Sermon January 10, 2010

Amy Wharton, Pastor
Cuba Christian Church
Isaiah 43:1-7
Psalm 29
Acts 8:14-17
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

“Immersed in Love”

“Keri's smalls hands are clasped tightly together, as she concentrates on remembering the day that a giant tsunami swept her out of her family's home in Banda Aceh, North Sumatra, tearing first her father from her grasp, then her pregnant sister and finally her mother. She was nine years old then.

“It was five years ago on [December 26] that the Indian Ocean tsunami struck coastal communities throughout much of South East Asia, leaving a black misery of bodies and ruined lives in its wake. The exact number of dead in the 13 countries damaged by the waves will never be known, but at least 160,000 of the quarter of million estimated total fatalities occurred in and around Banda Aceh - damaged first by the huge earthquake, whose epicentre was just 150 miles out to sea, then swept by the wave that raced far inland just a short while later. A further 500,000 survivors were left homeless.”[1]

The fear and devastation that gripped the Southeast Asian communities is beyond my imaginings. Even though we deal with flooding rivers and rising water tables, water logged fields and rivers constantly in flood, it is hard to imagine the kind devastation experienced five years ago.

Yet it is with that kind of fear that the ancient Israelites viewed water—especially water beyond the view of land or water that rushed and flooded. Chaos and destruction were how they mostly thought of massive bodies of water. In Genesis, for example, “In the beginning when God created* the heavens and the earth, 2the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep.” The deep—the primordial, untouched, unbounded, eerie waters before God’s voice called forth order from it. And there is a tension whenever waters enter the story. The waters of the Red Sea or Reed Sea in Exodus present a barrier to freedom and the possibility of death to the Hebrews fleeing Egypt. The Jordan River was a barrier to covenantal promise as their children’s children planned to enter Canaan land. There was something fearful about water, it was a place where great power and destruction touched the land.

And yet water was and is and will always be necessary to life in smaller more manageable amounts. More importantly for our texts this morning, it is a place of transition and transformation. Just as the watery chaos of Genesis was a mysterious and scary thing, it was also a thing that awaited God’s voice of order and creation—it represented a readiness for God. The waters of the Red Sea were the first boundary that the Hebrews had to cross to begin their journey toward becoming the people of God. It was a baptism of sorts. Then the Jordan River was the final step as the people passed into the Promised land. They were truly born as God’s people, passing through waters that marked them: alive, claimed and fully covenanted and belonging to God.

The text from Isaiah represents a fearful view of water—but it’s fear mixed with purpose, respect and reassurance. (Is. 43.1-2)
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.
In these words we can hear birth—from one kind of life to another—as the Hebrews moved from slavery to freedom in the wilderness. And we can words of trial and purification—through cleansing flames of a silversmith’s fire or blazing experiences that strip of everything but what is absolutely essential.

God was calling the people of Israel from their trials into community so that promises of community and belonging could be fulfilled—not that community life doesn’t have trials and tribulations. Life in community with God and one another gave them support in their trials, which was what God was promising them as they walked through trials and as they helped others experience trials—individually and in community.

The tsunami of 2004, the hurricanes Katrina and Rita of 2005, recent earthquakes and floods that are more subtly destructive, but cause damage and disease in the time that follows remind us of the power of water and earth. Yet in the times that follow these natural disasters, human beings have expressed some of their best behavior and response. People continue to work in Southeast Asian countries helping them rebuild. The model for Christian response to the hurricanes on the Gulf Coast has helped congregations respond to tragedies in other places since, making us realize that when big tragedies happen, we can do some good. We’ve grown our communities beyond our doorsteps and into the surrounding world in many ways.

Life in community is about connection and strength and those come through the responsibility, justice and transformation that come through the gifts of the Holy Spirit. We’ve been reminded that working together using what we have been given can accomplish good things. The situations haven’t been perfect, but good and powerful acts have been done.

And water, because of its power and essence, is a wonderful symbol of a life of faith and spiritual connection to God. Really connecting to God should carry with it a sense of awe and mystery—making a relationship with someone who’s got the whole universe in a hand should be a little intimidating. Water flowing, functioning and gushing through the systems of life in the world can remind us that God’s own spirit’s work. We’ve all seen pictures of white water rapids—if we haven’t ridden them—and be reminded that the water on the mountaintop comes down to water the life in the valleys. We are reminded at this time of the year that the water we drink and bathe in throughout the year comes to us from aquifers that are replenished by years of abundant rain and lots of snow. We might grumble and have good reason when fields and streets and homes are flooded, but we also can realize the huge picture of the planetary systems of water flow. Water is life and will support life for years to come as it enters ecosystems. Often what gives us trouble is our attempt to control water and other natural systems without looking at the long-term affects of our temporary solutions to problems.

Water, as it is ordered and used by living things makes life possible and reminds us that in creation, redemption and salvation we are immerse in the love that God has for God’s creation. We are accompanied in times of need and in times of joy when we are made more than aware of God’s love for us.

And water as it flows freely and energetically reveals the overpowering and beyond our understanding aspects of the love of God for us—so powerful and great that we cannot even express it.

The baptism of Jesus in today’s scripture describes a moment in Jesus’ life when he was reminded of God’s love for him—and when God revealed immense and immersing love for all of us.

John’s baptism of multitudes was God’s opening act for Jesus—God always prepares us for a new thing, we just have to pay attention. John refocused the people attention and energy on a renewed vision of forgiveness—but he didn’t invent water baptism. He knew as did many around him that Israel’s relationship with God needed renewal and that’s what immersion was. It was a symbol of transition from one phase of life to another. It meant cleansing and it meant purification—yet it was also like birth.

The seasons of Advent and Christmas told us about the preparation for Jesus and about his birth—now we are exposed to the birth of the adult phase of his life when he began a different intensity of relationship with God and entered into a life of preaching, teaching and service to the people of his world.

He requested the waters of baptism—perhaps not because he needed repentance from sin—but because he needed immersion into the very real love of God. In this time he was claimed by God in a demonstration of his choice to serve and God’s choice to claim him very tangibly. John baptized in living water—flowing water—as a sign of life, but also a sign of the power that God was willing to share in people’s lives.

Luke tells of spiritual energy surrounding the baptism of Jesus. He entered baptism along with so many others—the spiritual totality of all who were looking to God for transformation in that day and in all the days that John baptized. He claimed those folks as much as he entered into their midst as one of them.

The beloved community of discipleship began then and continues today as we add our own choices and lives to the beloved community in this place and in many places and times ever since. What about participation in community gives us continued energy to serve?

God reminds us in Isaiah that we are called from the north, south, east and west—that we come and go in community surging and flowing together and apart bringing life and taking it into the wider world. We know that the relationships and prayer we share together gives us a surge of energy that reminds us how much we are loved whether we are here or in other places and groups or when we are alone.

The beloved community that is the church—past, present and future—reminds us that we are in an ever-changing, transforming community, just like our faith is ever-changing and transformational. We are never done and ready to retire from faith; we are always looking to the next phase of existence of our faith.

Whatever tomorrow brings—transformation, rest, grace, love, turmoil, pain, hope, joy, peace, movement, Sabbath rest or exhausting, yet useful work—we are immersed in the love of God as God’s beloved children with whom God is pleased.

To the glory of God—who walks with us and love us, world without end. Amen.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[1]“Aceh's towns and villages remember the terrible day when the tsunami struck; Five years after the Boxing Day tsunami, Aceh's people are still recovering”; By Fiona MacGregor in Banda Aceh, Published: 8:30AM GMT 20 Dec 2009. Telegraph article Dec 20 2009

Sunday's Sermon--April 20 2008

Sermon April 20 2008
1 Peter 2:2-10John 14:1-14
“There’s a Place for Us (and Them)”
The two young people, a man and a woman, were on two different sides of a wall—not a brick wall, but one created by the people who loved each of them. As one told the story, her family hated his because of an ancestral feud or differences in social class. As another told it, the his race was considered superior to hers. The walls between them didn’t keep them apart because, as the story is often told, love conquers all. Romantic love, in popular wisdom, is the ultimate force; nothing can defeat it. Shakespeare told it about Romeo Montague and Juliet Capulet; Leonard Bernstein (music), and Stephen Sondheim (lyrics) told it about a young Puerto Rican woman named Maria and a young man named Tony. They found homes in one another’s lives for the short, very short time of the story.

The title of today’s sermon comes, with modification, from West Side Story—“Somewhere” is a song sung by the young man and woman as they sought some place, some time where they could be together and happy. They sought a world that wouldn’t keep them apart for race, class, language or place of birth

There's a place for us,
Somewhere a place for us.
Peace and quiet and open air
Wait for us
Somewhere.
There's a time for us,
Some day a time for us,
Time together with time to spare,
Time to look, time to care,
Someday!
Somewhere.
We'll find a new way of living,
We'll find a way of forgiving
Somewhere.
There's a place for us,
A time and place for us.
Hold my hand and we're half way there.
Hold my hand and I'll take you there
Somehow, Someday, Somewhere!

John’s gospel describes Jesus as the incarnate Word of God who came to humanity and set up his tent among us, according to the prologue the author wrote. Jesus lived—made a home within humanity so that humanity could experience God as they never had before. He lived, taught, touched, fed and cared for those he met because that was the Word of God within him. He brought people home to God and brought God home to humanity. He was the place in which God and humanity dwelled.

In today’s text from this gospel, Jesus has turned his face toward Jerusalem and the inevitable death he faced there. As he was speaking to his disciples in this selection, he was assuring them of his continuing care for them even as he was no longer present. He was assuring them that God would be with them just like now and that God cared just as he did. In my paraphrase, “Worrying won’t help a thing. You can count on God; you can count on me. There is no place where God does not live—you are never without God’s presence.” And “You know me—you know God. I am in God; God is in me. God speaks through me; God in me does the work that I do. Listen, God is in me; I am in God. Believe me as I speak; or believe because of what God does through me. God is in you, too, as you understand that God is in me.”

Jesus built a home among humanity so that humanity could understand that God dwelled within them and dwelled among them. Jesus didn’t live just to die and leave—Jesus lived to reveal God, to reveal that God loved the world so much that Jesus, God’s son, would be our way to God. We are called in this story to feel safe in God’s care as the disciples were to feel safe, no matter what happened to Jesus. Yet as the story continued, as Jesus neared Jerusalem, his arrest and crucifixion the uncertainty in the disciples grew. It was a scary time and Jesus needed them to realize that God was in their midst now and God would care for them always.

Feeling safe and secure is one of the greatest feelings that we can foster in one another. Some children are exposed to uncertainty and danger way too soon in their lives and they never develop the assurance that they can rely on anyone. One of the pioneering researchers of child development described it as a journey with stage one as trust vs. mistrust. Infants and small children must learn that they will be fed when they are hungry, comforted when they are hurt or sad, and cared for when they are sick. This time is crucial so that they can move on to learn more in their lives. An insecure infancy and childhood creates a person must relearn trust or they cannot trust anyone else in their lives. Now, all children and infants are exposed to times when their needs aren’t immediately addressed—that’s natural, but if children are taught not to trust the people that love them insecurity may trouble them for their whole lives.

Providing a safe place to live is important when we are children. We need shelter from the weather: warmth in winter, shade in summer. Those specifics may differ from culture to culture. A tent for a nomadic society is enough. A building is necessary for our society—whether we share it or not. That is basic to who we are as humans. We need a place. But we also need more.

Having a home, in my view, is how we judge our relative happiness in life. If we belong somewhere, we have a home—wherever we live. If we don’t have a feeling of belonging, then we may live in a mansion, but home eludes us.

The stories handed down through generations reveal the importance of belonging. The story of Romeo and Juliet, which was adapted from an older poem which was adapted from the even older story of a couple named Tristan and Isolde telling of the timeless desire to find belonging in the life of one other person. This, too, is a natural inclination that brings young people together to form the basis of a family and a home. But this kind of belonging is usually just the beginning of their life together. It’s the most exciting, that’s why we tell stories about it, but it is just the beginning.

Many of us also find a sense of belonging within our families of origin. Mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers, maybe even grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, form communities of kinship in which we can feel at home. As I described before, family is where we learn to belong from the very beginning. Care and feeding, loving touches and words, learning rules and encouraging curiosity are ways that families create a sphere where we feel we belong. Families are a further creation of the feeling of belonging that couples find in one another—ideally—yet they are more flexible in many ways. Families are made up of lots of combinations of relationships. Parents relate to one another—and belong together as lovers and friends. Children relate to parents as sources of security and discipline, of care and nurture—and relate to one another as peers and competitors, as sources of authority or advice, as people who teach them to love differences as well as similarities. And grandparents and all the others fulfill those functions—simply out of the way that we structure society. It doesn’t have to be intentional and usually isn’t, we learn and grow within them as love is expressed in all of those very embodied ways.

But sometimes, though we love one another, the differences between us and those we are related to can cause us pain and may even cause us to separate from one another. We are related by law and biology, but we may not feel connected as we think we should be. Sometimes that’s because of our lack of care by those who are supposed to love us, but sometimes it is just differences created by the complex and mysterious God that made us. Or we may just realize in our growth and development that we can belong in other places, too. And we like to belong—it’s who we are

I understand that we also find belonging—we find a home—in families of choice. We weren’t born into them or adopted formally by them—families of choice are formed through relationships arising from our choices. Groups of friends may become close enough to one another that they feel like family—they even disagree and continue to love one another just like family. They are a home for those who belong. I believe that for families of origin to be home they also have to be families of choice.

But we also can make a home within a family of choice called church. We can belong and feel love and care within the body of Christ. We can continue to create hospitality and welcome so abundant within the body of Christ that it can expand. We can take the words of Jesus seriously, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.”

We make a choice of family when we join ourselves to the church of Jesus Christ, making a confession of faith in him and being welcomed into the body by its members. And as members of this family, we have Jesus’ example and his teaching to continue. Not just to do as he did—as his disciples—but to continue his family in continuity. We are called to continue walking in the way, and the truth and the life that God sent to live among us. We are called to find home in Jesus and to share that home with those who are in need of one, too.

This home, this church, is built of nothing less that the members of the body of Christ—like described in 1 Peter, each one of us is called to be a “living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight, and 5like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house.”

Jesus promised to make a place for us—and in 1 Peter we read that we, too, are a place, a home a dwelling place for the praise and glory of God—a home now and a home forever more. That’s what Jesus promised and that what we have. That’s what Jesus promised and what we will have for an eternity. One doesn’t cancel the other—one simply draws us in and then sends us out to share what we have. The home we gain is embodied in us—as it was embodied in Jesus. We are homes to God’s presence as we realize God lived in Jesus and we, together, are a home to those in need because God dwells in all of us.

There is a place for us and them
—here within each and among this community.
There is a time for us and them—now.
There is a place for us and them—the home of God. There is a time for us and them—and it is an eternity. Amen.