For some reason, posting this was like swimming in Jello.
Sermon Southern Illinois Women's Retreat
September 23, 2012
Isaiah 55:1-13
Luke 14:15-24
Romans 12:9-21
“Invited and Inviting”
I don't know how it works in your household, but in mine I seem to be the person who is most responsible for making sure that we eat. I know that's not true everywhere, but that is my reality. So what we eat, when we eat and how we eat are in the end up to me. And on a daily basis, all I accomplish making sure that our hunger is met simply and adequately—though I usually overdo even that. But meals in general and some special meals in particular serve wider, deep, broader, special purposes.
Even though I can't always do it, I try to be home for our evening meal, for example, because my husband works nights and sleeps all day, so that evening meal is the one that we can share. We can talk face to face with one another, catch up on the stuff that we've forgotten to tell one another about schedules, events and work issues. And I'm sure with children that it's even more important. Families of any size and composition usually build, strengthen or neglect relationship over meals and probably always will.
Whoever is responsible for planning and preparation, the meal can and should mean something, provide more than physical nourishment. We know that instinctively and we can know it biblically and theologically as well. Whomever we are feeding, a meal is more than food, more than satisfying one kind of need or hunger.
One theologian and author tells this story. “I know what you people are up to.” Ryan looked up from his lunch plate and into my eyes. He said it simply, yet as if in on a conspiracy. I asked, “What do you mean?” “For months, I’ve been coming to this lunch,” he continued, “trying to figure out who you people are and why you’re doing this.” He paused. “You’re not from a church. You don’t talk about God or the Bible. You just smile and serve all this food week after week.” He paused again. “But then I figured it out.” I smiled back and waited to hear what mystery Ryan had solved about why we were there. We smiled and waited, as if naming it aloud would somehow take away from the truth we both knew. Finally, Ryan said, “You’re doing this because Jesus said you’d find him among the poor, and you’re looking for Jesus.” 1
The meal had begun when a Bible study member heard Jesus' words, “You have the poor with always,” and as she put it, she “was convicted.” She was convicted because in her comfortable, suburban life she was never among the poor. So she set up a table with sandwiches and soup at the local food bank, among the poor, to see what would happen. It became a feast.
Eventually they moved the feast to a large inside a city building, making it a weekly banquet for 50 people. Homeless folks, low income seniors, people who want a “free lunch” and volunteers share tables together. I firmly and deeply believe in the innate wisdom of the connections food and relationships because it creates miracles. And I do believe that unless we truly make our tables inviting to all peoples regardless of any personal characteristic, flaw of personality, psyche or even regardless of sin, perceived or real, we may miss out on the miracle. We may miss out on meeting Jesus there or anywhere else. We are invited to participate fully—to prepare, yes, and to eat and to drink and to wholly be there. In Isaiah 55, begins with a call, an invitation to share food and drink.
"Ho, everyone who thirsts,
come to the waters;
and you that have no money,
come, buy and eat!“ It makes good sense and may well be related to the actual practices of food and water-sellers in the markets of ancient Israel, hawking their wares with "Hey!" "Ho!" and "Hôy!"
The second part of the call is odd,
"Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without price. . . . “how does one buy without purchasing power (money)? And what seller would call for someone to (par)take of their goods without spending any money? And who is this seller anyway?”2
Yet it is this lack of practicality and pragmatism that tells us this text is about salvation and good news. Who besides God offers food without cost? Who besides God offers the essentials, milk and water, and also the superfluous, but the pleasurable, wine?
Who besides God? In Proverbs, there are similar texts where food, wine and community are offered for the intellectual, spiritual, moral, and social improvement of all who attend and participate.
9Wisdom has built her house,
she has hewn her seven pillars.
3 She has sent out her servant-girls, she calls
from the highest places in the town,
4 ‘You that are simple, turn in here!’
To those without sense she says,
5 ‘Come, eat of my bread
and drink of the wine I have mixed.
6 Lay aside immaturity, and live,
and walk in the way of insight.’
This invitational expression is divine; it is celebratory and it resonates with us deeply because we are often the ones who stand at the table in our homes and in our churches and beckon people to join in, to partake fully, to eat and drink deeply of our offer of love and relationship. We do it because we are daughters always, and mothers and wives, often. And because of this, I think we can understand God's desire for this community with, not only Israel, but also the peoples and nations, the gentiles, as the text from Isaiah affirms. And God beckons, invites, cajoles and deeply desires our presence and our relationship. God wants us gathered around, to see us together, to know us as a family, as a diverse, yet connected, loving body.
The banquet where we are invited takes lots of hard work—as they all do—on the part of the host and on the part of the servants, who we are, as the meal is prepared and the setting made welcoming. A banquet is also means a kind of work on the part of the guests who must prioritize and prepare once he or she, once we (who are at the same time guests and servants in the kingdom of God) receive the invitation.
Isaiah's feast of free food and drink, of sustenance and celebration, is a call given to the whole world of people, an invitation to see what it is that God has done or will do among God's people. It is a call to God's people to realize how far, how deep and how wide and how high the invitation stretches. The invitation to God's kingdom—the banquet hall of yesterday's parable—is given to us and given through us as we reflect the hospitality of our God and of our teacher and savior, Jesus Christ.
So we live in and we live into the dwelling place of God—that comfy kitchen table or that regal and royal palace where we can be led forth in joy and peace as
“the mountains and the hills before you
. . .burst into song,
and all the trees of the field . . . clap their hands.”3
Life itself responds and will respond to invitation and to the splendid transformation:
“Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress;
instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle;
and it shall be to the Lord for a memorial,
for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.”4
Amen.
1 WHOEVER WELCOMES By Wes Howard-Brook who teaches theology and biblical studies at Seattle University. In Seasons Fusion Pentecost 2 2012. www.abideinme.net
2 http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?lect_date=7/31/2011&tab=1
3 Isaiah 55:12b
4 Isaiah 55:13
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Sermon
September 16, 2012
Jeremiah
4:23–28
Psalm
19:1–6
Philippians
2:14–18
Mark
15:33–39
“Telling
the Glory of God”
Sometimes
when I look out into this world where we all live, I see with eyes
like Jeremiah. I see nothing but destruction, waste, sorrow, the
ruins of great ideas and ideals. And it's heartbreaking. Yet, like
Jeremiah, I also hear something else, just a glimmer, just a spark,
just the sure and certain, but unseen hope, the voice of God saying
quietly but with certainty, “I will not make a full end.” The
voice of God, which may come to us from any number of places saying,
“It will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end.”
And
I want to say this morning that death is not the not okay part.
Hopelessness, despair, loss of purpose—that's the not okay part.
Death is a part of the lives that we lead, a part of our existence as
human beings. Loss of hope and purpose are what need to be healed, so
that when we know death it is not the enemy.
To
be okay in the end, in one way of thinking, that we have serenity
with everything that comes along. It is to know that salvation comes,
though it may come when we are unaware of it or unable to acknowledge
it.
In
the way of prophets, Jeremiah saw a world, a culture and society that
had become blind to the purpose which God had brought it into being.
They were lost because they forgot who God called them to be, who God
continuously recreated them to be. Though their lives developed,
changing generation to generation, they were still called to reflect
and to somehow bear witness to God and to their own identity as God's
own people.
In
the beginnings of God's relationship with the people who would become
Israel, God began to speak with their ancestor Abraham. God simply
made Abraham a promise that he and Sarah's descendants would fulfill
a promise that God made—those children and children's children,
those generations of peoples would live and carry on the stories of
faith, the stories of God walking with him and the nations who came
from him.
And
from the beginning, there was an affirmation that when in harmony
with human action God's creation would be a source of support and
provide resources for life. However, from almost the same beginning,
there was also a very clear warning that disharmony would mean that
humanity had made itself an enemy to God's creation and experience
that enmity, that hostility in many ways. That disharmony, in the
earliest stories meant wasteful, violent or ungrateful death of any
living thing or the murder and selfish corruption that led to Cain's
exile and the flood in Genesis.
There
was an understanding that the actions of human beings—and in our
scriptures particularly, the actions of God's people, Israel had a
direct effect on the living things around them. In other words, what
they did effected everyone and everything that surrounded them. The
rocks and hills, the land and sky, the birds and animals, the plants
and soils and the cities and town suffered the consequences of their
words, actions and the choices that they made in relationship to one
another as neighbors and between enemies as well.
I
would risk saying that that is true for us as well. The words,
actions and choices we make result in changes for the rest of the
world in some way, shape or form. While we don't need to be paralyzed
by that knowledge, it is an important truth to take into account
whenever we consider our lives.
Our
relationships extend beyond those of whom we are conscious. Whether
we like it or not or even realize it, whatever we buy, drive, eat or
drink has an effect on life everywhere. And what others buy, drive,
eat or drink changes our lives as well. We all share the same sky,
the same atmosphere. The air that we breathe connects us.
This
week has been a difficult week for us as a particular community, as a
congregation. a very active member of the church just a few years
ago, died after several years in the nursing home following a stroke.
And Judy, who we are glad to know is (back or doing well) suffered a
heart attack moving us to pray for her recover and for her loved
ones, moving us to anxiety at her condition. In these nearby
relationships, there have been troubles and sorrows.
And
around the world has been in turmoil as well—which is not that
unusual, but this week, we in the United States were effected more
specifically by the violence. An ambassador and 3 others were killed
in Libya when armed gunman took over a protest about a film insulting
the prophet Mohammad. This week is also, of course, the painful
anniversary of terrorist attacks on the World Trade Centers and the
Pentagon and the plane that passengers prevented from reaching the
U.S. Capital.
It's
been an emotional week. For a while, in these circumstances, we
certainly need to care for physical ills and emotional pain and
sorrow. We need to take time for healing and caring for those close
to us. Yet we can't stay that way, focusing only upon ourselves and
looking only to our own pain and suffering.
It
is one of those times that can make us want to stay focused only on
self and self-interest. Yet it is this time that we are called to
remember who we are in our faith and as a nation—which are often
two different things. How is it that we remember who we are?
Every
Sunday, we gather around this table and remember. We remember that
Jesus taught his disciples about generosity and humility by following
God's will even though it led him to death. We remember the moment in
the gospel reading this morning when Jesus' expressed his own pain
and sorrow on the cross. We remember that, in the days following the
resurrection, Jesus came into the disciples' lives and revealed that
life would not be conquered by death, not forever.
Jeremiah’s
words of warning, his dire vision was true; it was real, plain as the
nose on his face. His country had been destroyed, the beautiful city
of Jerusalem had been brought to ruins for the most part. The temple
had been destroyed. The most educated and most valuable people
carried off to exile along with many others. The fields burned;
orchards and vineyards destroyed and so birds and other animals were
gone. He saw earthquakes, too. He saw no sky, perhaps days of
lingering smoke, hiding the skies. The air and sky suffer, too, in
the consequences of wartime.
Yet,
even in this most dire warning; even when the word of the Lord has
been ignored, there is some hope. Though the land was made desolate,
God said, “I will not make a full end.” The land and the sky
would mourn, and as long as there was someone left to mourn, there is
hope.
I
know that sounds odd, but as long as someone could mourn—even if it
was earth and sky, then all was not lost. Because if there was a
mourner, there could be one who began to rejoice. There could be one
who, in the words of today's psalm tells, “the
glory of God;” and one who “proclaims God's handiwork.” As long
as the earth exists; as long as the skies remain, the atmosphere
clings to this place despite our actions, there is hope for life
itself. The sky bore witness to the desolation, and the sky also bore
witness to the glory of God.
And
the sky provides hope and life for all living things; the atmosphere
of this planet unites all living things, all people, all plants, all
bacteria—everything that lives. We can celebrate and realize our
unity as people because if nothing else, the air we breathe unites
us. And we can be ethical people just knowing this, just
understanding that this one thing brings us together. Even without
God, we might be able to move toward better relationship with one
another and with living things, but belief in God helps. Faith
and faithful religious practice instills values important to society
and provides a unique sense of hope in the face of death.
In
faith, in our particular faith in Christ, we have the hope of
resurrection in the face of death—though we are often called upon
to realize that we have to walk through death to get to that kind of
life. We must be transformed by profound, immense, earth-shaking
events to achieve the life that Christ offers. So we can realize that
mourning loss is never the end. The end is life—if it's not okay,
it's not the end.
When
we face the effects of our actions on this planet, in hope, we can
know that there is another tomorrow. As long as we have a planet to
live on, we are called to make it a nurturing place to live for all
living things. With the hope of resurrection within us, we can
realize that we have hope in a God of transformation, nurture and
growth. We have hope in Christ who followed the way of life that God
offered him, even though it led to his death. We can know that
sacrificing something often leads to transformation beyond the
sacrifice.
Changing
our lifestyles to better the earth and sky around us would mean some
sacrifice and transformation in this world—in the economic system
in which we live. As we learn and grow more into the wisdom and
knowledge of how our choices affect the environment, we can choose
transformation instead of giving in to death.
In
the way of Christ, there is a difference between giving up, surrender
to the powers that be and giving in to the purpose for which God
calls us, even if that means loss. Jesus didn't surrender who he was
when he was arrested. In our scriptures, he didn't allow the Romans
or the Jewish leaders to define him in their terms. He insisted on
defining himself as God had define him, as God had created him. He
still died on a cross, that was inevitable, but he died after living
from beginning to end as God's messiah, as God's suffering servant,
as God's teacher of wisdom and healer of disease, as God's weapon
against evil and never gave into the evil that power often becomes.
In
the way of Christ, as Christians, we can see the whole of who Jesus
had been in his focus on caring for others, as he healed the sick and
cast out evil. We can realize that Jesus nurtured people in the midst
of celebration like feasts and weddings and in the midst of mourning
when people were sick and died. He taught and urged connections
between people and life in all situations.
When
it seems as if the birds have fled and the land is desolate, when
sorrow seems to salt the fields with tears and mourning, we can
remember that joy will return to the land. Joy will return, sometimes
as we begin to recognize it in others—even in the blue skies, the
green trees, the blooming flowers—and we can have hope. We can tell
the glory of God as we see it, as we hear it in the skies, proclaim
the goodness of God, the good news of God without words, but
proclaiming to to all the earth, to the end of the world. Amen.
Sermon
September 9, 2012
Genesis
1:26–28
Psalm
8
Philippians
2:1–8
Mark
10:41–45
“In God's Image and
Likeness”
From
my childhood, I've heard very different things about being a human
being, sometimes at church, sometimes at school, sometimes on
television and most I don't remember exactly where I've heard them.
I've heard, in some of the prayers of the elders when I was a child
of our unworthiness to come to the table of our Lord. In some hymns I
heard we were wretches, which I didn't understand, or worms, which I
did. I heard that our bodies were miracles of life and that we were
instigators of sin. I read book about how incredibly intricate and
complicated are the relationships between our cells, forming tissue;
between our tissue, forming organs, between our organs, forming
systems and between our organ systems, forming life itself—as
humans and as other living things.
Then
as I progressed, I learned about the wealth of genetic information
that gets passed from parent to child—in every living thing. And
deeper into that code, I learned about the chemistry that makes that
possible, the templates and proteins of our genes and the information
between our genes that are still mysteries, yet daily scientists
discover broader and more complex pieces of information that just a
few years ago were completely unknown.
In
today's scripture from Genesis, we hear second half of the story of
the sixth movement of creation, when God spoke humanity into being.
All other living things were set in motion in an echo of poetry God
set humanity into motion, into fruition and purpose. According to
this first story of creation in Genesis, God decided that humankind
would somehow carry the image of God, in both male and female—perhaps
most perfectly in relationship.
In
this mysterious set of verses, God said, Let us, plurally make
humankind. This plural has been understood in different ways—but it
is likely that God was seen as a ruler in the midst of a royal court,
speaking decrees that were instantaneously carried out. For great
purpose, God set humanity within the ordered creation for a purpose,
just as the rest of creation was set forth with a purpose. One was
similar to all other living things—be fertile and make lots of
babies. The other purpose focuses uniquely on the purpose of a being
with God's image: to rule creation and it's living population. And to
rule it “in God's image” as God would rule. With power, yes, that
cannot be denied—and also with compassion, justice, hope, grace,
responsibility and with an awareness of the purposes for which each
living thing was created.
In
simplistic terms, the flies and unseen bacteria to eat the dead
bodies of bigger plants and animals, the spiders to eat the flies,
the mice and birds to spread the seeds of the trees and other plants,
other birds to eat the mice and the spiders, etc. The snakes to eat
the mice and other rodents, the bigger animals to eat the smaller
ones, the people to breed and recombine the plants and raise the
animals that feed more people, and the flies and bacteria to reduce
them all back down to reenter the food chain. We may have dominion or
the responsibility to rule with the love of God, yet we, too, are an
integral part of all that is and will be.
In
my undergraduate education, I took a class that introduced me to the
ways in which human beings had developed plants for the first time in
a scientific way. I had known about modern plant breeding because I
grew up in a farming community, but I didn't realize that for
thousands of years human beings had been selectively breeding plants
to increase the amount and kinds of food that they produced. Ten
thousand years ago, corn, for instance, was once not much more than a
small grass with edible seeds, now it's a very large grass that feeds
millions of people and millions of animals as well. People made it
what it is today, from where it began as a useful, but limited plant.
Lots of other plants are like that as well. The apple also was once
just a small sweet fruit, prized for that rare sweetness in nature by
lots of animals. People, including the fabled Johnny Appleseed,
spread the trees and bred them for larger and sweeter fruit and
varieties that we know today.
In
reflection of our Godly image, people have done wondrous things. We
have adapted our environments to suit our needs. Instead of growing
fur to protect our skins from heat or cold, we make clothing. We live
in shelters to make all kinds of climate habitable. People live, at
least part of the time, in climates like Antarctica and the Sahara
only because we have created objects that make that possible.
In
so many ways, we have shown our potential as carriers of God's image
and likeness throughout the whole of creation, the whole of the
universe itself. And yet, as we are all aware, we have also caused
irreparable harm to some places on this planet and to some
populations of plants and animals that will never live again.
In
our departure from the loving and merciful, justice-filled and
graceful image and likeness of God, we have abandoned many
responsibilities for our fellow creatures. For thousands of years, in
many cases, we may have acted out of ignorance. Whole nations in
places that we now know as deserts were once forested and much more
fertile than they are today. The cedars of Lebanon, were truly once a
wonder—now they are a memory. Islands in Scotland and Northern
England, in Ireland and other places were stripped of trees—and in
some cases peat bogs harvested until they began to disappear. Much of
this was done when human life was a matter of bare survival and can
be understood.
Yet
in recent decades, we have come to understand so much more about the
role of humanity within the webs of life that span our planet. We
have been shown from the point of view of ethics and science that our
choices make a difference to the survival of many creatures,
including the survival of our own selves as a species.
We
have come to realize that our unthinking actions have considerable
consequences—and that our blatant disregard and sometimes greedy
actions have devastating effects on the creation that God has made
and has given to all living things to live.
While
I know that many of the actions we take are unthinking and done out
of ignorance, I also know that people do make choices that they know
are harmful to this planet and to all of the living things that
depend upon it to survive. I know that individually, we don't always
understand what effects our choices made, the cars we drive or the
food we eat or even the clothes we wear, but corporations,
governments, scientists, doctors, have the capacity to find out. We
are responsible—as a whole, as the creatures that God has created
with God's very own image and likeness.
We
are capable of great good and great evil—both because we carry
within us and upon us the power that God has given us. Scripture and
experience confirms this—and we know it. We know we have choices.
We can choose actions that make today easier and make tomorrow
impossible. We can choose to act in ways that are inconvenient and
even painful today so that many more generations of living things
will not only survive, but enjoy life on this planet.
We
have the choice: Psalm 8 reminds us that God has made us just a
little less than angels and crowned us with the power to be honorable
and gracious. And that we have been given the responsibilities of
power over other living things. We are minuscule compared to the
universe of stars and planets and powerful as we choose to use the
power God gives us.
As
I ponder human beings, the thoughts and words and phrases that I
heard growing up were mostly right, even though they were often
contradictory. We are fearfully and wonderfully made, knit into
intricate complex organisms. At the same time, we have the potential
to be destructive and unworthy of the glorious abilities we have. We
carry God's image and likeness in faith and in truth. And we are
given a freedom of choice as to how we use the power that gives us.
Will we serve that which needs our knowledge, wisdom and protection?
Will we use and abuse as we are given the power?
Let the same mind be in
you that was in Christ Jesus having the same love, being in full
accord and of one mind. Let us be the humanity that God created us to
be. Amen.
Sermon
September 2, 2012
Genesis
1:1–25
Psalm
33:1–9
Romans
1:18–23
John
1:1–14
“Presence
and Design”
During
the season following Pentecost, the lectionary scriptures often
relate to the life of the church. They often refer explicitly to the
earliest church and how they learned to live and work together. As a
congregation, we've been looking at those texts in the epistle to the
Ephesians for several weeks.
As
September begins, we're going to switch gears. For the next four
weeks, we're going to celebrate the Season of Creation, beginning
with Planet Earth, then Humanity, followed by Sky and lastly we
celebrate Mountain.
And
so this Sunday we begin with the creation of the planet where we
live. Jacinda and I read an interpretation of Genesis 1:1-25 with
your participation, which emphasizes the poetry and repetition of
this creation story in the Bible. Its
original use was likely liturgical, addressing a community of exiles.
It came out of the priestly tradition and was written during the
Babylonian exile when Hebrew exiles longed to be assured that God
would find order out of their chaos. They despaired at their
situation; they may have been hopeless about their return to God's
promised land.
At
times of despair or
hopelessness, when a people feel that God is too absent or too far
from their cries, this text of proclamation assures that the Creator
has created and continues to do so in the face of chaos or the
formless void. God does not make something that is simply there.
Rather, everything comes alive with God’s very word and continues
to burst forth with life.
All
the intricate design of creation is in the hands of the Creator.
Creation is not a one-time act but rather comes to life in God, so
God is both distant and intricately involved. Creation is not
independent or self-reliant. Life moves from God to creation and
throughout the webs that connect creation to all of its separate
parts and the systems that interconnect it.
In
this part of the creation story contained in Genesis 1, we are told
about creation as God creates order out of chaos—as God separated
states of being, like light and darkness, matter from matter: like
water from water and water from soil and earth.
The
swirling light and darkness were made distinct: the time of light
became Day and the time of dark became Night, on the first day. So in
this first act of creation, time itself was created—and so a way of
counting is begun. And as is the Hebrew way, the evening begins the
first day—the evening and the morning and then it's the second day.
Then
God made a dome, a space—I imagine half a bubble or a bowl shaped
object—to separate the waters of chaos from one another. When God
created the sky, God also created what could be call up (toward the
sky) and down (away from the sky).
In
Genesis 1:6-7, we read: And God said, ‘Let there
be a dome in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters
from the waters.’ So
God made the dome and separated the waters that were under the dome
from the waters that were above the dome.
In
the imagination of the ancient world, chaos was represented by water.
Ships sailed close to shore because to lose track of land could mean
being lost forever. They could imagine that beyond the dome of sky
was water. And below the ground was water because if you dug deep
enough, water came up there, too. So God controlled the chaos of the
universe by created a place where life could exist.
God
again spoke to the matter God told the waters to gather together so
that the land could be seen, so that the sand and soil and dust could
be made useful. Water was now just water and land was now just
land—so the land could fulfill a role and be the place where plants
could grow.
That
was the end of the third day—and all of this was deemed good, God
finds pleasure in this creation.
As
the third day ends, God has ordered time by creating day and night.
God has made creation habitable by making space in the watery chaos
and God has ordered the separation between water and land so that
life began with the plants and trees.
In
the next three moments of creation, the poetry expands upon itself.
On the first day, God created light and dark—day and night. During
its partnering fourth day, God makes the great light to rule the day,
with the changes that the seasons bring, hot summers and coolers
winters. God makes the lesser light to rule the night, with the
phases of the moon that signal the passing of months, the pull of the
tides that draws the ocean waters and together they reveal the
seasons and signs of the time that passes. More order, more
systematic ways to keep track of time of planting and harvest. In
this movement, people are given more awareness that God works within
and around us through God's created abundance.
The
fifth day God looked at the second day and
thought, “The water is so empty and so is the space above it and
above the land. Waters, have living creatures to swim around in you
and Sky, have living creatures to fly—we'll call them birds. Have
lots of kinds so that the waters swarm and the sky is full.” And
God found them delightful, too. God said, “Be fertile—fill up the
waters and the skies and the nesting grounds.”
God
looked at the soil and plants of the third day again and thought,
“The plants are nice, and there are so many plants, something
should use those. Earth, may there be creatures that live on you:
cattle and things that crawl around and living things that roar and
run and leap in the wild places,” so it did. God made all of those
kinds of creatures, wild ones and the ones called cattle and the
creepy crawly things, too. And God was delighted with them all.
Each
day of God's creative movement, God sees what is created and find
pleasure. God calls creation good or delightful, wondrously made and
full of potential. In this poetry, God's order takes the matter of
the universe, dangerous as it once was and makes it safe for life.
God makes the waters of death into the living miracle where life
could be fruitful and multiply. And God created a world where God
could be delighted.
This
account of creation was assembled from oral tradition and passed on
in this form to the people of Israel when they were in exile. They
were assured by this story when their lives full of chaos and they
didn't understand where God was and how God would save them. After
the Babylonians and later the Assyrians and then the Persians held
them captive, God's chosen people had no physical center of faith.
They knew only the temple of Solomon, which had been destroyed, where
was God?
They
needed to hear that God's miracle, God's voice and Spirit or breath
infused every living and non-living thing that surrounded them. They
needed to be able to find God even in the perceived chaos of their
gentile captors, even in the violence that often accompanies
oppression. So their leaders reminded them that God was in the
natural order that surrounded them.
Each
moment that passed in these moments of creation, the days built upon
one another—they were created and then given purpose toward God's
building goal of self-sustaining life, toward a sustaining and always
recreating planet.
At
times of chaos, times of pain and sorrow, times when despair and
hopelessness—like that of that exile of Israel so long ago—we are
invited by our scriptures, by the stories of the people of faith to
seek assurance from the miracles around us.
I
can't imagine what it is like to experience extreme personal
tragedy—yet I hear stories of tragedies each day. When one of us is
struck by loss, that person could suffer alone and have no hope. We
can hear stories of people dying on battlefields and within hospitals
all over the world and sink into despair and hopelessness. We can
experience the loss of thousands by natural disaster or human action
and wonder if we'll ever survive.
Or
we can know that God delighted in this world that God created as God
built wonder upon wonder. We can realize that in the face of the
chaos we perceive and sometimes create, God draws us toward order and
wisdom and understanding.
We
can delight in what God has created—because God delights in
creation. We believe in the goodness of God's work, because God is
good.
We
can and will continue to celebrate what God has created and what God
is creating all around us, now and for all time. To the glory of God.
Amen.
Sermon
August 26, 2012
1
Kings 8:(1,6,10-11), 22-30, 41-43
Psalm 84
Ephesians 6:10-20
John
6:56-69
“Strengthened
and Equipped”
God
of Power, God of Peace, you equip us to face the existential,
political and spiritual challenges of this and every era. May we be
mindful of your protection, and help us share your word in ways that
promote love, grace, and justice. May the words of my mouth and the
meditations of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight. O Lord,
our rock and our salvation. Amen.
Like
many nerdy couples in this world, Carl and I watch “Doctor Who,”
which is, if you are unaware, a British television show that features
an alien a. k. a., a Time Lord who looks just like a human—or
according to him, we look Time Lord—who travels through time and
space in a ship that looks like a British police box from the 1960's.
In some of the episodes we watched recently a deeply in love young
couple, Amy and Rory, were separated. She was locked into a kind of
box. And through a long complicated storyline I won't explain—he
was able to guard her for over two thousand years, many of them
dressed as a Roman centurion. When, after that 2,000 years, they were
reunited, the Doctor said in awe of his love, “2,000 years . . .
the boy who waited . . . good on you, mate.”
So,
this time I read this scripture which describes the armor of God in
such Roman terms, I thought of Rory guarding Amy for over 2,000 years
until she was able to be released. Talk about love, talk about
commitment, talk about protective. He'd saved the box from military
conquest, fire, looting and all kinds of things and eventually ended
up exactly where they needed to be, at exactly the time they needed
to be there. The original purpose of the armor he had worn was
irrelevant—it was Rory's love that made it all
possible—spiritually, he had been equipped in some way through
their relationship to make it through.
And,
I confess, I am a geeky Doctor Who fan . . . and a fan of British
entertainment. But I really do love this kind of modern day allegory
of love. What does it look like to have the strength, the courage,
the gifts (tools and equipment) we need to carry on as disciples of
Jesus? In Rory's case, as unreal as the example is, he was equipped
by Amy's love and knowledge of him—in this fictitious universe he
was equipped by her imprint of his commitment and love through her
commitment and love.
We,
too, are equipped by relationship, a relationship with God that this
Pauline writer describes as armor—based on the armor of a Roman
soldier which was in his day, an ever-present symbol of imperial
power. Though it can be seen as a militaristic description, it is
also a way of overturning what we think of as power—making God's
peace (the good news) the ultimate purpose and aim.
Power
and perfection in the world where this epistle was written—especially
when it came to military power and perfection of power and
influence—was the Roman empire. And since it was everywhere, it was
a good place to start when describing the powerful and perfect—as
long as the metaphor is understood as metaphor. In other words,
beyond a certain level of comparison, the metaphor breaks down. For
example, some of you are early birds; I happen to be a night owl, but
none of us (as far as I know) have feathers. So these gifts and
products of our relationship with God are like armor in many ways and
in may ways they are not.
But
there is a reason that the Pauline writer describes them as pieces of
armor. For one thing, as I had said, Roman armor was the ultimate
technology of the day—the pinnacle of human invention when it came
to weaponry, defensive and offensive. And as has often been said
about this text, the only offensive weapon in this description—from
the helmet, to the breastplate, the belt, the shield, the shoes—is
the sword, which is the truth, God's word. There is no physical
weapon here, but the message, as the text also says—the gospel or
good news of peace.
This
metaphor describes God's protection so that we can stand up to
whatever is evil in the world. And I contend that evil exists within
us (in our disbelief that we and all people are God's beloved
children and all that comes from that disbelief) as well as the evil
that comes from that belief within others.
The
metaphor of the armor of God, then, speaks of the power with which we
are clothed through our relationship with God—and so rejects the
power that we may have through our relationships with powerful
people, powerful groups or powerful governments and nations. We have
no authentic power based upon any connection, except the connection
that we have with God through the gift, the grace that is Jesus
Christ.
The
truth that holds it all together, wrapped around us, keeps us
standing, sets a foundation for all the rest. Truth, not information
or factual data, but the truth of the gospel that Jesus brought helps
us try and test what comes to us. According to Jesus, we are to love
one another. Following his example, we are to care for the poor,
lame, sick and imprisoned. Looking to his teachings, we are to repent
of our selfishness and seek God's household and realm of influence
all around us and in unexpected places. Listening to the testimony of
his disciples, we are to seek out a relationship with God like he
had, praying and celebrating the presence of God in our lives, doing
what we can to live according to the stories and principles of God's
household.
The
breastplate of righteousness reminds me that, to the best of my
ability, I seek good choices for myself and in my relationships and
promote them in my community, state, nation and world. It won't
always be perfect, but as one person wrote, “What if we embraced
the best thinking on conflict resolution? The most forward thinking
of international laws and courts of justice? The most technically
sophisticated responses to the alleviation of poverty and hunger? The
cleverest weapons to fight climate change? The most comprehensive and
international resistance to evil regimes?”1
We won't always be right, but we will be on a path toward better ways
of living.
In
each and every way, we can look for ways to carry the gospel of peace
within us—whatever makes us ready to proclaim the gospel of peace,
live as witness, share as example, work as purpose or mission—those
are the shoes on our feet. I've always liked the idea that the shoes
are my choice, according to what it is that I am called to do for God
as I proclaim this gospel.
Another
preacher commented, “The shoes of the gospel of peace interest me.
My son has autism and doesn't speak, so much of the communication in
our house is non-verbal. When my wife and I come down each morning
the first thing my son does is check our shoes. He's learned that the
shoes we have on speak volumes about the kind of day we have planned.
Dress shoes mean work. Scuffed slip-ons mean a casual, more relaxed
day around the house.
“In Wishful Thinking, Frederick Buechner writes, "If you want to know who you really are as distinct from who you like to think you are, keep an eye on where your feet take you." Peace is the goal. Our feet, not our words, will get us there. The author of Ephesians doesn't commit to any one style of shoe as THE most appropriate for spreading the gospel of peace. I suppose wing-tips or high heeled pumps will do, even Crocs or flip-flops. But my experience is that spreading peace is hard work. My money would be on work boots as the best, probably a pair with steel toes.”2
We
can then be sure in faith because whatever is said, done or given to
us, we can hold tight by trusting in God, by believing in the vision
that is also faith, by knowing that God is faithful to us
steadfastly, even when we fall short of perfect loyalty, by believing
that God is with us, even when we feel alone and afraid, even when we
make others feel that way.
Our
ultimate deliverance, whatever happens on a daily basis, caps off the
ensemble because bad things will happen—and the original readers of
this letter understood that. They had begun to suffer from
persecution due to their faith, whereas before their difficulties may
have been of a more general kind, living under the Roman Empire's
forcible peace. So knowing that deliverance or salvation was already
theirs spoke volumes. They knew that in Jesus' vulnerability and
mortality, he led the way through death into life by resurrection, so
death wasn't to be feared. It was still inevitable, but it was no
longer an end in itself, but a means to lead to life lived eternally
with God.
The
word of God is described as the only offensive or unquestionably
aggressive piece of the costume as we stand wrapped in truth—truth
we may not fully understand in every situation, but truth
nonetheless. Yet, as the sword of truth is described also in the
Revelation of John as coming from Jesus' mouth, perhaps we need to be
reminded of that, too. The words of scripture, contains the word of
God, the words of Jesus also convey the words of God. May the word of
God we also carry be as finely tuned and carefully used—not
carelessly used to hurt, but more like a surgeon's blade, a tool to
cut away disease.
Therefore,
it seems to me, before we act and as we act and while we act as
disciples of Jesus, we pray for wisdom. We pray for one another—in
supplication. We pray for people who preach and teach us. We pray for
ourselves so that we will have that responsibility, opportunity, and
ability when we need it. And we pray for boldness, to stand up
knowing that we stand in relationship to God, who provides all that
we need to be God's very own children.
To
the glory of God, in strength and in power. Amen.
2David
Cameron, Pastor of Rockfish Presbyterian Church in
Nellysford, VA
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