Sermon July 26 2009

Ephesians 3:14-21
John 6:1-21

“Providence?”

“There are people in the world so hungry that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.” (Mohandas Gandhi)

I think it’s hard to imagine what that is like unless you have lived through a time of scarcity in the general population. Right now, even if you live in poverty, in this country there is food available somewhere. Imagine the places in the world where people are hungry and there is no food anywhere near—and there are places like that in the world.

There have been times in this country of general scarcity, I know—but due to the abundance of nature, the vast amounts of land and the strength and willingness of people to hold together; we have survived those times.

In John 6, the story told reflects Jesus as the bread of life. In the narrative, the crowd gathered because they saw signs in him. The gospel of John reveals Jesus in unique ways from the other three gospels. John calls Jesus’ actions, signs because they pointed to something beyond himself. And often those who misunderstand who Jesus was also misunderstood the signs themselves. They were enthralled by the power and didn’t understand why the power was there and what it would be used for in Jesus’ life.

This story is about those kinds of misunderstandings, too. The crowd followed him around the water—hoping to see the celebrity perform. They weren’t disappointed by the wonders they saw. As the crowd gathered, Jesus knowingly asked one of his disciples how they would handle this group of hungry people. They balked at the cost of feeding these thousands, but Jesus continued by telling them how.

In these actions, if we listen carefully, we may feel a familiar reflection and rhythm.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

he looked up and saw a large crowd coming towards him, Jesus said to Philip, ‘Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?’ 6He said this to test him, for he himself knew what he was going to do. 7Philip answered him, ‘Six months’ wages would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little.’ 8One of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, said to him, 9‘There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish. But what are they among so many people?’

He makes me lie down in green pastures;
he leads me beside still waters;
he restores my soul.
He leads me in right paths
for his name’s sake.

10Jesus said, ‘Make the people sit down.’ Now there was a great deal of grass in the place; so they sat down, about five thousand in all.

11Then Jesus took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also the fish, as much as they wanted. 12When they were satisfied, he told his disciples, ‘Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.’

Even though I walk through the darkest valley,
I fear no evil;
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff—
they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
my whole life long.

14When the people saw the sign that he had done, they began to say, ‘This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world.’
15When Jesus realized that they were about to come and take him by force to make him king, he withdrew again to the mountain by himself.

“There are people in the world so hungry that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.”

Jesus saw the crowds gathered and wanted to reveal God to them again as God had been revealed in this Psalm. I don’t know that Jesus thought, “Ah, this looks like that psalm about God being a shepherd.” But I am sure that the author of John’s gospel heard or read this story in the other gospels and heard exactly that. It doesn’t matter who it was, we read that God provides—God provided centuries before and God provided that day as the crowds gathered around Jesus.

But in each time, the bread that nourished the body was accompanied by the bread of heaven that nourished the soul. Not only did God provide physical food, God provided spirit food—in the word that God offered through the prophets of old, in the word of God incarnate in Jesus Christ and in the word of God that still accompanies us in scripture, in experience and in practice each day.

Jesus’ compassionate response to the hungry men and women and children who gathered on the hillsides near the sea of Galilee was the sign that the people were given that day. But the compassion wasn’t what people saw—they saw the miracle of multiplication and wanted to forcibly crown him king. They missed the point of the miracle—God provides.

“There are people in the world so hungry that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.”

Providence, as defined by some, is the wisdom, care and guidance given by God or the perception that the good we receive is God’s will. I worry sometimes that providence is misunderstood to be God’s blessing for the righteous with good things and God’s deprivation of those who have missed the mark.

Yet the biblical witness tells us that God provides for the unknowing as well as the knowing. God provides is a standard for all creation—what we do with that wisdom and knowledge is where the greatest blessing and compassion comes.

If we have been given the bread of life that is Jesus Christ, we are called upon to keep that bread alive. The bread of life that we are given is kept living—as love is kept alive by sharing it with others. The love of God exists as we receive it—through the awareness that God is always with us, in the word of God that is preached and taught in the living Body of Christ the church and in the work we do as we share that love with others.

The kind of love that we have been given is expressed by Paul’s prayer in the letter to the Ephesians. God gives all humanity and creation life, and strengthens the soul of the Christian through the power of the Spirit—by Christ living in the hearts of those who are rooted and grounded in love. The prayer continues asking for the power to understand how it is that we are filled with God through the unsurpassed love of Christ in us all.

Once we know of that life, that love—that wisdom and knowledge we are give the power to accomplish all that we are called to do.

Knowing providence isn’t just passive reception of all that is and all that maintains us life. Providence includes our Christian response to people in places without access to food, water or shelter. Providence is who and what God has called us to be here where we live and worship.

We, too, hunger for something within these walls—we hunger for the purpose that God gives. Are you hungry for life? Are you hungry for strength and energy? Are you hungry for hope?

God provides yet just like in the story we are called to respond in some way—gather and receive, then respond appropriately to the love that we have been given. I hope with Paul that we are given the power to comprehend with all those who are connected to God and what it is that fills the world to know real love, that of Christ. Let us pray that providence is made real within all the choices we make.

To God be the glory for all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

Sermon July 19, 2009

2 Samuel 7:1-14a
Ephesians 2:11-22

“a place in this world. . .”
In the early years of what became known as Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), there was a feeling of ruggedness about the movement—that’s what it was. The early men and women who founded our denomination began talking and moving about in the world, discussing, arguing, making pronouncements, spouting slogans and all kinds of other things. They moved among the people on the edge of the settlement areas of the United States, the frontier or boundaries of the culture.

Some of the notable events in the movement were the participation of leadership in brush arbor revival meetings where, in these particular cases, preachers and teachers from several denominations came together to for a revival meeting. At one of these meetings Alexander Campbell described great teaching and preaching among the Methodist, Presbyterian and Christian leaders and the communion, lifting the bread and cup with simplicity of gesture and word.

The main character of these meetings was their temporal nature—they often roughed logs into seats, built pulpits and the table for sacramental purposes the same way, too. They would erect shelters of brush to shade the preacher and a few of the congregation, too. In this country, people were about movement beyond settled lands and the gospel came with them—sometimes whether they wanted it or not.

In 1811, in Kentucky at what became known as the Brush Run Church, Thomas and Alexander Campbell and many others had a church built—the first permanent structure within this movement that became the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). But for a few more decades, evangelists and preachers continued to follow the settlement of the people of this country through their forays into its frontiers or boundary country. They were, in some ways of thinking, a pretty nomadic people.

One can see this locally if you look into the early history of this congregation. Most pastors came for just a year or two at a time before moving on—though some came back and served again. This trend continued into the late 60’s when there was a longer tenured pastor than ever before. But in the origins of this denomination there is a biblical feeling of itinerancy within the clergy—though we tend to think of this as a Methodist thing, Disciples of Christ ministers, on average, move more often. In the beginnings of our denomination, preachers were often traveling evangelists, sent out from what eventually became the regional churches, founding and preaching at congregations with the local leadership of elders and deacons holding regular weekly services in their absence.

It’s no longer the frontier here in Illinois and boundaries are far beyond us geographically, we still need to be reminded of our itinerancy—that we are citizens, not primarily of this place and time, but members of God’s household deep down within us. What we do, how we live, who we care for, who we love and how we share ourselves reveals our identity as God’s children and citizens of God’s realm or kingdom.

In today’s first testament text, the Israelites have gotten settled into their new existence. It’s taken awhile, but after their 40 year sojourn in the wilderness following a few decades of slavery in Egypt, after several years hiding our from the famine in the Promised Land—they are now a kingdom, a sovereign nation. For awhile after Joshua brought them into the land of Canaan they were ruled as tribes by the judges like Deborah and Samson; they were taught by prophets and the worship of God happened as the tent of the tabernacle traveled around the land and was set up in various places.

There is now a king because the people insisted that’s what they needed despite God’s warning. Now there is a capital because David saw the advantage to bringing the seat of religion and the seat of government together in one place. The tabernacle no longer traveled, but the tent was permanent fixture in Jerusalem. The king has a palace of cedar and the people are getting quite established, no longer primarily a people of nomadic shepherds, but farmers, merchants, traders, etc. They have homes, vineyards and farms. They have houses, shops and walls for their city. David begins to think that God has settled down, too, that God is somehow reflecting the actions of the people—that God has been led into an institutional existence. Now, he think, wouldn’t it be nice gesture to give God a beautiful home to live in—cedar, gold leaf, pretty fixtures, organ pipes and all? So he poses the question to his prophet, Nathan, who says, off hand—without consulting God—go ahead, build God a house.

That night when Nathan dreamed, he was told something very different. God said, “Oh, no, David will not build me a house—I am God, I build David a house; it will be a house without end.” In these words of God—the word given to the prophet—we can hear that God extends God’s hand of care primarily God’s creation, not the other way around.

If you search the scriptures for references to disloyalty to God, the accusation is not that the people aren’t taking care of God, but that they aren’t relying on God for their needs. When the people of Israel wander away from God, long after these events of 2 Samuel, the problem is that they do not trust God to care for them. Sometimes they accused of relying too much on their own cleverness, cutting measurements too close or cheating; sometimes they reach out to a strong military power to ally with them as they did in the events that lead to exile in Babylon.

God promises David that David’s house, David’s lineage will be built by God. God promises that God will discipline when the house of David strays—God will take care of them, will be a parent to these children.

As human cultures develop, God knows that they move through a succession of need—we first need the basics to survive, just like individuals: food, water, shelter and companionship; as cultures or societies next there is a need for common belief and practice and then there is a time where those belief and practice become solidified into institution—temple worship, church establishment, government centralization, common laws and properties, etc.

Once the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) became a more established movement, they moved toward denominational establishment, though it took more than a century for that to become true in name, when in 1968, the Christian Churches (Disciples of Christ) through a “restructure” became the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). It’s normal and natural to move toward stable institution—there is a clear biblical realization in this process as the worship of Yahweh God went from a traveling, opportunistic worship. There are numerous stories where people built altars wherever they were; remember Noah’s altar after the flood, Abraham’s altars at various moment, including the one where God had told him to sacrifice his son and Jacob’s altar where he had a dream of angels descending and ascending a ladder or stairway into heaven.

Once the Hebrew people were established in Canaan, there were certain places around the land where the tabernacle was set up within the tribal lands—sometimes believed to be where the ancestors like Noah, Abraham and Jacob worshiped. The next step of religious establishment and centralization was the movement of the tabernacle to Jerusalem permanently, though it was still a tent-like structure. God seems resigned to the idea that someone will permanently house God’s throne in a building, but not yet. Now, it’s important that God make a statement. God’s statement, “I will house you; I will care for you; I am God, you are not.”

Making the house of God the focus—imagining that God can be housed—is not an idea that God likes very much. But God knows, very well, that we need a house; God knows, very well, that we need roots; God know, very well, that we need a place in this world to be established. God also know, very well, that we need to remember that the place is not the important thing. What is important is that God dwells within us whatever the place or the state of the place.

We can hear this clearly in the description of a people who do not stay in one place—who never stay in one location very long.
The Maasai people are nomadic – that is, they travel from place to place, settling in one location temporarily before it is time to move on. When they move, they take with them only one thing: their cows, which are considered sacred.
One day, some Christian missionaries from Europe decided that the Maasai people needed to hear the gospel. And so, the missionaries came to the land of the Maasai and did what they traditionally did: they built a church. They told the Maasai that the church building was an important place to come and worship God.
The Maasai people were excited, and they came to church. They worshipped and celebrated and knew God. But, when it was time for the nomadic Maasai to leave this location, they left this place of worship behind and wandered into the desert to find a new place to call home. The Christian missionaries were confused, and wondered what had happened. Didn’t the Maasai people like this church? How could they leave it behind so easily?
The missionaries searched until they found the same group of Maasai people again, living in a new place. The relieved missionaries build a new church there and invited the Maasai to come. For a time, the Maasai people came and worshipped and celebrated and knew God.
But, one day, the Maasai left their new place of worship and wandered into the desert again to find a new home. This time the missionaries were upset. They had now built two churches that the Maasai had walked away from. The Maasai seemed happy to be in church; why would they leave it for the desert?
The missionaries looked around again until they found the new location where the Maasai were not living. And, for the first time, they asked the Maasai why they kept leaving the church house. Wasn’t God’s house important to them? Didn’t they respect the church?
And, for the first time, the Maasai responded. They said they loved God and they were excited about God’s promises. But, they said, they didn’t need a structure in order to worship God. They would always move from place to place. Buildings have never been important to them.
What is important, the Maasai explained, is that they carry God with them in their hearts. And so God’s place is always with them. As they move from place to place, they worship God and celebrate when they come together – with great joy in the open land – without a building. They carry symbols in their minds, God in their hearts, and celebrate their place in God’s household.
Then, the Maasai asked the missionaries, “If God is always with you, why is a church building so important?” [1]

I don’t say this to promote the idea that we don’t need a place of worship—but to put our places of worship, places of living, boundaries of nations, and God’s presence in this world and beyond into a kind of perspective. What is of first importance to God? How do we decide how we use our resources for living, for worship, for caring for creation and one another? What is our place in this world? Where do we rest, settled and where do we move, drawn from place to place?

God walks with us; God is carried within. Let us seek God’s way of life, putting God’s priorities first—wherever we are.
To the glory of God: Creator, Redeemer and Friend. Amen.


[1]Adele Halliday, a member of The Presbyterian Church in Canada, is an African-Canadian educator and has served as writer of youth resources for Seasons of the Spirit. She currently works in the area of racial, ethnic, and intercultural ministries with The United Church of Canada.

Sermon July 12 2009

Sermon July 12 2009
2 Samuel 6:1-5, 12b-19
Psalm 24
Ephesians 1:3-14
Mark 6:14-29
“What’s with the Attitude?
My mother loved to dance. She told me this on several occasions, but I never really saw her do it. I have often wondered how she felt when she danced—was it joy? Was this the time when she could be herself? What made her want to dance? What feelings were behind the dancing? My sister also loves to dance—dancing offers freedom of movement and a time of expression.

I’ve never danced much—but I didn’t have the same opportunities that people had in my mother’s generation, I think. Dances, in my mother’s day, were family events. Dances, when I was growing up, were dark and sultry and felt a little dangerous. I don’t think I had the same opportunity to love it like my mother and sister did because of the years between us.

But dancing is a biblical expression of joy—people have always danced in spiritual ecstasy. Before David danced, the people of Israel danced as Miriam sang songs of praise at the Red Sea. Before David danced, people everywhere danced at weddings and in times of praising God. But David’s dancing was noted, his story was told because David’s dancing expressed how David felt about God—passionate and intense. It also expressed the joy and love that God felt in David. It was a reflection of David’s knowledge and intimate relationship with God—dancing was David’s way of expressing God’s presence in him.

What’s interesting about this dance is that it wasn’t really an acceptable way of worshiping God according to some of the laws and standards of those who kept temple ways. According to some laws, David dancing around the Ark of the Covenant in only his loin cloth—or linen ephod, as the Bible says—was prohibited. In the priestly rules of conduct written once the ark had a temple, a priest wasn’t even supposed to step up onto a step to approach the ark, lest he accidentally flash the ark under his robes. It was a serious thing, this Ark of the Covenant business—once it had and institution and a temple and rules. But this scene in 2 Samuel occurs before all that—the Ark, this day of David’s dancing was a thing of beauty, joy and a symbol of their faithful history and walk with God.
According to tradition, this ark contained the tablets of covenant that God gave Moses on the mountain, the bronze snake that Moses lifted in the wilderness, a sample of Manna in a jar and other symbols of God’s work in the history of Israel. Law, healing, sustenance, protection—these were represented. And the people had experience the ark as an object of power—when people were near it they felt the presence of God. Joy came spontaneously because this box reminded them of the stories they told of God and of God’s servants.

It may have eventually promoted an attitude of some awe; but in these early days before the temple was built, the ark brought forth feelings of jubilation, elation and delight. The people sang and hope filled them when their leader was full of the attitude they could see came directly from God.

In the words of the story there is an attitude of jubilation that needs expression—as Jesus said, quoting scripture, if the people do not sing, the rocks themselves will cry out. The presence of God evokes joy—promotes an attitude of hope and movement toward wholeness.

A medieval mystic named Mechtild, as a part of a very large group of writings—wrote this prayer expressing her joy at God’s presence and leading.

I cannot dance, O Lord,
unless you lead me.
If you will
that I leap joyfully
then you must be the first to dance
and sing.

Then, and only then,
will I leap for love.
Then I will soar
from love to knowledge,
from knowledge to fruition,
from fruition to beyond
all human sense.


And there
I will remain
and circle forevermore.

Imagine what she must have experienced in God’s presence to express her feelings so exuberantly and with such faith. She was the member of a wealthy family who had experienced vision as a child—she was guided by members of the church, but when she began to criticize some of the leadership she needed protection and guidance. So when she was grown she entered a convent to protect her from the institutions that wanted rules more than experience.

And it wasn’t something she planned or even asked for—she often felt plagued by her visions because they carried with them knowledge of God’s work in her life and the life of the faithful. They carried wisdom and knowledge of God’s love for her—that’s what she wrote about and sang about. Her dancing was often metaphorical—it was the dance of her spirit—though that did not mean she did not dance in body as well. And that may have upset the religious authorities as well—physical movement in religious women was seen as a source of sin rather than religious devotion.

David danced and the people danced along—his joy in dance and music was a part of the reason that many believe he wrote the psalms. David’s dance expressed an attitude of joy at God’s continuing presence—through Israel’s history and at his moment in time.

What attitude do we express as we dance through life, whether we are quiet, faithful, loud, disgusted, exuberant, joyful, enlightened or confused ? What attitude to we reveal to God, to others and to ourselves?

The attitude of a dance can be different depending on movement, internal motivation and circumstance. Dancing at a wedding expresses love, joy and hope. Dancing as entertainment can be anything from story-telling to seduction.

Dance, in my way of thinking is one way of talking about life. What does the dance we are dancing tell those who watch it. Do we dance just to get through life as quickly and painlessly as possible? Or does the dance express a particular meaning? Do we dance to celebrate the life that God has given us or do we dance to the music of power and corruption, of seduction and sin?

In Mark’s gospel there is another story about dance that ends in destruction and death for John the baptist. The attitude expressed by the supposed royalty and leadership in Jerusalem is revealed in this story. Some fill in the blanks of the story with details of Herod’s wife and treachery—with her ideas of treachery of a premeditation of John’s murder. I don’t think that was necessary. But the dance itself was one probably meant to entice corrupt power rather than to give glory to the power of God. The purpose of the dance—the attitude of movement was seduction, not solely of a man—but of the power he had taken.

The dance she danced was caused by Herod’s dance of death begun long before that night in his palace—the dance began in Herod’s father’s time when he murdered to maintain his power. This Herod murdered and threatened his brothers and stole his brother Philip’s wife.

The dance of death is not the attitude that God desire from us either—to dance is not enough. We are called to life—Jesus came, in his words, “that we may have life and have it abundantly.” That is the dance that Jesus brings—as he reveals the God that loved Moses, Joshua, even Saul, David and Solomon. He revealed again and again the God who wanted to love us into discipleship—to draw us to God’s very own self. We are called to dance the dance of God’s love for us.

Let us pray again with Mechtild of Magdeburg:

I cannot dance, O Lord,
unless you lead me.
If you will
that I leap joyfully
then you must be the first to dance
and sing.
Then, and only then,
will I leap for love.
Then I will soar
from love to knowledge,
from knowledge to fruition,
from fruition to beyond
all human sense.
And there
I will remain
and circle forevermore.
Amen.

Sermon July 5 2009

“Our Best Intentions”
Mine eyes have seen the glory
of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage
where the grapes of wrath
are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning
of his terrible swift sword:
His truth is marching on.
Julia Ward Howe wrote the words to this hymn in the middle of the American Civil War as a response to her warlike surroundings. She believed that slavery had to end, but wondered at the means by which changes were being made.

She wrote it in wondering at the death that accompanied the war—and then shortly after the war she lobbied for a day to honor mothers, to remember the effect of death on those mothers as they mourned the loss of sons, brothers and husband. Her idea of Mothers’ Day wasn’t simply honoring mothers, but to rally mothers as opponents to war.

Yet I find it interesting that we sing this song to a very martial tune—the music sounds like soldiers marching. And the words speak of Jesus’ triumph over evil in militaristic terms, but God is the one marching—her words convey that Jesus destroys, or tramples out anger, wrath, or war. And her idea’s come from Jesus’ words of truth, “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”
I have read a fiery gospel,
writ in burnished rows of steel:
"As ye deal with my contemnors,
so with you my grace shall deal;

We know things about the gospel that we seem to be afraid to stand by—we know Jesus preached love for all believers. We really do understand that Jesus wanted our lives to be guided by the actions he took—meeting injustice with righteous anger, but not violence. He met persecution with grace and with words of truth and conviction, but did not resist violence with violence.

God works in the ways that you have experienced, read about and lived. What God calls you to do is to share those ways, understand how you have been blessed by them and reveal it. At church we have the opportunity to learn the language to share that—and then go out and speak of our faith.

Yet sometimes the places where we would expect the most support and opportunity to learn are the places where we assume we are least welcome to be ourselves. In the gospel text today, we read that Jesus experienced a lack of welcome from people who had known him from childhood because they had a certain set of expectations fro him and they found another set as he spoke and taught them.

They seemed to expect the rough hewn carpenter—a man who worked with his hands and not with words. They knew his family of origin—a set of ordinary people, some ornery, some quiet, just like all families—and they probably expected him to be the typical elder brother. He hadn’t stayed around to take care of his mother—or the rest of his siblings. He had chosen to travel around the country learning about the Jewish people—about the chosen people of God. He had walked with people of other regions and learned from rabbis and teachers in other parts of the land. He had spent time in the wilderness in contemplation and fasting—communing with God as many of those in his hometown had not. They thought he was a little odd, I’m sure, and he was not what they thought he should be, let alone what they would expect from him.

I would venture to guess that the friends and neighbors of his mother and siblings thought he had fallen down on his duty to his family. How could they listen to someone who didn’t express tradition and faith as they thought he should? What if all their assumptions about God’s expectations were not as narrow and concrete as they thought they were?

The familiar, ordinary assumptions about many of the aspects in our faith lives are often challenged the more we learn about the Jesus’ life and what he taught about priorities and essentials in life. For instance, as the people of Israel developed as a nation they also developed particular hopes for the one who would save them—the Messiah. They expected a leader of troops, like David.

David had been chosen by God as a young shepherd boy—and anointed by the people of Israel, in today’s text from 2 Samuel, when he was somewhat proven as a general in battle. Only when he fit the expectation of a military power did the nation approve—but his faith and exuberance in matters of faith. In later stories, when David danced in front of the altar, exposing himself to the altar though it was forbidden. Despite David’s habitual tendency to flaunt lawful choices, the biblical witness still says that God favored him because he kept succeeding.

The people of Israel expected David’s martial talent, they wanted a man who would organize them into a force to free them from Rome’s oppression. I’ve said this before and I’m sure I’ll say it again, but Jesus wasn’t the military leader they wanted—he rejected that kind of power in his life. Though he revealed God’s power, he didn’t use it to gather and army to overthrow the Roman’s militarily—instead we know that he overthrew the power of death by succumbing to death and defeating by returning to life. His death turned the power of death on its head. Only by succumbing to death could he show that it was powerless in the face of God’s power.

Often our best intentions to follow the life of Christ means we take his life seriously and as our own. And it means that we are called to follow his teachings, his example and his intentions for us even if they aren’t what we expect they should be. And I suspect that the expectations we have don’t fit exactly what God wants for us—and I also suspect that our best intentions for following are exactly what God wants for us. We are called to do our best, not because it is less than God wants, but because it is exactly what God wants. I also suspect that God loves us so deeply that our attempts to please God are often what pleases God.

The Battle Hymn of the Republic was written by Julia Ward Howe in a similarly vein. It speaks of the work of Christ in military terms, but it guides people away from solving problems through fighting.
I have read a fiery gospel,
writ in burnished rows of steel:
"As ye deal with my contemnors,
so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero, born of woman,
crush the serpent with his heel,
Since God is marching on."
She uses biblical images to establish the idea that it is Christ who will defeat evil—it’s not our job to destroy others. The sword of God’s word cuts sharp and true, but it does not destroy; it refines and cuts away the falseness. The sword is wielded only by Christ and destroys only death, even according to the scriptures that speak of the sword.

The Christ’s witness exists within our lives as we live out his ministry in our lives—at least as we do out best to do so. We are called to be Christ in the world, not just to be good to one another who live within the church. We are called to carry the teachings that we receive here, at this way station of faith and carry those things in our lives as we interact with others.

One of the ways that I think people of faith have always missed God’s point when it comes to carrying out God’s will in their lives is by making an experience of God a permanent fixture. Yet that’s often how people respond to God once God makes God’s self known to them. We build structures that commemorate our experiences—or we create institutions to make our experiences seem more real to us. But when we solidify those experiences, we create limitations for the ways in which God works. Institutions, buildings, rituals and practices can be used to help us remember the story of God and continue telling it, but they can also become the ends instead of the means.

We are blessed by God’s presence, the love of Christ and the communion of the Holy Spirit as we walk this journey of faith with the best of intentions—with the intention to share the peace we have in Jesus Christ, the intention to live the love that Jesus brought to us, the intention to hold Jesus before us as an example.

We cannot be perfect—to attempt perfection is the sin of idolatry. If we are perfect, we have no need of redemption and salvation. Let make the best of our intentions to be faithful, to be loving, to be the presence of Christ in the lives of those we meet. But we have to let the savior be the savior, not take that job for ourselves.

As we are called to live for Christ and share his love, let us live and share what we know, that Christ will do what Christ has been called to do.

As Christians we are called to believe this world can be a place of hope:
where power is shared;
where all have clean water and enough to eat;
where there is concern and action
to secure freedom and justice.
We are called to believe in God’s way of love and peace,
and to proclaim it.
We are called to believe this world can be a place of peace:
where love triumphs over war;
where people of different faiths
live together in good will;
where there is unity among neighbors.
We are called to believe in God’s way of love and peace,
and to proclaim it.
We are called to believe this world can be a place of truth:
where words of honesty are heard
more often than words of propaganda;
where there is honor among those who govern;
where integrity guides our daily lives.
We are called to believe in God’s way of love and peace,
and to proclaim it. (from Seasons of the Spirit, July 5 2009, copyrighted material)

To the glory of God, only to God—present in Christ and powerful in the Spirit. Amen.