Sunday, October 25, 2009
The Preacher's on Pilgrimage
The Preacher is on pilgrimage for the next two weeks. I won't be preching and there won't be updates until November 15th. I'm traveling with a group of pastors for two weeks in the Holy Land.
The Text of my sermon from Sunday, October 25th
The 30th Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 25, 2009
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Job 42: 1-6, 10-17
Psalm
Hebrews
Mark 10: 46-52 *
“Jesus, May I”
--} I can’t come to today’s gospel reading without “seeing”—that as I am busy preparing for my pilgrimage to the Holy Land (including time to be spent in Jerusalem), that today’s lesson has Jesus smack dab in the middle of his pilgrimage to Jerusalem, too. Yet aside from this obvious entangled excitement about my own journey, I can’t help but believe that Mark is inviting his readers to each consider our own FAITH journeys in light of what happens to the blind man, Bartimaeus.
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Job 42: 1-6, 10-17
Psalm
Hebrews
Mark 10: 46-52 *
“Jesus, May I”
--} I can’t come to today’s gospel reading without “seeing”—that as I am busy preparing for my pilgrimage to the Holy Land (including time to be spent in Jerusalem), that today’s lesson has Jesus smack dab in the middle of his pilgrimage to Jerusalem, too. Yet aside from this obvious entangled excitement about my own journey, I can’t help but believe that Mark is inviting his readers to each consider our own FAITH journeys in light of what happens to the blind man, Bartimaeus.
Today’s verses are the “final verses” before Jesus “pilgrimages” to Jerusalem for the last time. In a way, this is “the end” of the road—were it not for the story of his entry into Jerusalem and the long walk of suffering through the streets to Golgotha. Once again, Mark’s disciples seem to have missed Jesus’ point; we’ve previously found them squabbling over “who is the greatest,” and just now James and John have been seen arm-wrestling for the place or position of privilege in the Kingdom. But to put it in perspective, if you’re on your way to be crucified, does it really matter who’s on the right or the left?
There are three things that are remarkably notable for me about Mark’s story. The first noteworthy markings are the responses Bartimaeus makes in hearing that it was “Jesus of Nazareth” passing by, and then to Jesus “calling.” When he hears it’s Jesus, Bartimaeus begins shouting in messianic language, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” It’s not surprising that this might be what Bartimaeus believes, but that he shares it quite openly. This isn’t just “faith” language, it’s “political” language; and the Scribes and Pharisees who are out to get Jesus, would be out to get this poor fellow now, too. Perhaps, this is an unwise public gesture, since even if Jesus is the “Son of David” who can somehow overcome the charges or consequences of blasphemy, the odds are that such an admission publically gets both Jesus and Bartimaeus in hot water for it—if not killed.
But then, when Jesus calls Bartimaeus to come to him, Bartimaeus responds by “throwing off his cloak, springing up, and going straight to Jesus.” For all intents and purposes, this man’s “cloak” was his life; it would have identified him as the blind beggar on the side of the road, “in need.” It was how he would have “made a living,” hoping for alms from the passers-by on their way to celebrate Passover festivities in Jerusalem. His gesture of “throwing off his OLD life,” seems significant—as if he recognized already that he was being “called” to new living and that his old clothes were no longer going to be useable or necessary. It’s as if Jesus’ “call” offers a kind of “extreme makeover”!
The second noteworthy marking is that Bartimaeus abandons his old life, and takes up the “way” with Jesus. Having the chance to ask Jesus to “restore his sight,” Bartimaeus hears Jesus’ response: “go, your faith has made you [whole again.]” And one might imagine Bartimaeus going back home to tell his family and friends, or going to Temple to see the priests and receive the testimony that he can be restored to community. Jesus says, “go,” and Bartimaeus seemingly doesn’t—he follows. Having regained his sight, he chooses to follow Jesus on the “way.” The Greek word is oJdov"—meaning oddly enough, “a journey.” It refers more directly to a “way” as in a “highway” or a “traveled road,” or a “traveler’s way” or a “way of traveling.” And in Mark’s gospel, it’s often suggested that the “way” is the way of life Jesus teaches us in the gospel encounters with him, “the way” that is first adopted in the lifestyle of the early Church’s believers. For example, many early Christian communities were known as people of “the way”—a term that is being reclaimed in our own day and age. But I’m thinking too, that another way for understanding it isn’t the way we traditionally think of it, as in Bartimaeus following Jesus to Jerusalem “along the way” or even Bartimaeus “following Jesus” as the “way.” I’m quite certain these days that Bartimaeus’ epiphany is that Jesus is offering to him the life of the kingdom of God—“the way.” So Bartimaeus leaps up, tosses aside the cloak of his former self, and begins a new journey as part and parcel of God’s kingdom on earth.
The third noteworthy marking is that like there’s a “calling” or “invitation” for Bartimaeus to take up a new kind of living, I believe Mark’s intention is similar for first-century believers. In the face of well-known persecution, violence against believers, and destruction, the Christian community to whom Mark is writing would surely be encouraged to be brave like Bartimaeus; to boldly “cast off” their former lives and selves in the possibility or opportunity of living God’s Kingdom life. And if there’s a calling or inviting of Bartimaeus that’s meant to be an invitation for first-century believers in a tough spot at a tough time in their lives and the life of the world… what do you suppose the chances are that we should see Bartimaeus not only as a model for those folks in the early church, but for our own selves in our own church today?
So here’s where I’ve come to believe the rubber hits the road for us. Bartimaeus KNOWS—or “SEES”—that when Jesus passes by that the “way” or the Kingdom of God has come near. Bartimaeus doesn’t spend a lot of time contemplating it; he simply RESPONDS TO IT. And it’s not just a welcoming of Jesus, or an asking of Jesus to heal him; Bartimaeus considers the messianic visit an open invitation to join the “way of God in the world,” and in throwing off his cloak we “SEE” him embracing this new journey wholeheartedly—even if it leads to Jerusalem and even if the “risk” is that those who believe and act and follow Jesus and his ministry get crucified (or worse!).
The second noteworthy marking is that Bartimaeus abandons his old life, and takes up the “way” with Jesus. Having the chance to ask Jesus to “restore his sight,” Bartimaeus hears Jesus’ response: “go, your faith has made you [whole again.]” And one might imagine Bartimaeus going back home to tell his family and friends, or going to Temple to see the priests and receive the testimony that he can be restored to community. Jesus says, “go,” and Bartimaeus seemingly doesn’t—he follows. Having regained his sight, he chooses to follow Jesus on the “way.” The Greek word is oJdov"—meaning oddly enough, “a journey.” It refers more directly to a “way” as in a “highway” or a “traveled road,” or a “traveler’s way” or a “way of traveling.” And in Mark’s gospel, it’s often suggested that the “way” is the way of life Jesus teaches us in the gospel encounters with him, “the way” that is first adopted in the lifestyle of the early Church’s believers. For example, many early Christian communities were known as people of “the way”—a term that is being reclaimed in our own day and age. But I’m thinking too, that another way for understanding it isn’t the way we traditionally think of it, as in Bartimaeus following Jesus to Jerusalem “along the way” or even Bartimaeus “following Jesus” as the “way.” I’m quite certain these days that Bartimaeus’ epiphany is that Jesus is offering to him the life of the kingdom of God—“the way.” So Bartimaeus leaps up, tosses aside the cloak of his former self, and begins a new journey as part and parcel of God’s kingdom on earth.
The third noteworthy marking is that like there’s a “calling” or “invitation” for Bartimaeus to take up a new kind of living, I believe Mark’s intention is similar for first-century believers. In the face of well-known persecution, violence against believers, and destruction, the Christian community to whom Mark is writing would surely be encouraged to be brave like Bartimaeus; to boldly “cast off” their former lives and selves in the possibility or opportunity of living God’s Kingdom life. And if there’s a calling or inviting of Bartimaeus that’s meant to be an invitation for first-century believers in a tough spot at a tough time in their lives and the life of the world… what do you suppose the chances are that we should see Bartimaeus not only as a model for those folks in the early church, but for our own selves in our own church today?
So here’s where I’ve come to believe the rubber hits the road for us. Bartimaeus KNOWS—or “SEES”—that when Jesus passes by that the “way” or the Kingdom of God has come near. Bartimaeus doesn’t spend a lot of time contemplating it; he simply RESPONDS TO IT. And it’s not just a welcoming of Jesus, or an asking of Jesus to heal him; Bartimaeus considers the messianic visit an open invitation to join the “way of God in the world,” and in throwing off his cloak we “SEE” him embracing this new journey wholeheartedly—even if it leads to Jerusalem and even if the “risk” is that those who believe and act and follow Jesus and his ministry get crucified (or worse!).
We may not live in a time where we face persecutions and imminent death because we believe in Jesus, or even because we act like Jesus. But we do recognize that Jesus doesn’t represent total popularity—loving one’s neighbor as oneself comes at a cost, for example. The invitation of Jesus to the Kingdom life, though, is to be brave in spite of those risks; to believe in spite of those who don’t; to seek to live in the way of Jesus not just for the sake of ourselves, but for the sake of so many others.
I believe Mark is inviting us to consider “the way of Jesus” as the “way of the Kingdom of God in the world;” and that like Blind Bartimaeus, we’re invited to jump up, throw off the rags of our old life, and bravely live into a new “way” of God’s being in the world. If you recall, when Mark tells us about Jesus calling the first disciples, the promise is that Jesus will make them to be “fishers.” It’s an act that redefines their living and invites them completely into a new orientation to live—even as some of them were already fishermen.
“The way” of Jesus is like a journey. We’re invited to be prepared for it when it arrives. We’re invited to “put on new clothes” in anticipation. We’re invited to be literally moved to a new way of relating to one another, our families and friends. We’re invited to know that the risks are that Jesus is “journeying” to Jerusalem to be crucified, to die and be buried, and to be RAISED to new life. There is no resurrection with out a little death. I’m wondering if Bartimaeus’ bold outburst doesn’t recognize too that he is dying to his old way of life and living into a new way of life. A resurrection that all of us can share, too—if we will only take a journey….
--+ AMEN.
Link to the audio file for my sermon from October 25th
Here's the link to the audio file for my sermon from Sunday, October 25th, 2009.
http://www.box.net/shared/lhhn0lhgzj
This is a good time to say that for the next couple of Sunday's I'm away on pilgrimage in the Holy Land. So, there will not be regular sermon updates, audio or otherwise.
As always, thanks for checking this out!
http://www.box.net/shared/lhhn0lhgzj
This is a good time to say that for the next couple of Sunday's I'm away on pilgrimage in the Holy Land. So, there will not be regular sermon updates, audio or otherwise.
As always, thanks for checking this out!
Monday, October 19, 2009
Preacher to be back... for a week
Dear Friends,
Thanks for checking in. I've been away on paternity leave the last two weeks. I'll be preaching again this Sunday--before I go on pilgrimage for two weeks following.
David Stipp-Bethune
Thanks for checking in. I've been away on paternity leave the last two weeks. I'll be preaching again this Sunday--before I go on pilgrimage for two weeks following.
David Stipp-Bethune
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Text of my sermon from Sunday, October 4th
The 27th Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 04, 2009
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Job 1: 1; 2: 1-10
Psalm 26
Hebrews 1: 1-4; 2: 5-12
Mark 10: 1-16 *
“Sclero-cardia”
--} A lot of lectionary preachers woke up this week wondering how in the world it could be World Communion Sunday—one of the great pinnacles of Christian unity—and the assigned gospel lesson being Jesus’ declaration about divorce—one of the great human acknowledgements of the need for divisiveness. Most of you, I imagine, didn’t wake up this morning yearning for a sermon on divorce. And while there’s some irony in what we celebrate today compared to the assigned gospel reading, the real irony I find in the gospel story itself.
It seems ironic to me, that in answering the Pharisees, Jesus makes a claim that God’s intended “unity” should stand over and against human divisions. Yet at the same time, those who would doggedly pursue Jesus’ words—that divorce is adulterous, or wrong—would with that teaching, create lines of division among human beings, suggesting that “some are better than others.”
The good news for us today, however, is that Jesus isn’t focused so much on divorce; instead, he suggests that the plight of human beings is found in a common condition for all of them known as “Sclero-cardia”—hardness of heart. “Sclera”—as in hard, or hardening; “cardia” referring to the heart. If you’ve ever heard the medical term, “arterio-sclerosis”—that’s the hardening of the arteries. “Sclero-cardia” refers to hard-heartedness. And when the Pharisees pose their “tricky” question to “test” Jesus, he tells them—not so much to answer their question as to point out their weakness—that their problem is an old human nemesis, “Sclero-cardia”.
“Sclero-cardia” is maybe best thought of as a kind of “resistance.” A hardening or hardened “heart” can no longer function well to pump blood through the body, and as such, this is a condition that can be fatal. Some people believe that “sin” is a sign of one’s “resistance” to God’s will and God’s ways—a turning against God. Like the Pharisees, they use the law to determine who’s faithful and who isn’t. Yet such a reaction is “divisive.” It ends not in determining who has done well or not, but in people being divided, and separated—like the sheep from the goats! Believing some are better than others, the Pharisees would have Jesus believe the law is God’s vision for the world. Jesus, however, would show followers that the law—however well intended—seems to supersede God’s vision for the world where human beings ought to live far more connected, united, and remain “un-divided.” So that to my mind, “Sclero-cardia” has to do with the human condition of dividing ourselves; believing that some of us are better than others of us. It’s a way of keeping score, of trying to assure ourselves that we’re in the “right” that we’re the “deserving,” that we’re more “loved.”
So, even on World Communion Sunday, “Sclero-cardia” fences the table; keeps some people out. “Sclero-cardia” breeds division—like divorce. “Sclero-cardia” keeps us from being united to one another and united to God. The irony being that if we wish to fight “Sclero-cardia”, we have to find another way of understanding the story than what Jesus seems to say on the surface.
For each of the last three Sundays, the gospel reading from Mark has offered stories that begin with Jesus teaching, then concluding with a kind of object lesson with a child or children. As with the last two weeks, today we again see the same kind of formula at work. When the disciples obviously aren’t getting what Jesus is about, Jesus has to finally tell them more directly—correcting their misperceptions by welcoming children, by taking children in his arms and blessing them. While it makes for a nice scene, seemingly reflecting Jesus’ love of children, the true intention points at a far more difficult lesson for adults. It isn’t just that Jesus welcomes and blesses these children, it’s that he does it—intentionally—in the context of human brokenness—striving, it would seem to drive us toward unity, not division.
What we should notice is that the children are welcomed, received, and blessed by Jesus—with no questions asked or judgments rendered. This isn’t a demonstration of the child’s “faith” is it? At best, I think, it could be a demonstration of the parents’ faith; but if so, what does it mean? Would “blessing the children” mean that the children are kept safe from difficulty or sin all their days? Not likely. If anything, doesn’t Jesus’ “blessing” come not as a promise of what will happen, but as a reminder of to whom the children ultimately belong?
In that sense, Jesus’ “blessing” is like “baptism.” Baptism is not just an event with water dribbled onto a person’s head; we believe it’s the mark or “claim” of God upon that person’s life. For me it’s kind of like that “baggage tag” that you put on your luggage, so the airline knows where to send it. Baptism is the “mark” and “reminder” that “we belong to God.” And that no matter what happens in life, that always stays with us.
At one time, people equated “baptism” with the “forgiveness of sins;” so “baptism” only occurred at the “end of life” so someone could die and jump straight up to heaven—not having sinned again. But because it’s hard to tell when the “end of life” is, and because “baptism” was thought of as a ONE TIME forgiveness of sins, some people were baptized, but sinned again, rendering the baptism useless to them. Today, we understand far better. Baptism is God’s claim upon our life, a mark and reminder of whose we are—not just that we’ve had our sins forgiven.
“Sclero-cardia” is a human condition. Like original sin, it affects all of us. No one is immune; none of us are better than others. And what Jesus says to the Pharisees is that when Moses wrote the law about divorce, Moses was somehow accommodating our “human condition”—“Because of your hardness of heart,” Jesus tells them, “Moses wrote this commandment”—even though it went against God’s vision for the world described at creation when human beings were created male and female. Jesus tells the Pharisees, that the law about “divorce” WAS NOT divinely inspired; instead, it was created because the Creator loves the creature in spite of the creature’s mistakes. Jesus would remind the Pharisees, that God’s relationship with the world isn’t all about judge and arbiter and how some people break the commandments; God’s relationship with the world is a love story—where hearts are broken and mended in God’s goodness.
In Luke’s gospel, there isn’t this story where Jesus seemingly lectures to us about divorce. But Luke offers another story that I think should carry the same weight—the familiar story of the Prodigal. We all know the story about a man with two sons, and the younger asks for half of his father’s estate, and when the father grants it, he takes the money and squanders it. Then, having come to himself (and because his luggage tag reminds him about “whose” he is), the son returns home to a hero’s welcome—even before he can get out the words, “I’m sorry.” The father refuses to hear about what he did or how low he’d become, or all of his various conflicts with the law. The father refuses to call him an adulterer, a thief, a fornicator, a liar—all the things we know he was. Instead, the father treats him as a lost son who had been found! The luggage tag of grace!
Here’s the parent who perhaps had taken the child to Jesus and had him blessed—which was no guarantee against sin and wrong-doing, but was a reminder about to whom the child belonged. Because the antidote for “Sclero-cardia” isn’t in identifying wrongdoing and handing down justice; the antidote for “Sclero-cardia” comes in the reminder that we belong to God—and so does everyone else.
The irony of this passage is that I believe Jesus would rather have us see that “divorce” isn’t the enemy. That God’s love for human beings supersedes divorce—and whatever else we might try and use to put in God’s way. That God has already “tagged” us with the grace of being able to return, to find God, to come to table together, and be united with God and for God—not as an antidote to future sin or only as a forgiveness for past sins, but as the promise that God’s love for us supersedes every human weaknesses.
In other words, the refrain goes something like this. Part of what it means to be a human being is that we are already infected with original sin; that we already have, “Sclero-cardia”. The good news, is that God loves us anyway. If we read between the lines just little bit:
God has joined human beings to God’s own self in the gift of Jesus Christ. This is the gift of unity we celebrate at the table together. Bread is body; blood is cup. Taken inwardly, they become a part of us—by which ministry is passed to us as a blessing—no questions asked, no faith demanded—as if we were children in the arms of almighty God, already tagged by grace and promised that the one to whom we belong will always claim us—no matter who we are, or what we’ve done. Even, if there’s such a thing as divorce.
So come. Human beings are human beings—God loves us anyway. Let’s eat. Come to the Lord’s table. Let’s eat.
--+ AMEN.
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Job 1: 1; 2: 1-10
Psalm 26
Hebrews 1: 1-4; 2: 5-12
Mark 10: 1-16 *
“Sclero-cardia”
--} A lot of lectionary preachers woke up this week wondering how in the world it could be World Communion Sunday—one of the great pinnacles of Christian unity—and the assigned gospel lesson being Jesus’ declaration about divorce—one of the great human acknowledgements of the need for divisiveness. Most of you, I imagine, didn’t wake up this morning yearning for a sermon on divorce. And while there’s some irony in what we celebrate today compared to the assigned gospel reading, the real irony I find in the gospel story itself.
It seems ironic to me, that in answering the Pharisees, Jesus makes a claim that God’s intended “unity” should stand over and against human divisions. Yet at the same time, those who would doggedly pursue Jesus’ words—that divorce is adulterous, or wrong—would with that teaching, create lines of division among human beings, suggesting that “some are better than others.”
The good news for us today, however, is that Jesus isn’t focused so much on divorce; instead, he suggests that the plight of human beings is found in a common condition for all of them known as “Sclero-cardia”—hardness of heart. “Sclera”—as in hard, or hardening; “cardia” referring to the heart. If you’ve ever heard the medical term, “arterio-sclerosis”—that’s the hardening of the arteries. “Sclero-cardia” refers to hard-heartedness. And when the Pharisees pose their “tricky” question to “test” Jesus, he tells them—not so much to answer their question as to point out their weakness—that their problem is an old human nemesis, “Sclero-cardia”.
“Sclero-cardia” is maybe best thought of as a kind of “resistance.” A hardening or hardened “heart” can no longer function well to pump blood through the body, and as such, this is a condition that can be fatal. Some people believe that “sin” is a sign of one’s “resistance” to God’s will and God’s ways—a turning against God. Like the Pharisees, they use the law to determine who’s faithful and who isn’t. Yet such a reaction is “divisive.” It ends not in determining who has done well or not, but in people being divided, and separated—like the sheep from the goats! Believing some are better than others, the Pharisees would have Jesus believe the law is God’s vision for the world. Jesus, however, would show followers that the law—however well intended—seems to supersede God’s vision for the world where human beings ought to live far more connected, united, and remain “un-divided.” So that to my mind, “Sclero-cardia” has to do with the human condition of dividing ourselves; believing that some of us are better than others of us. It’s a way of keeping score, of trying to assure ourselves that we’re in the “right” that we’re the “deserving,” that we’re more “loved.”
So, even on World Communion Sunday, “Sclero-cardia” fences the table; keeps some people out. “Sclero-cardia” breeds division—like divorce. “Sclero-cardia” keeps us from being united to one another and united to God. The irony being that if we wish to fight “Sclero-cardia”, we have to find another way of understanding the story than what Jesus seems to say on the surface.
For each of the last three Sundays, the gospel reading from Mark has offered stories that begin with Jesus teaching, then concluding with a kind of object lesson with a child or children. As with the last two weeks, today we again see the same kind of formula at work. When the disciples obviously aren’t getting what Jesus is about, Jesus has to finally tell them more directly—correcting their misperceptions by welcoming children, by taking children in his arms and blessing them. While it makes for a nice scene, seemingly reflecting Jesus’ love of children, the true intention points at a far more difficult lesson for adults. It isn’t just that Jesus welcomes and blesses these children, it’s that he does it—intentionally—in the context of human brokenness—striving, it would seem to drive us toward unity, not division.
What we should notice is that the children are welcomed, received, and blessed by Jesus—with no questions asked or judgments rendered. This isn’t a demonstration of the child’s “faith” is it? At best, I think, it could be a demonstration of the parents’ faith; but if so, what does it mean? Would “blessing the children” mean that the children are kept safe from difficulty or sin all their days? Not likely. If anything, doesn’t Jesus’ “blessing” come not as a promise of what will happen, but as a reminder of to whom the children ultimately belong?
In that sense, Jesus’ “blessing” is like “baptism.” Baptism is not just an event with water dribbled onto a person’s head; we believe it’s the mark or “claim” of God upon that person’s life. For me it’s kind of like that “baggage tag” that you put on your luggage, so the airline knows where to send it. Baptism is the “mark” and “reminder” that “we belong to God.” And that no matter what happens in life, that always stays with us.
At one time, people equated “baptism” with the “forgiveness of sins;” so “baptism” only occurred at the “end of life” so someone could die and jump straight up to heaven—not having sinned again. But because it’s hard to tell when the “end of life” is, and because “baptism” was thought of as a ONE TIME forgiveness of sins, some people were baptized, but sinned again, rendering the baptism useless to them. Today, we understand far better. Baptism is God’s claim upon our life, a mark and reminder of whose we are—not just that we’ve had our sins forgiven.
“Sclero-cardia” is a human condition. Like original sin, it affects all of us. No one is immune; none of us are better than others. And what Jesus says to the Pharisees is that when Moses wrote the law about divorce, Moses was somehow accommodating our “human condition”—“Because of your hardness of heart,” Jesus tells them, “Moses wrote this commandment”—even though it went against God’s vision for the world described at creation when human beings were created male and female. Jesus tells the Pharisees, that the law about “divorce” WAS NOT divinely inspired; instead, it was created because the Creator loves the creature in spite of the creature’s mistakes. Jesus would remind the Pharisees, that God’s relationship with the world isn’t all about judge and arbiter and how some people break the commandments; God’s relationship with the world is a love story—where hearts are broken and mended in God’s goodness.
In Luke’s gospel, there isn’t this story where Jesus seemingly lectures to us about divorce. But Luke offers another story that I think should carry the same weight—the familiar story of the Prodigal. We all know the story about a man with two sons, and the younger asks for half of his father’s estate, and when the father grants it, he takes the money and squanders it. Then, having come to himself (and because his luggage tag reminds him about “whose” he is), the son returns home to a hero’s welcome—even before he can get out the words, “I’m sorry.” The father refuses to hear about what he did or how low he’d become, or all of his various conflicts with the law. The father refuses to call him an adulterer, a thief, a fornicator, a liar—all the things we know he was. Instead, the father treats him as a lost son who had been found! The luggage tag of grace!
Here’s the parent who perhaps had taken the child to Jesus and had him blessed—which was no guarantee against sin and wrong-doing, but was a reminder about to whom the child belonged. Because the antidote for “Sclero-cardia” isn’t in identifying wrongdoing and handing down justice; the antidote for “Sclero-cardia” comes in the reminder that we belong to God—and so does everyone else.
The irony of this passage is that I believe Jesus would rather have us see that “divorce” isn’t the enemy. That God’s love for human beings supersedes divorce—and whatever else we might try and use to put in God’s way. That God has already “tagged” us with the grace of being able to return, to find God, to come to table together, and be united with God and for God—not as an antidote to future sin or only as a forgiveness for past sins, but as the promise that God’s love for us supersedes every human weaknesses.
In other words, the refrain goes something like this. Part of what it means to be a human being is that we are already infected with original sin; that we already have, “Sclero-cardia”. The good news, is that God loves us anyway. If we read between the lines just little bit:
Jesus said to them, “Because of your hardness of heart, from the beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.’ ‘For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.’ So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”
God has joined human beings to God’s own self in the gift of Jesus Christ. This is the gift of unity we celebrate at the table together. Bread is body; blood is cup. Taken inwardly, they become a part of us—by which ministry is passed to us as a blessing—no questions asked, no faith demanded—as if we were children in the arms of almighty God, already tagged by grace and promised that the one to whom we belong will always claim us—no matter who we are, or what we’ve done. Even, if there’s such a thing as divorce.
So come. Human beings are human beings—God loves us anyway. Let’s eat. Come to the Lord’s table. Let’s eat.
--+ AMEN.
Link to the audio file for my sermon from October 4th
There is no audio link this week. The preacher's wife is giving birth tomorrow, so I'm going to say that's the reason why the preacher must have forgotten to press "record." This stinks, because the sermon seemed to go really well, too!
This is a good place to remind you that the preacher's taking the next two weeks off as paternity leave, including Sundays. So there won't be sermon links for at least a couple of weeks.
Thanks for checking in.
This is a good place to remind you that the preacher's taking the next two weeks off as paternity leave, including Sundays. So there won't be sermon links for at least a couple of weeks.
Thanks for checking in.
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