"Born of Fire"

Sermon  December 6, 2015

Malachi  3:1-4

Luke 1:68-79

God, we turn to you for the peace that we cannot find by ourselves. We want to live in your light as your beloved children. Open our ears to the prophets of scripture and to the prophets in our midst. Lead our feet in the ways of peace that we may walk more and more closely with you. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O God, our rock and our redeemer. Through the Prince of Peace, we pray. Amen.

For hundreds of years in the early church there was no celebration of Jesus’ birth. People worshiped on the first day of the week for a weekly celebration of the resurrection where they celebrated the Eucharist or the Lord’s Supper or Communion and when they remembered Jesus’ crucifixion around the time when the Jewish people celebrated Passover.

For a long time, people didn’t commemorate Jesus’ birth. There is no story about Jesus’ birth in Mark’s gospel or in John’s gospel. But after a few hundred years, a bishop or two decided to create a celebration of the birth and God’s incarnation in Jesus. And to prepare for this celebration, as Christians prepare for the remembrance of Jesus’ death and resurrection, there was to be a time of preparation—a time to think about Jesus’ coming: yesterday, today, and forever. So Advent began as a little Lent. A time to discipline ourselves, deny ourselves, and repent of our sins as we prepare for a terrific joy when God erupts into the world in a howling baby.

In our world (and in the ancient world, to some extent) Advent as a time of preparation has competition with the chipper, exuberant, fun of Christmas music and celebration. Events usually cleansed of specific religious content, though chock full of fun and sentimental anticipation or remembrance. And celebration is great! Advent can be joyful; it is also pensive, penitent, and a call to prepare. And not for dinner, gift-giving, or company. We are called to prepare our lives for the presence of Jesus by getting rid of or allowing God to get rid of the worst of who we are.

In the book of Malachi, which means “messenger,” we receive a message that most would not consider terribly cheerful, but some understand to be a necessary way of getting ready for joy, health, wholeness, peace, grace, love, serenity, contentment to come. God’s messenger comes to call people to repentance—to call, in this prophetic book, specifically the “Sons of Levi,” the priests and other servants of the temple to repent of anything that stands in their way of standing before God in the temple.

And in the New Testament, as people await the Messiah, as wait for the story of Jesus’ birth and the story of his life, we hear about the Messenger—the prophet—the preacher of repentance who will get people ready to stand before the Son of God as God sends Jesus with his teachings, his love, his life, and his death and resurrection into the world. On this day of preparation and anticipation, when we still await Jesus, then, now, and into some future, we hear from the father of another baby.

All of the gospels tell us that John the baptizer leads in the ministry of Jesus. In Luke’s gospel we hear about his family, too. His father was Zechariah, a priest who served in the temple in Jerusalem. All the priests rotated in to their duties, as I understand it, and 9-10 months before our scripture he’d been serving in the Holy of Holies/the inner sanctum/the place of the altar and sacrifice. And as he served, a terrible angel appeared to him and he was afraid.

This is another clash of culture we get from the Christmas celebration and cards. Angels, according to every reaction described in the scriptures, weren’t all that friendly looking or seeming. Here and elsewhere, the first things most people did when accosted by an angel was shake and nearly pass out.

So in our Advent preparation story, Zechariah heard—from this scary angel—that he and his wife were going to conceive and have a son that he would name John. And he would be like the nazarites, not drinking wine or other spirits. He would have the power of the Holy Spirit to call people to repent from their sin. But Zechariah was doubtful and the angel made him unable to speak until John was born—actually until John received the name the angel gave him.

And that’s the story that Luke tells, even before he tells the story of Jesus’ birth—even before he tells the story about the angel visiting Mary to announce his birth—Luke prepares us to be prepared by repentance, even before he prepares us to prepare for the birth of the Savior. We don’t have to stay all frowny faced and judgemental, like the words of Malachi can feel, but we do have a call to prepare, to realize what it is that God was/is/will accomplish through the people God calls.

In the time when Jesus was about to be born, life was difficult for the Jewish people--life was often difficult for them. The Hebrew people, throughout their history, experienced “the hands” of foreign domination: the Assyrians, the Babylonians, the Greeks and – in the time of Jesus – Rome. All had their effect on the suppression of culture, religious traditions, and a sense of peace. They felt, at these times, unable to serve God freely and fully.

They were looking, as they had always been looking, for the fulfilment of God’s promises to Israel. Zechariah, as a priestly servant, as a man steeped in God’s word and ritual knew this and when, finally, his son was born, he saw in him—as Mary saw in this first part of Luke—God’s action, God’s breaking into the world through these two infants that God had sent and that God would call.

Sometimes, we think we are too old, too young, too inexperienced, or not smart enough to be able to be a good servant of God. We think that is a job for someone else to do and not something we can accomplish. When we think of prophets, we think of people who look and act very different from us. But in the gospel, we have a husband and wife who are simply living out their marriage—Elizabeth and Zechariah—and their son, John, born and then called to be a prophet. The texts today invite us to put on the robe of the prophet and see how it fits. God wants us to embrace our special role as messengers who will deliver God’s word and light to people who are in need.

Imagine Zechariah’s joy at the birth of his son. He holds his child in his arms and he sings praises to God. He doesn’t just trust in what God has done in the past to save his people from those who want to do them harm. He sees God’s promise for the future in his newborn baby. Zechariah knows that God is not just the God of his ancestors but that God is God of the today and tomorrow, and makes a prophecy about his son.
What might God be calling you and me to do? What kinds of oppression to we live under in today’s world? I think we live under various kinds of oppression, some of it that concerns more of our personal lives and more that causes pain, suffering, and even violence in our culture and world. Zechariah’s song concerned how God was addressing the kinds of societal oppression and suffering that suppressed the Hebrew people and many nations in all times and places.

On this day, the first thing that comes to my mind is the oppression stemming from the violence of the past few weeks. As we mourn deaths committed by people with guns in places that are undeclared warzones, I believe we are called to stand up and speak for those who can no longer speak for themselves. Let us speak for those most recently dead and for those thousands since the victims of elementary school children at Sandy Hook Elementary.

We may not be under the oppression of a foreign power like the Assyrians, Babylonians, or like the Romans, but I feel a persecution from a culture that reacts to violence with violent desires of retribution instead of the ways that Jesus has taught us to react. The birth and then the teachings of John the baptizer paved the way for Jesus’ teachings by telling us to repent. The words of God in Malachi teach us that there are ideas in our lives that have to be burned away, washed away, to make our lives the valuable things with worthy purposes that they can be.

Reacting to violence with violence shows us and everyone that we are afraid of the violence.  If we are blind to how fear oppresses us, we are no less oppressed. We are agreeing to the fear, agreeing to the process of violence against violence, instead of seeking out answers, responses, or actions that produce less fear and better futures.

Imagine your own parent holding you in his or her arms and looking into your newborn face, as you hear these words:  You, child, will be called a prophet of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare the way.

What is God preparing you to do; to be?
Maybe God calls you and me to speak up against violence. Maybe God is calling us to speak up for the children of this community and our surroundings whose educational futures are getting more and more precarious because our state government can’t agree to pay for it. Maybe God is calling us to speak up for the sake of the lowest wage earners who will suffer most if social security and retirement ages are raised because those with lower incomes live shorter lives. Maybe God is calling you and me to really see the living conditions of those whose lives are marked by the chaos of poverty and look beyond the mess and see that it isn’t more responsibility that is needed but more support and compassion. Maybe God is calling us to open our eyes to a life without fear of other humans and a life full of love for God and all of God’s children.

Imagine that this parent looks at you and says, “You will tell God’s people about forgiveness of sins.” What word of grace might God be wanting you to share with another?
Yes, we have done things that need to be forgiven. And God forgives without hesitation everything and anything that we have done or will do. Can we look into the eyes of the criminal, the sinner, the annoying and the messy, the irresponsible, the addict, and the life without hope and embrace the person, the human being that lives that life.

Because of our God’s deep compassion, the dawn from heaven will break upon us, to give light to those who are sitting in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide us on the path of peace.

Who do you know that could use God’s light in their lives? Where is there brokenness that you may be the one to bring healing?
Maybe it’s your life that could use a little of God’s light and maybe there are few people who can see it. Maybe you know someone else who could use your support and encouragement and you have a little light to share. If you help light their candle, there is more of God’s light to shine.

If you are broken, if you need time to heal, if you need someone to listen and to care, then call upon God and appeal to the church as your community of love to help. If you can see the brokenness and you can sit with the hurting—you don’t have to have solutions or special powers, the presence of God’s people is enough.

Zechariah’s song—often called the Benedictus—announces with a past tense kind of certainty that God has already kept God’s promises to Israel. And then as he looks at his newly born son John he sings the promises of God for a “kin-dom,” a dawning, a pathway, full of the lovingkindness of God’s own heart. It’s a big promise to hang on a new little one—but there’s a bigger promise about to be hung on another little one, another tiny child soon to be born.

The season of preparation—a birth by fire—of Advent—and the seasons of life—are full of collisions of joy and sorrow, love and painful transformation; sorrow at the way things are; joy at the world God is bringing; love in the eyes of our heavenly parent; and transformation in a rebirth of ourselves and our communities. Advent is a reminder to see that all are happening in our worship and in our world and in our hearts. As our holy parent looks at us and speaks to us with joy and hope, may we hear and know the expectations and gifts and love we are being given.

To the glory of our ever-living, ever-loving God. Amen.

Sermon September 13, 2015

Sermon September 13 2015

Proverbs 1:20-33 

Psalm 19 

James 3:1-12

Mark 8:27-38

“Who Are You, Jesus? Who Are We?”

Teach us your names, O God, spoken in acts of mercy and justice and grace. May we learn your names, O Jesus, by trusting who you are for us and for all. May we recognize your names, Holy Spirit, in the renewing of our lives and communities.
1 The heavens are telling your glory, God;
   and the firmament proclaims your handiwork.
2 Day to day pours forth speech,
   and night to night declares knowledge.
3 There is no speech, nor are there words;
   their voice is not heard;
4 yet their voice goes out through all the earth,
   and their words to the end of the world.
14 Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart
   be acceptable to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer. Amen.

Who do we say that he is? Jesus asks. Now, we may have confessed at some point in time that Jesus is Lord and Savior—that’s what makes us a part of this congregation of this particular worshipping community. But . . .

Who do our lives say that Jesus is? Who do our lives proclaim that we, each one of us are? Who do our lives proclaim that this community is and claims to be? What sermon does this company of Jesus’ followers preach as we walk through our lives together? Do we walk through our lives together or do we walk like lonely pilgrims who occasionally keep in touch? What is the name by which we are known as this community and what name would we like to have? And when I say name, I mean, who do our neighbors know us to be and do they know us at all? What do our presence and our actions here say about us? How are we known?

Because of who we are and what advantages we have, I’m going to talk about race, racism, and how it is that we participate in racism. I’m also going to talk about how we can stand against racism through the proclamation of our lives into this world.
• Sometimes through what we say—because we all have a message to speak and can speak up with others speak hate.
• And often by what we do and how we participate in the lives of others.

In the gospel lesson, Jesus began his particular teaching in this text by asking the disciples who they thought he was—from what he’d taught them, shown them, and how he had lived in and among them for a while. Those who knew him best, who saw him daily said he was Messiah, God’s chosen, God’s anointed, God’s successor to the throne of David. But more than that as God’s instrument for salvation and for the inauguration of the day of the Lord, the Messiah was to usher in a new time of God’s realm when things like bounty and peace would blanket the earth beginning on God’s holy mountain and when all people’s would be called to participate in God’s realm of justice and peace. (See Isaiah.)

Jesus had taught them what it meant that he was Messiah—God’s realm wasn’t of this earth; it was about the landscape of the heart. And because the landscape of the heart was to change, the landscape of people’s lives and their understandings of who was in charge, who was leader, teacher, student and follower would change. Who was chosen was a matter those who lived and spoke God’s message of love. Those who rejected the message rejected God’s call.

In Jesus’ life—in the first century when the Roman Empire ruled the world and those who succeeded in life often cooperated with that Empire, Jesus’ rejection of human power, human success, earthly leadership, etc. meant that he took up the cause of those who were anti-empire: poor, disadvantaged, had little. He was their leader through the life that he led—a life like theirs. He chose to be in solidarity or unity with the people most in need. The system of empire in today’s world and especially in this country, though all over the western world is a system of power based on race and historically based economic advantage based on race and racial identity. Who does that say that Jesus is today? Who does that say that we are and how are we known as Christian, followers of Christ? Who would Jesus identify with today? Would Jesus, who lived without the surety of home, family, and wealth identify with those who have power or those whose lives are most disadvantaged by systems of racial power? Would Jesus stand with those at the top or the bottom of racist systems?

When we choose to be Christians, if we are faithful to what Jesus taught, we choose to act against systems of abusive power. As Christians we can be known as anti-racist if we choose to be. We can do our best to recognize and name racism when we see it or beginning learning what racism looks like beyond labels, prejudices, stereotypes, or overt bigotry.

Racism is race prejudice + power. Racism isn’t just race prejudice—feeling or thinking about another race in prejudiced ways. It is those thoughts and feelings and the ability to uphold those thoughts and feelings with power—with institutional power, economic power, and historical power.  The essential feature of racism is not hostility or misperception, but rather the defense of a system from which advantage is derived on the basis of race.

In other words, it’s not really about how you feel or whether or not you hate or fear people of another race—racism is about how there are systems of privilege and power that have been historically constructed based on race and how it is that people who are considered white in this culture benefit from those systems even when they do not realize it or name it.

I haven’t read, but have on my wish list a book called, “The Wheat Money.” Just the description provides a Middle America example of the racist systems in this country. Written by Kristi Tyler, a white woman who married a black man, “The Wheat Money is the true story of two families; one white, the other black. In 2005, the families merged through marriage and a mixed-race child was born. Will that child, as she grows older, want to know why, when her parents met, one had a master's degree and a high paying job and the other was homeless and addicted to crack? The story of The Wheat Money begins in 1865, the same year the slaves were freed.”

These are the opening lines to her book.
“My great-grandfather’s name was Ai. He was born in 1865, the same year victory was declared in the American Civil War. Eighteen years later, Ai got a gift from the U.S. government: he was given a free plot of land to farm. Although he’d been born into a poor family, he died a rich man with hundreds of acres of land, several houses, lots of cars, and a handful of businesses and investments.
“The same year Ai was born, my husband’s great-great grandparents had their natural-born rights to live freely, restored. Tolliver was ten years old and Jemima was five when they were most likely to have heard the news. The Thirteenth Amendment outlawed slavery and granted them a sort of rebirth. As Freedpeople, my husband’s ancestors would finally have a chance to pursue their destinies or so they must have thought at the time. They did not get a gift of land from the U.S. government and they died penniless.”

That’s the premise of the book. I understand that not every white person received what her great-grandfather did—however, there were many systems put in place to reward some families and refuse to reward others. What I would say to this situation is that by the time 1865 rolled around about 250 years of sweat equity had been involuntarily invested in the economic systems of this country (in the North and South) by slaves whose lives were controlled, bought and sold by those who used them as labor and their sweat equity was worth millions then and probably billions now.  As time went on, racism was continued through economic deprivation that red-lined cities, disallowing black families from owning homes in particular neighborhoods or as here in Robinson, whole cities and towns. Other systems kept many black people from receiving adequate educations. Many black Americans who had already been deprived of several generations of economic and cultural support and self-determination were subsequently used for experimental medical testing, such as that done at the Tuskegee Institute. (And still many accomplished so much, but how much have we lost as a nation through those who did not.)

While you may never have said anything people might consider racist or used racial stereotyping in relationship to other people, if we are white, we benefit from historical, economic racism every single day. And while you may never have said anything racially prejudiced, I can’t say that and I’m sure that I have and that I also benefit personally from systemic racism.

Racism isn’t just about white supremacy and African Americans—those who are and those who are not descended from the chattel slavery in this nation. Racism is about systems of oppression that benefit white people and/or take from people of color. The land that my great-grandfather homesteaded in Oklahoma/Indian Territory/The Cherokee Strip was taken multiple times from multiple tribes after multiple attempts by our government to make the indigenous residents of this land disappear. Grandad McCully came from West Plains, Missouri to stake a claim for a homestead near what became the town of Aline in Alfalfa County in the state of Oklahoma. My grandmother was born 3 years after Oklahoma became a state in 1910. She married my grandfather Elliott when she was seventeen and I’m not sure how he came by his land, but together they owned several hundred acres of farm land. He was also a welder/inventor and had the capital through his worth and wealth to invest in his creations and put them into use in pipelines and oilfields from Canada to South America—where he got to travel and work in other lands who’d had indigenous populations. And they were all good people benefitting from systems that gave advantages to those who came to this country from Europe and took the use of land, resources, and the very right to exist from those who were already here. (And that’s just the story I know.)

I didn’t participate in the actually theft of the land where I lived as a child—neither did my folks, but we benefitted. We had homes, income, cattle, crops, and shelter that came from that privilege, the privilege that allowed us to take that land as our own. Though it had previously been the hunting land of several Plains tribes, it was held by the Cherokee for a time before it was opened for white settlement in 1893. (The first land run was in 1889, which opened up the land south of the Indian Meridian in Indian Territory—the name given to Oklahoma before statehood.)

Who do we say Jesus is in all of this? How do we claim the name of Christ as Christians or little Christs as we stand upon such a lifetime of privilege based upon race, based upon ancestry, based upon feelings of superiority that sometimes bubble up from so deep within us that we find it very easy to deny they are even there?

Jesus taught that the Son of Man—that’s him—would undergo suffering. And he would be rejected by the elders, those men who led the religious council of his faith, and by the chief priests, those who led the religious rituals of his faith and by the scribes, those who knew and kept track of the written law of his people. He would be rejected because the purpose God had given him didn’t not support the local systems of supremacy and power that the institutions lived by. Jesus didn’t reject the Jewish faith—he was called by God to call people into relationship with God that didn’t depend upon the systems of power, the institutions of law that had been built. Instead, he called his followers to take up the cross that they would be given, whatever it was, so that they could be faithful to the purpose God gave each one of them.

Who do we say Jesus is? Jesus is Messiah, Christ, chosen and anointed one of God. And if we are Christians, we claim that anointing and choosing as our own. We claim a calling that rejects the power structures of our day—not the Roman Empire, but the empire that claimsI racial superiority and that builds more and more elaborate and subtle systems to keep those power structures in place.

Or, we can continue in this life, to do what profits us and (more likely) what profits those who already hold much of the wealth and power in this world, in this nation, and gain the world (probably for those who already have and abundance). We could seek out gain, profit, try to save our own lives, pursue survival at all cost, live according to fear and the racism that leads to hate and lose our very souls.

Rejecting racism means for white people a reshuffling of power, a willingness to give up the advantage we (as white people) and our children have had historically for the sake of those who have not had those same privileges. It means really looking at our own stories and in spite of poverty in place and times in those stories, realizing where systems of advantage supported us like it didn’t others. Naming racism, naming racial prejudice paired with power, means taking control of our prejudice and allowing us to actively pursue repentance for this sin of racism that we carry.

Jesus walked the pathway that God called him to walk though it led him all the way to the cross and beyond. He showed us that the way that leads to the cross, to crucifixion—the way that leads to self-denial, to trusting in God beyond the ways in which we have learned to survive at all cost—leads through death and into resurrection. Though it seems that that the valley of the shadow of death has no hope and it is scary, we are accompanied by the one who has walked all the way through it and to the other side. Amen.

Sermon April 23, 2015

Sermon August 23 2015

1 Kings 8:(1,6,10-11), 22-30, 41-43

Psalm 84

Ephesians 6:10-20

John 6:56-69

“What We Live”

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 our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O God, our rock and our redeemer. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

Sometimes—and I may be alone in this—but sometimes I imagine that the clothes I put on each morning like a costume. Not because I’m dressing like someone else, but because whatever it is I am doing that day requires a particular look or function. If I intend to scrub dirty walls or take down curtains and wash them—or spend the day cleaning and sweating (because that’s what I do), then I usually will dress in something that’s worn and usually sleeveless even if it’s cool outside. The role and position I am filling, the words and thoughts and feelings I have work best when the inside matches the outside. 

I understand that God doesn’t care what I wear—God, as far as I know, is completely unconcerned about the state of my clothing. Sometimes, biblically, though, we hear about the importance of clothing symbolically or housing/dwellings meant for particular purposes or even the state and condition of the body as it’s made ready for rituals or practices. And I don’t think that’s because God wouldn’t like it otherwise—sometimes what we wear on the outside has an effect on how we live on the inside. Or maybe what we wear on the outside reflects, hides, or distracts from what’s on the inside. 

But I’m not just talking about apparel either. Sometimes places are costumed or decorated beyond utility for the sake of whatever role they play. The external is meant to evoke a purpose for the place. Churches have particular kinds of architecture for particular reasons—not because God likes particular kinds of architecture more, but because we want to draw out thoughts or feelings with lofty ceilings or big windows that fill with sunlight. Places where intimate meals or drinks take place often have darker subdued architecture that stimulate personal conversation. Places also dress for a purpose and for meaning—sometimes metaphorically, sometimes very literally. 

What we wear, metaphorically and literally often can say something very profound about us. The words we use, the actions we take, the attitude we have when we take action are important—though their interpretation may change depending on who is noticing us. 

Sometimes the most powerful images around us greatly affect how we see the world. The writer of this letter to the churches in Ephesus was imprisoned at the time—several times describing being in chains for the sake of the gospel or being bound to the gospel. The writer often seems to use what can be seen and experienced immediately in his surroundings to talk about the gospel—because the immediate surroundings of the writer, a Roman prison, was a familiar place for people in his world. More specifically the symbols of Roman oppression were very common—the armored and armed soldier; the breastplates, shields, helmets, and swords of the occupying army, the oppressor. 

So when he begins to describe how he imagines the power of God being continually present with believers, he uses a powerful image that is familiar. People of faith, Jews and Christians in the Roman Empire, had strong enemies in the Romans. Rome had killed Jesus. And that strength was like a neon sign in the darkness—all that could be seen. So he used that imagery. But he turned it on its head. 

Though he used words for the kinds of armor he saw to describe the strength of God’s protection and presence, he uses them to describe spiritual conflict, spiritual defense, or spiritual protection. As I heard one preacher say, “Do you know how many weapons a breastplate of righteousness will stop? Exactly none.” That means that the justice of God—justice is another word for righteousness—is what guards our hearts. 

The Christians to whom this was written knew who their physical, earthly enemy was and what they could do about them—exactly nothing. But this armor was meant to protect the heart, mind, and soul. They needed to know truth surrounded them like a belt whatever lies were told, even those that led to their imprisonment and death. They needed to know that justice, just ways and actions were what protected them their hearts. It was God’s justice that mattered—even when they were arrested for living according to the truth of God’s love. Their feet were to move by passion to carry the Good News of peace—not the Pax Romana (Rome’s Peace, which was characterized simply defending the law and executing lawbreakers, no matter how unjust the laws.) But the good news of peace is that it could not exist without God’s justice, equity, hope, and trusting in them. Faith was a shield to protect against the weapons of evil; and salvation protected eternally. The only weapon was the sword; God’s word, Jesus Christ. 

Jesus, who said to Peter, “Those who live by the sword will die by the sword.” And Paul, purveyor of the word of God, Jesus Christ, who gave up violence and oppression because of the presence of Jesus Christ wrote these word in opposition to violence, not in support of it—even in defense of that word. To use violence as a means of proclaiming the gospel of peace denies that gospel. When I say violence, I mean the violence of words as well as weapons. 

Some pastors and other Christian leaders I know of have dealt with hateful phone calls and letters when they have encouraged loving people instead of judging people for who they love or how they live. Many people are treated as less than welcome because their beliefs, life-style, or dreams are somewhat different than those in authority or those who claim to be ambassadors of the truth.

I hesitated to preach this text this morning, like many of my fellow preachers I’ve been in conversation with, because it’s been so badly preached over the years. It’s been used by those who would take up arms to supposedly “defend and spread the gospel” over the years that it’s hard to forget how it’s been misused. And without context, without understanding to whom and to where it’s written it is easy to misuse and mislead. Instead of promoting peace by violence as some have said, it proclaims the opposite. 

Though Paul or a student or teacher within Paul’s tradition wrote of the armor of God, Paul also wrote in Colossians about how in baptism we are clothed in Christ--about how we are wearing love. “As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.” (Col. 3:12-14) Each description rejects using faith or the word of God—the bible or Jesus—to wound people. Instead each one reveals how love, justice, compassion, faith, truth and salvation are God’s intentions for us—both in the goals for our lives and how we get there. If you want to phrase it another way—you can’t build God’s house and use the devil’s tools. How we live matters, not just what we believe. What we say matters, too, using respectful loving language. What we live and what we do matters—our living and doing are love; love for other children of God, love for God, and love for all that God has created. 

So let us choose our spiritual apparel carefully— and wear the loving lives we have been given so that we can love all those we meet. 

To God be the glory—as we dedicate our very lives. Amen

Sermon June 21 2015

1 Samuel 17:32-49

Psalm 133

2 Corinthians 6:1-13

Mark 4:35-41

“What We Know”

We thank you, mighty God, that the even the least among us can trust in you to be our champion and protector. We pray that you would continue to build our trust in your strength and vision so that we may join your pursuit for justice and peace for all. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you, God, our rock and our redeemer.  Amen.

A few years ago, a “Master Class in Public Ministry” was led by a Rev. Dr. Donna Schaper of Judson Memorial Church, Greenwich Village, NYC. The class was for “anyone interested in developing the spiritual capacity to make a difference in the world.” The attendees were promised it would be “fun, informative, and invigorat­ing!” and it was.

One of Donna’s concerns is to liberate public ministry from a motivation of obligation – should and ought – to ministry that comes as a response to experienced grace. Public ministry, Donna suggests, is entering the difficulties of the world with hope – without judgment, blame, and shame. (From Seasons of the Spirit, P1 2015)

Public ministry, standing up as Christians in wider society, isn’t about judging others, but about promoting and acting on the principles and tenets of the kingdom of God as Jesus preached them. 

That might mean lifting up how the injustice of our legal system unfairly punishes more harshly people of color (black people, brown people, red people) for similar crimes—because Jesus taught to minister to those who are imprisoned. That might mean advocating for health care and food support for those who are poor and especially those who are the working poor. But even more so, it means advocating for wages that allow people to buy what they need because they are employed. And because Jesus taught that people who work deserve to be paid enough to live, no matter what kind of work they do.

That might mean advocating for programs in which young people, like David, have their eyes opened to the world and have their passion for causes encouraged to act courageously on behalf of those who need that kind of passion.

In 2014, the National Benevolence Association within our denomination created NBA XPLOR to partner young adults with Disciples congregations and the communities in which those congregations serve – impacting neighborhoods, congregations, and young adults.

The purpose of the program is to nurture “a heart for service” with young adult leaders of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), who will work to address the social justice issues and concerns including the health and well-being of various communities across the country. Through NBA XPLOR, we intend for our Residents to explore lives of faith and justice while living in community:

•          Under one roof as a small, diverse community of Residents
•          In wider neighborhoods where systems of oppression and injustice work against human potential
•          In connection with congregations where faith journeys are nurtured with great intention
•          In discerning how and where their relationship with God calls them into their best potential

The groups of young people will live together—with their basic room and board provided—while working through a community program and with 1 or more congregation within our denomination to learn, to serve, to work for others, and to lead with support.

There are two explore houses right now, one in Los Angeles and one in Hiram, Ohio. The next one will be in the Quad cities—I believe the house is in Davenport Iowa, while the churches are in both Illinois and in Iowa. They will be working with at risk populations, with food programs, with housing people, with literacy and working with an awareness of how systemic racism plays a part in all of these issues.

In the story told in 1 Samuel 17, David shows up, risks, and unapologetically stands in the confidence of his relationship with God. David is not motivated to act be­cause he “should,” or because he desires glory or rich reward, or to blame and shame. Rather, he seeks the welfare of the community, and to honor the God of Israel.

The Israelite army is unable to act – paralyzed by the enormity of the task. In the class described earlier, one young man who expressed feeling overwhelmed by the giants that threat­en and oppress society today; he was worried about making a wrong choice about where to put his energies. Donna’s encouragement was to take three steps only and let the third step tell what the fourth step will be.

Like David, we have to step out into public view and public arenas so that we can stand where it is that we have passion for others, passion for God’s love and liberation. We may have to explore our passions—do they circle only around our own needs—and find how what we have or can do connects with what people need. Perhaps we need the same things—perhaps we don’t.

And we are called upon by this story to see where it is that real power lies. When most people described in this situation saw the giant Goliath walk onto the battlefield and begin to boast of his kills, his accomplishments and to curse his enemies, they believed in his power. They could see it. They knew he was right—right away.

All they could see—from Saul the king of Israel, to the officers and soldiers of Israel’s army, to the giant and the Philistine army where he was champion—was that Goliath, the giant, was big and the rest were not. Saul saw power and armor and strength, so did the soldiers. They just knew it was impossible to defeat the Philistine champion.

And so it was, until someone showed up on the battlefield who didn’t know that or knew something different in addition. I’m sure David saw Goliath’s size—but like many young people and he was likely to have been an adolescent, he just knew his own experience. So he stood on the power he knew he had. He stood on the power he attributed to God’s power in his life.

Saul’s power rested on the size and professionalism of his army. Goliath’s power rested in his muscles and size. David’s power came from his willingness to trust that God had saved him from lions and bears, so God would protect him even here. He knew how to fight and to win against opponents who were truly more powerful and had more strength than he did. He didn’t wrestle bears and lions. He fought them at a distance. He defeated them, not for the sake of himself. He could have just left the sheep to them, but he fought the predators for their sake. So David fought the giant—not for himself—but for the flock of Israelites who hid from him.

Power can be used for good or for evil. Power isn’t all bad. Sometimes, though, we have power and think we know how to use it for the sake of others.

After David insisted that he would fight the giant, Saul decided he would lend David the power he knew. So he gave him a helmet for his head and chain mail to protect his body. He gave him a sword to fight with. He was clothed like the soldiers—like a warrior king of the day. But David’s strength didn’t match the kind of power that Saul wanted to give him. So he took off the armor and picked up his shepherd’s staff and sling, then he filled his pouch with stones, ammunition for the sling.

David armed himself, prepared himself for facing the giant, but he did it by knowing his own strength and his own power. Sometimes we are like Saul and we think we know what people need to right their own lives instead of listening to what they really need from us—from support systems and structures and programs designed to help.

People usually understand their own needs better than we do. They understand their own strengths and powers and where they need support. David wanted to rely more on what he knew than he wanted to rely on Saul’s kind of battle.

David saw a problem and had the passion of youth he needed to respond. And in preparation for his response, for fighting the giant he saw, he rejected Saul’s kind of power for the power he knew he already had.

This doesn’t mean that all problems can be solved by the use of a sling and stone—or weapons—what it means is that we don’t always realize the power we already have.

This story, placed within the biblical story of Saul’s downfall and God’s choice of David, tells us that David is the kind of power God wants. This story also opens our eyes to the realization that giants aren’t undefeatable no matter what we think we know. Instead, we can know differently.

We can know that while a white man with a gun can take the lives of 9 black people studying scripture, we can stand up and say that black lives matter as much as anyone else’s lives. We can know that while police shootings of black men and women were in the news, the end of 2014 was a bloody time for Native Americans with 6 in the last two months of last year. We can know that from 1999 to 2013, Native Americans were killed by law enforcement at nearly identical rates as black Americans, tying them for the most at-risk populations in this respect. We can’t ignore either set of numbers—and both should be a motivation for change.

And while this change happens, and it will, white people in particular will struggle with how to use their power and influence, and especially how to give up privilege, so that others can simply have life. The shooting this week reveals how some have and will respond to a rising consciousness of systemic racism and the changes we have to make. I hope that with Jesus Christ’s example in our lives, we understand that sometimes we don’t know what we think we know—and that we do know that God stands with those who are hurt and dying, with those who are burdened with prejudice, hate, and fear.

Sometimes it’s hard to work out what it is that we know. One the one hand, we hear about David defeating the giant and Jesus calming the wind and waves. On the other hand, Paul describes how people like him—believers who stand up against the injustice of persecution will continue to be persecuted and afflicted by horrible situations and systems that are so entrenched they feel almost impossible to change.

And yet, while we’re thinking about what we know and what we think we know. Let’s consider that while racism and injustice have not been eradicated—some things have changed for the better. But that doesn’t mean that acting against racism can end or that the protests will stop any time soon. What the changes simply mean is that we have more power, more hope, and more motivation as we move into the world—that kingdom Jesus preaches about—that God is preparing for us.

Changing the world isn’t easy, even for God, because God calls us to change it. God calls us to know and understand where it is that God calls. And God calls to follow Jesus’ teachings about love, grace, justice, and hope as we do so.

What we know. We know God is with us. Thanks be to God. Amen.