The text of my Sermon from Sunday, November 29th

The 1st Sunday of Advent; November 29, 2009
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Jeremiah 33: 14-16 *
Psalm 25: 1-10
1 Thessalonians 3: 9-13
Luke 21: 25-36 *


“An ‘offshoot’… and getting to Nazareth”


--} Most of us by this time of year begin to believe “our story” begins somewhere around Bethlehem—and sometime in the days before Jesus is born. It does not. The part of the “Christmas Story” that we often miss entirely is the fact that Mary and Joseph are both from Nazareth—and few bother to ask, “how’d they get there?” “Why Nazareth of all places? Nazareth is no “nifty” place. John’s gospel reminds us of the early first-century view in the voice of one of the eventual disciples, “did anything good ever come out of Nazareth?”

But Nazareth is where the Gospel of Luke tells us that Mary and Joseph were living—before Joseph is called away to Bethlehem for the registration. It’s also according to Luke that Nazareth becomes the place where the Angel Gabriel appears to Mary. And if ever you get to Nazareth, you’ll discover it’s known for “two possibilities.” One part of the tradition holds that Gabriel appeared to Mary at the well in Nazareth—the place everyone would have gone to gather water. The other part of the tradition holds that Gabriel appeared to Mary at her house, a cave on what would have been the outskirts of town. Presumably, there is but one correct story and one location where the angel would have appeared; but short of some kind of angelic evidence, the possibility of two places lingers on; and both places have a church and faithful followers who believe that was the spot.

In truth, OUR story begins LONG before Luke’s.

As we are normally busy with our Christmas-time preparations, Advent is not often a time that we remember our Old Testament history. Few of us keep in focus the great kingdom and lineage of the Hebrew Bible’s greatest King—David, and his successor—Solomon. This is not the time that we recall that the greatness of the united kingdom of David and Solomon that they not only united and then expanded; it is not the time that we remember that their kingdom and their reign lasts only a few years. The unified and expanded kingdoms of David and Solomon do not have long lives among their successors; and eventually the united kingdom runs a shambles. And while there’s a long list of “Kings” for the Northern kingdom of Israel and the Southern Kingdom of Judah, tragedy eventually befalls both.

Of the original 12 Israelite tribes, 10 of them comprised the “Northern Kingdom,” while the remaining 2 comprised the Southern Kingdom of Judah. And six whole centuries—600 years BEFORE JESUS, the Assyrian Empire rolls into the northern kingdom of Israel and the 10 tribes of Israel are wrecked. Simply put, Israel is “cut off.” But this is why that history is important to OUR story.

Nazareth is a word that describes an “offshoot;” a description of what happens when a plant has been “cut off.” A good example is an olive tree—indigenous in Galilee. Olive trees are well known for their long lives; they live for hundreds, if not thousands of years. And while the tree will grow and grow until the trunk outgrows itself and has to be “cut off,” the roots continue to grow, and “offshoots” of the roots form new trunks and the tree lives on. The word, “Nazareth” implies this kind of phenomena—where what is “cut off” can have new or renewed life.

And so the tradition goes that when the 10 tribes of the Northern Kingdom of Israel are “cut off,” people in the Southern Kingdom wait until it might be safe, again, and send folks to what becomes known as “Nazareth” to re-establish a kind of faithful “offshoot”—so that the blessing of God’s people and the way of God’s life can be “re-established” in that place. So that Nazareth’s history in part, is a reminder about some of the less than glorious past history of God’s people; but it’s also about the bright possibilities of the future. And in light of OUR story, what a powerful story for us to remember!

The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. In those days I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety. And this is the name by which it will be called: “The Lord is our righteousness.”

The story of Nazareth is one of faithfulness; a reminder that God is never “cut off” from God’s people. Even in an unknown place, a nearly forgotten corner, the light of the promise of God’s prosperity still shines.

What IF—OUR Advent celebration had the character of “Nazareth”—a reminder about some of our less-glorious past, but with the bright possibilities of a new future? What IF we could be more intentional about “re-establishing” the practices that are faithful to God’s way of life that leads to God’s blessing for ourselves and those around us? What IF—we saw not just in a Christmas story with a familiar plot and well-known characters, but we believed in a God who promises new or renewed life prevails even when there has been all but death?

Luke’s Jesus offers us another possibility with the parable of the fig tree:

“Look at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near."

Jesus is reminding us that with the signs and promises of the seasons, that we are not left to wait and “guess” about what things are occurring or that will be, but that we are given the present hope for what is being made real for us. Like the trees that sprout leaves in time for summer, we know the promises of God’s kingdom being among us: a righteous branch—where the Spirit of the Lord is upon him, because God has anointed him [and us] to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. And Jesus, who tells John’s disciples when they ask if Jesus is the one or if they are to wait for another,

“Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have good news brought to them.”

So OURS is not just the story of Christ being born on earth among us, but the story of the reminder of God’s signs and God’s presence with us; the promise that God is here with us, now, even as we believe God is coming again.

So here are some of the Advent questions I’m asking: Have we noticed the signs of God’s promised future? Have you seen the things taking place that indicate the Kingdom of God is near? What if Advent is our opportunity to “re-establish” the ways of living that indicate God’s promised reign among us? And if Advent weren’t just about the “signs” that we’re used to—like Christmas decorations, or the familiar run-up to the holiday; what would the other signs be?

What “IF” we weren’t just looking for a Christ-child, but for all the signs of God’s promised kingdom? What if we were looking and listening for God’s presence among us, always seeking to bring life out of death? What if we were watching and waiting, not just for one special birth, or the news of that birth, but for the in-breaking of God’s long-held intentions—the good news that Jesus comes to proclaim: that God is love and that we belong to God, always and forever.

Now that, would be some kind of Advent, wouldn’t it?

So where are the moments that we might re-establish God’s reign among us? Where are the places where we hear God speaking to us? Where are the opportunities where we pause to wait and hope for the Word of the Lord? Not just in the familiar rituals, but in the promise of each and every day—a true preparation for the time when Christ is alive and well among us; and an opportunity to share that news, not only with us, but with others. That would be a worthy Advent, wouldn’t it?


--+ AMEN.

Link to the audio file for my sermon from November 29th

Here's the link to the audio file for my sermon from Sunday, November 29th, 2009--the First Sunday of Advent. We had our "hanging of the greens" as the first part of our service today.


http://www.box.net/shared/7bzj7qgupb


As always, thanks for checking it out.

Happy Advent!

Christ the King Sunday; November 22, 2009
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: 2 Samuel 23: 1-7
Psalm 132: 1-12 (13-18)
Revelation 1: 4b-8
John 18: 33-37 *


“ The Art of ‘We Belong to God’ ”


--} Today is Christ the King Sunday—a liturgical observance that many people today know very little about. Unlike many of our religious traditions and celebrations, Christ the King Sunday isn’t an observance that goes way back—in fact, it’s not even 100 years old. A 20th Century creation, Christ the King Sunday has its roots in the papal encyclical of Pope Pius the 11th, who wrote that Jesus’ Kingship is not obtained by violence: “Christ,” he says, “has dominion over all creatures, a dominion not seized by violence nor usurped, but his by essence and by nature.” Instituted in 1925, the feast of Christ the King was intended to remind Christians that our allegiance is to our spiritual ruler in heaven as opposed to earthly supremacy, which at the time was being claimed by Benito Mussolini. Perhaps also wondering about the expanse of Christ’s dominion—like Pilate—Pope Pius thought it worthy to remind Christians that there is clearly a “Christ-way” and a “worldly-way” in living our lives.

So what a day—what an opportunity, a moment—to celebrate a Baptism! Baptism, of course, is God’s claim upon our lives. As our Presbyterian Brief Statement of Faith begins: “In life and in death, we belong to God.” Baptism is God’s promise of “our belonging.” But all too often, we treat “baptism” as if it were God belonging to us, not our “belonging” to God’s intentions. And sometimes, we treat baptism as our “safekeeping” in God with a ticket to heaven, not as the demonstration of God’s authority over our lives.

The writer of Revelation begins with familiar language of God’s authority and kingship:

Grace to you and peace from him who is and who was and who is to come, from Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth.

And for Presbyterians, the language of Jesus’ authority is also captured in the first sentences of our constitution:

“All power in heaven and earth is given to Jesus Christ by Almighty God, who raised Christ from the dead and set him above all rule and authority, all power and dominion, and every name that is named. …God has put all things under the Lordship of Jesus Christ.”

So for members of the Christian church who entrust our lives to Christ, what should his authority over us and his Kingship look like? What if Pope Pious is right, and that we often just give “lip service” to our tradition and Christ’s Kingdom and its “dominion” and “authority” over our lives?

As uncomfortable as it may seem to us, Pope Pious was suggesting that things like nationalism or national allegiances are things to guard AGAINST—for Christians, at least. And perhaps we don’t feel as much “pressured” because of our national identity, but “American culture” often pits us AGAINST the authority of God in Christ. We harbor our own “nationalistic impulses,” believing we can solve all the world’s problems if we could just get people to cooperate (that’s ‘code’ for other people to “do what we want them to”). Our nation stations troops all over the world in the name of “freedom.” And while we might even claim faith in and a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, notice how we often we can see our nationalistic pride in building our own kind of “dominion” in the name of all the things we believe are “right” and the freedoms we believe we’re entitled to—above others.

And if you think I’m “cracked,” just watch what happens as we celebrate the national holiday this week. We call it, “thanksgiving,” but how easily our “gratitude” is shafted by “gluttony”—first at the meal, but then in the great race of personal possessing and materialistic impulses on “the day after” when the Christmas SALES begin! Then—in the mad rush—quietly ask yourselves: in all of “this” that is our culture, “where is the authority of God in Jesus Christ?” And where is Christ’s Kingdom made resident in our lives? And you would think that we wouldn’t need friendly reminders. But Pope Pious, perhaps wondering about the expanse of Christ’s Kingdom, believed we might.

So, in what is quite the contrast from our worldly celebrations this week, John’s gospel offers us a decidedly different view of Christ’s Way and the Worldly Way. Notice Jesus—choosing a very different path than the one of “domination” and “violence.” Notice Jesus—choosing a very different way of being than one that puts others “at risk.” Notice Jesus—as Pope Benedict has remarked in our own century, exhibiting a “kingship” that “is not based on ‘human power’ but on loving and serving others,” even in death.

Two weeks ago, I was in Jerusalem, and one of the places we visited was the Church of St. Peter in Gallicantu on Mt. Zion. This is the site of what was believed to be Caiaphas’ headquarters where Jesus was taken after his arrest in Gethsemane, where he was held BEFORE his appearance with Pilate; where Peter denies Jesus three times. We saw the steps—dated to the time of Jesus—where the soldiers would have escorted Jesus to his meeting with Caiaphas and his cohort that night, and by which they would have taken Jesus on to Pilate the next morning. And we were taken into the basement to see the “sacred pit” where it was believed Jesus would have been “held” overnight awaiting being taken to Pilate on the other end of the city.

The “sacred pit” was a bottle-neck holding cell, where the accused would have been lowered some 50 or 60 feet down into a small cavern in solid rock—a kind of “maximum security” holding cell. Next to the “pit” was a room where a guard could observe the prisoner through a small opening in the rock; and next to the observation room was another cavern used for torturing prisoners. Hewn into the rock were hand-holds and foot-holds where prisoners could be fastened so as to be whipped and beaten, as well as small troughs where vinegar and other painful agents might be applied to open wounds.

Now the Bible doesn’t tell us that Jesus endured torture at Caiaphas’ headquarters; still, I wondered if while Jesus were being held there, others were being mistreated—within earshot of Jesus? And far more than his own suffering and death, I believe that the tortured screams of others would have wounded Jesus even more deeply.

By contrast, if you and I believed in following a “Christ-way”: the suffering we human beings inflict on one another through violence and war for personal or national gain; the suffering we human beings inflict on one another because we only care about ourselves and our national interests built on greed; the suffering we human beings inflict by hoarding and possessing, by our “might equals right” mentality—could never be a demonstration of the way of Jesus.

On Christ the King Sunday, Jesus’ suffering and death are lifted up before us—in contrast to the freedoms and celebrations we so often relish. Jesus’ way is to be lifted up for us because we are prone to handing ourselves over to our own desires, rather than the desires of God in Christ. So one of my colleagues challenged me this week to think about Dietrich Bonheoffer who believed that we are called to participate with God in the sufferings of the world. We believe, don’t we, that God participates in the world through the suffering and death of Jesus. This is not to say that we all have to suffer rather than celebrating this week. But this is to say we ought to be asking ourselves the questions: “where is the authority of God in Jesus Christ?” And where is Christ’s Kingdom being made resident in our lives? What should Christ’s authority and Kingship look like for those of us who entrust our lives to Christ?—a kingship not based on human power!

Baptism, for Christians, is to entrust our lives to God—who lifts up the way of Christ. Kingship not based on human power and violent domination, but on loving and serving others. For us to claim Christ is to claim his way of living and dying; and “belonging to God,” is more than just God’s promise of our salvation. Baptism means for us to give ourselves over to God’s authority, to live our lives in the ways Jesus lived his. So remember YOUR baptism—and it’s claim that Christ’s Kingdom is to be lived out in our way of life—above all else.


--+ AMEN.

Here's the link to the audio file for my sermon from November 22nd, 2009

Here's the link to the audio file for my sermon from Sunday, November 22nd, 2009. This Sunday was Christ the King (or the Reign of Christ Sunday) and we also celebrated the baptism of my daughter, Beulah.



http://www.box.net/shared/clu0mixk1p


This was the last Sunday in the liturgical year. Next Sunday is Advent. Do you have your "Advent Shopping" done?

As always, thanks for checking this out.

The Text of my sermon from Sunday, November 15th

The 33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time; November 15, 2009
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: 1 Samuel 1: 4-20
1 Samuel 2: 1-10
Hebrews
Mark 13: 1-8 *


“Hope that Is Seen is Not Hope”

--} Every stewardship season begins similarly; we almost always ask our members to contribute to supporting the planned budget for next year. And for a long time, our budget has always outpaced our giving. And for a long time, we’ve always managed to make up the difference. And if I asked you this morning to raise your hands if you thought we’d make the budget this year, how many of you would? Go ahead, raise your hands if you think our pledges will meet our planned expenses?

My guess is that if we told the honest truth, none of us believes we’re going to make it this year. We have too few members. We have too few members and friends financially supporting us. “It’s like getting blood from a turnip—no matter how hard you squeeze”—right?

One of the things that is unmistakable about Jerusalem is the collection of large buildings and huge stones. The walls of Jerusalem had been built and rebuilt any number of times by the first century in Jesus’ time. Huge, big building blocks make up everything—the Temple, the Roman palaces, homes, the city walls, the huge military fortifications. And when Jesus says, “not one stone will be left here one upon another,” he’s really saying something that defies our human imagination.

One of the “facts” about first-century Jerusalem is that Herod the Great—greatly—expanded the Temple plaza to accommodate more Jewish worshipers—to keep the occupied folks happy. Security for Rome demanded some accommodation, and so they managed the natives by allowing them to practice their own religion as much as possible. So Herod ordered huge paving stones to be laid in expanding the plaza around the Temple, as well as huge stones to build a palace to house the Roman authority near there. Together they were both magnificent and awesome.

And when Jesus says, “not one stone will be left here one upon another,” he’s really saying something that looks and sounds—not threatening, but—impossible. That those “stones” would somehow not be left standing, simply defies the imagination of anyone who sees them first-hand. In fact, many of those “stones” continue to stand right where they were placed! The Temple, for example, still has one wall left standing to this day!

But when Jesus wasn’t to become the heroic figure to release the occupied people of Israel from the will of their Roman oppressors, we can only imagine the hopeless feeling those people encountered. How could they believe that their “champion” could possibly make a difference if he wasn’t going to be the one to deliver them from the Roman oppressors? And because Jesus’ words are eventually interpreted as a “threat” against the Temple and against Rome that will get Jesus into legal trouble, we are often tempted to believe that Jesus’ words in today’s gospel reading suggest destruction. What a surprise that they don’t quite come to be as we imagine!

Today, our congregation lives “outside” realm of the Romans; yet, we have our own “oppressors.” And one of them, is our money. We constantly have to ride the knife-edge, hoping we’ll have enough. The economy is shaky. Costs seem to always go up—and rarely come back down; and amidst all the constant warnings on television and in the newspaper, it must always seem hopeless to us that we can’t even make our budget on a yearly basis—without help. But “hope that is seen is not hope.”

“Hope”—is not “optimism.” “Optimism” is what is gained from “seeing evidence” that things might go well. For example, we “hope” that we might “make the budget” because people might increase their giving a certain percentage. Or we “hope” if we see the pledge trending upwards. But evidence in hand that things “might be OK,” IS NOT “HOPE.” “Hope” only comes in our darkest hours of despair—and that’s a hard lesson for us to bear, especially when it comes to our money. “Hope” means learning to live “at risk.” It means “trusting God” to come through—especially when we know we can’t make it.

And don’t think for a minute that all of us aren’t living “at risk.” I think about that every time we don’t know where the money is coming from. “Hope” says we have to trust in the darkness, knowing that God is always good. “Hope” means having no other choices.

Stewardship Dedication Sunday is as good a time as any to talk about that “hope” that we have in God—hope that is not “seen.”

When I was growing up, my parents always believed that “tithing” was one of the most important things for Christ-followers. They believed then and now that a “biblical tithe” was 10%. And while for many years my weekly “offering” at church consisted of the money they left each Sunday morning on the corner of our piano to be taken and put in the offering plate, eventually it became little reminders that we needed to give 10% of what we received to God.

My parents did this, believing in part that if you give to God, God will always take care of you. It’s not an obligation; or any assurance that things will go better. Giving is simply the reminder that God provides. Hope that is “seen” is not hope.

So my practice, now engrained not by reminders but by choice and lifestyle, is to know that I give to God, FIRST. I, too, believe in a biblical tithe; and it’s the first item in my own personal budget. So I add together my housing allowance and cash salary—the amount of my monthly check that Peggy writes on behalf of the Church—take 10%, divide by twelve, and that’s my monthly giving. And because in my household we have two church families, we take that monthly amount and share it equally between our church and Desiree’s—$192, apiece.

We formulate our budget with our church commitments first, and then our expenses. And when we “run short” or wonder if we can “afford something,” it’s always after we’ve given our pledge. And so, there are things we don’t have because we can’t afford them. Cable television. More than one cell phone. A brand new cars. Season tickets to the Symphony. We make other choices, knowing that our commitment to God is first, and taken care of. And life is still good, and God has certainly blessed us—and not because of how much we give.

There have been times that we have been “tempted” to lower our pledge, because we could then afford other things. But that never seems fair. We’ve been able to keep our pledge and I am more resolved to do so. And here’s why. I don’t believe we “owe God” anything. God doesn’t need our money. In some ways, the Church doesn’t need our money. But I give to God first, because I want to participate in the hope that is God. Not because I believe whatever gift we make will come back to us and more besides, that if we “bless God” in our “giving” God will “bless us” in our income or our “things.” I believe that our commitment to God is tangible, not for the sake of God but for our own sake. We give, because we know it makes a difference, it holds us together in community, it is the work of God in this place and in places all over the world. Hope that is “seen” is not hope.

Now I know that our “hope” at Park Avenue is that we’ll have enough pledges “to make the budget.” Our “hope” maybe is that if some people give a little more, we might be able to give a little less. [That’s not really fair, is it?] We know that this year, perhaps more than in previous years, making the budget is going to be the hardest its ever been. Fewer people. Expenses are higher. We haven’t provided “increases” for our staff in at least 3 years, and in that time, some of them have taken “decreases”! Hope that is “seen” is not hope. And if you read your stewardship letter, you know that our Stewardship Team is asking for an increase in giving of 5%; and should that come to fruition, we know we still cannot meet the budget. “Hope that is seen is not hope.”

So here’s what we’re “hoping for.” Like the huge ‘stones’ that Jesus’ disciples saw neatly piled one on top of the other in the grand first-century capital that was Jerusalem, that we, too, as a congregation are built with the substantial giving that is generous and significant—like big stones, stacked one on top of the other. That we’re all considering some kind of percentage giving and challenging ourselves to consider giving more—if or when we can. We trust that together, we’re giving as much as 10% of our income, and making hard choices together. We’re believing—not that we will be rewarded by God, but that we will be blessed by God; that we will be participants with God in the world, and be witnesses to the love and justice of Jesus Christ. This is our hope in the darkness, isn’t it? Believing where we cannot see it will be possible. And choosing not to fret or complain about it, but to give what we can give and give it generously.

Jesus declares that our life together is never easy. Whether we’re looking to avoid persecutions or other forms of trouble, Jesus says, “beware.” “For they will hand you over to councils; and you will be beaten in synagogues; you will stand before governors and kings; and you will be hated by all because of my name.” Hope that is seen is not hope.

“Giving” is the same way. We “give,” not because of what we are promised if we do, but simply because we believe where we have not seen that God is good. We give in the “hope” of God’s kingdom being made alive in each of us—whether we make the budget or not.

--+ AMEN.

Link to the audio file for my sermon from November 15th

Here's the link to my sermon from Sunday, November 15th, 2009. This was Stewardship Dedication Sunday, and my first Sunday back in the pulpit following a 2-week pilgrimage to the Holy Land.



http://www.box.net/shared/9klsjc4ty2


Thanks for checking it out. It's good to be back in the saddle again.

... a word from Jerusalem

We played at Ceasarea Maritima, near the Roman aquaduct that carried water 9 miles from the foot of Mt. Carmel

We stood on top of Mt. Arbel, overlooking the Galilean cost where Jesus did most of his ministry.

We washed in the springs near Primacy of Peter, which is where first Century peoples would have stopped to refresh themselves, too.

We got our pictures taken at Mt. of Beatitudes, where Jesus expounded his famous Sermon on the Mount--except he was down near the sea.

We walked along the trail Jesus and his friends may have traveled many times.

And we came to Jerusalem, the center of the world, to pilgrimage toward God.

As we continue our journey in the Holy Land, I am continually struck by the fact that human beings often treat God as our plaything rather than taking seriously the words and promises God has gifted us with. We find it necessary to direct our prayers to God, that God might fix our problems, rather than tuning our hearts and minds toward the man from Galilee who would say to us, "blessed are the peacemakers," and "God does not kill."

The Church of the Holy Sepulcre is controlled by no less than 6 denominational groups of Christians, each vying for their own space in what might otherwise be a sacred space. It should be enough that Jews, Muslims and Christians can't get along with one another, we dont need a house divided among the Christians alone.

The wounds of this region of the world run deep, perhaps like the wounds my Jesus endured while he was here. Not that my story would become his story, but that my story should carry his in such a way that all the world can see it. It's not that I have walked where Jesus walked; it's can I walk like Jesus walked--not in terms of location, but in the orientation of my heart.

I come away from this experience renewed in my determination to try. No one is perfect but God. I don't aim to be perfect; I do aim to be faithful to the one who has sent me on his behalf.

Shalom,

David Stipp-Bethune

writing from Jerusalem