Sermon October 30, 2011

Joshua 3:7-17, Psalm 107:1-7, 33-37

1 Thessalonians 2:9-13,Matthew 23:1-12 

“God is with Us”

Imagine this morning's story, told from those who were there:

“I was just a little girl when Moses died. So Joshua was the only leader I really ever knew. He was the one I saw teaching the elders; then the elders of our tribe carried God's message to a meeting of the rest of us old enough to listen. He was such a strong leader, chosen by God—I saw no difference in quality between what I knew of Moses and what I knew of Joshua. They were different people, but God spoke to both and led us through each one of them.”

“Well, I was an elder when Moses died—he'd been our leader far too long and was so set in his ways. He should have retired years before he died, but he didn't ask me. Joshua wasn't new blood either—he was too much like Moses, didn't take enough initiative. He even led us through the Jordan just like Moses led us through the Red Sea—where's the originality?”

“I was an elder and then a priest during Moses' time—a great leader who has no equal before or since. Joshua was no Moses, that's for sure. Moses spent time with God—Joshua was so aggressive and impassioned. His emotions ruled him. He was too violent and zealous and needed to be, well, more like Moses. He watched Moses deal with problems, I don't know why he never learned how Moses did it. We'll never see another like him.”

“My family lived near the Jordan river when Joshua led his tribes of people into the land. We welcomed them in some ways—this far inland from the great salt sea you call the Mediterranean it's always good to see travelers, just for variety's sake. But then we began to hear them say that this land was there—that their God had given it to them several generations before. They called it their Promised Land. Their ancestor Abraham had been led here, they said, and that was six generations ago. They say they spent another forty years wandering in the wilderness before they found their so-called Promised Land. If you can't find a place—is it really yours? Honestly, they have some nerve claiming this land for their own. And Joshua? he's certainly aggressive and certain of himself.”

The mantle of leadership has been laid upon Joshua's shoulders after the death of Moses. He has been one of Moses' deputies, an almost voiceless presence in the story of the Hebrew people's journey from Egypt to Canaan, the Promised Land. And yet, I'm guessing Joshua's life was continually marked by his experiences all of those years in the wilderness with God, with Moses and with all the people of Israel.

Their thoughts and feelings, voices and actions would have echoed through the camps and village they stayed in these early years in Canaan. Though there are stories and truths about military victories of the Israelites over the residents of Canaan, archaeological evidence also shows that Israel lived together with many of the residents. If you read the genealogy of Aaron and Moses in Exodus you can see that at least Reuben, one of Jacob/Israel's sons married and had children with a Canaanite woman. I'm guessing he was not alone over the years. Though they had not made the sojourn to and from Egypt—were they family?

This moment in time—this crossing of the Jordan—this passing of the mantle—this first public at of Joshua giving God's instructions was a crucial, life-changing day for the Israelites. Here was another moment when all their lives would change. When the Hebrew people left Egypt, they were a settled people—had lived there for at least six generations according to the genealogy in Exodus. Then for another whole generation—forty years—they were nomads, and now they are told they can settle down again.

The change in leadership was probably jarring enough—their whole lives were about to shift from continuous/seasonal travel to permanent residency. Could God be a God of all of these changes? How would they remember God without the occasional sojourn to Mt. Horeb or Mt. Sinai? What holy places would God inhabit now? Where would Joshua go to the mountain with God? Did God live in the ark of the covenant now?

Leadership changed. Location changed. Their way of life was about to change. The people around them changed. The way that God's power was with them changed. That day, despite the fulfillment of God's promise of land, was a traumatic day as their lives instantly looked completely different.

I heard a particular church leader say many times, “The only person who likes change is a baby with a wet/dirty diaper.” In my head I've always added, “If you've ever changed a baby, some of them don't like changing part any more than anyone else—though they may appreciate the clean diaper.”

That's why God gave evidence of God' presence that day at the Jordan. God's words, “This day I will begin to exalt you in the sight of all Israel, so that they may know that I will be with you as I was with Moses.” were meant to reassure Joshua and the people that God was still there, as God had promised. What I hope I hear is “my power in you will be as obvious as it was in Moses—so that the people will know I am still here.” So when Joshua ordered the priests into the Jordan, God's power was there as the water parted like at the Red Sea—they had to get their feet wet first, trust God—but God was there.

That's sometimes the difficult part—the wading into the waters before they part. Trusting that God will be there isn't necessarily what we're worried about—we might be more worried that others will think we're a little odd for putting our faith out there like that.

All of the scriptures today something about leadership within the life of faith. While not all of us are recognized or formal leaders in this community of faith, each one of us is a leader in someone's life. Or we might say that someone in our lives looks to us as an example even and often when we don't realize it. I can't tell you how many times before a funeral I've been told how much the example of a grandmother or grandfather, or an aunt or an uncle, a father or a mother has meant to later generations, even siblings and friends, even when they never say anything—they're watching.

We're always waiting until the right time to step out, but the current always flows and there's never a better time than now. But we hesitate, sometimes out of humility or doubt in our own abilities, whatever the reason and we wait.

We wait and we stay on familiar ground because we don't know exactly what lies across the river—what awaits us on the other side if we follow God across. We won't know success if we don't step out—and what if we do not try? Will that be failure or will that just be “God's will?”

As a leader within this congregation, I want to lead you into a better future—toward the vision that you have had. A vision of vitality and strength can await us, let us be willing to try new things with only faith to lead us. What would we be willing to change about our practices and our habits, our traditions and customs to be more vital? Does our time and day of worship look only to our past conditions or could we look to the future with flexibility? When we invite people to join us—do we expect them to conform to us or are we welcoming enough to listen and change in some ways?

I keep coming to the river, where God beckons us to cross and struggle to pray for the future that lies on the other side. I don't want to lead like a Pharisee, just piling burden upon burden—and yet I know that it's going to take some sacrifice and change if we want to go there. Some of us are going to have to get our feet wet and our hands dirty. We are going to have to carry our most precious stories and experiences, like our own ark of the covenant, and risk their ridicule or rejection.

As I look across this particular river of change, my prayer has begun to sound like this: I believe, O God , that if you call us to be radically hospitable and compelling, then we may need to change our time of worship to welcome more to be with us. If we believe, O God, that you call us to risk ourselves in mission, then we may need to invest some of our money and time into the people of this community who are struggling in some way. If we believe, O God, that you call us to grow spiritually, we may need to pray every day for our enemies and those we envy for their success, for those who have left us and for those who may join us; and we certainly need to read your word and seek out Jesus to lead us more clearly.

What first step into the rushing current are we willing to take? What comfortable dry land will we leave behind to step into God's future?

To God's glory and and infinite grace. Amen.

Sermon October 23, 2011

Deuteronomy 34:1-12, Psalm 90:1-6, 13-17

1 Thessalonians 2:1-8,Matthew 22:34-46

“God's Story, Our Stories”

At the end of Deuteronomy, we hear the end of one man's story. The story is of the end of Moses' life, a man whose life was intertwined and integrated with God as he led the people of Israel, the Hebrew people as they are called in this part of their history, from slavery through a wilderness sojourn and to the border of the promised land where he died. His life is quite a story, from beginning to end. And it's told again and again—in books and films—and in scripture, his experiences with God are related to each new generation because his time with God stamped God's claim on the people of Israel.

The stories of Moses walk with God are told as a part of the history of what made the descendents of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob and his wives, into the people of God. From God's movement of redemption, when God took the people out of slavery in Egypt and into the wilderness, they grew into a nation and grew to know their God. And each story within that overarching history shows us a very real God dealing with a very real people who misunderstand and disappoint each other, but grow closer and more aware of each other with each passing day. In the desperation of the wilderness they could not ignore each other—at least the people could not ignore God. But now, as they end an era, the era of wilderness wandering, they begin a set of new stories, the stories of their integration into the land of Canaan.

This set of stories, ends with a death—the death of a great man, this scripture says, “¹⁰ Never since has there arisen a prophet in Israel like Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face. ¹¹He was unequaled for all the signs and wonders that the Lord sent him to perform in the land of Egypt, against Pharaoh and all his servants and his entire land, ¹²and for all the mighty deeds and all the terrifying displays of power that Moses performed in the sight of all Israel.”

This scriptural tribute sets a stage for the next leader—an impossibly high goal to reach, shoes too big to fill—a leadership that Joshua does not try to emulate, but creates his own kind of leadership for a brand new situation. He becomes a part of the whole story—while the story is yet being told.

The story of God and the story of human beings are told in tandem in scripture because God's story and the story of humanity touch and become one story with many branches and plot lines. Scripture often helps us see the ways in which God's story and our stories interweave. In scripture we are taught where and how we can recognize God's movement in a story, and see that we aren't alone.

As we think back over the stories of Moses and the people wandering in the wilderness, we can think about what it might have been like for Moses to be the leader of that wandering band. Imagine the frustration—you know where you are going, but God is the one controlling the agenda, getting you to the Promised Land how and when God wants you there. Have you ever looked at a map of this journey? Certainly it wasn't an afternoon stroll, but it was no more than 225 miles from Goshen where they started, directedly through to Canaan. So if you walked at 2 miles per hour for 4 hours per day straight through, it would take 28 or so days. But God decreed that it would take them 40 years—imaging leading that kind of resentment.

But God had God's own reasons—and we're aware of many of them. The first generation of Hebrews were stubborn, idolatrous and needed some time to mature. Moses and Joshua were among that first generation—and Joshua was the one who was allowed into the promised land.

And we have our own stories of what brought us to the place where we are—stories that could cause us to resent the people who've walked along with us or stories that can make us grateful to be the people who stand here today. We could tell stories about the wonders of times past and mourn that they'll never be here again or we could tell stories about the storms we've weathered and how those storms have made us who we are—stronger or weaker, but wiser, I hope.

The stories about our arrival at this day and in this place are a part of what determines who we are today. The story of this particular congregation is just one story—each family group and each individual has their own branch, twigs and leaves that form a part our big story of God's interaction with each one and all of us together.

There's a children's book about three trees, that tells how each tree participated in the life of Jesus. The olive tree dreamed of becoming a treasure chest, but instead became a feeding trough where the swaddled infant Jesus slept in the stable. The oak tree dreamed of being a great sailing ship and instead became a boat where Jesus taught and then slept and once revealed to his disciples that he had authority over the waves. The pine tree wanted nothing more than to stand and point to God in the sky yet is chosen to be roughly formed into the cross where Jesus died. And though revelation about the final tree often receives the most emotional response, each tree was necessary to tell the whole of the story. Jesus was born. Jesus taught and was a revelation of God's power. Jesus died and rose again. No one part of the story can be told without all parts of the story.

The stories we tell of our lives may not be the ones that we imagined when we were young—and the stories we imagine we could tell some day, if we are young now, may not be the ones that get to be told. But each one of us can look over the stories of our lives and with the eyes of faith, see how God's story has touched our own and how our stories have crossed into and around God's.

To recognize God in our lives, we have to be willing to use our hindsight and not always trust our foresight. In other words, we might not always know when God will walk with us, but we can look back as see that God has always been there, however alone we may have felt.

When I have talked to my baptism classes about how God has been active in our lives, I have had them take a piece of paper and make a time like that represent their lives from birth until today—and even into the future.

I've drawn a line to represent my life from birth to around now . . . and I've marked some significant events and dates in my life—very briefly. What I can do now is think about the times that I have been particularly aware of God's presence, I could say, “This is my story and God's story—they meet here.” And I could go along and note several of those places. I could also note when I felt most alone and without God's presence. We could all note each of those times, I think. Then I could look at the alone times, the most difficult and see if I grew there, if I learned anything or if I just got bitter or resentful. Was God working in those times, too? Maybe, maybe not.

I invite you to do this on paper or in your imagination this week—this is your homework.

And then I invite you to think about how you would summarize your life so far. Who are you? And who has God been to you? Then how would you hope to summarize the rest of your life? What are the hopes you would like to accomplish or see in your lifetime? How might you want to be remembered? How does that shape your story?

The bible tells us of how God's people sat with God face-to-face like Moses. It tells us how the people of God walked with God, sometimes faithfully and sometimes less so, but that God was weaving God's story in and out of theirs.

We hear of Moses' final moments in today's scripture when God forbid him from entering the Promised Land and yet seems to be the one who buries him with a loving hand and heart. And we hear that Moses was unequaled in the history of faith for his actions and his wonders and all he accomplished on behalf of God in the lives of the people of Israel.

Let our stories be told, too. Let us know what God has done for us with us and among us. And let our story continue . . .

to God's glory and with God's grace in Jesus Christ. Amen.

Sermon October 16, 2011
Exodus 33:12-23, Psalm 99
1 Thessalonians 1:1-10, Matthew 22:15-22

“Willing Relationship”

Recently, I had a conversation about why it is that people attend church. What is that we want that makes us decide to attend church? Not just this church, not just this congregation, but the general question about why people go and/or do not go to church. Consider that. Some folks,come because it is one of the few times in a week where they find a sense of relationship and friendship in a church. Some even endure worship services and Bible classes that are uncomfortable just to be with other people. Yet when folks choose church over some other place where people gather, there is likely to be another more spiritual or sacred longing or desire or connection to be made. So the deeper question is why do we seek out a relationship with God? Are we looking for a place where we can be a member or are we truly looking for a place to be in relationship with the living God?

Most people have times when we express a deeper desire to connect with sacred presence. Whether or not we really come to church expecting God's presence—the awe of the Creator's power, the movement of the Holy Spirit, the touch of Jesus Christ—we at least realize that the sacred presence might be there. And if we come expecting, looking for and really willing to experience God—we may really notice when it happens. 

In today's scripture from the book of Exodus, we hear from the continuing story about God's redemption of the people of Israel from slavery in Egypt. This week's conversation between Moses and God occurs shortly after they created an idol to worship, as we read last week. God has just told Moses and the people that God's promise to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob will be fulfilled—they will have the Promised Land and God will make it safe for them. The promise will be met in its bare minimum. Angels will lead them, but God has had enough. At the end of this command to leave Sinai and go to Canaan God finishes, “I will not go up among you, or I would consume you on the way, for you are a stiff-necked people.”

The people were distraught because of God's anger at them. They mourned their actions, but God recognized something in them—a weakness we share—they would always want to do things their way and still try to be God's people. They were scared to move without the assurance of God's presence; and they were reluctant to trust God when they didn't completely understand where it was that God was leading them.

They had this vision of a wonderful place, a place flowing with milk and honey. And they had heard of this place, it was also filled with Canaanites, Amorites, Hittites, Perizzites Hivites and Jebusites. The promise was great, they were happy to be given a land—and yet they came from a land occupied by their enemy, the Egyptians. What make Moses and Aaron and all the others so sure the Canaanites, etc. would be any different?

They may have been certain and hopeful about many things, but the doubts still plagued them. The vision was one of settled prosperity and abundance, but how would they get there from the a life of slavery and then one of nomadic wandering? What steps did they have to take, literally and figuratively to go from a nation of slaves to a people who were to reveal God to all nations and peoples?

Sometimes the place where God wants us to be, someday and eventually is easy to see. God wants us to lives lives in line with Jesus Christ and to be his disciples; we are called to follow Jesus and care for the sick, free the oppressed, be eyes for the blind, voices for the voiceless. We follow Jesus by doing God's will and clothing the naked, visiting the prisoner and feeding the hungry. See Matthew 25. And while the vision might be wonderful, the vision is a journey that must include the blind, voiceless, naked, prisoners and the hungry. There is no vision otherwise.

We make fits and starts—we take tiny steps toward the vision and goal. And sometimes we lose the will—we don't necessarily wonder if God is with us anymore, but we might still be a little concerned about how much of a lead God has taken—is God too far away to be paying attention to me? Or to us?

Sometimes it feels that way. God's leading is sure and God's leading is a mystery because we can't always see it clearly. And because God is God and we are not, God's leading will always be outside of our ability to completely understand.

In my own life, I've had conversations with friends and family about my certainties in my faith. I have no doubt that God loves me and that God is there.

And in my times of doubt and struggle I remind myself that I have chosen or willed to be in a relationship with God. I have to remind myself that I have to pay attention, too. And not just to pay attention to God in ways that I expect, but to realize that God can come to me in almost any way. After all, Jesus reminds us in today's gospel that though our money, too, is stamped with images of historical political figures—we, each and every one of us, are made in the image of the ever lasting and eternal God. And when we are disciples of Jesus Christ, we have chosen to be faithful to that image by following Jesus example, carrying his image, too.

So, we have chosen to acknowledge that we carry the image of God in our selves, deep within us. And we choose, too, not just to be members of a church that carries Jesus' name, but to be disciples of Jesus Christ—we also make other choices to be faithful to that discipleship, to follow the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the God of Moses, the God of Jesus Christ in whom God is revealed. So we can look in these scriptures for the faith that is revealed there—and practice living in that faith.

We know that Moses spent time with God, face to face, like none other since Abraham. He had those same kinds of conversations—genuine talks. He argued and cajoled and begged for God's presence and mercy. And God argued with him, too. They weren't distant friends. They spent time together. Like a marriage or friendship, they couldn't just leave their relationship to chance—it took effort and attention.

When Moses' life was chosen to be the one to carry God's salvation to the Hebrew people his journey of relationship with God began. And God called him—yet God had to argue with him. Moses wondered why God chose him—he claimed not to be much of a public speaker and he was a murderer. He felt injustice deeply within himself, but didn't have much else going for him. But he chose to connect with this God and in today's scripture that same kind of relationship continues.

Moses looked at what God was doing—God said that the promise God had made would be kept, but only at the bare minimum. God's presence would be removed—they would get the land and nothing else for their disloyalty and idolatry. But Moses knew that there had to be more. Moses appealed to the love that God had for him. And through him, the love that Moses knew God felt for this weak people and through them there was always the love God had for all of humanity and all of creation. The promise had always been deeper than a land, deeper than a great nation and deeper than numerous descendants for Abraham. God's covenant was grounded upon God's will to be in relationship with human beings—from the beginning of time.

Moses argued that God's affection and love meant God's presence—perhaps this is God's way of revealing this dimension of God's person. God said, “I'm going to leave you alone and not lead you anymore.” Moses said, “I think know what you really want and the only way that will happen is if you stay with us and really follow when you lead.” God said, “What I really want right now is to let go of my pain and sorrow at their betrayal and just blow them away and start all over.” Moses said, “I think know what you really want and that means leading me and all of us through this time of immaturity so that they can learn from this experience and so that we can see that you love us more than we love you or ourselves.” God said, “You think right, I do love you and you do please me. You are right. I will lead you and stay with you. And I love you so much, I'll even show myself to you as I've never done before. It will be dangerous and scary, but I will do it.” And so God did. Moses hid in a crack in the side of the mountain and he felt God move past him and saw the reflected glory of God as God moved a distance away.

God's willingness to be in relationship with Israel and all humanity wasn't just a matter of Moses' bargain with God—but the bargain and the argument and the cajoling, pleading and difficulty was part of the relationship. I wouldn't say that God manipulated, but that God saw that Moses and the people had to work through the journey to recognize God's work in it.

We can learn from their story—and learn that we often have to learn the same lessons they learned. We may not be wandering in the same wilderness, but we feel just as lost and leaderless sometimes. We know we want God's presence, but we want someone to mediate it for us and figure it out because God is a little too much. God's a little unpredictable and the ways that God reveals God's self are unexpected.

And . . . if God reveals God's self that way and we are made in God's image and have chosen to carry in ourselves the image of God that Jesus revealed to us—what does that mean for us?

An ordinary woman once lived in a small town near Modesto, California. She was not famous, powerful, or influential, . . . yet people tell this story about her. She was known as a good neighbor. She was friendly and good to her family. When the U.S. entered WWII she supported the government, until California Supreme Court Justice Earl Warren signed an order requiring all U.S. citizens of Japanese ancestry to be interned in relocation camps. The nation was overwhelmed by fear and California was especially vulnerable to that fear because of the number of Japanese Americans that lived there. Only one official church body protested this order—the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ).

Many of her neighbors were Japanese Americans. She knew and loved them. They didn't just live near one another—they were a part of one another's lives. She lobbied in California. She wrote to the president of the U.S. to try and stop the camps. She could not make the rich and powerful listen, but she did something else. She went to her friends and she bought all the Japanese Americans' homes and farms for one dollar each and watched her friends be taken. When the camps closed, when the Japanese who had survived the camps had no homes left because their homes and farms were seized, her friends were lucky. She gave her friends back their homes and their farms—so that they could live. 1

Most of us try and live morally and ethically in our limited ways avoiding the big shalt nots. Yet discipleship of Jesus Christ—this life we have chosen is more than membership in an organization that bears the name of Christ. We must be willing to cajole and beg and plead with God—and so learn what and who we are to be as we are led. And we must be willing to be cajoled, begged, moved and angered and so be moved by God to know God and God in Jesus Christ more intimately every day.

And so we search for what we truly want and give our lives to God because that's what we truly need. And we stay in relationship—with God and with one another. We take the time and the time with God grows us and develops us slowly, with tiny baby steps that take time and effort into the people we are made to be. And one each step, we choose God and God chooses us.

To God's glory and in God's incredible grace. Amen.




1 “A good neighbor,” Rita Nakashima Brock, Proper 24, Resources for Preaching and Worship Year A, Hannah Ward and Jennifer Wild, 260.

Sermon October 9, 2011

Exodus 32:1-14, Psalm 106:1-6, 19-23

Philippians 4:1-9,Matthew 22:1-14

“God Matters”

I read recently that what we really believe and hold true is revealed in our actions rather than our words—and in light of this morning's scripture I would add—and revealed most clearly when we are afraid, under great stress or in pain. As I read in a novel, one character said, “If you aren't afraid, why are your teeth chattering.” And the answer, “I'm not afraid, but my teeth are and my knees are. My head knows there's nothing to fear.”

Our bodies reveal the genuine faith of our hearts—and our bodies don't lie about what we really feel.

Now, that isn't to say that we have to go along with our bodies or we can't set boundaries and live toward better ways and godly ways. As a matter of fact, that's exactly what we are to do—to reveal a better way, to reveal that God really matter, to show the way that Jesus brought to us in his life.

The story from Exodus is one that is pretty familiar in our culture—if not from our reading of scripture then certainly from the movie The Ten Commandments. The scene in the movie shows the men and women dancing with abandon—and at least one scantily clad woman—around a large golden calf bedecked by flowers, fruit and other offerings. (Though in the desert wilderness, finding flowers or fruit would have been rather difficult, I would think.)

We see a picture depicting an orgy of decadence—scandalous and sexually alluring. Yet in the scripture, the description is a mixture of intent. Is Aaron trying to assure them of God's presence? And the people seem genuinely afraid of this powerful God who has freed them from slavery—they want a god (with a little g) that's not so scary. I can almost understand that . . . almost. Then you add the element of time—they had waited and waited for Moses to come back down the mountain from his time with this God. And this seems to be months after they received the commandments God had given them.

They were impatient. They didn't understand what is was they were doing there in that place. They wanted to get on with the promise—whatever it was that was coming next, so they took the reins in their own hands and took off on their own. And Aaron didn't want to argue—so he recast their desire for a new god (with a little g) as a festival for the one God (with a big G).

But they, in their impatience, in their desire to have some god, any god, forgot the second commandment in a very short time. “The people at the bottom of the mountain do not like waiting interminably while Moses, at the top of the mountain, continues his long conversation with God. Perhaps they have other priorities and more pressing things on their minds. In any case, the scholars seem to agree that the people identify Moses' presence with the presence of God: if Moses is there, God is with them, and if Moses isn't there, well, obviously God has left them on their own. And most of us don't like to be left on our own, especially in the midst of a wilderness, without some clear goals and an action plan, not to mention a healthy dose of reassurance that everything is going to be okay. This is definitely an anxiety-producing situation.”¹

In Exodus, when the people are faithful, someone is going before them—either in reference to God or to Moses, so when there is no recognized authority there, they want to create one.

People seem to need reminders of a presence beyond themselves although sometimes we don't want that presence to be too far beyond. We want God, but we want an understandable God, a tame God who only does what we can explain. And that was the other mistake—the sin of the people and of Aaron. They want a god they could literally manipulate or make by hand instead of receiving and worshiping God whose power would make them into a nation and shape them into a people. They want a god that fits in their hand instead of God (as the psalmist writes) on whose hand we are written.

We often slip into the idea that idolatry was more of a sin for those Old Testament people because they really did make and build statues to worship—or the sin of the Greeks and Romans who created gods out of nature and named them things like Zeus, Hera, Apollo or Jupiter, Mars and Venus. But in the midst of our journey—the journey along that way that creates us as God's own people, we, too share that desire and temptation to shape gods we can manipulate. They are achievable goals for us and understandable—conceivable. The gods we make might look or seem more like us—or just slightly more powerful. In this story, we are reminded that in our very natural quest for spirituality—not all of the objectives we strive for are equal. In classic terms, though we are empty without God, we cannot fill the hole in our lives with just anything.

The contemporary false god are likely to be money, prestige, success, celebrity and power. Though we may mock the obsession with many of these as so far from us here in Crawford County, we still pay some attention to the accumulation of wealth, success and even celebrity in our entertainment. We might also believe falsely that superior weaponry and armaments will somehow assure our salvation or create a victory for our brand of religion. The bull calf that Aaron created was a symbol of fertility as well as military might—things haven't changed all that much for human beings.

And we, too, don't pay attention to the flexibility of God, even in the movement of the Old Testament narrative. God works in many roles: creator of all things, companion on journeys, mighty hand of freedom and power, caregiver whose hand holds and guides an infant people, strong king and gentle shepherd. We like to set God down into a mold—perhaps created in our own image or at least in one finite time and place that we can fully understand.

One of the attributes of a genuine eternal and infinite deity is that God is beyond the mind and intellect of mortal and finite creatures. And at that same time—an idea even farther beyond our understanding—God is ever near and presence, trustworthy and loving, caregiving and gentle, even and especially when we don't deserve it. God is angry and full of wrath—God is soft-spoken and embracing.

We are idolatrous—we put other things before God. Our lives are no different in this way that the lives of those Hebrews wandering the desert. We get impatient for what we believe God will do instead of doing what God has given us to do. The king in Jesus parable said, “Go therefore into the main streets, and invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet.” It's not our job to provide the banquet—just bring people in and make sure they are welcomed. It's not our job to speculate on who belongs or doesn't belong. We don't assume the role of God by defining the guests, but bring everybody in—beggars and merchants, rich and poor and people who did more evil than good and those who do more good than evil. And make sure the party is packed, the feast was loud and joyful.

The raucous nature of the festival wasn't the sin—even if that's how Cecille B. DeMille saw it. The sin was that the people discounted the presence of God when God was always there. They were impatient for Moses to bring God to them when God had always been there. Instead of actively creating a community according to God's commandments, seeing God and one another in loving relationship, they wanted something they didn't have to work at. Instead of power and fire and Spirit, they wanted something less, something they could see and hold and touch.

And then the story ends with Moses dialogue with God on the mountain, as a commentator notes, “in which Moses boldly steps between the weak, fearful people and the God who reacts like the parent of a teen-ager who has finally gone too far. [and the writer notes] (As the mother of three former teenagers, I know, just a little bit, how God feels. Just a little bit.)” And Moses' faith in God is an audacious faith, it not only permits but requires questioning. And another writer feels it is a comfort to know that we have been made in the image of a God who feels as deeply as we have been created to feel—and that God feels anger and disappointment as deeply as love and forgiveness. We can find comfort in this knowledge that the depth of God's love is deeper even than this depth of anger—and that the covenants we break are recurringly remade. Broken by humanity's (here Israel's) stubbornness and defiance and remade by God's generosity and compassion—not once, but over and over and over again. God's anger is justified and God's anger has an end—because that is just. Moses appeals to God's justice and to God's practical mercy. “Don't give up on them—you claimed them from Egypt, let's show Egypt what that means—that you are their God.”

May our desire to do God's will mean more to us than not doing the sin—may it mean joy, as Paul wrote, may it mean that God matters so much that we are genuine, just, real, truthful, and living in God's will. That is the only excellence—and as we reflect that God matters to us, God will be our companion.

In the name and in the will of God—full of glory and grace. Amen.

1http://www.ucc.org/worship/samuel/october-9-2011-twenty-eighth.html

Sermon October 2, 2011

Exodus 20:1-4, 7-9, 12-20, Psalm 19

Philippians 3:4b-14, Matthew 21:33-46

“God's Loving Wisdom”

Šĕmaʿ Yisĕrāʾel Ădōnāy Ĕlōhênû Ădōnāy eḥād.

Hear, O Israel: the LORD our God, the LORD is one.

After a month-long sojourn celebrating the presence of God in creation, we meet up with the Israelites or Hebrew people following their escape from slavery and partway through their journey in the wilderness. And it is a fortunate day to meet them, as they receive the law, the standards that God gave them to live and be identified as people of God.

We can transition into today's texts of worship and celebration through a reminder from Psalm 19, that all of creation is moved to praise God and shout God's great word and that we are chastised and instructed by that word.

  The heavens are telling the glory of God;
   and the firmament proclaims his handiwork.
 Day to day pours forth speech,
   and night to night declares knowledge.
There is no speech, nor are there words;
   their voice is not heard;
 yet their voice goes out through all the earth,
   and their words to the end of the world.

The law of the Lord is perfect,
   reviving the soul;
the decrees of the Lord are sure,
   making wise the simple;
the precepts of the Lord are right,
   rejoicing the heart;

More to be desired are they than gold,
   even much fine gold;
sweeter also than honey,
   and drippings of the honeycomb.

Moreover by them is your servant warned;
   in keeping them there is great reward.
But who can detect their errors?
   Clear me from hidden faults.
Keep back your servant also from the insolent;
   do not let them have dominion over me.
Then I shall be blameless,
   and innocent of great transgression.

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart
   be acceptable to you,
   O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.¹

The Torah, the law of God, the word that comes from the mouth of God, the words of the commandments written on stone by the finger of God—these are the cause for celebrating echoing to us throughout the universe made by God's own hand.

The 10 words, the 10 commandments—the heart and center of the multitudes of laws within the First Testament—came to the people of the Hebrews as a final piece of the puzzle and covenant God had made with Abraham their ancestor.

One great preacher described this gift.

Barbara Brown Taylor entitles her sermon on this text, "Peculiar Treasures," because that's what the people were to the God who had brought them out of bondage, out into the wilderness on their way to a new life. One is reminded of treasures in the way she describes the story of this people: "God's covenant with their grandfather Abraham had three shining jewels in it: descendants as plentiful as the stars in the sky, a special relationship to God, and a land of milk and honey all their own." But "something was still missing," she writes, "something Moses went up the mountain to get."

Taylor reflects beautifully on the relationship between the law and the promise, and about how much we might think we like the promise better than the law, and how much we appreciate just being loved, unconditionally. She then uses the metaphor of a tent (a good metaphor for people in the wilderness!) to explain how it all works together, because "promise without law is like a tent without tent poles."²

In God's infinitely loving wisdom, God gave them a loving covenant and a law within which to live that covenant. The law gave them an identity unique to this people of God so that they could be what Isaiah would call them seven hundred years later, a light to the nations—a beacon to the Gentiles, the people who lived beyond and outside the bloodline and tradition of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. It is and was through this ethical and revelatory law that people could perceive the called nature of the people of the God of Abraham and now the God of Moses.

Though intended to be a moral and ethical national identification, a revelation of God's love within the people of Israel and a compassionate and just way of living, the ten commandments have and can be interpreted badly and with great evil consequences.

People's experiences with the and valuing of the ten commandments vary greatly depending upon the circumstances in which we learn them—and how they are understood. As I prepared my sermon for this morning, I tried to remember how or when I first heard the ten commandments, but like many children who grew up in church, I'm not sure I can. I'm not saying I ever knew them—and I couldn't probably name them in exact order, even now, but they were always there in some form.

I remember wondering what an idol was when I was a child. Taking God's name in vain somehow meant cursing or cussing. The sabbath, I knew that people worked on Sundays, people like the preacher; and we liked to go out to eat and people were working at those restaurants. Honoring my father and mother . . as an adolescent that got more complicated. Murder and killing were wrong, got it. Adultery—I had no idea, except that the word made some people turn red and giggle. Stealing I understood. Lying I understood and only occasionally did I try to cover up something when I though I might get into trouble. I was jealous of people sometimes, so I thought I understood coveting—though coveting wives was a bit confusing . . . and as I understood more, I understood more.

I also sat in on at least one sermon of a series on the commandments where I was yelled at and staunchly berated for things I barely understood. And I heard them preached in what seemed like anger and very little grace and compassion.

Within Christianity there is a variety of feelings about the ten commandments and what they mean—some hold onto the childhood confusion or simplicity and others dig deeper. Some see them as judgmental and other find freedom in their structure. Some want to justify their behavior by narrowing the definitions of one word, adultery perhaps or another, murder or others, bear false witness. Or perhaps as people live and experience the grace of God in Jesus Christ, knowing that God is love we realize that the law is love, too. And through the experiences of our lives we learn that the ten commandments are about the revelation or unveiling of love as it is lived in and among other people.

The ten commandments can be seen as a living breath of God blowing through our lives, structuring our behavior, clarifying our questions about how we show love. They are also treated as idols, ironically, and even can be used to instill fear and quell cries of injustice. Even in the final words of today's text we can hear the first inklings of that divided view. The people withdrew from God's power and word in fear of God's anger, while Moses sought to comfort them by telling them that the law was meant to prove them and make them more obviously into God's chosen people.

And through the years, I've come to know that the living and loving wisdom of God is contained within these commands. I might see some of them quite differently now that I did when I was at my most rigid and self-righteous, yet I still understand them to be authoritative. I understand, for instance, that idolatry means holding anything above God—family, job, church, etc. I know that I understand coveting a neighbor's wife or husband, even though neither one is my neighbor's property, as understood in the commandment. That holds true for the others as well. They aren't suggestions—as I've heard the cynical say, and yet they are the living, breathing, moving word of God.

The whole of the commandments is a loving way to live in relationship with the one God. The whole of the commandments is a loving way to live in relationship with every person in the world.

Paul and Jesus spoke of the law and those who abused it, or used it for their own gain—let us know the commandments, allow God to write them on our hearts and let us live into them by loving God as God and no one else and loving our neighbors as we have been taught to love, with wisdom and with grace.

Šĕmaʿ Yisĕrāʾel Ădōnāy Ĕlōhênû Ădōnāy eḥād.

Hear, O Israel: the LORD our God, the LORD is one. Amen.

1Psalm 19:1-4a, 7-14

2Barbara Brown Taylor in (Gospel Medicine). http://www.ucc.org/worship/samuel/october-2-2011.html