A Star is Born ~ Sermon (I Samuel and Mark)

 

At the beginning of this year, on Epiphany Sunday, I handed out a star word to each of you.  Do you remember your stars? Mine is still posted on my office door, with its word “Blessedness ” as a guidepost for my year.  Did you post your star where you can see it? Do you know what your star word is?

Back when we received our star words, we were full of hope for the year ahead.  We had completed a successful annual giving campaign, and were making new plans for conversations with another congregations.  When I handed out the stars, I said:

[Your star[ contains a word for you, a word to ponder, to question, to pray with, to laugh over, to wonder about.   This star might serve as your guide for the next year.  What sort of year will it     be for you, as a seeker?  What sort of year for you as an individual, as a family member, as a         community participant, as a worshipper with this congregation?  What might your word suggest          to you, during moments of joy, in the middle of nights of heartache, on ordinary days and on        extraordinary days? Stars have long been understood to be mysterious guides – the       constellations, the specific stars like the North Star, our own sun – guides about which we know                 little, but which with their light and energy point the way for us, and even save us from some    tight spots. 

Our stars were born, out of construction paper and markers, on a cold, but calm, wintery day.  But in celestial life, stars are born in a more complicated and dramatic way.  I’m guessing that the physics and chemistry involved in star formation is a bit beyond most of us, so I’m going to read from a description for kids:

"The] birth places of stars are huge, cold clouds of gas and dust, known as 'nebulas'.

These clouds start to shrink under their own gravity. As the cloud gets smaller, it breaks into       clumps. Each clump eventually becomes so hot and dense that nuclear reactions begin. When              the temperature reaches 10 million degrees Celsius, the clump becomes a new star."[1]

What I think this means is that stars are born out of the imagination of God.  Who else but the Creator of the universe would come up with a plan to mix gasses and dust and gravity and heat into nuclear reactions that would create all those twinkling lights in the sky? 

In God’s imagination, all sorts of births take place.  Our first story today tells the story of the birth of Samuel.

Samuel is one of those OT characters we aren’t entirely sure about.  Who was Samuel, exactly?

Samuel is most well known as an anointer of kings: first Saul, and then David.  In Samuel’s time, 3,000 years ago, the nation of Israel was ruled by judges – by people who served mostly as tribal leaders. They weren’t necessarily judges as we think of judges in our courts today, although they might sometimes preside over disputes and issue decisions.  But, more often, they were thought of as military leaders who, when wars were over, returned to their people to lead them in times of peace as well. 

The people of Israel were not satisfied with their judges.  They looked around and saw that their neighbors had kings – hereditary rulers – and they wanted a king, too.  Samuel, who was a judge himself, was upset about this, but God told Samuel to go ahead and appoint a king, saying that the people were not rejecting Samuel as their judge, but were rejecting God, their real king.  God also told Samuel to warn the people, which he did, that their kings would exploit them, taking their money for the royal treasury and their sons for battle --  but the people still wanted a king, and that’s what they got.

Samuel, the last of the major judges and the anointer of kings, is an important figure in the Bible, because he listened so carefully to God and followed God’s instructions.  And important people in the Bible – the stars of the Bible -- are often the subjects of dramatic birth stories, stories in which difficulties are overcome.

Samuel’s story is first the story of his mother Hannah, who, unlike her husband Elkanah’s other wife, was unable to bear children.  Elkanah was deeply in love with Hannah and didn’t care about her childless state, but Hannah herself was devastated, and prayed and wept to God for a son.  She promised God that if God would give her a son, she in turn would give her son back to God, in service to God.  And God did, in response, give her a son, Samuel, and when Samuel was weaned, Hannah took him to the temple to present him to God, and left him there to be raised by Eli, the high priest.

This is a story of high drama – jealousy between wives, intense wailing and weeping and prayer, a miraculous conception, and then – the child given up by the mother who had so longed for him.  This is a human version of the story of the creation of a star.  I wonder what Samuel’s star word might have been, had Eli handed him a yellow construction-paper star?

Obedient?  Servant of God?  Leader?  Messenger?  Prophet?  Annointer?

Do any of his words sound like words you might want for yourself?  Or do they sound as if they would be too difficult to fulfill?

Of course, when God invites us to be born anew, as a new star, with a new word, the role is often unexpected and not easy to fulfill. 

We have another star-birth story today, in the words of Jesus from the Gospel of Mark.  This one, however, is first a star-death story.  It’s an end-time story, told by Jesus just before his crucifixion, when he proclaims to at least one disciple that the great stones of the temple, the center of Jewish ceremonial life, will all be knocked down.  And then he goes on to tell James and John and Peter and Andrew, in confusing – and dramatic – terms, what will happen at the end – or at the beginning, which may be the same thing: There will be false prophets, he says, and wars and rumors of wars, and “nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This,” says Jesus, “is but the beginning of the birth pangs.”

Now, people sometimes like to look at these predictions of war and famine and earthquakes and say, “The end of the world is near!” – because all of these things are happening right now.  But, honestly, can you think of any time in human history in which all of these things were not happening?  I don’t think that the point is merely to warn of us of the end of the world as a catastrophic event of violence and disaster, which will happen any minute now.  I think the point is to tell us that when the Reign of God finally breaks in to our lives in all of its completeness, it will be so different from what we have experienced that the contrast will astonish – and, I believe – delight us.  What we are experiencing now is: the beginning of the birth pangs.” 

This passage reminds me of a trip our family made just about 31 years ago.  My husband and I took our twin sons, who were three months old, down to Florida to see my grandparents – for what we knew was likely to be a final visit with my grandfather, who was extremely ill.  I was very close to my grandparents – I had grown up next door to them, and since my brother and I had lost our mother when we were small children, our grandparents had huge roles in our lives.  So I was accustomed to long and intimate talks with them.  Down in Florida that year, with my grandfather confined to his bed, I spent a lot of time introducing him and his great-grandsons to one another, and a lot of time talking with my grandmother.  One night, I was telling her about when my sons were born, and she was telling me about the challenges of caring for my grandfather.  She sighed and said, “The passages at the beginning of life and at the end of life are both very hard.” 

I think that that’s what Jesus is getting at here.  Beginnings and endings – both hard, and made all the more so by the fact that they are simultaneous. 

Look back at Samuel’s life, and his mother Hannah’s: what was a joyful beginning for Hannah – the arrival of a longed-for child – was also a heart-rending ending, as she had promised to return that child to God.  What was a hard ending for Samuel – the separation from his parents – was also an exciting beginning – his new life in the temple with the high priest, Eli.

Look at what Jesus says: the end of the temple of coming.  The end of life as you know it, the end of your expectations and plans and rituals – all will be knocked down, just as the huge stones of the temple will be.  But these things are the birth pangs – the signs of new beginnings of a new creation, of the in breaking of the reign of God when all shall be made new, and there will be crying and tears no more.  A new-star sort of life.

What about you and your star-word?  Is a star about to be born?  Are you about to be born again?  Is your star a sign of something completely unexpected?

I freely admit: When I taped my yellow star with the word ”Blessedness” to my door, I did not expect Blessedness to look like the end of this year does.

I expected Blessedness to look like a new church.  New members and friends.   Maybe a children’s Sunday School.  That food pantry Doris dreamed of.  Special events in Grandpa’s.

I did not expect Blessedness to look like closed doors.  Like new members and friends in other congregations.  Like giving away all of our leftover food.  Like giving away almost everything in Grandpa’s.  Like planning final services for the last Sunday of this church year instead of Advent services for the first Sundays of the new church year.

But  . . . these are the birth pangs.  “In our end is our beginning,” as the song says. Hannah had to promise to give up her child to get her child.  Samuel had to lose his family to gain his role as judge and anointer of kings.  The temple had to fall to make way for something even now, 2000 years later, unknown.  Jesus had to die to himself to give life to all.    We have to reach an ending to rise elsewhere.

These are the birth pangs.  Not death pangs, but birth pangs.  In Greek, the language of the gospel for  the phrase ”birth pangs” means “travail” – hard work, involving suffering.  In English, the word “to birth” comes from a Norse word meaning “to bear”: to carry, to support, to move.  Both are true, aren’t they?  This is hard work, but it is the word of carrying and supporting and moving forward.

I intend to carry my star word, “Blessedness,” forward.  I intend to support others in a blessed future.

What about you?  How will you carry your word into the future, into the continuing realization of the kingdom of God?

I pray that you will know blessedness as you lift your star word up and carry it onward.  Amen

---

[1] Space for Kids.  https://www.esa.int/esaKIDSen/SEMY06WJD1E_OurUniverse_0.html

 

 

Image: Star Formation System.  Credit: NASA, ESA, and the Hubble Heritage Team (STScI/AURA)-ESA/Hubble Collaboration.  http://www.nasa.gov/multimedia/imagegallery/image_feature_1028.html

Give It All Away ~ Sermon (Mark)

I softened this up as I was preaching it, wanting to give my congregation more kudos for its generosity in service.  But this version is close enough:

 

Today’s gospel story is one that many of us have read and heard many times, and so we may bring some preconceptions to it. To start with, we may read it in a Bible in which the passage is captioned with the title, The Widow’s Mite.  And so our first preconception may be that the story is entirely about a widow and her small and almost worthless coins.  Secondly, when we hear the word “widow,” that often brings a particular image to mind: most likely an elderly woman, someone who draws little attention to herself, someone who plays only a small role in the life of a community.  And finally, we tend to think of Biblical narratives as moralistic stories, stories which point out a quick lesson, easily understood – although perhaps not so easily followed.   

A widow, an old woman, and the admonishment to give your money away to the temple – or, in our case, the church.  It sounds pretty simple.

Let’s see what we can do to debunk this simple approach. 

In the first place, the story itself, on the face of it, is not merely about the widow and her mite.  That’s really Part II.  Part I is about the scribes, the temple leaders whose task it was to copy and preserve the scriptural texts and to prepare other documents needed for transactions in the life of the temple and the religious life of the people.  Scribes were leaders of considerable prestige, as they were literate – they could read and write -- unusual in that time and place – and they were in charge of the documentation of religious life.  They had a great deal of power, which they were frequently guilty of exploiting.  Look at how Jesus describes them: They “like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers.”  They devour widows’ houses!  Before we even get to the widow, Part I of the story tells us that the officials in charge of religious life exploit those who are most vulnerable in their society.  They may take houses from those who cannot pay their taxes and are powerless to resist, they may insist upon huge mortgages against the homes of the impoverished and disenfranchised; they take advantage of those without husbands and sons to defend them.  It’s interesting, isn’t it, that this story is so often referred to as The Story of the Widow’s Mite?  Perhaps we need to re-edit our Bibles and call it The Story of the Arrogant and Ravenous Scribes.

Now, what about the widow?  When I began to think about widows and look for images of widows, I realized immediately that widows are women in all age brackets.  Of course, many women are widowed in their senior years, although few of them are self-retiring, or play small roles in the community!  But four of my friends have become widows in the last few years, in their fifties.  Military and war widows are often very young, in their twenties and thirties.  Some of you have been widowed young, and then perhaps widowed a second time when you were older.  (And I’m not intentionally leaving out the men who have been widowed – not at all!  But widowhood in Biblical times brought with it particular hardships having to do with gross gender inequities.  Women in Jesus’ times were entirely dependent upon male relatives – fathers, husbands, and sons – for income, status, and housing, so to be widowed was to be pushed into a dire situation.  Thus Jesus, and the prophets in the centuries before him, often emphasized the plight of widows.)

When I began to look for illustrations of this text, I found the same variety in the various depictions of widows.  In some paintings and pictures, the widow appears as an elderly woman; in others, as a young woman.  In one particularly striking piece, the widow is a beautiful young woman, looking confidently and directly forward, while surrounded by the scribes, elderly, white-bearded men who look as if they and their rules will crush her.  And in some poignant paintings, the widow appears as a young woman with a child, or even children, clinging to her.  There are many ways and stages of life at which widowhood can pose a threat to well-being.

So: We have the scribes, criticized by Jesus for their pride and their exploitation of the poor.  And we have the widow, who gives everything she has to the temple treasury.  And perhaps we conclude there: We say that yes, the story has a point.  It conveys a moral lesson, and that lesson is: Give away all that you have.  This poor widow becomes an example of sacrificial giving, and that pretty much wraps the story up.

Or does it? Is this story not about something beyond the individuals involved?  Is it not about systemic poverty and injustice, and about how we in Christian community are called to respond?

We as Christians have, in the last several decades, come to understand our faith in a way that is problematic ~ problematic for us, for Christian culture, and for the whole world.  We have developed an understanding of faith that is extremely personal, that is all about each one of us as individuals.  We talk about what “I” get out of church. We talk about what “I” want from my life of faith.  In some traditions, Christians talk an awful lot about “personal salvation.”  Sometimes we think it’s all about “Jesus and me.”  And we often interpret stories like today’s in that very personal sort of way.  I’m not like the scribes:  I don’t walk around showing off how religious I am; I don’t make gifts just so my name can appear on plaques,  and I certainly don’t cheat poor widows out of money rightfully theirs, or evict them from their homes.  In fact, if I’m like anyone at all in this story, I’m like the widow.  OK, I don’t give away everything that I have, but I do give generously and sometimes even sacrificially.  And if I don’t have much money to give, I give of my time and my energy and my gifts and skills.  When I look at myself in terms of this story, I come off pretty well.  

But this story, this story which we will now call The Story of the Arrogant Scribes and the Widow, is not just about the individuals involved.  It’s not just about me, or about you.  It’s about an entire system ~ about systemic injustice.  It’s about how individual choices, such as those made by the scribes, are supported by, and in term support, an entire system in which wealth is funneled to the wealthy, in which prestige of position places the unworthy on pedestals, and in which what trickles down to the poor is more poverty, poorer health, more prison time, less education.

Sound familiar?  That struggle continues, does it not?  In our neighborhoods and in our country and in our world?  It should be no trouble at all for us to envision a society in which the rich get richer and the poor get poorer ~ and land in prison instead of in college.

The challenges of poverty and injustice are community problem.  They call for community solutions.  And yet, as that widow knew, community solutions depend on individual actions.  Community solutions depend upon individuals with the courage to step forward and to act.  Community solutions depend upon individuals willing to engage in what Professor Karoline Lewis calls “whole life living.”*  Community solutions depend upon individuals willing to give it all away.

What does that mean for us?  In many ways, we have been doing just that, engaging in “whole life living,” during the past several months. We have recognized that our calling, our vocation, is not to sustain the trappings of the church in a way that the scribes of our story were doing with their temple.  We have come to understand that faithful living as Christians does not mean spending large sums of money to maintain a building far too big for us, or to support worship and programming for a small group of people.  Small sums of money for a small group ~ sure.  But we were spending large sums ~ money that could go toward justice in our communities rather than for self-preservation.  And not just money – but time, and energy, and all of our gifts ~ we are called to put them all toward something far beyond ourselves.

We are giving up the institutional trappings of our lives of faith, the trappings symbolized by the scribes. And we have turned to God in trust that our future as people of faith is secure.  That, my friends, is “whole life living.”  As individuals we have taken courageous – and yes, painful—actions, to ensure that community will be transformed.  We are giving up things that have great meaning to us as individuals.  The widow gave up all that she had in the form of small coins; we are giving up what we have in the form of a building and its contents, in the form of worship and other events to which we are accustomed, in the form of relationships which will move to other locations and be changed.  But, like the widow, what we do will transform the faith community. 

We don’t know, any more than the widow did, how our decisions might transform community.  Her small act, noted and emphasized by Jesus, has spoken to Christians for 2,000 years.  Perhaps our acts, too, will speak in ways that we cannot predict today.

The widow, Karoline Lewis tells us, “embodies Jesus’ own ministry. She acts out Jesus’ own call. She believes that what she does will manifest itself in something beyond herself. In the end, that is truly discipleship . . .” and that is “the essence of God. God knows nothing else than to give God’s whole life.”

We, too, are called beyond our individual selves and our individual desires.  We are called into the whole community of Christ.  We are called to live as fully as possible as his disciples.  We are called to change the world through whole life living, to give away what we have, and to trust that God calls us to something beyond what we can imagine this morning.  Thanks be to God.

 

*Working Preacher for this Sunday.

Called to Serve ~ Sermon (Mark)

“Calgon, take me away…”!  Do you remember rthat line from those commercials from the 1970s and 80s, for Calgon bath and beauty products? Occasionally a friend of mine will quote it during a particularly stressful moment.  “Calgon, take me away . . . “. For many of us, the picture comes immediately to mind: a woman relaxing in a tub filled with bubbles and lovely scents, relaxing for a few moments from the demands of her life.

I think that sometimes we imagine that that’s what our church life is.  Take me away . . . let me relax, on Sunday morning, from the strains and stresses of my daily life.  Let me hear some beautiful – and familiar -- music, let me participate in well-known rituals, let me hear a sermon that’s intriguing, perhaps, but not too challenging.  Let this hour or so on Sunday morning be a respite from my daily life in which children and grandchildren and parents and neighbors and employers make all kinds of demands upon me.  Let this hour of worship be a place of comfort in the midst of a world in which starvation and homelessness and terrorism seem to have the upper hand. Take me away . . .   .  

And Jesus’ disciples?  They do us one better.  Here they are this morning, following Jesus around like optimistic little puppies.  It seems that they’ve already forgotten what they heard in last week’s passage, which Mark places right before this week’s.  Remember last week?  What did Jesus say?  Go and sell everything that you have and give it to the poor!  Faith is a challenge to what you think is so important. Let go!

 

But the disciples have forgotten all that.  This morning, James and John go straight to Jesus – and first they tell him that they want him to do whatever they ask of him.  Can’t you hear Jesus sigh?  They really haven’t heard him at all.  He’s been telling them all along to do for others, and they’ve been watching him do for others, but they want something for themselves.  He’s been telling them that his immediate future involves suffering and death, but they cannot imagine anything other than glory: excitement, success, triumph! So Jesus – I am pretty sure about this – Jesus sighs, and ask them what it is that they want him to do for them.

 

And they have an immediate, confident response. “We want to sit at your right hand and your left, in your glory!”  Whatever it is that’s coming, they want to be seated in the places of honor.  They want to be seen, they want to be recognized, they want to be honored, they want to exert power. 

 

They have definitely missed the parts about giving away all that they have.  And they MOST definitely have missed the part about giving up ease and triumph for suffering and death.

They have gone way beyond a request for a life of ease and relaxation.  Way beyond “Take me away, Calgon.” They have moved right up to a demand for glory and honor. 

And don’t we do that as well?  We don’t want church to provide us with merely a time and space for respite and comfort during the week.  We want it to provide us with a place in life, with recognition, with honor.  We want to be noticed and thanked for all we’ve done.  We want to influence people and make the decisions.  We want to sit at Jesus’ right and left hands!

And what does Jesus say to them?  You do not know what you are asking.  You. do. not. know. what. you. are. asking.

You’ve heard this before, haven’t you?  Be careful what you ask for.  We usually say that in a humorous tone of voice.  You want a new house?  It will come with all sorts of responsibilities for maintenance.    Be careful what you ask for.  You want that job?  The boss is really difficult.  Be careful what you ask for.  You want to be on session?  You are going to have to figure out the church’s finances.  Be careful what you ask for.

Jesus, however, is not speaking humorously.  Jesus is serious. You want to sit at my right?  At my left? Then you will be drinking the cup that I drink.  You will be baptized as I was baptized.

What does that even mean?  The disciples have no idea and neither, frankly, do we.  We drink out of a bright and shiny cup on communion mornings, but Jesus drank out of a cup – and handed his disciples, and hands us – a cup that led straight to the cross.  We make baptism a bright and shiny event, but baptism sends us down into waters in which we die to this life and are re-born into a life with Jesus – a life marked by servanthood and suffering.  This is no Calgon bath, this Christian life.  There are no regal seats to the right and left of Jesus – at least not as we understand the word regal.  Be careful what you ask for. 

The disciples?  Nope, not careful.  As the others hear about what James and John have asked, they begin to get angry.  They feel left out.  We all know that feeling, right?  We’re excluded from something, and we’re disappointed, and then our feelings are hurt, and then we get angry.  And maybe even a little pushy.  Why should James and John get the right and left-hand seats?  Why did she get that job I wanted?  Why did he get to chair that committee?  Hey, Jesus!  I want to sit at your right or your left, or at least somewhere nearby.  I want to drink from the shiny cup.  I want some of that glory to rub off on me.

And Jesus says, “Sure!”  Here’s the Calgon and here’s the throne.  Come to church, relax, and gain a little prestige while you’ll at it.  Right?

No.  No, Jesus does not say those things.  Jesus says to sell all you have and give the money to the poor.  Jesus says to let go of your priorities and latch on to his.  Jesus says that what lies ahead is not glory as you imagine it to be.  Jesus says, “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.”

Servant?  Slave?  Those are tough words.  Slave, in particular, has so many horrific connotations that we hesitate even to read it that way.  Slavery in the Roman Empire?  Slavery in the Americas?  Slavery, today, in the sex trade industry?

Such a terrible word that I looked it up.  I tried to find another translation for this passage.  Couldn’t find one, not for that word.  I looked at definitions.  Someone who is the property of someone else and has to obey that person.  Someone overly influenced by something or in bondage to something.  However you look at it slavery is not something that, in modern language, we want even to consider.  But here is Jesus, telling us that those who want to be great among us will must be servants, and those who want to be first must be slaves of all.  Be careful what you ask for.

Now what does this mean for us, today? 

 

We are in a serious portion of the Gospel of Mark. No question about it.  We have reached the point at which Jesus is trying very hard to convey to his disciples that there are challenges and hardships in following him.  And those disciples – they are NOT getting it!  As so often we do not.  We want to come to church and relax.  We want to come to church and be comforted.  We want to come to church and find a bit of recognition, of applause, of honor, even. 

And Jesus says: You come to serve.  If you want to follow me, you serve others.  He even uses that word: slave.  That word?  I really don’t know what to do with it, except to say that with Jesus, words and phrases often don’t mean what we think they do.  Jesus never advocates un-freedom, or bondage, or allowing ourselves to be controlled by forces of evil.  Never.  And God ~ if we go all the way back to the Exodus story, to the Hebrew people enslaved by the Egyptians, we know that God always, always, always leads us toward freedom.

So: where is the freedom in this passage? We see that freedom lies in turning your life over to God.  In releasing all those priorities of your own that keep you tied to the things to which we so quickly fall prey – to materialism and consumerism and racism and sexism and homophobia.  That freedom lies in understanding that we are called to service, and not to control.  That freedom lies in understanding that we are drawn to church not as to a spa for relaxation, or to a political party for recognition and honor, but to a community of Christ for service. 

Hard words, these.  But words for us all to take to heart this morning.  As we all seek new church homes, I hope that we remember this call to serve others.  I hope that we will take the gifts we have honed here and find ways to use them in the service of both nearest neighbor and greatest world.  I do hope, as well, that each of us finds a home in which we can rest in God, and in which we do come to know a  sense of belonging, but I hope that we don’t stop there.  It’s so easy to be like James and John and say, “What can you do for me?  It’s so easy to say, “Does the music inspire me?  Do the sermons speak to me?  Does the décor lift my spirits?  Will I be seated on the right or the left of Jesus here?” 

It’s a little more difficult to remember to ask,

·         How might I serve? 

·         How might I be provoked and challenged here? 

·         How might my gifts be more fully realized here? 

·         How might I draw closer to Jesus here?

·         How might Jesus be calling me to a fuller and more profound servanthood here?

·         How might I become great in matters of faith, which means low ~ at the bottom of the heap, actually ~ in matters of ordinary human life?

As we prepare to move on, let’s consider these questions with great care.  Let’s remember that, if we are scrambling and pushing and shoving for anything, it should be to crowd into the back of the line, with Jesus. Let’s remember that at each and every point of transition in life, we are called to open ourselves to serve the God who is dreaming a new creation into being.  Not to control, not to dominate. not to reign.  But to serve.  Amen.

 

 

Honor One Another - Sermon

As many of you know, I spent part of my vacation last week with my 83-year-old dad, canoeing in Canada.  My dad is a great storyteller, and last week he was full of stories about his years in business.  The family business was a grain business in a small town in southwest Ohio, a business founded by my great-grandfather in the early 20^th century.    Do you know what a grain dealer is?  You’ve seen these business, with their silos and tall grain elevators, out in the country and in small towns.  Essentially, grain dealers are middlemen between farmers and big grain merchants, selling seed and fertilizer to farmers in the spring, and buying their crops in the fall to sell them to larger buyers.  When I was a child, there were four prosperous grain dealerships in my small hometown of a few thousand people.

One of my dad’s stories this past week involved his grandfather’s dealings with two customers one morning.  The first came in with his truck full of corn and said to my great-grandfather, “Well, Bert, I might as well let you cheat me as anyone else! What’ll you give me for my corn?”  So my great-grandfather made an offer, and the farmer countered, and the haggling began.  Eventually they reached a price.

Awhile later, a second customer arrived with a truck full of corn and approached my grandfather.  “Well, Bert,” he said, “I’ve got a load of corn for you, and I trust that you’ll do the best you can for me.”  They talked for a few minutes and, again, a price was agreed upon. 

After that customer left, my dad said, “Grandfather, it seems to me that you paid that first man a little less than his corn was worth, and the second a little more than his was worth.  Why is that?”

“You could be right,” said my great-grandfather. “I’ll tell you: That first fellow came in here filled with suspicion.  He insulted me right of the bat, and it was clear that we were going to bargain over the price, no holds barred.  So he set the tone, and my task was to bargain him down. And maybe I did get the price down a bit lower than I might have otherwise.

“But the second fellow, he came in here and said, ‘I trust you to do the best you can for me.’ He kind of put me on my honor, didn’t he?  And so I probably did pay him a little more than I should have, because I was bending over backwards to make sure I did the right thing.”

 

Just a couple of transactions, a couple of out hundreds that took place that fall.  But they say a lot about the different ways in which we approach one another, don’t they?

 

How do we as people of faith approach one another?  How do we respond to one another?  Which farmer are we?  Which version of my great-grandfather are we? 

 

This is one of the great subjects of the Christian faith: How do we treat one another?  How do we care for one another?  If you watched any of the pope’s speeches or listened to any of his homilies, you know that we’ve been hearing about this subject all week.  Perhaps it says something about us as a country and about Christianity as a faith, that our newscasters and commentators have been so surprised and made so much of his openness to others and his insistence that we all extend ourselves to others, whether the topic be immigration, or the death penalty, or poverty, or interfaith relationships.  Maybe we continue to struggle with this sort of openness, of extending ourselves to others, just as Jesus’ original disciples did.

In Bible study on Thursday, we addressed the same topic.  We’re reading a book by Marcus Borg, The Heart of Christianity, and this week we were invited to think about how we respond to reality and to others.  Borg says that we tend to respond in one of three ways: fearfully, indifferently, or openly.  The disciples and Jesus in our story today certainly exemplify two of those ways: the response of fear, and the response of openness.                        

The disciples have, in a very short time, come to think of themselves as the elite, as Jesus’ special followers.[1]  They want to think of themselves as an exclusive group, as the group  which understands Jesus’ teachings, which has found favor with Jesus, and which has the sole right to act on his behalf.[2]  And so they respond with fear, as adversaries, to others, who have been healing in Jesus’ name.  They sound like little kids: they shouldn’t be doing that!  They shouldn’t be healing people! We’re the ones who get to do that!

They draw lines: we’re in, you’re out.  We’re in separate groups, on opposite sides, with different interests. They are not unlike my great-grandfather’s first customer: I’ve got to stand up for myself, because I can’t trust you to do that.  The great theologian Walter Bruggemann refers to this as an attitude emerging from a conviction that we live in a universe of scarcity.  There isn’t enough to go around.  If people are going to be healed through the power of Jesus, we are the only ones who can do that.  If there’s a harvest to be sold, I need to make sure that I get my share if the proceeds, because no one else is looking out for me.   This is a scary world filled with limitations; it’s a threatening kind of place, and I need to be sure to defend what’s mine

Jesus has some harsh words for those whose actions are motivated by fear – some of his harshest words in the Bible: If you place a stumbling block before people, if your hand or your foot or your eye causes you to stumble – better that disaster befall you, or your body parts, than that you in some way block others from the deepening of life that I have to offer.  Jesus in this passage is actually a lot harsher than Pope Francis has been this past week.  Pope Francis has been emphasizing a “culture of care,” but Jesus goes right to the consequences of a culture of fear, of suspicion, of self-protection and self-defense -- and they are not positive consequences!    Better that you get out of the way than that you limit the prospects of others for new life – whether those others be prisoners on death row, immigrants to a new country, the poor and disenfranchised, or those whose beliefs differ from yours.

If we are not going to be people trapped by a vision of scarcity, limited by our fears and barricade against what we see as threats in this world, than who are we going to be?  How are we going to be FOR Jesus – who says to his disciples, those followers so confused about their role and so convinced that they should come out on top – Jesus who says, “Those who are not against us are for us.”  Look for possibility; look for hope. Align yourself with a conviction that we are a people of abundance, not scarcity – that there is enough love, enough healing, enough care, enough life – for all.  In  fact, there is more than enough – there is an abundance! 

Wasn’t that the approach of my great-grandfather’s second customer?  “Do the best you can for me.” He came to work that day in a spirit of openness and trust, prepared to think the best of his customer, prepared to see grain business and famer as allies.  And didn’t that in turn bring out the best in my great-grandfather toward his customer?  Both men saw this as an opportunity for life – for profit, of course, because it was a business transaction, but also for kindness and fairness and dignity,

Isn’t that what the Pope has been talking about all week?  The Catholic St. Ignatius, founder and father of the Pope’s Jesuit order, tells us always to presume the best in the other. Marcus Borg, author of our study, tells us always to anticipate and pursue what is life-giving. 

And Jesus tells us today: Have salt.  Be at peace with one another.  Preserve the best in and for one another. Season and flavor your relationships with life, with hope, with caring – with possibility at its very best.  Do the best you can for one another. Amen.               

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[1] Micah D. Keil’s Commentary in Working Preacher for September 27, 2015.  http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2619

[2] Amy Oden’s Commentary in Working Preacher for September 30, 2012. http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1357

Wisdom Calls (Sermon)

The first thing I want you to do this morning is to look at the first banner up here to your right – the banner that proclaims “Light.” I don’t know whether or not you know – I didn’t until a couple of weeks ago – that these banners were created by a very young man, the young man who was to become SA’s son-in-law.  I often pray with these banners, using them to imagine God’s calling and our response, but I did not know how they had come to hang here.  And I think it’s quite remarkable that such a young person should have so beautifully captured the words, and most especially the word “light.”  If you walk up to the banner, you’ll see that the light is varying shades of white and pink against a background of different hues of blue – just wonderful.

The word “light” today comes to us first in how we are invited to understand Wisdom.  Wisdom in the Bible is characterized as a woman, as Lady Wisdom, who is a mysterious extension or part of God.[1] In the Book of Proverbs, we hear her claim to have been present with God at the creation of the world.  The Book of Proverbs is where we usually learn about her, and where the words of the cover of our bulletin come from.  Those words are from one of today’s official readings, and they tell us that Wisdom calls out in the streets.  She is, in other words, a public figure, out among the people, reaching to us in community.

 

But there’s another place in which we learn about Wisdom – in a book called Wisdom of Solomon, which is found in the Catholic Bible, but not in the Protestant version.  And it’s in this wisdom book that we hear about Wisdom as more dazzling even than light.  Listen again:

For she is a reflection of eternal light, a spotless mirror of the working of God, and an image of God’s goodness. . . .  She is more beautiful than the sun, and excels every  constellation of the stars. Compared with the light she is found to be superior, for it issucceeded by the night, but against wisdom evil does not prevail.

So Wisdom reflects and mirrors and images light and the goodness of God, and is superior to light itself.  As beautiful as our banner is, as powerful and bright as light is, they are only reflections of Wisdom herself, that all-encompassing, deeply-pervading source of knowledge and of discernment, and that grace-filled companion to God.   

We see Wisdom in another form today as well – in the form of Jesus himself.  We know that Jesus identifies himself as light – “I am the light of the world” he says in the Gospel of John – and is also identified with wisdom. In Paul’s first Letter to the Corinthians, we are told that “he is the source of [our lives] in Christ Jesus, who became for us wisdom from God . . .”.  So Jesus is light, and more than light – Jesus is wisdom.

 

In today’s gospel passage, Jesus asks his disciples who they think he is.  And it is Peter who answers clearly and without equivocation, “You are the Messiah.”  You are the anointed one. You are the one who has come to restore us to life.  You are the one.

 

Jesus goes on to provide something of a job description for the Messiah.  The Messiah will suffer, he says, and be killed.  And rise again – but it’s too late – Peter is already protesting.  And Jesus, who needs support, not dissent, at this point, become angry, and tells Peter that he has his mind set on human things rather than divine things.  “Get behind me, Satan!”  And then Jesus tells his disciples, and thus us, “For those who want to save their lives will lose them, and those who lose their lives for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save them.”

 

The Christian life – the life of light and wisdom -- is about recognizing and following Jesus – even into difficult places.  Into place where we lose that which we think of as our lives.

Light, and wisdom are not all about Easy Street.  The light shines, and the darkness does not overcome it, but the light shines on some pretty tough spots, on some rugged roads and in some dark places. 

Places not unlike the one in which we find ourselves today.

Today, we are called to vote to close our church, to bring our congregational life to an end.

Today, we are called to be a community of wisdom and discernment.  A community which listens to Wisdom call and which follows Jesus, Light of the World and Wisdom of God.

 

In the wisdom of our Presbyterian forbears, we look for wisdom in community.  We are not a church which places its reliance in bishops or in councils of elders far removed from us.  Although it is the Presbytery which officially plants and which closes congregations, it is we, the congregation, who bear the weight of the responsibility for this decision, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit.  Under the guidance of Wisdom herself.  Under the guidance of Jesus himself.

 

And that is as it should be.  We believe that each one of us can hear and trust in what God has to say to us.  We believe that God speaks through community – that what we understand of God, we can test in the community of faith, in the historical community which speaks through Scripture, and in the contemporary community – us, speaking though our prayer and our conversation and our love for God and for one another. 

It might be easier to let someone else carry the weight.  It might be easier to turn to some sort of hierarchy, and let the decision be made elsewhere, by others.  But that is not what Presbyterians do. 

And so I urge you today: Let your voice be heard.  Let your vote be counted.  Several of you have told me that you’re not sure that you can cast your vote today.  But it is a great privilege, a great gift from God, to be a member of a congregation which makes its decisions in community, by voting.  It is also a great call to faithfulness: to understand what it means to be stewards of all that God has given us. 

 

And so: what wisdom do we bring to our discernment?  What light can be shed upon our decision-making this afternoon?  I want to suggest three qualities needed for discernment[2] which we have tried to exercise for the past year and which we are called to bring to our vote today:

The first is openness.  “We must approach our decision with an open mind and open heart.”  I do believe that many hearts here have softened and opened in the months just behind us, as we have come to understand that the old ways no longer suffice and that God is asking us to be willing to trust in something new.  Remember that unfolding trust we talked about last week in the form of that wet origami that unfolds, that OPENS, into graceful and surprising curves?  That’s what we are called to emulate.  We cannot discern for the future if we insist on closing our doors around the past and on locking ourselves in to a season whose purpose has expired. We are called to open our hearts and minds to the reality that what God has in store for us is not what we have known, to the consistent truth of our faith that God is always preparing us for new life – for resurrection life.

The second quality of wisdom to which we are called at a time of discernment is generosity.  “To enter into a decision-making process with . . .  openness requires a generous spirit with which we, with a largeness of heart, put no conditions on what God might call us to. God is asking us to give ourselves away to God with . . . no strings.  God is asking us to consider both present and future in the most generous way possible.  We in this congregation have many gifts to share, gifts which have been honed and which have flourished right here at Boulevard.  And now we are called to be good and generous stewards, of both a building that we ourselves can no longer afford, and of the gifts which God is calling us to take and share elsewhere.  If we are open to God in discernment, then we can also be generous with God in discernment, as God is generous with us.

And the third, the third quality of wisdom for decision-making is courage.  The openness and generosity we are talking about demands courage, for God is asking something difficult, challenging, and risky of us. It takes courage to give up control and in trust in God’s plans.  It takes courage to open ourselves to the future, to be generous when we do not know the outcome, and to act when the cost is high.  It takes courage to follow Jesus, who tells us that his path involves a cross – that to journey with him is to know sadness and uncertainty, suffering and sorrow.   To give up even our lives.  Even our lives at Boulevard.

But you, my friends, are up to this task.  You are up to the call to respond with wisdom and to follow Jesus into unknown territory because you – we – are a resurrection people.  We are an Easter people.

The Christian faith does not end at the cross.  Our lives as Christians will not end with Boulevard’s closing.  The Christian faith, and our lives – as the people of Boulevard, as Presbyterians, as Christians – our faith and our lives are about resurrection.    Unlikely as it may seem to us, those events which look like endings to us are steps on the path toward God’s new creation.

We have a difficult congregational meeting and a hard vote ahead of us.  We cannot deny that.  But let us also not deny – let us remember – that when we vote to close our church, we are voting for life and for resurrection.  We are voting with openness and generosity and courage for a new future, for an Easter future. 

Yes, this looks and feels like the end.    Our experience must be something like that of the the disciples after the crucifixion, when all seemed lost. 

But let us remember: Wisdom is calling.  We are followers of Jesus, Light of the World and Wisdom from God.  Let us respond in wisdom ourselves, and “let [Jesus] Easter in us.”[3]  Amen.

 

 

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[1] See Wil Gafney, Working Preacher, 9/16/12. http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=13629/

[2] Warren Sazama, S.J., “Ignatian Principles for Decision Making.”  http://www.marquette.edu/faith/ignatian-principles-for-making-decisions.php

[3]

Gerard Manley Hopkins, “The Wreck of the Deutschland,” 1918.