the present. When we faithfully place ourselves in God’s presence, new possibilities for life and service become visible. All Saints Day is a time to remember the saints who have gone before us and to give thanks for the blessings God has given us to share with others.[2]
As Protestants that came out of the Reformed tradition that began in the northern British isles several hundred years ago, we don’t often celebrate days like All Saints Day, unlike some Protestant groups, it’s not required of us—some may even wonder why we are doing it today. Part of the reason this year is an opportunity for a special Sunday of participation, but that’s not all. After reading and studying the scriptures of this day, I see that we need to be reminded—as the churches in Revelation needed to be reminded—that creation has a purpose, that the body of Christ has a purpose, that the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) has a purpose and that this congregation, Cuba Christian Church, a particular church in a particular town at a particular time also has a God-given purpose.
Our purpose, here and now, is to continue to reveal that Jesus is alive within us—and to continue to reveal, here and now, that we believe that we are a part of God’s purpose for all of history and creation—however small it may be, we are a part of God’s culmination of creation. We have been called and created for a specific purpose that it is our joy and purpose to find and to perform—not once, but daily and until ultimate culmination that God has planned. We don’t need to know the end, to understand that we are a part of creation’s journey with God to wherever and whenever God is carrying us.
A central tenet of Judeo-Christian beliefs is that the universe has been created by God for a purpose; therefore, history has meaning and purpose. According to this belief, history is not an endless cycle where events are destined to repeat themselves, but rather a path with a destination. As the Bible begins with creation in Genesis, so it ends with re-creation in Revelation. There, John speaks of the goal of God’s creation – a purpose never fully realized in the history of time and space, but not entirely beyond history, either. [3]
So what does that mean for us, this particular congregation within this particular place and time? What is our purpose and meaning?
I believe we have to be willing to seek that meaning out—through our study of scripture, through our gatherings of fellowship, through our worship and praise, through our care and comfort of one another. We seek meaning as we live out our approximation of purpose each day.
A. We must, as this particular congregation, work together in trust and faith in whatever we do.
In some ways, working together is one of the things that we do best. We have had the example of some of the saints of the past who taught us well. I’ve heard stories of so many in the past 10 years that I won’t attempt to name them all. And some are still actively practicing their saintliness or living lives of holy purpose here and now. I have heard stories of laughter and joy as people cooked meals so that their love would be shown to those who experienced the loss of a loved one at a funeral dinner. I have heard the love and laughter of women gathered to quilt, women of many Christian traditions brought together in a purpose. I have heard the men of faith and purpose work hard to raise money and awareness of our needs as a congregation.
I have heard us express some lack of faith that what we do is not enough. We don’t always trust that God will take the work we do and make it enough—yet God can raise the dead. And we are also called to trust in one another that we each will share the gifts that God gives—not to the point that we die of exhaustion, but each and every one is called to contribute as God calls and directs. We must trust that each one of us is working at the purpose that God gives. And each one of us must pursue the trust of the other. We can, as individuals, seek to merit the trust that we are given by each other. Can your neighbor trust you to faithfully pursue prayer, study and work as guided by the Holy Spirit or do we, as individuals and as a congregation need to work on areas within that kind of life?
In the past few years, the elders of this congregation have begun to pursue a process that I hope will continue. Each month they meet—even when I am unavailable—to nurture their relationship with one another and decide how best to be elders together. In that process the shut-in communion continues and continues to need everyone’s participation. There has been incredible growth and see that growth continuing in the foreseeable future. It takes work—I understand that there have been cycles of activity and inactivity within the elders before. Yet that model of their journey toward full participation is to be celebrated—it ain’t over, but it’s been well worth the journey so far.
The work in the kitchen in this congregation has always been commendable, even as leadership shifts and changes, even as we wonder how much more we have in us. The hands-on work of this congregation is probably our most “saintly” accomplishment, but it is still a process and journey toward fulfillment remind us that only God brings the consummation, the culmination or wondrous perfecting where the journey meets destination.
B. We must, as this particular congregation, come together as often as possible to worship God and be sent out with the word of God that we receive.
Not to reiterate my newsletter article too much, but we have to come together in worship as a congregation within the body of Christ to be effective members of the body of Christ. We need to worship God—that’s why we come, to acknowledge that God is God and we are not. We come to thank God for all that was and is and is to come—for the creation and the covenant and the Christ and the church and the consummation. Some of these we know, some of these we look forward to.
We come together, not simply giving God praise alone, because we remind one another of the breadth and depth of God’s work. In me and my experiences, God has worked in the ways that I have seen and recognized. In you and in your experiences, God was worked in the ways that you have seen and recognized. And we hear the stories of others who broaden and deepen our experiences, understanding that God’s work cannot be boxed, but will be experienced in many ways.
I won’t go into greater detail hear about our need to worship together and often just read my article in the newsletter—but I will say that out of worship comes the energy we need, when we gather together and go out with the strength we receive.
C. We must, as this particular congregation, decide how best we can give love and mercy to one another, and more importantly to those who have no one to love them and have never experienced mercy.
We love our friends and those we know quite easily and well sometimes in this community; we are to be commended in most cases for the comfort we give. Yet we also are on a journey toward fulfillment here, too. We often get caught up in caring for those whose wheels are the squeakiest or whose problems seem the most tragic. Or, though most of us have outgrown our adolescence, we sometimes like to help those who appeal to us through their popularity or charm or personality. We like to help those we like and who seem to like us because it feels good. We want to feel appreciated and gratified that our help is received as gratefully as we would receive it. We want to reach out to those who probably need us less than others who may not seem as grateful.
Or we want to reach out with the purpose of guaranteeing our own existence into the future instead of reaching out because we are on a journey toward the household that God is forming—we seem to want to be the consummation, not part of the journey. We are important and significant and necessary—all parts of the body of Christ are those things, yet we are also limited like all mortal creations. Let our vision go beyond the now and allow the future
We must, as this particular congregation, decide each week to work together, worship together and love others. On this day to remember the saints who have gone before us and to give thanks for the blessings God has given us to share with others, we are called forward with visions. We are called forward with the vision from Isaiah where the shroud of death is destroyed as the whole world gathers for a feast. We are called forward to welcome God’s household of joy in the psalm. We are called forward to the new Jerusalem in the book of Revelation. And we are called out of death in to life everlasting with Lazarus. Visions of renewal, of new covenant, of all creation singing praises to God –these glimpses of God’s hope for the new heaven and the new earth can inspire us to bring renewal right here, right now.
Let us maintain our faith in those visions that have called people of faith into the future for thousands of years—we don’t need a purpose beyond our potential, just the willingness to walk our part of the journey today. We need to be willing to follow the example of the saints we have known, walking into the future God has in store for us.
We need to work together in trust; we need to worship together with commitment and faith; we need to serve one another and beyond our walls with courage and the hope of God’s power.
We are called this day to be the saints that God calls us to be, in this day—as in the days before and for all the days ahead.
To the glory of our loving and merciful God. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] Biblical background, p. 86, All Saints’ Day, Pentecost 2 2009
[2] Ibid.
[3] Ibid.
Sermon October 25 2009
Cuba Christian Church
Pastor Amy Wharton
Job 42:1-6, 10-17
Psalm 34:1-8, (19-22)
Hebrews 7:23-28
Mark 10:46-52
“Take God’s Word to Heart”
Several years ago I had a conversation during a bible study about forgiveness—we talked back and forth for awhile and finally decided that when we forgave someone else something that they had done to hurt us, we were setting ourselves free from that sin. When someone intentionally or unintentionally hurts us—physically or emotionally—the pain we experience will often imprison us. While we don’t always have the ability or opportunity to be asked for forgiveness—we have the opportunity, always, to forgive.
Forgiveness is a part of extending mercy to others—though it’s not the fullness of mercy, it is probably one of the most common ways that we experience mercy, as we give it or receive it.
In the text this morning from the book of Job, we hear Job’s response to God’s reconciliation with him. God does not apologize for all that happened to him—but in the course of the whole book of Job, there is an understanding that evil things happen even when good people do not deserve them. And though Job was hurt in several ways—financially, by losing his flocks and herds; emotionally, through the loss of his children; and physically, through disease and pain—he was able to reconnect with God. Though he had challenged God’s wisdom in his overwhelming pain, God reaffirmed God’s own wisdom and never turned God’s back on Job. God was not always gentle and soft, but God was understanding and allowed Job to communicate, inviting Job’s conversation and dialogue.
In today’s text, Job has come to an understanding of God’s intentions for him—at least as much as he can handle that understanding and those intentions. He has come to understand that God is God and no one else can handle that job.
He has taken the word of God to heart—the word written on every leaf and tree in creation, heard in every puff of wind and soft breath, seen in the wing of each bird and the birth of each child and experienced in the power of death and disease, as well as the life that surrounded him. He was guided to acknowledge the presence of God in his life—the mercy and love as well as the overwhelming power.
The message of the book of Job, especially in regards to mercy, is not a soft message, but one that each of us have experienced. In the book of Job, we learn that God is merciful and that God has created a world with earthquakes, floods, violence, disease and pain. We learn that in the midst of a world of competition for food, water and shelter we still can experience a merciful God; we learn that God intends for us to be reconciled to one another and to the lives that we are given.
Mercy in relationship to God means knowing God will receive us no matter how deep the separation and where that separation comes from. We can take heart and experience God’s mercy in the midst of the deepest heartbreak and despair, because even there we know that God has accompanied us and holds us close.
We can take heart in every situation because in each time and place mercy is the foundation of God’s being—it is what God offers to all of us.
The psalmist of the 34th psalm was in a place of pain and sorrow crying out when fear had been overwhelming.
I looked for God and God spoke,
taking away from me all that I fear.
If you look to God, you shall radiate God’s light;
you will never have to hide in humiliation
—you are to be humble, not humiliated. (Paraphrase Ps. 34)
Awful things happen, we can crumble in the face of evil, but in God’s mercy we are given the opportunity and the strength to prevail, even if we die in the process—it’s an unexpected truth, but it’s true. Even if evil kills us, if we do not give in to being evil, we prevail against it. Take heart in God’s mercy when we need it most.
The letter to the Hebrews provides a description for the mercy we receive through Jesus as high priest, an understanding of Jesus work and life in the world. And as high priest he once for all provided us reconciliation through his obedience—providing mercy for us so that we can come together with God and with one another. God’s mercy gives us the assurance that we have been forgiven through Jesus’ work and life—and we can be all that God calls us to be when we followed the way that Jesus revealed for us.
We can take heart in the word of God through the stories that reveal God in the actions of Jesus when people were in need. When the man Bartimaeus called to Jesus to have mercy on him, his call was for a return to community—to productive living and satisfying work—that kind of mercy. Bartimaeus, this name individual wanted a place in community—the mercy that comes from belonging to one another. And he is named, that’s an important facet of mercy in this case.
Mark’s gospel is filled with any number of references to individuals who are unnamed: the majority of those whom Jesus heals or exorcises in the early chapters, the woman who anoints Jesus in 14:3–9, even the scribe whom Jesus praises as not being far from the kingdom in 12:34.
Every once in a while a specific individual is named, such as Bartimaeus here. Why give these names and not others? Why would you refer to the name of someone in your conversation with another person? In all probability, it would be because your conversation partner has acquaintance or even personal knowledge of that person.
Mark is comfortable leaving a number of individuals unnamed to the community he addresses – but not Bartimaeus. There is some textual evidence that points to leaders in the early church bearing those names. It also could be so with Bartimaeus. The blind beggar whom others wanted to shush may have been someone whom Mark’s community knew and valued as a partner in the gospel.[1]
This incident of Jesus’ merciful action is affirmed by the community as they recognize the name of this man—and perhaps his father. If he was someone they knew, they had evidence of the kind of mercy Jesus offered and the kind of mercy that God wanted and the mercy that they were to offer others. In this story, Jesus listened and responded with care and with healing. So Jesus offered the mercy of restoration and reconciliation in the face of people who simply wanted this blind beggar to be silent—the kind of mercy that is about justice and recognition of fellow humanity as much as quick pity.
We can take heart in God’s mercy because we all need it—we need the mercy that comes from the expectation that we can al be more than we are at this moment. And we need that mercy because we are loved no matter who we are and what we have done in this moment and place. The beauty of God’s mercy is that we have it when we don’t deserve it and that it grows with us as we reflect more and more who God would have us be.
The mercy of God calls us to places and times beyond where we stand and yet comforts us with the knowledge that we are loved beyond any standard by which we might measure our merit. We receive the mercy of God when we have deliberately flaunted the gifts of God through waste or greed or lust or hatred or other sin. We receive the mercy of God so that we are drawn toward a God who knows our great potential because that God has created us and knows our hearts.
We can take heart in the knowledge of God—God knows our insides better than we know them. In the person of Jesus Christ, we are told that God came to know us through Jesus’ humanity and experience of all that we experience. So God’s mercy extends to us through a deep awareness of our weakness and deep into the strengths of our existence.
Let us take heart because God’s word reveals God’s mercy to us—making accountable and drawing us onward, yet bathing us in continuous mercy so that we know we are continuously loved and forgiven, we must simply believe it.
To God’s glory. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] “What’s in a Name? Bartinaeus, son of Timaeus,” Resource Sheet Oct 25 2009, Seasons of the Spirit Adult Pentecost 2 2009, p 49.
Pastor Amy Wharton
Job 42:1-6, 10-17
Psalm 34:1-8, (19-22)
Hebrews 7:23-28
Mark 10:46-52
“Take God’s Word to Heart”
Several years ago I had a conversation during a bible study about forgiveness—we talked back and forth for awhile and finally decided that when we forgave someone else something that they had done to hurt us, we were setting ourselves free from that sin. When someone intentionally or unintentionally hurts us—physically or emotionally—the pain we experience will often imprison us. While we don’t always have the ability or opportunity to be asked for forgiveness—we have the opportunity, always, to forgive.
Forgiveness is a part of extending mercy to others—though it’s not the fullness of mercy, it is probably one of the most common ways that we experience mercy, as we give it or receive it.
In the text this morning from the book of Job, we hear Job’s response to God’s reconciliation with him. God does not apologize for all that happened to him—but in the course of the whole book of Job, there is an understanding that evil things happen even when good people do not deserve them. And though Job was hurt in several ways—financially, by losing his flocks and herds; emotionally, through the loss of his children; and physically, through disease and pain—he was able to reconnect with God. Though he had challenged God’s wisdom in his overwhelming pain, God reaffirmed God’s own wisdom and never turned God’s back on Job. God was not always gentle and soft, but God was understanding and allowed Job to communicate, inviting Job’s conversation and dialogue.
In today’s text, Job has come to an understanding of God’s intentions for him—at least as much as he can handle that understanding and those intentions. He has come to understand that God is God and no one else can handle that job.
He has taken the word of God to heart—the word written on every leaf and tree in creation, heard in every puff of wind and soft breath, seen in the wing of each bird and the birth of each child and experienced in the power of death and disease, as well as the life that surrounded him. He was guided to acknowledge the presence of God in his life—the mercy and love as well as the overwhelming power.
The message of the book of Job, especially in regards to mercy, is not a soft message, but one that each of us have experienced. In the book of Job, we learn that God is merciful and that God has created a world with earthquakes, floods, violence, disease and pain. We learn that in the midst of a world of competition for food, water and shelter we still can experience a merciful God; we learn that God intends for us to be reconciled to one another and to the lives that we are given.
Mercy in relationship to God means knowing God will receive us no matter how deep the separation and where that separation comes from. We can take heart and experience God’s mercy in the midst of the deepest heartbreak and despair, because even there we know that God has accompanied us and holds us close.
We can take heart in every situation because in each time and place mercy is the foundation of God’s being—it is what God offers to all of us.
The psalmist of the 34th psalm was in a place of pain and sorrow crying out when fear had been overwhelming.
I looked for God and God spoke,
taking away from me all that I fear.
If you look to God, you shall radiate God’s light;
you will never have to hide in humiliation
—you are to be humble, not humiliated. (Paraphrase Ps. 34)
Awful things happen, we can crumble in the face of evil, but in God’s mercy we are given the opportunity and the strength to prevail, even if we die in the process—it’s an unexpected truth, but it’s true. Even if evil kills us, if we do not give in to being evil, we prevail against it. Take heart in God’s mercy when we need it most.
The letter to the Hebrews provides a description for the mercy we receive through Jesus as high priest, an understanding of Jesus work and life in the world. And as high priest he once for all provided us reconciliation through his obedience—providing mercy for us so that we can come together with God and with one another. God’s mercy gives us the assurance that we have been forgiven through Jesus’ work and life—and we can be all that God calls us to be when we followed the way that Jesus revealed for us.
We can take heart in the word of God through the stories that reveal God in the actions of Jesus when people were in need. When the man Bartimaeus called to Jesus to have mercy on him, his call was for a return to community—to productive living and satisfying work—that kind of mercy. Bartimaeus, this name individual wanted a place in community—the mercy that comes from belonging to one another. And he is named, that’s an important facet of mercy in this case.
Mark’s gospel is filled with any number of references to individuals who are unnamed: the majority of those whom Jesus heals or exorcises in the early chapters, the woman who anoints Jesus in 14:3–9, even the scribe whom Jesus praises as not being far from the kingdom in 12:34.
Every once in a while a specific individual is named, such as Bartimaeus here. Why give these names and not others? Why would you refer to the name of someone in your conversation with another person? In all probability, it would be because your conversation partner has acquaintance or even personal knowledge of that person.
Mark is comfortable leaving a number of individuals unnamed to the community he addresses – but not Bartimaeus. There is some textual evidence that points to leaders in the early church bearing those names. It also could be so with Bartimaeus. The blind beggar whom others wanted to shush may have been someone whom Mark’s community knew and valued as a partner in the gospel.[1]
This incident of Jesus’ merciful action is affirmed by the community as they recognize the name of this man—and perhaps his father. If he was someone they knew, they had evidence of the kind of mercy Jesus offered and the kind of mercy that God wanted and the mercy that they were to offer others. In this story, Jesus listened and responded with care and with healing. So Jesus offered the mercy of restoration and reconciliation in the face of people who simply wanted this blind beggar to be silent—the kind of mercy that is about justice and recognition of fellow humanity as much as quick pity.
We can take heart in God’s mercy because we all need it—we need the mercy that comes from the expectation that we can al be more than we are at this moment. And we need that mercy because we are loved no matter who we are and what we have done in this moment and place. The beauty of God’s mercy is that we have it when we don’t deserve it and that it grows with us as we reflect more and more who God would have us be.
The mercy of God calls us to places and times beyond where we stand and yet comforts us with the knowledge that we are loved beyond any standard by which we might measure our merit. We receive the mercy of God when we have deliberately flaunted the gifts of God through waste or greed or lust or hatred or other sin. We receive the mercy of God so that we are drawn toward a God who knows our great potential because that God has created us and knows our hearts.
We can take heart in the knowledge of God—God knows our insides better than we know them. In the person of Jesus Christ, we are told that God came to know us through Jesus’ humanity and experience of all that we experience. So God’s mercy extends to us through a deep awareness of our weakness and deep into the strengths of our existence.
Let us take heart because God’s word reveals God’s mercy to us—making accountable and drawing us onward, yet bathing us in continuous mercy so that we know we are continuously loved and forgiven, we must simply believe it.
To God’s glory. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] “What’s in a Name? Bartinaeus, son of Timaeus,” Resource Sheet Oct 25 2009, Seasons of the Spirit Adult Pentecost 2 2009, p 49.
Sermon October 18 2009
Cuba Christian Church
Pastor Amy Wharton
Job 38:1-7, (34-41)
Psalm 104:1-9, 24, 35c
Hebrews 5:1-10
Mark 10:35-45
“Self-serving/Self-giving”
Honestly, I am not sure how to decide what makes a person great—even in the context of the Christian faith. It’s hard stand in last place—to be humble and maintain humility even in the midst of service. It’s often hard to serve without misusing power—even to serve without trying to control. Servanthood within Christianity is a delicate balance that most Christians struggle with. Sometimes humility—or its near cousin, flagrant martyrdom, can be a temptation. Sometimes the buzz we get from service can make us think we are irreplaceable, though each one of us is a unique part of the kingdom. It’s another one of those paradoxes of the realm of God.
The disciples, James and John, along with all the others, struggled with this matter, too. They were passionate about learning the way that Jesus taught them, yet they were faithful people in the Jewish faith who needed to understand how the way of Jesus fit within their understanding of how their world worked and how their faith worked.
As with them, we also need to understand how it is that the gospel calls us to live faithfully within a world where the gospel’s message is out of congruence with how we have experienced the world working. How do we practice humility with the power we have been given through the relationships, gifts and talents with which we have been blessed? How do we balance using our power—our gifts and talents and relationships—with misusing power? How do we serve others with what we are given while allowing others to maintain the power they have?
Jesus didn’t condemn James and John for asking the question about honor and status in the kingdom of God, he simply explained how power works in the realm of God.
“. . . whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.
He taught them that, as in his life, the way to be close to God and to have a relationship to God was to serve others and to allow one to be served by others. If everyone is a slave—then no one takes precedence over others. If everyone is a slave, then everyone is served and being served. All are humbled by serving, by being served and by living in service to all others—in service to all and being served by all.
We can take these truths to heart as we interact within the life of the church. Let us serve one another with humility and with mutual respect as we go about the work that Jesus calls us to do. When we disagree about methods we use—and we will disagree—let us treat one another with respect in those disagreements. As when I am counseling people who are getting married, I urge us to not use unfair tactics to win fights, sarcasm, past disagreements or playing on weaknesses. But I also urge us to stand firm when issues matter to us, not so that we win, but so that all voices can be heard.
Humility in service means using any power we have to do good rather than to use power to get things done the way that we want them to be done. Sometimes humility in service means accepting and answer of no from those we may want to serve. It’s hard to discern, but sometimes our opinions as well thought out as they are may not be what God wants for us—and our opinions are often different than God’s will for someone else. Most of us tend to like and want to keep a level of consistency in life, but much of life is learning to live with changes in the lives of others and ourselves so that we can remain faithful to the way that God is calling us to live.
James and John saw the way the world works and wanted to make sure that they received their due in the coming world to come, too. Jesus saw into their questions and realized that they were still learning of the world to come and didn’t condemn them, though their fellow apostles were upset at them. How often do we get angry at others because they are unable to see the world as we do? Or, we get angry because they beat us to the advantage that we were late in seeing? Maybe that’s the other disciples’ problem, they missed their chance?
Jesus’ way of describing the kingdom of God was a puzzle for his disciples and all who heard his words—he used the words of faith, but used them differently than they were used to hearing. I believe that’s part of the message that Jesus’ brought, too. He wasn’t trying to leave them confused, but he was revealing that God’s presence, work and action was always mysterious in part. Just when people think they have all the rules down in black and white, God reveals that there is more. Just because people believe that they have the right formula down doesn’t mean God has to follow that formula. God doesn’t change the rules; God continues as a living being, not tied to the understanding and limitations of humanity. Our job is to continue in relationship and continue in learning, being open to what God has to offer.
The mystery of God’s creation is expressed in God’s word to Job in this Sunday’s First Testament Reading.
“5Who determined [the earth’s] measurements—surely you know!
Or who stretched the line upon it?
6On what were its bases sunk,
or who laid its cornerstone
7when the morning stars sang together
and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy?”
The power of humanity—which is great within the realm of creation itself—is simply a creation of God’s own creativity in the scheme of the whole universe of creation: spiritual, physical and whatever there is we do not know.
In the last century, we learned a great deal about how the physical world works: we learned some of the mysteries of the atom and created bombs of unparalleled destructive capabilities. We have learned about the mysteries of the nucleus of living organisms, decoding the genes that make us who we are, but have yet to understand everything those codes have to do with the heredity of disease, aging, and benefits. We have the rudimentary knowledge, but the mystery of life itself is still a mystery. I believe in continuous search for knowledge, but the power we gain from that knowledge is to be used with humility and caution.
The global society we are building through the search for knowledge and relationships all over the world calls upon the ethical structures of various faiths, including Christianity to guide the use of that knowledge and of those relationships. The conversations between science and faith must continue—with humility on the part of all those within the conversation.
We cannot pretend to understand all things—we cannot pretend to always choose the use of our power and knowledge exactly how God would have us choose, to do so would reveal a lack of humility. We are called to step into the mystery of choice with nothing but humility, knowing that whatever choices we make, God will use those choices to further the kingdom—the household of God.
We are called to serve God and to serve God by serving others because that is God’s nature revealed in the person of Jesus Christ. As Christians, people called to continue the life and work of Jesus, we have been given the privilege of Jesus’ humility as our own. The disciples of Jesus, who walked with him daily, had the opportunity and privilege of watching him live—we have the advantage of their vision written through the lens of the death and resurrection and how they saw the mystery of God’s work in his life authenticated by those experiences and by our own experiences of God in our lives.
Humility is a matter of balance within the life of a Christian—humility to serve others and God through that service and the awareness of our gifts and power to help. Humility means serving without recognition, yet willing to accept the thanks that others give when they give it. Humility means allowing our service to pass onto the hands of others when they have been called to service, as well.
Let us serve, recognizing the holiness of that service and recognizing that God calls all of us to serve and be served.
To the Glory of our God—blessed by service, serving through blessing. Amen.
Pastor Amy Wharton
Job 38:1-7, (34-41)
Psalm 104:1-9, 24, 35c
Hebrews 5:1-10
Mark 10:35-45
“Self-serving/Self-giving”
Honestly, I am not sure how to decide what makes a person great—even in the context of the Christian faith. It’s hard stand in last place—to be humble and maintain humility even in the midst of service. It’s often hard to serve without misusing power—even to serve without trying to control. Servanthood within Christianity is a delicate balance that most Christians struggle with. Sometimes humility—or its near cousin, flagrant martyrdom, can be a temptation. Sometimes the buzz we get from service can make us think we are irreplaceable, though each one of us is a unique part of the kingdom. It’s another one of those paradoxes of the realm of God.
The disciples, James and John, along with all the others, struggled with this matter, too. They were passionate about learning the way that Jesus taught them, yet they were faithful people in the Jewish faith who needed to understand how the way of Jesus fit within their understanding of how their world worked and how their faith worked.
As with them, we also need to understand how it is that the gospel calls us to live faithfully within a world where the gospel’s message is out of congruence with how we have experienced the world working. How do we practice humility with the power we have been given through the relationships, gifts and talents with which we have been blessed? How do we balance using our power—our gifts and talents and relationships—with misusing power? How do we serve others with what we are given while allowing others to maintain the power they have?
Jesus didn’t condemn James and John for asking the question about honor and status in the kingdom of God, he simply explained how power works in the realm of God.
“. . . whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.
He taught them that, as in his life, the way to be close to God and to have a relationship to God was to serve others and to allow one to be served by others. If everyone is a slave—then no one takes precedence over others. If everyone is a slave, then everyone is served and being served. All are humbled by serving, by being served and by living in service to all others—in service to all and being served by all.
We can take these truths to heart as we interact within the life of the church. Let us serve one another with humility and with mutual respect as we go about the work that Jesus calls us to do. When we disagree about methods we use—and we will disagree—let us treat one another with respect in those disagreements. As when I am counseling people who are getting married, I urge us to not use unfair tactics to win fights, sarcasm, past disagreements or playing on weaknesses. But I also urge us to stand firm when issues matter to us, not so that we win, but so that all voices can be heard.
Humility in service means using any power we have to do good rather than to use power to get things done the way that we want them to be done. Sometimes humility in service means accepting and answer of no from those we may want to serve. It’s hard to discern, but sometimes our opinions as well thought out as they are may not be what God wants for us—and our opinions are often different than God’s will for someone else. Most of us tend to like and want to keep a level of consistency in life, but much of life is learning to live with changes in the lives of others and ourselves so that we can remain faithful to the way that God is calling us to live.
James and John saw the way the world works and wanted to make sure that they received their due in the coming world to come, too. Jesus saw into their questions and realized that they were still learning of the world to come and didn’t condemn them, though their fellow apostles were upset at them. How often do we get angry at others because they are unable to see the world as we do? Or, we get angry because they beat us to the advantage that we were late in seeing? Maybe that’s the other disciples’ problem, they missed their chance?
Jesus’ way of describing the kingdom of God was a puzzle for his disciples and all who heard his words—he used the words of faith, but used them differently than they were used to hearing. I believe that’s part of the message that Jesus’ brought, too. He wasn’t trying to leave them confused, but he was revealing that God’s presence, work and action was always mysterious in part. Just when people think they have all the rules down in black and white, God reveals that there is more. Just because people believe that they have the right formula down doesn’t mean God has to follow that formula. God doesn’t change the rules; God continues as a living being, not tied to the understanding and limitations of humanity. Our job is to continue in relationship and continue in learning, being open to what God has to offer.
The mystery of God’s creation is expressed in God’s word to Job in this Sunday’s First Testament Reading.
“5Who determined [the earth’s] measurements—surely you know!
Or who stretched the line upon it?
6On what were its bases sunk,
or who laid its cornerstone
7when the morning stars sang together
and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy?”
The power of humanity—which is great within the realm of creation itself—is simply a creation of God’s own creativity in the scheme of the whole universe of creation: spiritual, physical and whatever there is we do not know.
In the last century, we learned a great deal about how the physical world works: we learned some of the mysteries of the atom and created bombs of unparalleled destructive capabilities. We have learned about the mysteries of the nucleus of living organisms, decoding the genes that make us who we are, but have yet to understand everything those codes have to do with the heredity of disease, aging, and benefits. We have the rudimentary knowledge, but the mystery of life itself is still a mystery. I believe in continuous search for knowledge, but the power we gain from that knowledge is to be used with humility and caution.
The global society we are building through the search for knowledge and relationships all over the world calls upon the ethical structures of various faiths, including Christianity to guide the use of that knowledge and of those relationships. The conversations between science and faith must continue—with humility on the part of all those within the conversation.
We cannot pretend to understand all things—we cannot pretend to always choose the use of our power and knowledge exactly how God would have us choose, to do so would reveal a lack of humility. We are called to step into the mystery of choice with nothing but humility, knowing that whatever choices we make, God will use those choices to further the kingdom—the household of God.
We are called to serve God and to serve God by serving others because that is God’s nature revealed in the person of Jesus Christ. As Christians, people called to continue the life and work of Jesus, we have been given the privilege of Jesus’ humility as our own. The disciples of Jesus, who walked with him daily, had the opportunity and privilege of watching him live—we have the advantage of their vision written through the lens of the death and resurrection and how they saw the mystery of God’s work in his life authenticated by those experiences and by our own experiences of God in our lives.
Humility is a matter of balance within the life of a Christian—humility to serve others and God through that service and the awareness of our gifts and power to help. Humility means serving without recognition, yet willing to accept the thanks that others give when they give it. Humility means allowing our service to pass onto the hands of others when they have been called to service, as well.
Let us serve, recognizing the holiness of that service and recognizing that God calls all of us to serve and be served.
To the Glory of our God—blessed by service, serving through blessing. Amen.
Sermon October 11 2009
Cuba Christian Church
Rev. Amy Wharton
Job 23:1-9, 16-17
Psalm 22:1-15
Hebrews 4:12-16
Mark 10:17-31
“Doing the Impossible”
I’m a 41 year old white woman, married just over 8 months. I was born in Fairview Memorial Hospital in Fairview, Oklahoma at about 6 p.m. on Saturday, May 11, 1968 to Oliver Perry and Norma Jean Wharton. I am the youngest of 2 daughters and of 5 children born to my mother and the only child born to my father. My maternal grandmother is the only grandparent I remember, though my mother’s father died when I was two years old. I am the daughter of two members of the generation of people born during the Great Depression in Oklahoma’s Dust Bowl. Yet I am a member of Generation X, not a part of the Baby Boom like my siblings. I was born into a family where my mother attended church and was active. She played the piano there for a long time before I was born and played it until just about 6 or 8 months before she died about 12 years ago. My father was baptized at my home church when I was about 10 years old. I remember it, he was a big man and the logistics of his immersion were widely discussed. I was baptized there when I was 16 years old by Daniel Krumrei, who is now a pastor at Parkview Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in Springfield, Illinois and a chaplain and officer in the U.S. Army.
These are just a few particles of information that make up my identity as I am today. Some are very important right now as I think about the decisions I’ve made. Some of them have impacted me more at other times and some of them are probably more important than I realize. I don’t even know how it is that each one has formed me and how they have formed me as a whole person.
What kinds of things do you think of as you consider who you are? Where were you born? (pause) Where were you raised? (pause) What kind of home did your parents make for you? (pause) Were you influenced more by grandparents or other relatives than your parents? (pause) How did your parents teach you about life, by example, by talking? (pause) What are your most dominant memories? (pause) Who brought you into the church? (pause) Where else have you learned about God and practiced the connection to God that you have? (pause)
Each one of us carries a set of characteristics that make us who we are—that make us who God made us to be. And God works within those particularities that make me, me and make you, you. God works in you and leads you and guides you in ways that are particular to each one of you. God works in us as a community of faith in ways that fit this particular church—as we are molded by our geography, this nation, state and town, in our denomination.
We carry certain things with us because we reside here in Cuba—or because we have lived other places at other times. The spirit that characterizes this particular church has been created over more than 175 years of worship and work, it is a spirit formed through the interaction between the people who have participated here and the Holy Spirit’s guidance and leading. We are, like most houses of worship, a combination of the will of God and the will of humanity. We carry with us the mistakes made by the leaders of the past—we carry with us the wonderful decisions made as well. Sometimes we recognize what we need to keep and what we need to leave behind; sometimes we carry more than is required of us.
The gospel lesson for today describes the concerns of one wealthy young man who wanted to be as faithful as was possible for him—he wanted the perfection of faith that he thought was God’s will for a human being. He had heard and understood the words of the Torah, the law, requiring obedience. He had not heard and understood the words of the prophets describing creative and imaginative ways to expand the covenant of God into the lives of all people. He had not realized that more was required of him than following the rules in the most perfect way; he also was called upon to extend the justice and mercy of God into the lives of those who had not enjoyed his particular form of wealth.
The law was created and given by God to create a nation that revealed the values of God within that nation and extended into the lives of the nations who came into contact with Israel. The prophets were more explicit when they described God’s desire beyond bare obedience to the laws that governed human behavior. They had a vision of a world where the hearts of those who were guided by God were changed: softened and expanded to be merciful as God was merciful and see that justice was given to all, as God was just to all.
The word of the Torah and the word of the prophets were equally important—the moral and behavioral lessons and rules of the law reveal God’s intention for the best that human beings could be. The prophets revealed the way in which Israel could live within the imperfection that was everyday life, extending mercy to those who fail and to those who are injured by failure. The prophets also revealed how justice was intended to be our response when some were in a position to have more wealth than others.
Jesus’ word to the young rich man in Mark’s gospel continues the intentions of God’s word given for thousands of years. Jesus first asked, “Do you keep Torah?” The young man said, “Yes, of course, I have always been righteous.” Jesus then offered the other half of faithful living, “Sell what you have that is more than you need, what is a barrier to a life of mercy and justice and give it to those who need it.” This was the answer to the question, “What must I do to inherit eternal life? What will make me worthy of the kingdom of God?”
Jesus’ value system is incredibly attractive at the same time that is impossible in our eyes. His vision of a world of radical justice is a wonderful one, yet it is one that we are continuously working toward, never reaching. The idea of divestment as an integral part of the gospel lesson is a radical departure for the disciples as much as it is for us. When Jesus said, “How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” he astounded them—and I think us, too. I have heard multiple explanations for Jesus words that try and soften or mediate their impact, but to me the gospel word of divestment reveals that we are to rid our lives of what impedes our faithful pursuit of the gospel and keep what encourages our faithful and healthful lives.
For instance, I don’t think that living lives of unhealthy deprivation all day, every day, is what God wants of us, but I do believe that God calls us to give up our excesses and to fast occasionally from food or pleasure to hone or focus our lives spiritually. To continually starve ourselves is not God’s will for anyone. I also don’t think that every moment of our lives must be used to help others—we are called upon to eat, sleep, enjoy restful and recreational activities to keep us healthy, and to dedicate ourselves to God’s work, too. A healthy body and soul is a sign of God’s glory and balances the service that we give to others and to the church.
I opened today’s sermon with my particular characteristics because each one of us has divestments to make in our lives according to who we are—our strengths, our weaknesses, our talents, our needs, our values, our vices, our rightness and our sin. Some of us may need to learn to receive the gifts of God more graciously, while others may need to learn how to share those gifts with more generosity—or with more creativity. Some of us may need to be more generous with each of our own weaknesses, while others of us may think more highly of ourselves that we need to think. Either way, we are hindered from be the whole person that God is calling us to be.
Failing to accomplish the impossible, in my eyes means achieving perfection or even attempting to do so. Doing the impossible, however, means pursuing a life that God is calling us to live more perfectly each day, knowing that only in God through Jesus Christ can we even life toward that kind of life.
Let’s divest what keeps us from being faithful—let’s us embrace the life that we are called to live. Let us be the ones that Jesus has called to live in his way—that we can enter the kingdom of God each day as we are invited.
To the glory of God: who we cannot always see, but who we can follow with faith. Amen.
Rev. Amy Wharton
Job 23:1-9, 16-17
Psalm 22:1-15
Hebrews 4:12-16
Mark 10:17-31
“Doing the Impossible”
I’m a 41 year old white woman, married just over 8 months. I was born in Fairview Memorial Hospital in Fairview, Oklahoma at about 6 p.m. on Saturday, May 11, 1968 to Oliver Perry and Norma Jean Wharton. I am the youngest of 2 daughters and of 5 children born to my mother and the only child born to my father. My maternal grandmother is the only grandparent I remember, though my mother’s father died when I was two years old. I am the daughter of two members of the generation of people born during the Great Depression in Oklahoma’s Dust Bowl. Yet I am a member of Generation X, not a part of the Baby Boom like my siblings. I was born into a family where my mother attended church and was active. She played the piano there for a long time before I was born and played it until just about 6 or 8 months before she died about 12 years ago. My father was baptized at my home church when I was about 10 years old. I remember it, he was a big man and the logistics of his immersion were widely discussed. I was baptized there when I was 16 years old by Daniel Krumrei, who is now a pastor at Parkview Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in Springfield, Illinois and a chaplain and officer in the U.S. Army.
These are just a few particles of information that make up my identity as I am today. Some are very important right now as I think about the decisions I’ve made. Some of them have impacted me more at other times and some of them are probably more important than I realize. I don’t even know how it is that each one has formed me and how they have formed me as a whole person.
What kinds of things do you think of as you consider who you are? Where were you born? (pause) Where were you raised? (pause) What kind of home did your parents make for you? (pause) Were you influenced more by grandparents or other relatives than your parents? (pause) How did your parents teach you about life, by example, by talking? (pause) What are your most dominant memories? (pause) Who brought you into the church? (pause) Where else have you learned about God and practiced the connection to God that you have? (pause)
Each one of us carries a set of characteristics that make us who we are—that make us who God made us to be. And God works within those particularities that make me, me and make you, you. God works in you and leads you and guides you in ways that are particular to each one of you. God works in us as a community of faith in ways that fit this particular church—as we are molded by our geography, this nation, state and town, in our denomination.
We carry certain things with us because we reside here in Cuba—or because we have lived other places at other times. The spirit that characterizes this particular church has been created over more than 175 years of worship and work, it is a spirit formed through the interaction between the people who have participated here and the Holy Spirit’s guidance and leading. We are, like most houses of worship, a combination of the will of God and the will of humanity. We carry with us the mistakes made by the leaders of the past—we carry with us the wonderful decisions made as well. Sometimes we recognize what we need to keep and what we need to leave behind; sometimes we carry more than is required of us.
The gospel lesson for today describes the concerns of one wealthy young man who wanted to be as faithful as was possible for him—he wanted the perfection of faith that he thought was God’s will for a human being. He had heard and understood the words of the Torah, the law, requiring obedience. He had not heard and understood the words of the prophets describing creative and imaginative ways to expand the covenant of God into the lives of all people. He had not realized that more was required of him than following the rules in the most perfect way; he also was called upon to extend the justice and mercy of God into the lives of those who had not enjoyed his particular form of wealth.
The law was created and given by God to create a nation that revealed the values of God within that nation and extended into the lives of the nations who came into contact with Israel. The prophets were more explicit when they described God’s desire beyond bare obedience to the laws that governed human behavior. They had a vision of a world where the hearts of those who were guided by God were changed: softened and expanded to be merciful as God was merciful and see that justice was given to all, as God was just to all.
The word of the Torah and the word of the prophets were equally important—the moral and behavioral lessons and rules of the law reveal God’s intention for the best that human beings could be. The prophets revealed the way in which Israel could live within the imperfection that was everyday life, extending mercy to those who fail and to those who are injured by failure. The prophets also revealed how justice was intended to be our response when some were in a position to have more wealth than others.
Jesus’ word to the young rich man in Mark’s gospel continues the intentions of God’s word given for thousands of years. Jesus first asked, “Do you keep Torah?” The young man said, “Yes, of course, I have always been righteous.” Jesus then offered the other half of faithful living, “Sell what you have that is more than you need, what is a barrier to a life of mercy and justice and give it to those who need it.” This was the answer to the question, “What must I do to inherit eternal life? What will make me worthy of the kingdom of God?”
Jesus’ value system is incredibly attractive at the same time that is impossible in our eyes. His vision of a world of radical justice is a wonderful one, yet it is one that we are continuously working toward, never reaching. The idea of divestment as an integral part of the gospel lesson is a radical departure for the disciples as much as it is for us. When Jesus said, “How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” he astounded them—and I think us, too. I have heard multiple explanations for Jesus words that try and soften or mediate their impact, but to me the gospel word of divestment reveals that we are to rid our lives of what impedes our faithful pursuit of the gospel and keep what encourages our faithful and healthful lives.
For instance, I don’t think that living lives of unhealthy deprivation all day, every day, is what God wants of us, but I do believe that God calls us to give up our excesses and to fast occasionally from food or pleasure to hone or focus our lives spiritually. To continually starve ourselves is not God’s will for anyone. I also don’t think that every moment of our lives must be used to help others—we are called upon to eat, sleep, enjoy restful and recreational activities to keep us healthy, and to dedicate ourselves to God’s work, too. A healthy body and soul is a sign of God’s glory and balances the service that we give to others and to the church.
I opened today’s sermon with my particular characteristics because each one of us has divestments to make in our lives according to who we are—our strengths, our weaknesses, our talents, our needs, our values, our vices, our rightness and our sin. Some of us may need to learn to receive the gifts of God more graciously, while others may need to learn how to share those gifts with more generosity—or with more creativity. Some of us may need to be more generous with each of our own weaknesses, while others of us may think more highly of ourselves that we need to think. Either way, we are hindered from be the whole person that God is calling us to be.
Failing to accomplish the impossible, in my eyes means achieving perfection or even attempting to do so. Doing the impossible, however, means pursuing a life that God is calling us to live more perfectly each day, knowing that only in God through Jesus Christ can we even life toward that kind of life.
Let’s divest what keeps us from being faithful—let’s us embrace the life that we are called to live. Let us be the ones that Jesus has called to live in his way—that we can enter the kingdom of God each day as we are invited.
To the glory of God: who we cannot always see, but who we can follow with faith. Amen.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Sermon October 4 2009
Cuba Christian Church
Rev. Amy Wharton
Job 1:1; 2:1-10
Psalm 26
Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12
Mark 10:2-16
“Embraced by Love”
I could tell stories about how my family members have been effected by divorce and remarriage or how children in my family have been hurt in separations or even might have benefitted from an earlier divorce than what happened. But I don’t have to tell those stories because you have similar stories in your lives and families. Couples separate and we’ve grieved the loss and brokenness of those situations, when they happen for seemingly good reason and when we understand the situations and when we don’t.
Divorce, remarriage, and adultery . . . they are not topics for the faint of heart. The Pharisees asked Jesus that question for exactly that reason, it was a good challenge. But it wasn’t just a matter of entrapment, as we may believe; it was and is a topic that needs to be discerned and considered with ethical, moral and compassionate conversation, concern and prayer. My sermon today is my attempt to explore these issues with some knowledge of biblical background. I don’t know that I can or want to tell you the right answers—just give you some things to think about. From the start, I will say that each person must and will make decisions about these issues, hopefully from the point of view of love and compassion.
In the context of the first testament of the bible, divorce meant a man sending away his wife—it was a privilege belonging only to men at that point in Jewish culture. Though in Roman society there may have been situations where women could divorce, Jesus’ audience that day knew that he was talking only about men. There are many varieties and examples of marriage and family within the biblical example—men married to many women at once, families that included concubines or women who were not married to men with whom they shared a bed. And we know stories of women who were married to several men over time, sometimes brothers.
We can read and understand that in the First Testament, that men were married to many women at the same time. Isaac was married to Rebekah, but his son Jacob or Israel was married to Leah, Rachel and their servants also produced sons for him, though he was not married to them. Divorce would have meant sending one away—he was married to them all at the same time.
The situation was different depending on gender. Jacob, though he was married to many women, was not guilty of adultery according to the law because he did not belong to one of them to the exclusion of the others. If his wives had gone to another man, however, they could have and would have been charged with adultery. And before Jesus’ birth, Joseph considered quietly putting away or divorcing his betrothed wife, Mary, away because of her pregnancy, supposed evidence of her guilt. Adultery, in our day and age, means sexual infidelity; adultery, in the bible, meant any act of disloyalty from a wife to her husband—a protection of male lineage.
The response to the questions, problems and crises surrounding human relationships are complex—and must be tempered by the love and compassion of God. Even if we have not been in the situation of divorce in our own relationships, we know what it means to be in broken relationships of all kinds. Conflicts between siblings are painful; sisters and brothers of all ages know very well how to fight with one another. Parents and adult children come to conflict on any number of important issues that can cause breaches lasting for years. Breaks in important relationships of all kinds cause pain that we’ve all experienced. It’s not the same as divorce within the relationship of a married couple, but brokenness of any kind causes pain and is inevitable among human beings.
What kinds of answers do we hear in the bible about these kinds of brokenness? What word does Jesus bring that sheds light on these perennial problems of humanity?
The gospel lesson reveals Jesus’ response of pain at the idea that divorce is a necessity for covenants made between two human beings. Yet, it seems that he realized that necessity—“because of your hardness of heart, Moses made it permissible.” When Jesus’ disciples asked him to say more about it, he actually expanded the possibility of divorce to women, though he held them to the high standard—if a man or a woman divorced and remarried then they would be committing adultery, leaving one for another.
In our reading of this text where Jesus quotes scripture, ““For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife,* 8and the two shall become one flesh;” we hear an ideal of humanity. Yet God, through Christ, as well as Moses realizes that we can honor the human journey with all its twists and turns, mistakes and triumphs, as one author put it.[1]
I heard a story this week about a marriage within a culture and nation that arranges marriages between the young people in families. One young couple knew one another for 3 weeks before marrying—and had just that time to get to know one another. After 4 children and 10 years in the United States, she divorced him for good reasons. He often flew into rages, was inconsiderate of what she needed in a relationship and she felt trapped. After a time, when neither of them found love in other places, he had been in treatment for emotional problems and she had grown as well. They decided to try again and after getting to know one another again, through counseling and dating for a full year, again got married or, one could argue, were really covenanted to one another for the first time. Not all arranged marriages are like this, but if divorce and separation are not an option for both parties in a marriage, each day a husband and wife must choose to keep the covenant, so that the covenant is valued each day.
The scripture today are about the complexities of life and how we embrace them with the compassion and mercy that God has shown us—that we have learned from the life and death of Jesus Christ. Jesus was strict about marriage and divorce because he saw some men behaving toward wives with hardness of heart—they had the option to divorce if some small thing displeased them and sometimes they did. Mercy and compassion were not always considered as a part of the question—but he made the covenant an over arching quality of those relationships. He described marriage that had a quality that wasn’t always seen in marriages where men and women were not considered equal partners.
To most of us and to the laws of the society in which we live, adultery is sexual infidelity—to be unfaithful physically, carnally, with someone other than the marriage partner. But adultery can be both more and less than that today. Adultery is putting a barrier between one’s self and a loved one in a way that is practically impossible to cross.
The second situation in the gospel text for today also describes love and the barriers we erect to channel or funnel love. Parents have brought children to this holy man to be blessed. Jesus seemed to welcome the intentions of the parents and welcomed the children, but the followers of Jesus wanted to direct Jesus’ love in particularly productive ways. But sometimes people simply need to be embraced—and to embrace love—to offer mercy and receive mercy—to offer compassion and to receive compassion.
Sadly, Mark reports how the disciples themselves tried to thwart the Lord’s compassionate, healing touch for children. Jesus indignantly told them that the eagerness to trust him, which was being shown by [caregivers] and children alike, was the kind of faith needed to gain a passport into his kingdom. The disciples’ antipathy was acting on the families much as the threat of deportation affects genuine asylum seekers. No wonder he was upset. (Mark 10: 13-15)[2]
The gospel text tells me about opening to real relationship—in marriage we honor the promises, the covenants that we have made even when we are tempted or rejected at times. We are called by Jesus to allow love to embrace us—real love extended by those who care, extended by God through Jesus. We are called by Jesus to be embraced by love so fully that we can reach out to others. We have to be made vulnerable and trust so that love can embrace us fully.
Divorce, remarriage and adultery . . . they are difficult things to discuss without great emotion and turmoil. Consider these with the heart as well as the mind; consider them with love.
Let’s embrace the love we have, given to us through the grace of God, revealed to us in Jesus Christ and in the relationships that are strengthened by the Spirit. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] Seasons of the Spirit, Congregational Life, Pentecost 2, August through November 2009
[2] http://admin.cmf.org.uk/pdf/helix/spr05/31comforting.pdf Janet Goodall is Emeritus Consultant Paediatrician in Stoke-on-Trent, Christian Medical Fellowship. Spring 2005. p. 16
Rev. Amy Wharton
Job 1:1; 2:1-10
Psalm 26
Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12
Mark 10:2-16
“Embraced by Love”
I could tell stories about how my family members have been effected by divorce and remarriage or how children in my family have been hurt in separations or even might have benefitted from an earlier divorce than what happened. But I don’t have to tell those stories because you have similar stories in your lives and families. Couples separate and we’ve grieved the loss and brokenness of those situations, when they happen for seemingly good reason and when we understand the situations and when we don’t.
Divorce, remarriage, and adultery . . . they are not topics for the faint of heart. The Pharisees asked Jesus that question for exactly that reason, it was a good challenge. But it wasn’t just a matter of entrapment, as we may believe; it was and is a topic that needs to be discerned and considered with ethical, moral and compassionate conversation, concern and prayer. My sermon today is my attempt to explore these issues with some knowledge of biblical background. I don’t know that I can or want to tell you the right answers—just give you some things to think about. From the start, I will say that each person must and will make decisions about these issues, hopefully from the point of view of love and compassion.
In the context of the first testament of the bible, divorce meant a man sending away his wife—it was a privilege belonging only to men at that point in Jewish culture. Though in Roman society there may have been situations where women could divorce, Jesus’ audience that day knew that he was talking only about men. There are many varieties and examples of marriage and family within the biblical example—men married to many women at once, families that included concubines or women who were not married to men with whom they shared a bed. And we know stories of women who were married to several men over time, sometimes brothers.
We can read and understand that in the First Testament, that men were married to many women at the same time. Isaac was married to Rebekah, but his son Jacob or Israel was married to Leah, Rachel and their servants also produced sons for him, though he was not married to them. Divorce would have meant sending one away—he was married to them all at the same time.
The situation was different depending on gender. Jacob, though he was married to many women, was not guilty of adultery according to the law because he did not belong to one of them to the exclusion of the others. If his wives had gone to another man, however, they could have and would have been charged with adultery. And before Jesus’ birth, Joseph considered quietly putting away or divorcing his betrothed wife, Mary, away because of her pregnancy, supposed evidence of her guilt. Adultery, in our day and age, means sexual infidelity; adultery, in the bible, meant any act of disloyalty from a wife to her husband—a protection of male lineage.
The response to the questions, problems and crises surrounding human relationships are complex—and must be tempered by the love and compassion of God. Even if we have not been in the situation of divorce in our own relationships, we know what it means to be in broken relationships of all kinds. Conflicts between siblings are painful; sisters and brothers of all ages know very well how to fight with one another. Parents and adult children come to conflict on any number of important issues that can cause breaches lasting for years. Breaks in important relationships of all kinds cause pain that we’ve all experienced. It’s not the same as divorce within the relationship of a married couple, but brokenness of any kind causes pain and is inevitable among human beings.
What kinds of answers do we hear in the bible about these kinds of brokenness? What word does Jesus bring that sheds light on these perennial problems of humanity?
The gospel lesson reveals Jesus’ response of pain at the idea that divorce is a necessity for covenants made between two human beings. Yet, it seems that he realized that necessity—“because of your hardness of heart, Moses made it permissible.” When Jesus’ disciples asked him to say more about it, he actually expanded the possibility of divorce to women, though he held them to the high standard—if a man or a woman divorced and remarried then they would be committing adultery, leaving one for another.
In our reading of this text where Jesus quotes scripture, ““For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife,* 8and the two shall become one flesh;” we hear an ideal of humanity. Yet God, through Christ, as well as Moses realizes that we can honor the human journey with all its twists and turns, mistakes and triumphs, as one author put it.[1]
I heard a story this week about a marriage within a culture and nation that arranges marriages between the young people in families. One young couple knew one another for 3 weeks before marrying—and had just that time to get to know one another. After 4 children and 10 years in the United States, she divorced him for good reasons. He often flew into rages, was inconsiderate of what she needed in a relationship and she felt trapped. After a time, when neither of them found love in other places, he had been in treatment for emotional problems and she had grown as well. They decided to try again and after getting to know one another again, through counseling and dating for a full year, again got married or, one could argue, were really covenanted to one another for the first time. Not all arranged marriages are like this, but if divorce and separation are not an option for both parties in a marriage, each day a husband and wife must choose to keep the covenant, so that the covenant is valued each day.
The scripture today are about the complexities of life and how we embrace them with the compassion and mercy that God has shown us—that we have learned from the life and death of Jesus Christ. Jesus was strict about marriage and divorce because he saw some men behaving toward wives with hardness of heart—they had the option to divorce if some small thing displeased them and sometimes they did. Mercy and compassion were not always considered as a part of the question—but he made the covenant an over arching quality of those relationships. He described marriage that had a quality that wasn’t always seen in marriages where men and women were not considered equal partners.
To most of us and to the laws of the society in which we live, adultery is sexual infidelity—to be unfaithful physically, carnally, with someone other than the marriage partner. But adultery can be both more and less than that today. Adultery is putting a barrier between one’s self and a loved one in a way that is practically impossible to cross.
The second situation in the gospel text for today also describes love and the barriers we erect to channel or funnel love. Parents have brought children to this holy man to be blessed. Jesus seemed to welcome the intentions of the parents and welcomed the children, but the followers of Jesus wanted to direct Jesus’ love in particularly productive ways. But sometimes people simply need to be embraced—and to embrace love—to offer mercy and receive mercy—to offer compassion and to receive compassion.
Sadly, Mark reports how the disciples themselves tried to thwart the Lord’s compassionate, healing touch for children. Jesus indignantly told them that the eagerness to trust him, which was being shown by [caregivers] and children alike, was the kind of faith needed to gain a passport into his kingdom. The disciples’ antipathy was acting on the families much as the threat of deportation affects genuine asylum seekers. No wonder he was upset. (Mark 10: 13-15)[2]
The gospel text tells me about opening to real relationship—in marriage we honor the promises, the covenants that we have made even when we are tempted or rejected at times. We are called by Jesus to allow love to embrace us—real love extended by those who care, extended by God through Jesus. We are called by Jesus to be embraced by love so fully that we can reach out to others. We have to be made vulnerable and trust so that love can embrace us fully.
Divorce, remarriage and adultery . . . they are difficult things to discuss without great emotion and turmoil. Consider these with the heart as well as the mind; consider them with love.
Let’s embrace the love we have, given to us through the grace of God, revealed to us in Jesus Christ and in the relationships that are strengthened by the Spirit. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] Seasons of the Spirit, Congregational Life, Pentecost 2, August through November 2009
[2] http://admin.cmf.org.uk/pdf/helix/spr05/31comforting.pdf Janet Goodall is Emeritus Consultant Paediatrician in Stoke-on-Trent, Christian Medical Fellowship. Spring 2005. p. 16
Sermon September 27 2009
Cuba Christian Church
Rev. Amy Wharton
Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22
Psalm 124
James 5:13-20
Mark 9:38-50
“Courage for Community”
Communities often have a spirit that identifies them. Large cities are usually made up of many communities, some separated by ancestry: a Czech community, for instance, or Bosnian or Welsh. Some communities are brought together by common work—the background isn’t what matters as much as the source of the means of support for families: mines or factories or mills or farms or universities or insurance companies.
Communities are often created within people of common purpose—the workers in a particular industry and the managers of those workers, though they live near one another, may participate in different communities. People may work, eat, worship and play in the vicinity of each other without being a community. Community often arises, instead, from other similarities, such as a common direction in life.
What draws people together and makes them willing to stand up with one another moving together toward some common purpose? What kind of motivation is needed to unite people?
Esther and Mordecai, as the book of Esther tells us, found that their people had been forced to choose between paying homage to God—the only God—and bowing down to the king of Persia. This act—forced upon the people by Haman, the king’s aide—made it possible for Haman to build a gallows upon which to begin executing the Jewish people—and to begin with Mordecai, followed shortly by Queen Esther, one assumes.
The story in today’s selection from Esther, as the rest of Esther, does not mention God. But this book does reveal the results of a community drawn together without common action—simply drawn together by common enemy who threatened to destroy their community and perhaps create a corruption that would destroy others as well.
As I write this, I wonder if we think it’s easier to create community out of common enmity instead of common hope and love. At first reading, I can hear that in the text from Esther. As the story in the book of Esther opens, Queen Vashti has been deposed in some way—the king was displeased with her and wanted another woman in his life. Esther is one of many candidates. She is powdered and primped and sent into the king’s rooms to please him. Her position is one created as a result of the overthrow of the current queen. As the story continues, Esther’s position of relative power is used by Mordecai and others to protect their vulnerable people—the Jewish people who were in exile. And when Haman’s plot is unfolded that protection is more necessary than every. In some sense this is community built out of enmity
Yet I also hear in Esther’s story that life is a unifying power. While the Jewish people were not happy about their lives in exile, it seems that they have made the best of their existence. Esther, Mordecai and others were participating in the society where they found themselves; they were thriving, building for the future and storing resources in hopes of the eventual return to their homeland. They didn’t completely dissolve into the majority culture, but simply took advantage of the good things they needed there. Their purpose was benefitting in each situation how they could while keeping their identity as Jewish people of faith. While the book of Esther never mentions God, their identity as Jews is dependent upon their faith in the God of their ancestors and holding onto the traditions of that faith.
And the first step toward maintain the traditions would have been to stay alive long enough to pass it on. That’s how important the desire for life is in this text. Life depends upon community strength and community is made up of living beings—the people who know God and carry on that relationship with God.
The exile in Babylon and then Persia, as the Babylonian empire was overtaken by the Persian Empire, was a defining moment for the people of the Jewish faith. They had been known as the Hebrew people before, now they were Jewish because their land had become Judea. They had seen their God, Yahweh, as their God—living in the land where Yahweh had led them to live. Yet God had stayed with them in exile, so they had to rethink their existence in relationship to God and the relationship of their land to God.
In their exile, they felt the presence of God. And the people who were left in Israel or Judea also felt the presence of God. This realization is what led them to act courageously on behalf of one another—the need for one another for the mere survival of the people of God. Esther acted courageously, not only on behalf of Mordecai, but for her whole people. She saved one man’s life directly and immediately and her people’s lives because the law promoted by Haman was destroyed as Haman’s position of power was removed from him.
The situation was risky and complex—she never knew until she asked if her request would have been granted. She and Mordecai worried that her life would have been forfeit along with all the other Jews in Persia, but it was the chance they took. It was enough to do the right thing because that righteous act was in the service of all the people of God.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, “Do and dare what is right, not swayed by the whim of the moment. Bravely take hold of the real, not dallying now with what might be. Not in the flight of ideas but only in action is freedom. Make up your mind and come out into the tempest of living. God’s command is enough and your faith in God to sustain you. Then at last freedom will welcome your spirit among great rejoicing.”[1]
Bonhoeffer was a German pastor during the rise of the Third Reich in Germany. He watched as some churches were corrupted and turned a blind eye to the violence visited upon the Jewish people in Germany.
Martin Niemöller expressed the times through his own eyes. Though he had been a supporter Hitler prior to his taking power, he broke with the Nazis by 1933. But inside I can imagine the genuineness of his thoughts and feelings as he spoke these words.
When the Nazis came for the communists,
I remained silent;
I was not a communist.
When they locked up the social democrats,
I remained silent;
I was not a social democrat.
When they came for the trade unionists,
I did not speak out;
I was not a trade unionist.
When they came for the Jews,
I remained silent;
I wasn't a Jew.
When they came for me,
there was no one left to speak out.
Between these two men of faith, we can hear the words that push us to respond when we see injustice—when we see actions that promote the dissolution of community standards of kindness, hope and joy. We can also hear that people of faith are not perfect examples. Niemöller had misconceptions of Hitler, but changed his mind when he heard the destructive words of the Nazi party and of Hitler himself.
Bonhoeffer might be lifted up as a model for unambiguous righteous opposition to the Nazis and Hitler himself. He was pursued by the government of the Third Reich from very early and came to the United States to escape, but soon returned to fight the fight that he believed God had called him to fight. Eventually he was arrested for participating in an assassination plot against Hitler, which he did, and executed for it. His dogged pursuit of writing, preaching, and plotting against injustice is admirable, in my eyes. Yet most of us fall somewhere along a spectrum of standing against injustice. We have been taken in by some along the way and come to realize our mistakes.
We often find ourselves in the midst of that poem by Niemöller. We look the other way and say “I am not a woman—I am not chronically ill—I am not a black man—I am not a child—I am not a felon. . .” We say I am not, until we realize that “I am a human being, so I must stand up.” Or we realize “I am a part of this wondrous web of creation and sustenance, so I must stand up.”
I often am in great awe at those whose lives have expressed such wonderful “Christ-like” actions, yet they do not embrace the Christ of faith that I have taken as my Lord and Savior. I have seen a Jewish mother and professor of New Testament stand up and bravely say to Christian pastors, “Unless you can imagine yourself preaching your sermon without reservation in the presence of my 12 year old child—unless, in the light of the Holocaust you can speak these words, reconsider your words. Don’t wait until it’s your child that feels threatened, imagine your words in the ears of my child.”[2] It took courage—and the pastors around me were taken aback by her statement, many disagreed, but I was impressed by her and her willingness to stand up for her community.
The words of Jesus are important to the world—no matter what each one believes. The actions that Jesus took to reveal his love and the love of God to all those who hear his words and the stories of his life reveal how important that love and the relationship within his community of disciples—as well as the relationships that we share with all of our companion human beings on this journey of life. We are all members of community—communities of geography: municipal, county, state and nation; communities of faith: Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, etc.; communities of association: Lions, Elks, Girls Scouts, Boy Scouts, choirs, bands, universities, colleges, teams, etc.
Yet within those communities we are always given the opportunity to express the values of the relationships that guide us as our more basic selves. In all of our relationship, what guides us more? Where are we given an opportunity to reveal Jesus in our actions, to preach that sermon with what we do, not what we say? Where will God give you a time to reveal your sermon of community and hope this week? Where will your courage make that possible?
In the gracious, understanding, free and flowing Spirit of God. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] From The Spiritual Formation Bible, New Revised Standard Version, copyright © 1999 by the Zondervan Corporation.
[2] Amy-Jill Levine, paraphrase, Festival of Homiletics, Chicago, 2000?
Rev. Amy Wharton
Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22
Psalm 124
James 5:13-20
Mark 9:38-50
“Courage for Community”
Communities often have a spirit that identifies them. Large cities are usually made up of many communities, some separated by ancestry: a Czech community, for instance, or Bosnian or Welsh. Some communities are brought together by common work—the background isn’t what matters as much as the source of the means of support for families: mines or factories or mills or farms or universities or insurance companies.
Communities are often created within people of common purpose—the workers in a particular industry and the managers of those workers, though they live near one another, may participate in different communities. People may work, eat, worship and play in the vicinity of each other without being a community. Community often arises, instead, from other similarities, such as a common direction in life.
What draws people together and makes them willing to stand up with one another moving together toward some common purpose? What kind of motivation is needed to unite people?
Esther and Mordecai, as the book of Esther tells us, found that their people had been forced to choose between paying homage to God—the only God—and bowing down to the king of Persia. This act—forced upon the people by Haman, the king’s aide—made it possible for Haman to build a gallows upon which to begin executing the Jewish people—and to begin with Mordecai, followed shortly by Queen Esther, one assumes.
The story in today’s selection from Esther, as the rest of Esther, does not mention God. But this book does reveal the results of a community drawn together without common action—simply drawn together by common enemy who threatened to destroy their community and perhaps create a corruption that would destroy others as well.
As I write this, I wonder if we think it’s easier to create community out of common enmity instead of common hope and love. At first reading, I can hear that in the text from Esther. As the story in the book of Esther opens, Queen Vashti has been deposed in some way—the king was displeased with her and wanted another woman in his life. Esther is one of many candidates. She is powdered and primped and sent into the king’s rooms to please him. Her position is one created as a result of the overthrow of the current queen. As the story continues, Esther’s position of relative power is used by Mordecai and others to protect their vulnerable people—the Jewish people who were in exile. And when Haman’s plot is unfolded that protection is more necessary than every. In some sense this is community built out of enmity
Yet I also hear in Esther’s story that life is a unifying power. While the Jewish people were not happy about their lives in exile, it seems that they have made the best of their existence. Esther, Mordecai and others were participating in the society where they found themselves; they were thriving, building for the future and storing resources in hopes of the eventual return to their homeland. They didn’t completely dissolve into the majority culture, but simply took advantage of the good things they needed there. Their purpose was benefitting in each situation how they could while keeping their identity as Jewish people of faith. While the book of Esther never mentions God, their identity as Jews is dependent upon their faith in the God of their ancestors and holding onto the traditions of that faith.
And the first step toward maintain the traditions would have been to stay alive long enough to pass it on. That’s how important the desire for life is in this text. Life depends upon community strength and community is made up of living beings—the people who know God and carry on that relationship with God.
The exile in Babylon and then Persia, as the Babylonian empire was overtaken by the Persian Empire, was a defining moment for the people of the Jewish faith. They had been known as the Hebrew people before, now they were Jewish because their land had become Judea. They had seen their God, Yahweh, as their God—living in the land where Yahweh had led them to live. Yet God had stayed with them in exile, so they had to rethink their existence in relationship to God and the relationship of their land to God.
In their exile, they felt the presence of God. And the people who were left in Israel or Judea also felt the presence of God. This realization is what led them to act courageously on behalf of one another—the need for one another for the mere survival of the people of God. Esther acted courageously, not only on behalf of Mordecai, but for her whole people. She saved one man’s life directly and immediately and her people’s lives because the law promoted by Haman was destroyed as Haman’s position of power was removed from him.
The situation was risky and complex—she never knew until she asked if her request would have been granted. She and Mordecai worried that her life would have been forfeit along with all the other Jews in Persia, but it was the chance they took. It was enough to do the right thing because that righteous act was in the service of all the people of God.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, “Do and dare what is right, not swayed by the whim of the moment. Bravely take hold of the real, not dallying now with what might be. Not in the flight of ideas but only in action is freedom. Make up your mind and come out into the tempest of living. God’s command is enough and your faith in God to sustain you. Then at last freedom will welcome your spirit among great rejoicing.”[1]
Bonhoeffer was a German pastor during the rise of the Third Reich in Germany. He watched as some churches were corrupted and turned a blind eye to the violence visited upon the Jewish people in Germany.
Martin Niemöller expressed the times through his own eyes. Though he had been a supporter Hitler prior to his taking power, he broke with the Nazis by 1933. But inside I can imagine the genuineness of his thoughts and feelings as he spoke these words.
When the Nazis came for the communists,
I remained silent;
I was not a communist.
When they locked up the social democrats,
I remained silent;
I was not a social democrat.
When they came for the trade unionists,
I did not speak out;
I was not a trade unionist.
When they came for the Jews,
I remained silent;
I wasn't a Jew.
When they came for me,
there was no one left to speak out.
Between these two men of faith, we can hear the words that push us to respond when we see injustice—when we see actions that promote the dissolution of community standards of kindness, hope and joy. We can also hear that people of faith are not perfect examples. Niemöller had misconceptions of Hitler, but changed his mind when he heard the destructive words of the Nazi party and of Hitler himself.
Bonhoeffer might be lifted up as a model for unambiguous righteous opposition to the Nazis and Hitler himself. He was pursued by the government of the Third Reich from very early and came to the United States to escape, but soon returned to fight the fight that he believed God had called him to fight. Eventually he was arrested for participating in an assassination plot against Hitler, which he did, and executed for it. His dogged pursuit of writing, preaching, and plotting against injustice is admirable, in my eyes. Yet most of us fall somewhere along a spectrum of standing against injustice. We have been taken in by some along the way and come to realize our mistakes.
We often find ourselves in the midst of that poem by Niemöller. We look the other way and say “I am not a woman—I am not chronically ill—I am not a black man—I am not a child—I am not a felon. . .” We say I am not, until we realize that “I am a human being, so I must stand up.” Or we realize “I am a part of this wondrous web of creation and sustenance, so I must stand up.”
I often am in great awe at those whose lives have expressed such wonderful “Christ-like” actions, yet they do not embrace the Christ of faith that I have taken as my Lord and Savior. I have seen a Jewish mother and professor of New Testament stand up and bravely say to Christian pastors, “Unless you can imagine yourself preaching your sermon without reservation in the presence of my 12 year old child—unless, in the light of the Holocaust you can speak these words, reconsider your words. Don’t wait until it’s your child that feels threatened, imagine your words in the ears of my child.”[2] It took courage—and the pastors around me were taken aback by her statement, many disagreed, but I was impressed by her and her willingness to stand up for her community.
The words of Jesus are important to the world—no matter what each one believes. The actions that Jesus took to reveal his love and the love of God to all those who hear his words and the stories of his life reveal how important that love and the relationship within his community of disciples—as well as the relationships that we share with all of our companion human beings on this journey of life. We are all members of community—communities of geography: municipal, county, state and nation; communities of faith: Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, etc.; communities of association: Lions, Elks, Girls Scouts, Boy Scouts, choirs, bands, universities, colleges, teams, etc.
Yet within those communities we are always given the opportunity to express the values of the relationships that guide us as our more basic selves. In all of our relationship, what guides us more? Where are we given an opportunity to reveal Jesus in our actions, to preach that sermon with what we do, not what we say? Where will God give you a time to reveal your sermon of community and hope this week? Where will your courage make that possible?
In the gracious, understanding, free and flowing Spirit of God. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] From The Spiritual Formation Bible, New Revised Standard Version, copyright © 1999 by the Zondervan Corporation.
[2] Amy-Jill Levine, paraphrase, Festival of Homiletics, Chicago, 2000?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)