Sunrise Service

Sermon April 8, 2012

John 20:1-18

“Wow!”

Each one of us deals with loss and sorrow, with joy and celebration differently. Some folks are so different from us that we can't imagine why they do what they do; some folks, we seem to understand, at least a little bit.

A friend told me the story of a man whose father died. The man was a grief counselor, someone who dealt with loss on an almost daily basis. At his father's funeral, he wept and cried loudly. His sorrow was clearly expressed. Some of his family members wondered why, if he was such an expert on grief that he didn't handle his own better. Why couldn't he keep himself in better control? His answer to them, had he not been crying, loudly and well, was that he was handling his grief appropriately. He was sad; he was mourning; he was full to overflowing with sorrow and tears and he was showing it. Instead of making other people comfortable when he had suffered the loss of his father, he did what came naturally to him. He cried.

Each person in Jesus' life also expressed their grief at his loss in different way. His disciples who were men, the gospels say, hid in the room where they'd eaten the Passover with him. They were, it seems, completely stunned by the events of the week. Jesus, who had been their leader and upon whom they had hung their hopes for leadership, freedom and life was dead and gone. They had walked and talked with him, learned from him and followed his commands to preach and teach for a short while. Where would they go now?

The women who followed Jesus as disciples, are also described in the gospel stories. They stood and watched in the distance according to some; they stood at the foot of the cross according to one telling. And they were also concerned with caring for Jesus' body in death, as they may have cared for his food and shelter when he was alive. The women in a Jewish community had this duty in death, they would wash and anoint the dead for burial. But Jesus died, according to the gospels, just a few hours before the Sabbath began and was put into a tomb just before dark on Friday, so until after sundown on Saturday nothing could be done. And they would not venture into the place where the dead were buried until dawn on the next day. Then they would finish their care of his body, to anoint him properly and say their final goodbye.

But instead, that early Sunday morning so long ago, the women who came for one last goodbye were met with mystery. In John's gospel it is Mary Magdalene alone who came to the garden and found that Jesus was missing. And the Peter and the Beloved disciple come to check out her story, also finding Jesus' missing. When they don't see him, they return home, to continue their wait, perhaps? But Mary stays and weeps at this second, unaccountable loss. On top of the crucifixion, on top of the death of her teacher, she can't even mourn him properly—as she had intended.

The angels appear, telling her what to expect. Then Jesus himself speaks to her, “Mary!” And she calls him, “Teacher!” But he tells her that the story isn't quite over, he has more to do, she'll have to do her part and tell the others, while he finishes what he has to do and take his place in the world to come.

The disciples don't seem to believe her story—and have no evidence. Their experience of Jesus takes place elsewhere. They know Jesus as a part of their experience of one another. And they only experience the risen Jesus when they are gathered together as a community.

Mary's grief was expressed by her need to care for Jesus; in John's gospel she cam alone to see him one more time. And when she was alone, she saw him and he spoke her name. Jesus knows his own and calls them by name and Mary was one of his own who recognized his voice and knew him, too.

The gospel story establishes her as the first witness and the first to preach the good news of the resurrection of Jesus. Her witness was established by Jesus' voice calling to her, when he spoke her name, perhaps when she recognized the love, the care and the joy in his voice. Then and only then could she see him and recognize his face.

When we stand facing death, no matter how we do it, how we respond—in demonstration of our loss or in stoic reserve. We can remember that death is not the end, that death does not win and that God has made life the ultimate goal.

This is the good news! The good news, preached first by Mary, preached by millions who claim a risen Christ as Lord and Savior. Amen.

Sermon March 25, 2012

Jeremiah 31:31-34

Psalm 51:1-12

Hebrews 5:5-10

John 12:20-33

“Heart Promises”

We could look around this world of ours—and throughout the history of humanity and find ourselves overwhelmed with despair. We could and sometimes we do. Or, we could, as I've heard some say, look around at the beauty of spring and the sunshine and wonder, “How could anyone be sad, today?” And most of us, most days, live within those two extremes, though individually we might generally be inclined more toward one than the other.

The prophet Jeremiah had a leaning; his nickname in Hebrew, “Hagor Mishabebh” – which meant “death and destruction.” It seems that he was inclined toward the despair end of the spectrum. And for good reason, it seems. He warned the leaders of Judah, time and time again that God wanted them to surrender to King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon and survive rather than resist and cause more death. This was seen as treason—as you can imagine—and so the rulers sentenced Jeremiah to death more than once, though he always escaped the sentence. He prophesied defeat for Judah and he was right. The truth isn't always sunny and warm—sometimes the truth is hard to hear.

And yet, even when the truth is difficult, causes pain, may lead to suffering or sickness or disease, we can still rely upon the covenants that God has made and that God has not broken. We may not be able to rely upon our own willpower or the fortitude of our souls. We may not be able, even, to know loyalty from our own family members when situations get too complicated and difficult.

Jeremiah, in his despair and in his gloom and doom, has received this word from God that means everything will be alright, even when everything seems to be wrong. To maintain some sanity and hope, I have to look at life and the universe and everything with these covenants in mind—and know the truth of this passage from Jeremiah. “^33bI will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. ³⁴No longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, ‘Know the Lord’, for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the Lord; for I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more.”¹

The word of God given to Jeremiah means this to me, “Even though I can't live up to the covenants that God has made, God will live up to them. Even though I act stupidly and ridiculously independent from God's love and care; God will still love and care for me. Even in the face of the sin and stupidity of all human beings, God is forgiving.”

Now, that doesn't mean that I don't have an obligation out of gratitude and basic courtesy to love God and do my best to live within the promises and loving ways of God, but it does mean that when I fail—and I will fail—that God loves me anyway and sometimes God loves me so much that it hurts.

The kings of Judah, who didn't like to hear what God had to say through Jeremiah, were hurt deeply by the truth. Babylon would destroy the most beloved institutions of the southern kingdom. The temple would be torn down; if the ark of the covenant hadn't already been lost, it would be now. Beautiful gold, copper and bronze instruments used in temple worship would be lost forever. The city of Jerusalem itself would be destroyed for the first time since it was built up as the capital of the Israelites. Jeremiah said that destruction would be less if they submitted to Babylon's rule—but they didn't want to give up their sovereignty. And so they were destroyed.

Jeremiah just knew—true to his nickname, “death and destruction”—that they wouldn't listen. But he also knew that out of the “death and destruction” would come life—because long ago God had promised this. He knew that the legacy of faith and relationship with God would continue because long ago God had promised it. God had long ago promised God's love and forgiveness and God's presence even in the harsh, but harmonious relationships of creation. These covenants would be kept because God's newest covenant would be written upon the heart, though painfully and with chastisement.

We come around again this morning to a time to face ourselves again—to face our mortality as we did on Ash Wednesday, the beginning of this Lenten time. We come around to a time when we know that without God we cannot truly live though we might survive in some way. Not that we don't know it most of the time, but the scriptures and themes during Lent remind us, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me.” And that God said through Jeremiah, “I will write [my law] on their hearts.” And that Jesus knew, “Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.”

There is this movement through our Lenten scriptures and the covenants we have seen that the sign of covenant moves from the external—the rainbow, into the interpersonal—Abram and Sarai, to the transformation of a nation—by the law, to healing—by facing our failure and sin, and now to the awareness that our hearts need to be cleansed and engraved—only by God. And though it is internal, the cleansing of our hearts; it isn't just individualistic. This heart promise means the heart of who we are as a faithful people, as a community called the body of Christ, as a whole people committed to doing Christ's ministry in this time and place.

This covenant of the heart, this engraving of God's way upon our inmost being means being open to all that God would be within our lives. Though we may see utter devastation when looking through the eyes of humanity and the awful things we do to each other—we also can be open and hopeful that God can and will transform and create new hearts within us all.

We are called upon to let God in; we are called upon to follow the way that God has revealed to us—in the life of the nation of Israel, in the lives of God's prophets, in the life of Jesus Christ, teaching us and living with God's own self etched within him.

When we see hurting people or when we hurt desperately, let us listen to what it is that is needed, let us listen to those voices raised in passionate pleading. Let us listen to the pain of Jeremiah and the hope he found, knowing that God's redemption and forgiveness never ends, despite current circumstances. Let us hear the voice of Jesus as he approached the cross, knowing that great transformation and great (profound) messages require great sacrifice and servanthood.

Suffering in and of itself is not salvation—when Jesus says, “Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.” He points us toward a purposeful sacrifice, the life of a community giving up pride and boastfulness, for example to be the servants of all. He points us to sacrifice the recognition of a grateful and adoring crowd for the gratitude of a loving God and Savior. When Jesus saw very clearly where his life would end, he framed his death in the life of compassion, purpose and mission that he had lived and for which he would die.

Jeremiah despaired of his beloved city of Jerusalem, though he knew that God would and could save God's people because God loved them. Jesus saw his own execution, though he knew that God's hope would sustain him whatever came. And Jesus pointed his disciples beyond his death—to the life that God would give and to the love that would always be theirs.

The promise of Lent, the covenants of God that we have reviewed this Lenten season draw us forward and remind us that God has always desired life for us, connection with us, joy in God's creation, love that is everlasting and transformed hearts to take us through all the times and places in our lives. Let us be renewed, transformed, and strengthened by God's covenant with all of God's people, now and forever more. Amen.

1Jeremiah 31:33b-34

Sermon March 18, 2012

Numbers 21:4-9

Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22

Ephesians 2:1-10

John 3:14-21

“Rich in Love”

It is easier

to gaze into the sun,

than into the face of the mystery of God.

Such is its beauty and its radiance.

God says:

I am the supreme fire;

not deadly, but rather,

enkindling every spark of life.¹

A few years ago, I attended a lecture series that spoke of a medieval theological topic called the beatific vision—which is basically the possibility of seeing God or while a person is still alive. They pondered the question in great detail, “Can we see God and survive the experience?” While affirming that people had visions sent by God, experiencing and receiving messages and images directly from God in dreams or other visions, they realistically wondered if those visions and messages were impaired or filtered because of a mortal person's limitations, frailty and mortality.

And the messages in today's scriptures seem to draw us toward the dangerous and mysterious nature of God, while reassuring us that God's mystery is set firmly into the unending and unquestionable love that God also has for us.

Weaving these scriptures together, as I often do in my mind, I hear the honestly frightening story from the book of Numbers, another book about Moses and the Israelites, where snakes invaded the camp of the Israelites and began to bite people, causing some to die. The reason given for their injuries and deaths is that they complained about their food, their journey to freedom and their God. The snakes were seen as just retribution for their complaints and ingratitude. I struggle with this, knowing that the punishment seems a little overboard for the sin. . . it's a hard thing to think about. But living our lives with God is a mystery, yes?

I struggle with the idea that diseases, injuries, sorrows and pains stem from the wrongs we do and the unintentional mistakes we make and yet sometimes, we all know that it's true. We know that sometimes we say awful things to a loved one and never have the opportunity to apologize before they are gone from our lives, causing them pain and hurting our own selves. We know that sometimes our behavior: overeating, smoking, lack of exercise, choice of foods, drug abuse, etc. contribute to the diseases we get. We know that we can make healthier choices and sometimes we don't. We know that risky behavior: driving fast or when our reflexes and reactions slow down, driving when eyesight starts to go or when we have been drinking, may cause us to injure ourselves or others. We know that holding onto the pain of betrayal causes us more pain than the one who betrayed us, but we still do it.

So we know that our choices, truly sinful or not, lead to consequences of pain, injury and even death. But there is more to our experience of this mysterious and dangerously powerful God. In the story from Numbers, God provides Moses with the cure to the disease. They made an image of the poisonous serpent and had to look at it—they had to face their injury and presumably face the consequences, face their complaint and just their validity to be freed from the pain and the possibility of death. God gave them mercy.

We also understand that pain, sorrow, disease and death also exist beyond our ability to connect them to consequences. Death comes without justice and certainly without any rational reason. We do cry out to God when the pain and suffering are without rational reason, knowing that what is happening to us to the people we love or to children too young to make evil choices, and others cannot be explained. We know that we live in a world where horrible bad things happen to undeserving people. And we know that in those situations, with those people and in those times, God is there loving them and we are called to be there, too.

But what I'm looking at and talking about today are those times when we are aware of the consequences of sin. We probably most often see them in others and can find ourselves pointing a judgmental finger, but perhaps, we need to check that response. What we might rather do is realize we can never see the whole context of another's situation, sometimes even those we are closest to. Instead of condemnation, perhaps we can realize that, "while some people have little margin for error when they choose unwisely, most of us have insulating margins of friends, resources, family, and sometimes dumb luck that protect us against the full consequences of our iniquities" (Feasting on the Word Year B, Vol 2). In a way, we're backing into gratitude, reflecting on the many gifts and blessings that insulate us from suffering the full effect of our mistakes, a different approach, perhaps, to Lenten self-examination, but also leading to greater generosity of spirit toward others.

Lent, of course, is a time to repent, to turn away, to begin again. Time in the wilderness, metaphorically or literally, and time in quiet prayer and reflection (one way to experience emptiness in an overloaded culture) helps us to focus our thoughts and expand our awareness of God at work in our lives.²

We do walk through this Lenten wilderness with God, sometimes echoing the ingratitude of the Israelites in this moment of pain by rejecting the blessings God has given us, despite our better natures. We also walk in this journey of Lent (and beyond) hoping to be changed by our experiences, to be made grateful for blessings even in the face of some consequence of the choices we or others have made.

So we continue in this journey, during Lent, during life in general, as last week's message, echoes the knowledge that we can't probably don't want to wrap our heads around all that God does and is doing all around us. And we are assured this week: God loves us with a steadfast love; God's presence in and among us is rich with love; God so loved, even this world of brokenness and sin that God sent us Jesus to reveal the fullness of how much that love could do, transform sin by grace, reveal hope in despair and defeat death by the power of resurrection.

Though we sin, we are forgiven and redeemed. Though we suffer the consequences of our selfishness and sin, we are given mercy beyond measure. Though we don't always recognize the love God gives us in Jesus Christ, we are freed by it to love all—even ourselves, even if we, too, are those who have not deserved it.

To the glory of God's love, grace and blessing. Amen.

1Gabriele Uhlein, O.S.F., Meditations with Hildegard of Bingen (Sante Fe, NM: Bear & Co., 1983), p. 25 in Resources for Preaching and Worship Year B., Hannah Ward and Jennifer wild, eds.

2http://www.ucc.org/worship/samuel/march-18-2012-fourth-sunday.html

Sermon March 11, 2012

Exodus 20:1-17

Psalm 19

1 Corinthians 1:18-25

John 2:13-22

“Cosmic Law”

There is rarely one clear reason for the choices we make, the actions we take, the movement of our society and culture and the decisions of leaders in homes, churches, small and large governments and in the universe at large. Some say that what happens happens for a reason . . . I would agree and add that what happens, happens for a multitude of reasons—reasons beyond our ability and even beyond our desire to understand. I would even venture to say that even God's reasons for taking action are complex and manifold . . . and that God's ways of taking action are numerous and utterly beyond our ability to understand or explain. And while I think it's natural to wonder, I also understand that I'll never understand.

The bible often presents situations and gives reasons for the outcome of the story or event—tragic or otherwise. When wonderful things happen, they are presented as cause for thanksgiving and rejoicing. When awful things happen, they are often seen as punishment or just consequences for someone's action. The bible presents a God-centered and often Christ-centered story—in other words, we are often given a why to a story, even if it is the simplest why available. And sometimes we are told several reasons why.

The text from Exodus we read this morning is when Moses received and transmitted the basic law, the Ten Commandments to the Hebrew people. And the basic reason for their transmission is that Yahweh or the Lord God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob (Israel) brought them out of Egypt and they are God's people. And yet within the law, we also see woven reasons to keep each one or set of commands. For example, they are to worship Yahweh as the one true God because they are to be grateful, because God created all the other stuff that might be chosen to be worshiped and because God's love never ends. And, in this writing of the commandments, they are to keep the Sabbath holy because God made such an abundant creation that every single living thing can afford to take a day off in seven out of joy and gratitude. Though there aren't reasons given for the rest—they come out of the truth that the people of Israel are God's people and have the responsibility for acting accordingly. That's one of the reasons we, too, cling to these laws. They show us how grateful, God-centered people are to relate to one another.

This is the basis of the actual law, the rules and statutes for living that are given in the bible—if you continue to read through Leviticus (whose name means a kind of rule book) and Deuteronomy (which means the second giving of the law), lots and lots of laws are given to clarify how exactly these basic ten are be kept in particular situations and how a society is to enforce the law when it is broken. But the law itself, known also as Torah that is referred to in this morning's psalm, Psalm 19, at the very least encompasses all five books of the First Testament of the bible and in truth encompasses the whole of natural law, the whole of how it is that the universe itself is forming and is functioning—from its beginnings throughout its very existence.

This awareness that the law or Torah is more than written law comes from the bible itself, in part from this psalm. Biblically, poetry often expresses the most complex of God's actions—because poetry isn't just telling a story. Poetry creates pictures out of words, and translates huge events, like creation, into a few verses.

When I read and prepare scripture for the sermon on Sunday mornings, I usually create a paraphrase to help me remember over the week, what I've read. The first few verses of my paraphrase of Psalm 19:

The entire universe echoes

with the power and greatness of God;

matter and dark matter demonstrate

the mystery and wonder of God's genius at work.

God's genius bounces through the universe

from solar system to solar system;

without time, throughout space, between worlds

in places and times where nothing exists

except the power and glory of God.

And the voice of wonder echoes in our ears,

bouncing and energizing,

calming and stilling

in intimate and wondrous earthly song and word.

The psalmist poet expressed a universal witness of God's law in the natural world—in that time, from the heavens to the earth, seen in the Sun's orbit of the earth—as it was seen then and the turning of the night into day into night of time as established in Genesis. And the law of God—God's handiwork, artisanship, wisdom and truth—were evident in the innermost workings of how all living and nonliving created things work in unison as God intended.

So their can be observed a reason within the laws of the universe, as we understand them and as they are continually being discovered and as they are voracious explored by scientists in the fields from astrophysics to theoretical mathematics to organic chemistry to xenobiology. The reason or rationale, the internal purpose and mission, cannot be known with exact certainty, but biblically the reason, the why of creation is for the revelations of abundant life—and the joy and love that God has for how all of that life reflects God's being within it. From God's desire for gratitude and for the joyful existence of life, we can anticipate some of God's intention for this grand and wondrous universe. Even without the knowledge of God's hand in the existence of all things, the universe is a glorious place—a wonder at which people marvel. With the faith and vision of God's being, we can experience even more wonder at all that is and all that will be.

The law, the Torah, of which the Ten Commandments are just a small part, are one of those places in which we can see a glimpse of life beyond what could be observed, beyond the hand to mouth existence of life in the ancient middle east. Life and the abundance of creation certainly were there, as much as anywhere, but for a group of people like the Hebrews, life had become very difficult and full of fear. Slavery of an entire group of people by another is an institution that I think we have a hard time wrapping our minds around.

The Hebrew people had been utterly dependent upon and utterly in fear of the Egyptian rulers for forty to sixty years. All of them had lived in this situation their whole lives. They were a nation of slaves who had to learn how to be a nation of self-respecting people once again. And they knew very little about life outside of slavery. God wasn't just giving them a few rules to live by because they needed help with their daily morals and ethical decisions.

The covenant that God creates in these commandments goes beyond simple law. In these ways of living, they were to live according to God's limitations and within the great love that God also wanted them to know. They would know that Yahweh, the Lord, was their God. And they would live knowing that Yahweh, the Lord, would love them. And they would know that they should treat neighbor, friend, stranger and family with love according to these basic rules. You don't disrespect the parents you love; you don't kill the people you love; you don't betray covenants with people you love. You do not steal from those you love. You do not testify falsely about those you love. You don't envy the wealth, house or spouse of those that you love. You rejoice in the situations that bring them joy and you mourn with them in the events that bring them sorrow.

These ten commandments themselves are more than just moral code; they are more than symbols to hang up on walls—more even than the words that were engraved dramatically in the stone of Mt. Sinai. The Law, the Commandments, the Decrees, the Statutes and Precepts and Ordinances are echoes of God's very presence in our lives—pointing us to the life that God gives us to live and the gratitude and joy with which we are called to live it.

As science teaches us more and more about how the universe works—the rules and equations that reveal the past, present and even the future of things—we can see it through an eye that seek the why, wondering not if they are right or wrong, but wondering what of God is revealed anew in the details are found on a regular basis. We don't have to be frightened by the changes in reality that seem to crop up almost daily, but we can know that everything learn, everything we know, everything that will ever be known is a part of God's work of genius. We can celebrate law, knowing that law means promise, hope and God's purpose for all things—whether or not we know the reasons.

To the glory of God, our rock and our redeemer. Amen.