Audio Link and Sermon Manuscript for Sunday, July 11th, 2010

If you'd like to listen to my sermon from Sunday, July 11th, click on the link below and download. 

http://www.box.net/shared/ujtxzsd53t

The manuscript I used follows below: 

The Fifteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time; July 11, 2010
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Amos 7: 7-17
Psalm 82
Colossians 1: 1-14
Luke 10: 25-37

“Measuring: ‘Who Is My Neighbor’?”

--} One of the unanticipated experiences I had on my pilgrimage to the Holy Land last fall was getting to stop along the highway between Jericho and Jerusalem, and stand near what is being billed as the “Good Samaritan Inn.” Now before you get all excited, it certainly IS NOT the historical “location” of Jesus story, along the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. And if we’re honest, Jesus tells us a story that may or may not have been historically true; and there is no way of telling “where” that spot would have been along the road. Any relationship to today’s modern highway that spans the distance between Jerusalem and Jericho is tenuous at best. But when our bus stopped at the driveway to the “Good Samaritan Inn,” we naturally grew excited. We only got as far as the approach drive that would have led to the building site for a hotel; but we were greeted by a locked fence with no view of the hotel. Failing to get to the so-called “Good Samaritan Inn,” we stood along the drive next to the modern, interstate-like highway and marveled—not at where we were, but the mustard weeds growing in the ditch next to the drive.

For the first time my group-mates and I were face to flower with the infamous “mustard seed plant.” Finally, all the “book-sense” about how ugly a mustard plant was, made sense. Here it was in the ditch alongside the road, clearly an unwelcome, unwanted, undesirable pest. Now that “other” story Jesus tells about a mustard plant growing large enough where birds might nest in it, made more sense. What an atrocious example!

It was in this rather non-descript, yet picturesque spot along the road between Jericho and Jerusalem that our group shared evening worship at the end of the day when we were returning from the historical places of Masada, Qumran, and the Dead Sea. And it was here, that our group spent time together talking about what it meant to be a “neighbor.” And as you might guess, we shared stories with one another about the people on the trip who had helped us on our journey, from sharing medicine or drinks, to mealtimes and assistance; from places we showed our true colors and acts of kindness and mercy we had received from one another. And, as you can imagine, it was a nice moment in the glowing sunset.

But I don’t believe this is the kind of thing Jesus had in mind when he told the story of the Good Samaritan.

What we don’t often acknowledge about Luke’s story is that Jesus’ point seems to be getting the lawyer to identify his “neighbor.” But when he does, it’s a surprise ending. We often think the “neighbor” must be the guy left for dead in the ditch; but we arrive at that conclusion by not listening to the lawyer who identifies the “Samaritan” instead. When Jesus asks, “which one was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” the lawyer identifies, “the one who showed him mercy.” The “one who showed mercy” was the neighbor; so that “loving one’s neighbor,” means loving the one who shows mercy. And in Jesus’ story, this is a scandalous conclusion—a surprise, much like that mustard seed plant.

What Jesus seems to be saying is that loving one’s neighbor—IS—loving the Samaritan. Which is sort of like being told to love one’s enemies. The point of the story isn’t just to “go and do likewise;” or simply, going and helping those in need—as good as that might sound. The scandal here isn’t that someone is left for dead while people walk by and then someone gets commended for finally helping the victim; the scandal is that the Jewish believer—the lawyer—must come to “love his neighbor”—the dreaded Samaritan. And if that weren’t enough, to go and do likewise. What Jesus finds necessary is not just doing the deed of mercy; but instead, the loving of the one who is merciful.

Now as we know, Jews and Samaritans were long-divided peoples. They disagreed over religious practices, the importance of the Temple in Jerusalem, and generally didn’t care for one another. Their disagreements were significant and notorious. They spoke disdainfully of one another, and often acted out of fear and hatred. They viewed one another like many people might think of illegal immigrants coming into our country to take American jobs; or even like some people perceive homosexuality and same-sex marriage. Simply put, asking the lawyer to consider “loving the Samaritan” is much akin to asking the rich man to sell his possessions and give the money to the poor. Neither one is likely to be happy about the necessities. It’s easier, you see, for Jews in Jesus day to contemplate having to break religious laws in order to help someone left for dead in the ditch than having to admit the demand of the Kingdom of God was to “love the neighbor. Loving a despicable so-in-so, because he’s the one who helped a man left for dead in the ditch, and having to “go and do likewise”—that’s hard. And that’s exactly Jesus’ point.

To be “justified,” the lawyer has to contemplate what would never occur for him to do on his own. To be “justified,” he must somehow entertain how God sees the world. And that doesn’t leave room for any kind of self-interested-ness. Loving neighbor is suddenly transformed. A “neighbor” isn’t just someone in need, but instead is the one who shows mercy. Careful followers of Jesus are invited to love the show-ers of mercy—their neighbors—and to live like them!



Now one of the people I got to see in Minneapolis at General Assembly was one of my Israel trip-mates—a friend, and a neighbor. Over dinner one evening we were reflecting on our journey from Jericho to Jerusalem on what was a fine, modern, interstate-like, limited access highway. We never noticed at the time, but my friend had learned since our visit, that the super-highway was an Israeli-only road—meaning only Israeli citizens were permitted to use it. Recalling our journey, we remembered that there were few access points along the highway; and that clearly, the road was meant to be used by people who got on in Jerusalem or Jericho, without stopping in-between. As modern and convenient as it was to travel quickly and easily, I can’t help but see that road as a visible division between peoples. A reminder of the staunch disagreements between Jews and Samaritans.

Today, perhaps the so-called “Good Samaritan” wouldn’t be allowed on that road at all! Today, maybe even Jesus couldn’t travel that highway! And as I thought about it, perhaps even in the first-century, it would have been likely the Samaritan wouldn’t have been accepted kindly along the Jericho to Jerusalem road. Maybe, Jesus, neither—especially if the Romans knew that he was a subversive. For the lawyer, “loving one’s neighbor as one’s self must mean loving people like the Samaritan and Jesus—subversives, unattractive folks, people who were “different” from the lawyer. So maybe, times haven’t changed!

Rather than the lesson being about helping those who have been beaten, robbed, and left for dead, Jesus is asking us to “love the neighbor” instead. To love the one or ones rendering aid. To love the one or ones who are daring to make a difference. To love the one or ones who are taking up for others—“others” whom you and I might regularly walk past on our way to more important things. “Others,” with whom we might disagree, or even disapprove. To “love,” the mercy show-ers, and going forth to show mercy ourselves.



One of the actions of General Assembly this week, was to recommend to our denomination’s 173 Presbyteries the adoption of a new Form of Government. This new Form of Government, if voted in the affirmative by a majority of Presbyteries would restore the language for ordained church officers to be—ruling elders, teaching elders, and deacons. Ruling Elders are Session members; Teaching Elders are ministers of Word and Sacrament. Like the “plumb line,” “Ruling Elders” are called—not as “rulers” whose majority vote garners their way to “rule” and lord it over others; but instead are “measurers.” Ruling Elders are supposed to participate in the “measurement” of the fidelity of the church to the gospel of Jesus Christ. In other words, Ruling Elders are the measurers, the “plumb line” whereby they determine how well or how far the church is from keeping God’s intentions.

Jesus’ point in today’s gospel story it would seem, “measures” that that the lawyer who would justify himself, still has a ways to go. And how might Jesus’ story “measure” us and our congregation? Do we love the ones who show mercy? Do we do likewise? What walls of division do we still maintain? How often do we deny others access to the Kingdom of God and its values because we’re convinced they’re lesser or undeserving?

So what it means for Ruling Elders, to “measure” is for us to seek the ways of being pointed in new, more faithful directions—like the lawyer in Jesus’ story. And Jesus’ expectation—it seems to me—is that careful followers will notice that loving the neighbor is more than tending to the man in the ditch. Loving the neighbor calls us beyond ourselves—not just in acts of mercy, but learning to be merciful. And being merciful begs for an investment on behalf of those in need—time, talents, resources. Or isn’t that how Jesus’ story turns?

I believe Jesus is asking us to measure the ways we have divided and conquered—seeking instead for us to build up and restore. Or isn’t that how Jesus’ story turns? I believe that if we are interested in the life God promises through the Kingdom, we have to measure better and trust in Jesus and the ways he LIVED. It means investing ourselves in the care of others, and learning to love those who do mercy—and do likewise.


--+ Friends, God sent his son, the Christ, to show us how to live; the Holy Spirit has come that we might trust in new life. So let us measure ourselves in our fidelity to the gospel of Jesus’ life and witness and trust that we can live in new ways. AMEN.

Link to the audio file and manuscript for my sermon from Sunday, July 04, 2010

If you'd like to hear the audio recording of my sermon from Sunday, July 4th, click on the link below and download. 

Link to the recorded Sermon from Sunday, July 4th, 2010:  http://www.box.net/shared/f8ol3n0uk4



The Fourteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time; July 04, 2010
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: 2 Kings 5: 1-14
Psalm 30: 1-2, 11-20
Galatians 6: (1-6) 7-16
Luke 10: 1-20 *

“Eat. Cure. Say.”

--} We’ve got a GREAT Fourth of July bible story for today, don’t we? Could it possibly get any better? We’ve got “fireworks” with “harvest laborers” sent to proclaim “the kingdom of God has come near,” demonstrating power over scorpions and snakes, and even without purse, bag, or sandals can cure sick people. And if you want REAL fireworks, it doesn’t get any better than Jesus “seeing Satan falling from heaven like a flash of lightening!”—does it?


But I want to begin today with a different image—one that’s ancient in its scope, but yet familiar to us all. The Psalmist and good ole King James take us where “The Lord is my Shepherd… who prepares a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.”

This morning, here’s that table—the Lord’s Table.

“The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want…” and when you get past lying in the green pastures and being beside the still waters and your soul is restored, you can walk through the valley of the shadow of death and not be afraid—then comes the table, “in the presence of mine enemies.”

I know now as an adult [and the beneficiary of biblical scholarship] that the shepherd “I shall not want,” is actually a statement about the Lord being our shepherd and that WE SHALL NOT BE IN NEED. But I always grew up thinking and feeling and even believing the Lord was my shepherd that I wouldn’t want—because he makes me to do things I’d rather not. And even with the green pastures and the still waters and the restored soul—the valley of the shadow of death and the table in the presence of my enemies was just too much. The Lord MIGHT be my shepherd, but it didn’t have to be a shepherd I’d want. I’m glad times have changed.

I begin here because today’s gospel reading is one of those places that I think if we’re honest, there are tasks of discipleship with the Good Shepherd that we’d rather not have to take up. Going out, as Luke’s Jesus describes, “like lambs into the midst of wolves, without a purse, bags, or sandals sounds tough; and even then, to have to rely on the hospitality of strangers, to eat whatever is provided (whether you like it or not), and to CURE THE SICK—doesn’t sound like a gig any of us are going to sign up for anytime soon. And even as we’re taught it’s this great evangelistic call to go out into the harvest reaping the Lord’s fruit of believers… we’re quick to presume (or at least hope) that such a calling isn’t for people like us. And if that’s what we think, maybe we’ve misread the gospel.

Instead, hear a word of hope:

[There is a story told about] a missionary who was lost at sea in a fierce storm; his boat capsized and he washed up on the edge of a remote village in a strange land. Half-dead from starvation, thirst, and exposure to the elements, he was found by the people of the village and nursed back to health. He learned their language and lived among these people for twenty years. During that whole time, however, this missionary confessed no faith. He sang no hymns. He preached no sermons. He didn’t even recite a single word of scripture to the people of this village.

But during those twenty years, whenever someone was sick he would take care of them, often sitting up with them late into the night. When people were hungry, he gave them food. When people were lonely, he was a source of companionship. He always took the side of those who had been wronged. In short, there was not a single human condition with which he did not identify.

After twenty years had passed some other missionaries arrived at this village and began talking to the people about a man named Jesus and about the love of God who was the Creator of all things. After hearing about this “Jesus” the missionaries were telling them about, the villagers were confused. This “Jesus” had already arrived and was in fact living among them, that he’d been with them for the last twenty years. “Come,” they said, “we will introduce you to the man about whom you have been speaking.” The missionaries were led to a hut where they found their long-lost fellow missionary whom they assumed to have been dead.

Now I don’t know in fact whether this story is true, or not. But if it were true, it would seem to come right out of the pages of Luke’s gospel. Where the point Jesus is seen to make is that the work of the Kingdom of God is not so much about what is “said” about faith, but what is essentially exhibited in/by the life of the believer. That very ordinary things can bear an extraordinary witness to God’s power. Where it’s not just about our sacrifice but how we demonstrate God’s intention to shepherd God’s creation through the lifestyle of Jesus.

Luke’s gospel was written later in the first century. Though we like the idea of Luke being a first-hand account or an eye-witness to what Jesus says and does, that’s really not the case. Most scholars date the gospel of Luke being written between 80 and 85 C.E.—a generation or more after Jesus was crucified. Luke’s primary audience would have been a community of believers worshipping together, praying together, and probably asking themselves, “what are we supposed to do now?” Sound familiar? Don’t we ask that same kind of question about our church, our community, our denomination?

But Luke’s period of middle eastern history read a bit differently than our own, being marked significantly by the Romans crush of the Jewish Rebellion. Unlike America’s bid for freedom, where the foreign powers got booted out, the Romans left Jerusalem in ruins, the Jewish Temple wrecked, and God’s historic peoples dispersed far and wide across the region and in the world. Christians lagged around in the background, not yet arriving as a forceful collection of Jesus-followers on the world stage. And the point of the gospel stories seems to be not only to recount the stories of what Jesus said and did, but to offer some real direction for the people who would be “believers,” who wanted to “follow” in the ways Jesus taught and proclaimed. It’s a good application for folks living in the first century; but it remains a palpable message to instruct even us today, too.

It’s hard to figure out what we should call these 70 Jesus instructs—volunteers?, they’re not disciples; are they proclaimers of God’s kingdom?; believers?; followers?; or should we stick with Luke’s “laborers in Lord’s harvest”? But no matter what title we fashion, what’s really “telling” is what Luke’s Jesus actually says to them. Forget for a moment that bit about carrying no purse or bag or sandals—as if there were some airline luggage fee back then, too—but concentrate instead on what Jesus identifies as the behavior that has the most consequence: “Eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.” Because when these so-called “laborers in the Lord’s harvest” return, they tell Jesus joyfully, “in your name the demons submit to us.” Eating, curing, saying. And it’s then that Jesus says to them, I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning.”

In Luke’s story these 70 go out, they eat, they cure, they say. And the result—Satan falls from heaven. Luke even makes it sound like these two things are directly related—as if the 70 doing this job makes heaven safe. And maybe, it can make it sound like things are well and good for us, that—oh by the way—it’s no longer necessary for you and I have to have to go out “and be lambs in the midst of wolves” with “no purse no bag, no sandals, not greeting anyone on the road;” that it’s no longer necessary for us to go out with the threat of being rejected. Ah, we’re almost safe—green pastures and still waters just ahead, right?

But more than Satan falling from heaven like a flash of lightening—[remember that image tonight at your fireworks show]—Jesus adds, “See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you.” This isn’t an advertisement for all the snake-handling and scorpion showing faiths out there; but instead seems to promise “laborers” that there’s nothing that can hurt us along the way. They seventy have gone out, their work establishes new boundaries—as wide now as the cosmos—with Satan falling from heaven. We don’t have to fear “rejection” or “suffering” or getting killed. But it isn’t all green pastures and still water, just yet. There remains that bit about “the table in the presence of mine enemies”—and Jesus may promise that we don’t get hurt, but the enemies are still real.

Now I started with that image of the table and our enemies because at least for me, while being the bearer and bringer of “comforts” galore, Jesus is also the kind of shepherd that “I’ll not always want.” He makes me to do things that I ordinarily won’t want to do. Give up my purse, my bag, my sandals, having to eat what’s provided, cure the sick, and to say to receiver and non-receiver alike, “the Kingdom of God has come near.” But here’s the part of today’s reading that I find exciting. Rather than getting hung up on the things Jesus says “NOT” to take, consider the human things. Caring for the sick. Eating with people and sharing food together. Being a community where there’s true companionship, visits for the lonely, and someone to take up with those who are wronged. Think of that missionary sent to establish faith, but doing it by never talking about it, only living it.

These are things that are—in fact—cosmic in scope. And whether it’s one of the original 70 dispersed by Jesus or believers to whom Luke is writing, or 21st century American Christians in Des Moines, it’s not an impossible task. It’s not filled with fear or fright; and the world—the whole cosmos—is made better, made safe. A little friendliness and tender-loving care and kindness, and Jesus reminds us something else is very much at stake.

“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.” It’s the Lord’s table where we believe Christ comes among us, to be resident in us, to remind us. And it’s at THIS table where enemies can become our friends. In the same manner Christ is joined to us, somehow, we can be joined—even to our fiercest rivals. Think about the missionary going off to live the gospel amongst strangers; and forging friendships not with the tip of a sword, but the love of Jesus. And not where we have to convince people to believe, so that they can be assured they will wind up in heaven—no! Where we witness to people through simple acts of kindness that we learn from THIS table.

Brothers and sisters, this is not just a day to remember freedom’s fight and how we won and how much God has blessed America. This is not a day for nationalistic bravado alone, about building walls and security fences and “keeping people out,” like when we repulsed the British by which we won our freedom. This is also a day to remember the gospel’s promise that the power of Christ is with us and among us—the power to eat, cure, and say—“the Kingdom of God has come near.” For us to remember that as Christians we have the power of Christ among us and with us and the question is not about heaven or hell, but instead, what we will do with Christ’s power and with the sharing of ourselves? Do we turn it into a sword, or turn or swords into plowshares?

What Jesus said: Laborers, pray that the Lord of the harvest will send out laborers into his harvest. Go on your way. Eat. Cure. Say.


--+ Friends, God sent his son, the Christ, who died and was raised; the Holy Spirit has come; and we are called to the sound, the touch, the sight, of the Kingdom of God being near—even in America. The Lord has appointed. Let us eat. Let us cure. Let us say… so that all the world might know. AMEN.

The Audio Link and Manuscript for my sermon from Sunday, June 27th

Here's the link to the audio file for my sermon from Sunday, June 27, 2010.  If you'd like to listen, click on this link and download the audio file:

  http://www.box.net/shared/ejncxyb7ql



The manuscript follows below: 




The Thirteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time; June 27, 2010

Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: 2 Kings 2: 1-2, 6-14
Psalm 77: 1-2, 11-20
Galatians 5: 1, 13-25
Luke 9: 51-62 *

“Beware of God”

--} While making a routine potty stop on our summer vacation, a gentleman saw our van adorned with all the colorful bumper stickers [if you’ve seen our van you know we’ve got some of everything on it]; and as we were getting ready to depart he came over and offered to give us a new bumper sticker. When we asked him what was on it, he proudly lifted up his shirt, revealing a large rectangle with black and red lettering—“BEWARE of God”—adding verbally, “he’s jealous—you know!” And when he asked if we’d like one of these bumper stickers, telling us that he’d just copyrighted the message, it was Desireé quickly responding first, “I don’t think we would put that bumper sticker on our van.” Our encounter ended amicably, but the gentleman was clearly disappointed.

So as we got back on the road, I asked, “not that I disagree, but just why is that we wouldn’t put “that” bumper sticker on our van?” Thinking for a moment, Desireé responded, “that just doesn’t seem like a message we should be sharing—“beware of God”—like there’s something to be afraid of.” “Beware of God”—like we might say, “beware of snakes” on a hiking trail, or worse, “beware of God” because God’s out to gettcha!—like all the highway signs reminding drivers that “speed limits are strictly enforced,” suggesting you have every reason to “beware,” or “fear” highway patrol officers. Instead, we decided that if there was anything to “beware” of God about, it was probably the fact that God’s love for us is just so abundantly incredible that we should “beware” because God loves us so much God’s just going to knock us out with loving-kindness—just the opposite of what the gentleman seemed to be hinting at with his bumper stickers.



I often think our presumptions about God’s judgment and our assumptions about our relationship with God get us into trouble. We like the comfort of the judgment seat—judging those who we think are or should be on the outside of God’s love; hoping that by our condemnation of their behavior that they’ll somehow see the light or the error of their ways. “Beware of God”—you don’t want God to punish you for doing something wrong! And we often think or “believe” that we are in control of our relationship with God. That Jesus is always “calling us,” and all we have to do is to “accept him;” or that God is just waiting around until we say, “yes.”

Similarly, I think church “tradition” has greatly misinformed our perceptions about today’s gospel lesson. The “traditional” interpretation of today’s reading is that Jesus is teaching the church, including modern believers, about “discipleship”—by describing the sacrifices that are necessary if we are to be faithful to Jesus. “Beware of God…”—he’s jealous—so make following Jesus and doing what he asks your only focus!

But professor David Lose makes a compelling argument AGAINST the “tradition,” suggesting the focus of today’s passage is not “discipleship,” but the single-minded purpose of Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem. Jerusalem is where Jesus will suffer, be crucified, and die; where Jesus demonstrates for us most fully God’s profound love for humanity and all the world. So that for Lose, these stories aren’t about showing us how to be good disciples; but instead, demonstrating the love and work of God that changes the world and human beings with it. And I’m inclined to believe he’s on to something. Because Jesus in Luke’s gospel is rooted in forgiveness, and today’s text has some details that I believe help us to turn it around from the “traditional view”—giving us instead a vision of how God loves us in spite of ourselves!



In today’s gospel reading, Luke uses two stories to make a point—the first story is about Jesus not being welcomed in a Samaritan village; with a following story where Jesus responds to some people traveling in the entourage between villages. In the first story, Jesus has sent messengers ahead of him to prepare for his arrival in a Samaritan village; but the villagers, somehow knowing that Jesus intends to go to Jerusalem, refuse to welcome him. “Jerusalem” being the central place of worship for Jews was one of the well-known disagreements between Jews and Samaritans. It’s no surprise for Jesus to be refused under these circumstances; yet, assuming the response is only negative, when James and John hear it, they offer to call down fire from heaven to consume the unwelcoming villagers.

In response to the villagers and James and John, Luke tells us in verse 55 that Jesus “turned and rebuked them.” While seemingly obvious to us “who” gets rebuked, the use of the pronoun in the text means we can’t be entirely sure. Does Jesus rebuke the villagers for refusing to welcome him, or James and John who presume to call down fire from heaven—or maybe, a bit of both? But the curious thing is that the word that gets translated as “rebuke” is a compound word, with the strongest root word being one that means “to honor.” And the historical pattern where this “rebuking” word is used implies not only a “reproving” or “rebuke” of the one party, it suggests a possible vindication for the other party. So that while “rebuking” the disciples on the one hand, Jesus is somehow affirming the villagers on the other—as if Jesus were choosing between the unwelcoming-ness of the villagers or the calling down of heaven’s fire. And—strange as it sounds—Jesus seems to bless the un-welcome.

It’s this story, I believe, that serves to complicate matters in our “traditional” reading of the second story. Because in the second story, the three people who interact with Jesus all seem to have a kind of “un-welcome-ness” about them. When the first person approaches Jesus saying, “I will follow you wherever you go,” it’s as if Jesus is deterring him: Jesus says, “foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the son of man has no place to lay his head”—as if this man hadn’t considered the consequences of “following.” And when Jesus says to a second person, “follow me,” the man tries to excuse himself from the duty with the reply, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” He seems to turn Jesus down as easily as the Samaritan villagers. And when the third person, perhaps hoping to be a better example, steps up offering, “I will follow you, Lord, but first let me say farewell—or really, let me separate myself—from those at my home”—Jesus responds rather scathingly, “no one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

So often, this passage is proclaimed as Jesus wanting us to “follow him.” But the Samaritans won’t welcome him. Two people “volunteer,” but Jesus seems to “un-invite” them in his response. And when Jesus actually “calls” to the man in the middle, saying, “follow me,” he too ends up “not following.” On the surface, we’re convinced that we shouldn’t say “no” to Jesus—that there’s nothing worse. But lets look very carefully at verses 59 and 60.

To another [Jesus] said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” But Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.”

Notice how we move from Jesus’ invitation to “follow”—to which the man says, “I can’t”—to Jesus saying, as if commissioning him elsewise, “as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” While the encounter begins with Jesus inviting or commanding the man to “follow,” it ends with Jesus re-commissioning him to “go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” Verse 59 is about “following;” verse 60 results in no following, but instead proclaiming. This sounds strikingly similar to what Jesus says to the man Legion—from whom all the demons had gone out—when the healed man begs Jesus that he might go with him. Jesus said to him instead, “return to your home and declare how much God has done for you.” Don’t follow. Proclaim the kingdom!

So why should it seem strange that at first, Jesus would choose the Samaritan villagers’ “unwelcome-ness” over the fire from heaven suggested by his disciples? Why should it seem strange that Jesus would seem to send away two willing volunteers—who offer to follow at nearly any cost, but choose to “re-commission” the one man who responds to “follow me” by saying, “no, I really can’t follow you, today.” Why should it seem strange to us that Jesus might not be as indignant as we are about peoples thoughts, actions, or behaviors? And why shouldn’t it seem strange that we would make all kinds of assumptions about how “faith” is supposed to work, assuming we can give our hearts to Jesus, and he’s always waiting for us to say “yes” with open arms?

Friends, this reading of the gospel story forces us to take issue with the “tradition” that would have us beat ourselves up over all the times and places we might have failed or fallen short or caused God grief because we might prefer to say, “no.” While tradition would have us act as if we needed to “beware” of God’s demands—lest we fail to pay proper attention, deserving of fire being called down upon us—Luke seems intent to tell us about a Jesus who is single-minded about going to Jerusalem for our sake and the sake of changing the world. And because Jesus changes the world, we should recognize new opportunities in faith.

Instead of forcing us down and out, perhaps these stories ought to demonstrate Jesus picking us up by the nape of our necks, lovingly looking us over despite our condition, and setting us on our way again—instructing us to “go and proclaim God’s kingdom. Because Jesus doesn’t need another set of disciples who are simply following him to stand in his shadow and watch again what happens to him—so-called “followers” who simply look around shocked and amazed at the mistreatment of Jesus on the cross. Instead, Luke is reminding believers that Jesus needs them to go out and proclaim the Kingdom of God; to do the things Jesus did BEFORE he got on his high-horse and went to Jerusalem to do God’s thing for us. Jesus needs believers who won’t just blindly follow for the sake of following, but who will take seriously to tell what they’ve seen and heard about the kingdom of God.

Friends, as David Lose observes, “everything looks different when viewed through the lens of God’s sacrificial love.” Luke seems to be seeking to remind believers that even when we might want to say “no,” even when we might doubt we’re up to the challenges of faith, even if we put other commitments ahead of our religious ones—“Beware of God.” Because God has a plan to love us and use us, even if—even when—we try and say, “no.” “Beware of God”—because the case may be that we’re actually a part of God’s reign whether we choose to be or want to be, or not. Not that we should take forgiveness for granted, but that God’s love doesn’t depend on our response.


--+ Friends, the Holy Spirit has come; Christ has been raised—and so are we. Jesus invites us not to dwell on the places where we’ve been lax, but to go and proclaim the Kingdom of God. AMEN.

Link to the audio file and manuscript for my sermon from Sunday, June 20, 2010

Here's the link to the audio file for my sermon recorded on Sunday, June 20th, 2010 at Park Avenue Presbyterian Church.  After two weeks on the road vacationing, it's hard to get back in the saddle again. 

Click on this link to download the sermon and listen: 

http://www.box.net/shared/9r9xezhasd


The sermon manuscript I used follows below: 



The Twelfth Sunday of Ordinary Time; June 20, 2010

Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: 1 Kings 19: 1-15a
Psalms 42 and 43
Galatians 3:23-29
Luke 8: 26-39 *

“Being Sent Away”

--} For all the grief we might give King Ahab for marrying evil Queen Jezebel, I still will forever have a personal reminder about his genius. King Ahab [about 700 years or so before Jesus was born] was responsible for adding an amazing addition to the fortress at Megiddo—otherwise known as Armageddon. This ancient site on the plains between Galilee and Judea has been occupied by no less than 14 different human civilizations—of which King Solomon’s was about 7th. The fortress is naturally located on a small rise on the landscape; which means it’s easily well-defended in addition to providing a healthy view of invading or attacking armies. But prior to King Ahab, the fortress had one substantial weakness—it had no internal water supply. So King Ahab ordered a tunnel be dug down—mostly through solid rock—into the ground, and then spanning across the landscape for almost a mile to a freshwater spring. He ordered the spring’s exterior side to be hidden and mostly filled in, so that the only access point to the water was from the inside. And when construction was completed, Megiddo, or Armageddon—was a true and rightful fortress with storage enough and access to water to last for years!

I remember this because it’s not often that one has the chance to walk through a tunnel engineered and constructed nearly 3,000 years ago! And so when I reflect on Ahab’s kingship now, it isn’t always just about his wife—the “evil” Queen Jezebel. And when I read in today’s story about Jezebel’s threats against Elijah’s life after the great prophet of God defeated all the prophets of Baal, I’m reminded not just of Elijah’s fearful fleeing, but how often human beings respond to our hurts, faults, and failures with hope that might makes right, or that our use of violence and banishment can prevail. And that’s exactly what Jezebel had in mind—banishment, and violence aimed at vengeance. And how often her story has been or becomes OUR story. Our own sense of justice and vengeance too OFTEN results in people being “sent away.”

This weekend it seems appropriate that we do some thinking or remembering about those who are often “sent away” on our behalf as we remember fathers and sons especially. Too often, we know it’s been they who have been called on again and again to be “sent away.” As we continue to have fighting men and women on foreign soils, as we remember the sacrifices (more often than not) our “fathers” and “sons” have been asked to make, from our nation’s infamous beginnings and the first continental army spending that cold, harsh winter in the field at Valley Forge, to the Civil War, to two great world wars, and all the various conflicts and police actions, including now various wars on drugs, terrorism, and in defense of freedom… we send fathers and sons away a lot—and often, without the benefit, comforts, and ingenious defenses of Ahab’s transformation of Megiddo.

History teaches us that men boys have too often been asked to go off to war—in every civilization—not just our modern one. Tall requirements of sacrifice have always been placed on their shoulders—sometimes willingly accepted, and sometimes not. And always when they are sent away in such a fashion, we find our fathers and sons put in harms away, in order to put in harms way other fathers and sons. It is a vicious human cycle.

But it is why, I think, that Luke’s story about Jesus healing the Gerasene Demoniac—Legion—gives us a critical look toward the Kingdom of God. Because while we often send people away to exact damage, destruction, and revenge, notice how Luke tells us about Jesus—sending the healed man to his home to “declare how much God had done for him.” How might our world and our lives be different if we could learn such a lesson ourselves? Instead of being sent away with fear and trembling, afraid of what might come to be—of being victimized or left to use the violence of the world and its power of the sword—what if we could be sent away not only with the promise of God’s having helped us but the promise of God’s help for others as well? Notice the differences between Elijah’s flight in fear and Jesus’ sending away the Demoniac—Restored!

Jesus makes a dangerous crossing of the Sea of Galilee at night, amidst a storm; he arrives at Gentile territory. He’s away from the home crowds, almost as if he’s on foreign soil—but it’s not that far away. He immediately meets Legion, inhabited by many demons, and without provocation, Jesus attempts to relieve him. “Legion” is his name (a military name), because many demons had entered him—or been placed upon him. Maybe, like us, some of them were received willingly—maybe they seemed right and good at first. But their influx has meant this man has lived “sent away” from his home and community—he’s been living among the tombs, either because he has nowhere else he can go or because every time the fearful townspeople try to bind him, he breaks free. Maybe the cemetery is his only solace. Maybe he, too, is ready to give up his life like the Old Testament prophet—having been through enough. Whatever it is, Jesus arrives, and proceeds in restoring what was lost; and it begins by unburdening the man of the demons. Despite the protests by the demons and the people who can’t believe it, Jesus—who’s unafraid of the consequences of disrupting the demons or the socio-economic structure—orders the demons out and restores this man to his right mind.

I think about the things we “send people away” for. Whether it’s “war” where we need soldiers; or whether it’s bank robbers, thieves, and murderers who deserve a stint of punishment in prison; maybe it’s a father who’s molested a child or brother guilty of drunk driving. There are lots of burdens that become demons for people—some taken willingly, others not. But Jesus’ response is quick—restore these men to their right mind and let the people see the difference; and having healed the demons, he sends this man away to go home and tell the things God has done for him. Isn’t that really how this story goes? Even amidst horrific human circumstances?

Luke is bold to tell us about this Jesus who goes out of his way to relieve human suffering—not just in terms of feeding the poor or clothing the naked or preaching good news—a Jesus who doesn’t even have to be asked first! Jesus demonstrates the overwhelming willingness of the kingdom of God to put things back in order; much like the much-needed respite the Old Testament prophet receives from God. The ways of the world, particularly violence and oppression, will not—do not—cannot—prevail. In the face of the living Christ, we are given a better way of being as human beings. And the question we might ought to ask ourselves is why we settle for being “sent away,” in the manner of human beings rather than going to proclaim what good God has done for us?

Isn’t Luke’s invitation for us to see Jesus as one who relieves us of our demons? And isn’t Jesus’ invitation not for us simply to remain “with Jesus,” but rather, to be sent away to proclaim all that God has done for us. To be sent away, not to participate in the things of the world, but to tell of the things of God! To be sent away, not with an attitude of hopelessness—so hopeless that we’ll be willing to give up and die—but having been relieved of our demons, to proclaim the goodness of the things God has done for us.

 

Hear me carefully. This is not to denigrate the sacrifice so many fathers and sons have made on our behalf—collectively and personally. This doesn’t mean it’s bad to sacrifice, to lay down one’s life, to volunteer for danger and violence and carry the sword. But it does mean that we also have Jesus, who stands clearly on behalf of all of us who ned to be relieved of our demons and have our lives returned to the vision of God’s kingdom. We have Jesus who is unafraid of visiting places beyond, of talking with and ministering to people who aren’t just Israelites; of inviting Legion and us to be “relieved” and made whole again.

And the truth is, for his efforts, Jesus is “sent away.” He’s asked to leave the Gerasenes, told essentially to “go home.” Even at the expense of being thrown out, dismissed, “sent away,” Jesus stands true to the values of the Kingdom of God. Relieve. Restore. Revive. Resurrect.

In that sense, just as the Old Testament Prophet is “sent away” to be visited by God on the mountain, safely hidden from Jezebel—as his life is restored, revived, resurrected—such is the promise when Jesus appears to us, among us, with us. And then we are “sent away”—but sent away” to declare what God has done for us. “Sent away,” as new (renewed) human beings with the promises of the Kingdom of God. And of what shall we declare to others? Do we tell them what we have seen and heard, of God’s intentions through Jesus the Christ? Or do we tell them the ways of the world seem right and fair and just, and fend for ourselves the best we can?

Most days, fathers and sons don’t just go off to war, and aren’t just “sent away.” Most days, fathers and sons leave the family at home and go to work, aiming to better themselves and their lives. Aiming to provide, to endure, to build up, and make safe. And most days, far more demons than we can count, tempt, cajole, tear into, and do their best to make us into creatures separated from the Kingdom of God. But don’t you believe it.

Jesus, the living Christ, crosses the barriers on our behalf. And it doesn’t mean we can change the past, or put back what has become of us. Instead, it means we can still live into the kingdom Jesus promises as God has decreed. This day, God is inviting us once again to be “sent away,” to declare the good things God has done for us. “Sent away,” like Jesus. “Called away,” like Elijah. Can we declare the good things God has done for us, or not?

--+ Friends, the Holy Spirit has come; Christ has been raised—and so are we. This is our best opportunity to say goodbye to old ways of living and to become the people of God’s kingdom—followers of Christ, and declarers of all the good things God has done for us. AMEN.

Link to the audio file for my sermon from June 6th, 2010

Here's the link to the audio file for my sermon from Sunday, June 6th, 2010. 

http://www.box.net/shared/67p4izvbjk


There won't be a manuscript for this week.  I'm off preaching this next week, attending a wedding. 

As always, thanks for checking this out! 

Link to the audio file and manuscript for my sermon from Sunday, May 30th

Here's the link to the audio file for my sermon from Sunday, May 30th.  This was Trinity Sunday, but also Memorial Dedication Sunday in our congregation, a time when we dedicate our memorial projects for the previous year. 

On this holiday weekend, we were remembering "Family," "God's Family," and celebrating together our interconnectedness. 

If you'd like to listen to the recording from this service, you can click on the link below and download the windows media audio file. 

http://www.box.net/shared/9zov1ismpk


The manuscript I used to preach from follows below: 





Trinity Sunday [Memorial Dedication]; May 30, 2010
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Proverbs 8: 1-4, 22-31 *
Psalm 8 *
Romans 5: 1-5
John 16: 2-15

“The Family of God”

--} Trinity Sunday is all about the “family” that is God. As Presbyterians, we affirm the traditional doctrine that says our God is One God, but in three persons—God the Father, the Creator; God the Son, the redeemer; God the Holy Spirit, the Sustainer. Yet the problem with the Trinity most of the time is that we get woefully confused at having to say, God is one—but yet—God is three! And by the time we have to navigate all of that, people are either confused, or just plain bewildered. Don’t worry—God is still “God.”

The “Trinity” begins to make a little more sense to me, however, if we begin by thinking about God as “community”—or even as “family.” Such is the image the book of Genesis offers to us, where some of the stories we read about Creator God reveal a God who is at least described as “plural.” In Genesis 1:26, “Then God said, ‘Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness’.” This still matches our doctrine that declares God is in “three persons.” And then again, in last week’s reading for the Tower of Babel, in Genesis 11:7 we hear God saying, “Come, let us go down, and confuse their language there, so that they will not understand one another’s speech.” God again appearing clearly more than “singular.” So I’ve been thinking about God’s revelation to us as human beings in creation.

Remember the divine command that follows creation?

“So God created humankind in [God’s] image, in the image of God [God] created them; male and female [God] created them. God blessed them, and God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.”

By this command God offers us a vision for creation that begins not only with a God who is referred to in the plural, but the reality for human beings that includes “being fruitful and multiplying.” God gifts human beings with relationships—with one another, and with God; and both kinds of relationships can be “fruitful.” While we have lots of different understandings of “family” or “community” in our world—from lots of situations intended and not—no human being is born on his or her own, apart from a father and mother of origin. All of our scientific wonderment and power cannot take that bit of creation from God. And God’s creative intention seems to match the reality of God’s own self. Man, woman, children. It seems strangely reminiscent of a God who is “more” than simply an “old white-haired man with a beard up in heaven.”

When we can think of God as “community” or even “family,” we have an image that almost all of us can relate too. It becomes easier to “see” God in one another. To know God—by the touch of a hand, the sound of a voice, the strange warming of our hearts. Even if our “family” experience isn’t the best, or when other relationships have been broken for one reason or another, our relationship with God can still be bound up in our relationship with other human beings. In fact, this appears to be God’s obvious design.

Listen again to the words of the Psalmist, describing God’s masterful creation, and think about the glory and honor we’ve been crowned with.

“When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them? Yet you have made them a little lower than God, and crowned them with glory and honor.”

And the conclusion of our reading from Proverbs that describes the creation and life of God’s Spirit—concludes with the image of God, the master-worker, who delights in the Spirit, rejoices in God’s “inhabited world,” and who “delights in the human race.” Not only does God “create” human beings, but God seems to “delight” in us as if God were enamored with the image of God’s own self. As the story in Genesis says, God sees us, and calls us “good.”

Brothers and sisters, WE are the delight of God’s eye and the glory of God’s creation. We—and—our brothers and sisters, our fathers and mothers, our cousins, aunts, uncles, relatives and friends. WE, and the communities we form and share—are the reminders of God’s community and God’s creative care. And to the extent that we have “dominion” over the world, and inhabit nearly every corner; because we have built up and torn down, and are responsible for disasters both human-made and otherwise—we not only rely on God’s ongoing creative care, but have become kind of co-creators with God, for good or bad. God’s “delight,” God’s “crowning” of us as human beings makes us special. We are imbued with the promises and possibilities of God, and our lives should declare it!


But today, when most of us are thinking about “family” or “community,” or those who have gone before or will come after—on this day, we should be reminded that God also appears to us as “community” in a similar kind of way. And we know about “community.”
This is a great weekend for “remembering” both “family” and “community,” isn’t it? A holiday weekend where lots of folks get together with family. A holiday, where we “remember” family and friends, good times and bad times and just making it through. We remember those who have worked hard, who have sacrificed for our benefit, who have given of themselves, and shared. We remember those who have gone before us and recognize those who will come after us. And it’s because we know that both “family” and “community” are vital parts of who we have been created to be—as God made us.

God is in community, and human beings are created for community. Which is why fruitfulness and multiplying aren’t insignificant. Which is why loving one another is important. Which is why sharing is important. Which is why trusting God and one another is important. We rely on one another, we are interconnected with one another; we are created for each other and with each other—in God’s mind. So perhaps, one of the gifts of Trinity Sunday is to be REMINDED of the nature of our community and God’s substantial part in it.

And today as we tell the stories of our community and those we’ve loved, surely we can be reminded of God’s community who has loved us and made all things possible. As we gather to worship we not only dedicate our lives but remember the example of those who have gone before us. It’s about “family”—God’s family and our family; God’s community and our “community.” And it’s not just about us, and OUR Church, or OUR lives or what we can accomplish. It’s about God who created us, and delights in us, and who has crowned us with promises and possibilities.

Today we give thanks, because God has been good to us. God has taught us and reminded us of the things and people that are important. And God promises to light our future as well. And as much as we learn to love, and share, and live in community together—we will share in God’s good intentions.

Trinity Sunday might baffle us with tradition and doctrine. It may challenge us to believe what we might otherwise not be willing to accept. But as we look into one another’s eyes, as we share the very image of God and God’s own self in our relationships—with one another and with God. And imbued with God’s promises and possibilities, we continue to share God’s blessings because we’ve been taught that God is with us, in community with us.

So this weekend, as we remember those who have been significant in our lives and in the life of our congregation, we are remembering too how close God is to us. It’s a chance not only to remember and give thanks, but to know that we have been created special, that we are imbued with God’s promises and possibilities—because we are a part of the great family of God.

Brothers and sisters, WE are the delight of God’s eye and the glory of God’s creation. We—and—our brothers and sisters, our fathers and mothers, our cousins, aunts, uncles, relatives and friends. WE, and the communities we form and share—are the reminders of God’s community and God’s creative care. God’s “delight,” God’s “crowning” of us as human beings makes us special. We are imbued with the promises and possibilities of God, and our lives should declare it!



--+ Friends, God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit—is calling us out of our old ways of being-ness, to live in new ways as the body of Christ together—where many are one. Trinity, indeed! AMEN.

 
 
 
 
 
As always, thanks for checking it out! 
 

Link to the audio file and manuscript for my sermon from Sunday, May 23rd

Here's the link to the audio file for my sermon from Sunday, May 23rd.  I inadvertantly left my recorder at the office and then went out of town, so it's a bit tardy this week.  Sometimes, that's the way things are.  This week was Pentecost, and I could blame the Holy Spirit for loosing the recorder--but I won't. 

If you'd like to hear the recording from the sermon I preached on May 23rd [Pentecost], click and download the windows media file at the following link: 

http://www.box.net/shared/sj9oypkxd0



The manuscript I worked from follows below: 





The Day of Pentecost; May 23, 2010
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Genesis 11: 1-9 *
Psalm 104: 24-34, 35b
Acts 2: 1-21
John 14: 8-17, 25-27

“Otherwise We Shall Be Scattered Abroad Upon the Face of the Whole Earth”

--} The most familiar Bible reading for Pentecost is our reading from Acts—where the Holy Spirit, seemingly in an attempt to strike some unity among believers, distinguishes Christ-followers by wind, flames, and the gift of languages. By contrast, our reading from Genesis seems quite “un-Pentecost-y.” While the Spirit strikes a common chord through the use of many languages in the early church’s story, back in Genesis, God seemingly strikes human beings with many languages as a common deterrent. But context is everything; and we shouldn’t be deterred from seeing God’s love at work!

Genesis is the story of how the world began—God’s loving embrace of creation and human beings. Even though today’s story describes people turning away from God’s desires, there is still something instructive for us. Context is everything! And by noticing that the immediately previous story to Babel is about God’s deliverance of both creation AND human beings from wickedness, we see God “resetting” creation by means of the flood. And having “delivered” creation and human beings through Noah’s journey, again we hear the divine command echoing from day six of creation: “be fruitful and multiply, fill the earth and subdue it; have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.” And just like that, the Tower of Babel takes us back to where God’s vision is still a possibility!

Clearly, God’s aim is to fill the earth; but notice too, what seems to be God’s invitation to human beings. If human beings only worried about “abounding on the earth and multiplying in it,” then it seems God is promising we’ll always get a fair shake. It can’t be just like the carefree life the Garden represented, but just imagine what kind of life God is inviting human beings into? Perhaps it is like that famous first question from the shorter catechism: “What is the chief end of human beings? To glorify God and enjoy God forever.” Shall we keep God’s commands, and let God take care of the rest of life for us?

But in chapter 11, human beings decide on a different plan. Afraid of being “scattered abroad over the face of the whole earth”—like being lost, human beings used God’s gift of a common language and worked together. While God intended “dominion” as the result of living all over the earth, the people came together in one place, ignoring the whole world, to construct bricks; they had bitumen to put them together and they began constructing a city and a tower—intending to reach all the way up to heaven and “make a name for themselves.” So rather than “being fruitful and multiplying” and having the whole earth, human beings sought to get up to heaven to presumably hold God in check. They abandoned God’s vision replacing it with their own.

But God does what God always does and comes down to take a look at what human beings are doing. God sees their city and buildings, God sees the tower, God sees the abilities of human beings and declares matter-of-factly, “this is only the beginning of what they will do; nothing that they propose to do will now be impossible for them.” God knows and seemingly allows human initiative and ingenuity. This isn’t bad. But it is detrimental to God having God’s way. Far from a condemnation of human initiative, God still sees the need to straighten things out; and notice what God does.

Not an act of punishment, God declares another gift for human beings—one that will keep the possibility open that God’s will and ways might prevail. God chooses… to gift human beings with various languages—in order to turn our attention toward relationships with one another and with God. God confuses human language so that the people are spread across the whole of the earth—fulfilling God’s intention. And the very thing human beings are trying to prevent, can be the very thing God makes available to us by “giving” to us again.

By contrast, the Acts story makes clear for us that despite human fears, human diversity is clearly within God’s realm to handle. The ability of the disciples to speak in every language shows the depth of God’s commitment that everything will be all right—just as God promised and intended. Be fruitful, multiply, fill the whole earth, and no matter the differences that result from many cultures and languages—God can still hold us together.

When I think about God’s gift of the Holy Spirit, it seems instructive to me that it’s the same eternal promises of God being rung true for us, too. Context is everything. As human beings, WE don’t always get it the way God wants it, either. We think “dominion” means we can do whatever we want—and maybe that’s why oil continues to leak into the Gulf of Mexico, promising the worst environmental impact in history; and why wars and violence continue to rage across the globe. I don’t know if the Spirit residing with us can simply put all that back or another way, but I do know the presence of the Holy Spirit promises God’s abiding care of us, no matter what we turn upside down or inside out! Or, as Jesus says, the Spirit continually reminds us of everything Jesus said and taught and did, so that we can be taught Jesus’ ways and make them OUR ways too.

“What would Jesus do?” is not the only question for us. God acting in the way God acts in Genesis shows us God’s commitment to human beings and the creation. It’s more than just our living happily ever after as we see fit—like the American Dream; it’s the promise that God is willing to abide with us no matter what we’ve tried to do. The promise is that God can bring us home—that GOD, can bring us home and restore, renew, re-invent, re-engage, retain, re-develop… no matter who we are or what we’ve done—or where we’ve gone or what we’ve built.

It’s Pentecost.

Are you ready to be re-invigorated by God’s love?

Are you ready to stop building and start loving? Are you ready to taste the fruit of God’s kingdom and to share that fruit with those you love and others beyond them?

Then this is the day.

It’s Pentecost.

And we can’t help but go out and tell God’s story.

--+ The Holy Spirit has come! It is an opportunity to say goodbye to an old way of life, and to live into a radically new way of being a Christian—indeed! AMEN.

As always, thanks for checking it out! 

Link to the audio file and manuscript for my sermon from Sunday, May 16th

Here's the link to the audio file and my sermon manuscript from my sermon for Sunday, May 16th, 2010.  This was the last Sunday of the Easter Season, so we're saying "goodbye" to Easter this week and being remade anew as we come to Pentecost next Sunday. 

You can access the audio for my sermon, recorded during worship, by clicking on this link: 

http://www.box.net/shared/11vtg0l9ye





The manuscript I worked from follows below: 


The Seventh Sunday of Easter; May 16, 2010

Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa

Texts: Acts 16: 16-34 *
Psalm 97
Revelation 22: 12-14, 16-17, 20-21
John 17: 20-26

“No One Suspects the Christian Influence”

--} I was doing some reading online this past week and came across some new poll numbers. “Striking” and “rather surprising” were how the findings of NBC and the Wall Street Journal found this particular slice of Americana:

• Despite all the attention the [Gulf] oil spill has received, 60% support offshore drilling and 53% believe drilling's economic benefits outweigh its environmental risks.
  
• Nearly two-thirds of the public (64%) back Arizona's immigration law, as another two-thirds (66%) believe it will lead to the discrimination of Latino immigrants who are in the country legally.
  
• A majority of Americans (52%) say they are willing to give up personal freedoms and civil liberties to prevent another terrorist attack, and another majority (51%) approve of using racial or ethnic profiling to combat terrorism.

Perhaps none of this is terribly surprising—UNLESS—you also make the claim that the United States is inherently a “Christian nation,” with values that are predominantly “Christian”—that is based on the life and teachings of Jesus and where the Bible is taken as a rule-book for living.

Three presidential elections ago, William Willimon—a popular leader and preacher in the United Methodist denomination, noted the wide concern among many Americans that as a Jew—then vice-presidential candidate Joe Lieberman, had presumably taken a religious vow “not to do work on the Sabbath,” and there was some question among voters about the need for the United States to go to war on a Saturday and Lieberman would have to wait until Sunday. Willimon suggested that instead of being concerned with Lieberman’s particular religious preferences, voters might want to consider that Al Gore was a Baptist, Lieberman a Jew, and George Bush a Methodist—all religious traditions that took serious issue with going to war in the first place—but about that, no one seemed particularly concerned.

I want to “pull a Willimon” this morning and suggest to you that one of the problems we face as modern “Christians” is that very few people in our nation and culture seem to suspect or take seriously that those of us called to the radical life called “Christianity” are particularly invited to have pretty non-typical reactions to all kinds of things that would seem “normal” to people of the world. There’s something particularly instructive about Paul and Silas ending up before an angry mob of business-people and city leaders and being beaten and thrown into prison because they upset the “business practices” that exploited a fortune-teller. The values of Jesus Christ don’t mesh very well with national, cultural, or other values of looking out for number one or of “getting rich”!

• It’s safe to say that the gospels portray Jesus as one who never took up a weapon of any kind; whose most violent act would have been that act of cleansing the Temple in Jerusalem—in which we should note, no one died.
• Jesus always welcomed the outsider, the stranger, the one in need.
• Jesus not only laid down his life, but prayed, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
• Jesus advocated for the least and the lost; promised good things for those who had little or nothing or less than nothing, and held out the possibility that those who were rich by comparison still had work to do.
• Jesus elevated a whole set of standards for caring for one’s neighbor that precluded selfishness on our part.

Yet few people ever seem to suspect that a radical commitment to Jesus and his ministry on our part, calls us to a very different way of living and being in the world—a way that may even call into question the values of those living around us.

Just think of this for a moment. If we take the familiar Ten Commandments and lift them up as values we expect our culture to uphold, what does it say about us as a culture and a nation when we know these other things are true:

• Most people in our country don’t attend church or other religious services weekly.

• Nightly television and other forms of entertainment are built around story lines that include stealing, affairs, and killing; sit-coms are filled with sexual innuendo, scenes of crimes are often violent and brutal.

• News stories often double as entertainment—at least reality more and more mirrors entertainment, or vice versa; there’s a lot of disturbing things going on.

My point is, if we’re not lying, cheating, stealing, and murdering—we sure do watch or read about it a lot.

In truth, I’m not sure that our culture is a lot different from first-century Philippi—where Paul and Silas got into trouble. They had their fair share of violence and intrigue—it just wasn’t all on television, a lot of it was real life. But what happens to Paul and Silas shouldn’t have been totally unexpected. What’s instructive about today’s lesson from Acts is that it reminds us that a serious commitment on our part to Christianity definitely puts us at odds with the world’s values.

In the middle of today’s story is verse 25: “About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them.” If you ever wanted to know, THIS, is what the reign of God looks like. Having been beaten severely, the scripture tells us “with rods,” that Paul and Silas were in fact wounded (remember that story some years ago about the young American who was to be caned as a punishment in some far Eastern country); the first question is “how” Paul and Silas were able to sing—assuming they’d been beaten and punched in the face and so forth. Not only that, but withstanding blows to the body with rods—then, as if adding insult to injury—being placed in the stocks in the innermost part of the prison! Imagine what religious hymns they might have been singing? [Which ones would you be singing!]

Not only were they singing hymns and praying under trying circumstances, but then something extraordinary happens. As if divinely inspired, an earthquake strikes, one that blows open the doors and breaks the fetters that bound all the prisoners and essentially sets everyone free. This is at least the third time in Acts that there’s been a divinely inspired “prison break”! But instead of bolting, Paul and Silas, presumably encouraged ALL the prisoners to remain. And doesn’t this become a resurrection story?—because the Jailor is all set to kill himself when Paul and Silas cry out for him not to do so—that the prisoners were all accounted for. The Jailor for all intents and purposes was dead, but now, suddenly and unexpectedly, he gets a new chance at life. Now, seriously, who in their right mind, under these circumstances, would be thinking about the salvation possibilities of a lowly Roman Jailor?—who no doubt had participated in the wrongful justice undertaken against Paul and Silas.

As crazy as it sounds, this is the voice of the early Christian community attempting to share what it means to take on the radical commitment of being a believer and follower of Jesus Christ. It is to do the unthinkable. It is to declare the unknowable. It is to live radically by a different set of principles—principles that are set forth by the Kingdom of God rather than the desires of human beings.

And what is remarkable about this story to me is that Paul and Silas don’t take on all of Roman culture. For example, they don’t declare the Roman way of life to be corrupt or immoral; instead they act in a manner that values all of human life. They don’t proclaim that the Emperor is the devil incarnate, and that to participate in the Roman way of life that worshiped the emperor as God was forbidden; instead they value the way of life that God values, and they demonstrate it. They don’t expect to lead an open revolt against Rome, they change hearts and minds by their witness to the life and work of Jesus—a life they emulate, sharing the values of God’s kingdom. And one person, one family at a time, they begin to make a difference.

This is the last Sunday of Easter. Resurrection means Jesus got a new life, Paul got a new life, the Jailor in today’s story gets a new life—WE get a new life, right? And what I think is important is for us to “re-think” what it means for us to be radical followers of Jesus. We DON’T have to go along with everything in our culture, or even what a majority of people in our country “think” is right. Now more than ever is a time for us to know our Bible, to be confident in God’s love in Jesus, and for us to make OUR voice heard. Not because we think we alone are right, but because we have a witness to make.

We know:

• Killing is wrong;
• False accusation, false imprisonment, racial profiling—are wrong;
• Discrimination against and exploitation of other human beings is wrong;
• Stealing—or forcing others to steal—is wrong.

And while it’s true our country our culture our nation and our world have difficult problems that are hard to solve, it’s not fair to “solve them” always at the expense of others or ourselves. More importantly, as Christians, we believe we have to do the right things. Unfortunately, few of us expect that our Christian values should influence us in ways that are so radically different from our neighbors.



--+ Christ is risen! It is an opportunity to say goodbye to an old way of life, and to live into a radically new way of being a Christian—indeed! AMEN.





As always, thanks for checking this out! 
 

Audio Link and Sermon manuscript from Sunday, May 9th, 2010

Today was the 6th Sunday of Easter and Mother's Day.  We had a great time in worship, including a special presentation for our Mothers and women who show us how to stand up with Jesus. 

Here's the link to the audio file for the sermon, recorded during worship:


http://www.box.net/shared/ifyj5d2l9q




The manuscript I worked from follows below. 




The Sixth Sunday of Easter; May 09, 2010
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Acts 16: 9-15
Psalm 67
Revelation 21: 10, 22-22:5
John 5: 1-9ff *

“DOWN by the river? STANDING UP with the Lord”

--} There are some commonalities between this morning’s readings from Acts and John—but they might not be readily apparent.

• Both stories take place “down by the river.” [That always has a number of connotations that go along with it!]

o Paul leaves the city and literally goes “down by the river;”
o Jesus meets a man at the pools of Bethsaida—or Bethesda—outside Jerusalem’s “Sheep Gate,” if not a river, at least a place known for “healing waters.”

• Both stories feature a “conversation”—between a “believer” and one who presumably is about to be.

• Both stories seem to conclude with a “standing up” kind of thing.

o The man Jesus heals literally “stands;”
o Lydia is baptized and then invites Paul and his group to stay with her household—surely a kind of “standing.”

• Both stories seem to feature “conditions” that get “liberated.”




Acts tells us that Paul travels to the Roman city, Philippi, in Macedonia. This is more than just a Roman town, it’s an old Roman outpost. Philippi was a significant metropolis along the way Roman troops passed between the interior of the empire and the far Eastern reaches. Not only a bustling city, Philippi was one of the last substantial Roman cities going out to the battlegrounds and one of the first places of Roman significance on your way back home—if you survived. It was one of the place where “everything Roman” didn’t have to be exported in the first place. Roman life was deeply entrenched here; but this was also a city with a significant number of Jews—who had been displaced from Israel. These Jews also had a significant community here, who for the most part, lived relatively well with the Romans. Philippi would naturally have significant places of worship for the Roman gods—the usual temples and shrines set aside for people to honor the gods; but also a number of synagogues. And at least archeologically speaking, we know these synagogues included a number of Jews, Roman converts, and “God-fearers.”

So it seems odd that Paul would “bypass” known places of worship to go outside the city walls looking for “a supposed place of worship.” I don’t know what Paul may have had in mind; but what the scriptures say is that Paul went “down by the river” and encountered a group of women. He spoke to them, and the end result is that we’re told Lydia—who is a worshiper of God—and her household were baptized.

This is not just a winning moment for the women-folk. The story seems to shape a legitimate place for Christians—both in the MIDST of Jewish AND Roman religious expression but somehow being “outside” the political and religious squabbles of the day. Luke’s story is seemingly offering a glimpse at what certainly would have been the friction between “all things Roman” and Jewish collaboration. That the Christian community is found making such headway—quietly, intentionally, successfully—says a lot. And while Jewish collaboration and friction with the Roman way of life may have been at the heart of the city’s politics, rather than be assuaged by the politics of the religious and cultural pluralism, a community of God-worshiping believers finds a way to emerge!



But back in Jerusalem, while John’s story offers a different kind of plot, there are similar dynamics. Jesus encounters a man who has been waiting his turn beside well-known healing waters for some 38 years. We shouldn’t lose sight of the fact that persons with ailments relied completely on their families; and often, when it became too difficult to care for them, family members often abandoned ailing people. The likelihood is high that this man was abandoned; yet even so, you don’t survive for 38 years without someone helping you. At the very least, someone had to come and bring him food! But these and other questions are seemingly trumped by Jesus—in particular, by his willful demonstration that he is Lord of the Sabbath and has the authority of God.

Unlike other biblical stories, exactly “where” this story took place is something modern scholarship believes it knows for certain. The pools of “Bethesda” [pictured on your bulletin insert] are located in the north-eastern part of Jerusalem’s Old City; and while literally the ground has changed much in the two centuries since, scholars believe this was the location of John’s story. Known as the “Sheep Gate,” the Bethesda pools were located in conjunction to one of the places animals were brought for sale and preparation for sacrifice. While the “pools” were probably created as a way of collecting and preserving rainwater, they made a ready resource for cleaning and purification. Additionally, tradition offers a couple of different views of what happened with the water. Some accounts indicate the pools were known for a purple or reddish color—easily attributable to the processing of the animals. But it was also believe that for healing, an Angel of God came down and “stirred up the waters,” and that the first people into the “stirred up pools” were healed—no matter what their ailment.

Notice that in John’s story, Jesus seems to thwart the legitimacy of both traditions—not requiring sacrifice for forgiveness and not waiting for the candidate to get into the waters to effect healing. In this story, only Jesus’ invitation to the long-time ailing man is sufficient for healing—the man doesn’t need to answer. And again, in the face of religious, social, and political assumptions and practices, Jesus boldly steps up with the Kingdom of God in hand.

What happens after verse 9 is that the religious authorities accuse Jesus of breaking Sabbath law by “healing” this man. There is not—and never has been—a law prohibiting “healing” on the Sabbath. The act that “breaks” Sabbath observance is the healed man “carrying his mat.” Notice that even on this count, the religious authorities make no attempt to arrest him or to sanction him in any way. They rightly perceive Jesus as a threat, not because he’s running fast and loose with Sabbath laws and ritual, but because Jesus declares his own authority to forgive sins—acting on God’s behalf. Still, surprisingly, it isn’t because of his religious views or his religious acts that Jesus is a threat—it’s his political liability.

Jesus is expressing (rightly) the views that the Jewish leadership should ordinarily hold. But in the face of the Romans, for the Jewish leadership to openly buy into this kind of radical theology would easily make them public enemies of the Roman agenda. Jesus is sought after by the religious authorities because he threatens the complicity of the Roman Peace.



So today’s stories both offer us a glimpse of what it means to be “believers” and “worshipers of God.” It is STILL far more likely that if we take up with God, the world around us is going to see us as “funny.” It’s not our believing in miracles that gets us into trouble—everyone likes a good miracle. Healing is always popular—read Matthew, Mark, and Luke, where nearly every time Jesus heals someone, EVERYONE is amazed and crowds follow him! The trouble comes because good religious principles often run counter to political and social realities.

“Peace on earth and good will toward human beings”—Jesus’ announcement refrain—doesn’t square with our well worn “rules of military engagement.” Or, ever try, “God does not kill?”—it flies right in the face of our conversations about just war theory, capital punishment, or abortion. Or how about “Jesus as the great healer?” Shouldn’t that presuppose a healthcare system where sick or not, all people get the benefit of consulting a physician; or the ability to get a child’s teeth checked out by a dentist; or ensuring eyeglasses for a grandchild who needs them? Where everyone who needs it—or not—gets cared for; where hospitals and nursing homes can be life-sustaining for EVERYBODY—and no one gets “left out” for 38 years because no one’s willing to pick up the tab.

But while it’s just about enough to make you mad, it’s instructive to see what Jesus and Paul do in our scripture stories. They encounter people in need; they speak with them and administer care. And they turn at least in two cases of being “down by the river,” into moments where people are able to stand. I believe this is what RESURRECTION means for all of us. Those down by the river—and elsewhere—get the chance to stand. Sometimes it me who’s “down by the river,” and sometimes it’s people I see around me. There’s hope for us all—down by the river. It’s called, standing with Jesus.



So today, we’re sending our women out with stoles, and the hope that it’s true for the rest of us. Because in the Christian community, we see people standing with Jesus. Our hope is that maybe we can show others what standing with Jesus means for all of us. So whether you’re leaving with a stole or not, isn’t God in Christ calling all of us to stand with Jesus?—Today, and every day.

--+ Christ is risen—indeed! AMEN.

Link to the audio file and manuscript for my sermon from Sunday, May 2nd

The 5th Sunday in Easter, and here's the link to the audio file for my sermon recorded on May 2nd, 2010. 

http://www.box.net/shared/2p224xfc6b

You can access the recording by clicking on the link and downloading the file from box.net. 



The manuscript appears below: 



The Fifth Sunday of Easter; May 02, 2010
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Acts 11: 1-18
Psalm 148
Revelation 21: 1-6
John 13: 31-35 *

“Love one Another. …Really? …Can Jesus be Serious?”

--} Today’s gospel lesson is the familiar, famous, and for many—a favorite—Jesus telling his disciples, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” And Jesus’ “love one another” is absolutely more than simply “good advice. As John’s gospel explains it, “loving one another” is how Jesus is glorified.” But “love one another” isn’t ever easy.

If you have any doubts, just take a moment and survey the text of John’s gospel where we find these golden words. Because the new commandment to “love one another” comes smack dab between the betrayal of Judas and the denial of Peter. Which means to “love one another,” comes with the threat of circumstances none of us care to have happen to us.

As I’ve been thinking about “love one another,” I’ve been reminded this week of my friend Elias Chacour

Elias Chacour describes “faith” this way:

"Faith is the incarnation. In other words, we have to identify ourselves with those who share our life, with those whom we believe in—with Jesus Christ. …For those who believe in Jesus, for those who really have faith, there is no question of privileges, preferences, differences, because we are all called to become the adopted children of God. That means that we have to change our behavior. It puts an end to nationality, to belonging to such and such a religious community, to being a chosen people—we are all invited to the same banquet, but not for any of these reasons, only because we are a man or a woman."

And then Chacour goes on to observe something I think is profound:

“Peace is not an end in itself. Peace is the result of something else. …If you want peace, you have to pay for it. …but if you are looking for peace, you often have to pay for it with your own blood.”

And I’m wondering if what goes for “peace” might not also be true of “love.”

My friend, Elias Chacour, has spent his life working for peace between Palestinians and Israelis. He knows something about peace, but I also believe he knows something about love. I want to share 3 of his stories with you this morning—stories that are about making peace, but also about learning to do “love.”

Before we begin, a disclaimer. Chacour’s life-experience as a Palestinian Christian involves things WE—in America—haven’t experienced. The controversy today in Israel between the State of Israel and Palestinians is real and violent, and complicated, and difficult—but I’m not speaking to that! YET, it’s possible you can hear these stories and think that I’m advocating “taking sides.” I’m not. Chacour’s stories are pointed toward love and peace and my point is not about taking sides. But surely, as we hear of his experience, we have to read them through the controversy that is complicated.

Chacour is the Bishop of Galilee, a Melkite priest a part of the Roman Catholic Church; but his real claim is a Palestinian Peacemaker native to Israel, who began a school where Christians, Jews, and Muslims are educated together. These stories come from a book entitled, Faith Beyond Despair: Building Hope in the Holy Land. And the “first person” is Elias Chacour.

I.

"I remember the day when there was a horrifying bomb attack in Tel Aviv. A Palestinian suicide bomber had blown himself up at the bus station in retaliation for the massacre in the Hebron mosque. That day 20 Jews were killed and 8o were wounded. But then, in the face of the bomb attack in Tel Aviv, we got together letters of solidarity and sympathy intended for the Jewish families. My students were saying to me, “This is not enough.” And one of them said, “I am ready to give my blood for those who have been taken to hospital.” Another said he too was ready to do the same. As a priest, I could not forbid them, and I was glad to hear them say it. I immediately telephoned the Rambam Hospital in Haifa. When I told them that I had some students who wanted to give blood, they hesitated but finally believed me. Sure enough, next day at eight in the morning there were several hospital vehicles in front of the school. I was afraid that no more than five or six students would give their blood, which would have made it a farce. But out of 350 students, 300 did so. I shall always remember that when it was my turn, there were lying next to me a Druze teacher, a Jew, and an American volunteer, and there we were side by side giving blood for our well-beloved brothers."


“We don't agree with what you are doing, but we will never agree to put an end to your lives”— that was the message that we hoped this gesture would convey. That day I said on Israeli television, “Today I can hope to return, for there is now 'Palestinian blood flowing in Jewish veins. It is a way of saving a life that might have been extinguished. And we are not willing it should be extinguished. We are ready to give up our own lives so that others should live. Today it is for the Jews; but the same goes for others, and it goes, of course, for our Palestinian brothers and sisters.”

II.

"Solidarity can be shown in both directions. I know that the Jews are capable of similar initiatives and can show solidarity with the Palestinian people. Some time ago seven Reformed Rabbis, arrived in my office. They wanted to talk to me about working together for peace. I said to them, “I have no wish to talk about peace just now. Far from it: my concern at this moment is to get several tons of food to Beit Jala where people are dying of hunger.” They replied, “But what is preventing you? There is no law against it.” I said to them, “No, but it costs a lot of money. We need two [trucks] and each one costs $700. If you rabbis really want peace, give me the money!” Immediately, $I,400 were laid on the table. Then I said to them, “Very well, but that is not enough. I do not know how to get these two [trucks] filled with foodstuffs across the frontier.” They replied, “But there isn't a frontier.” To which I replied, “On the contrary, there are several meters of no man's land, and if we cross it the army will shoot on us. But the Israeli army would never shoot at rabbis. Would you be prepared to go there?” They said, “But no one would accept the food from us.” I replied, “The "terrorists who are throwing stones at you, young Palestinians, will come and take the food from you.” They asked me if I was serious. I then telephoned Zogbi, a Christian in Bethlehem who is committed to non-violence. “Zogbi, tomorrow morning at seven o'clock two [trucks] will arrive full of food. Find 20 strong young fellows to unload it and distribute it to Muslim and Christian families.” He asked me, “But how will you get across the frontier?” I replied, “You can stay on your side, and some rabbis will have got the [trucks] through.” That's impossible!' he said, “It can't be true!” “But it is,”' I replied."


"Next morning, at a quarter to seven, the rabbis telephoned me to say, “We have arrived at the rendezvous, but no one's here.” I said, “There is still a quarter-of an hour. You must wait.” At exactly seven o'clock the young men came out from behind the wall and began to unload the [trucks], not forgetting to offer a drink to the rabbis. In all, it took two hours. Later on, two of the rabbis came to see me. They had tears in their eyes—as indeed I had. They said to me, “All our lives we have been trying to do some good, but the good you made us do today was worth everything we have tried to do all our lives until now. Now we know it is possible to make peace.”

III.

"There is another story I would like to tell. In November I was on my way down from Beit Shean to Jericho. The Intifada was still extremely active and violent. I was taking an Australian in my car. It was raining slightly, the road was wet and the dust had turned into something like soap. It would not have been difficult to lose control of the vehicle. Suddenly, in the distance, we saw a car spin round and land up in the ditch on the side of the road. Fortunately, the ditch was not very deep. Then another car arrived and stopped. Five men got out of it and stood round the car that had broken down. They were five strong Palestinians. We stopped too when we got there. A young Jewish woman of about 30 was sitting in the car, apparently paralyzed. The men asked her to get out, but the car windows remained closed and it seemed as if she was not reacting. The fright she had had from the accident was less than her fear of the five Palestinians. She did not know a word of Arabic, which was the only language they spoke. I went up to the car, smiled, and opened the door, all the time reassuring her and encouraging her to come out. “They will not do you any harm, ma’am, all they want is to help you. Come out of the car and go and sit in mine while they get yours out of the ditch.” I stretched out my hand. After much hesitation, and doubtless still much afraid, she gave me her hand and came out to take refuge in my car. It took the men about ten minutes to get her car back on the road. Meanwhile, some soldiers arrived. The first thing they did was to point their guns at the Palestinians to interrogate them. At that moment the Jewish woman, forgetting her fear and her shock, opened the door of my car, rushed out and placed herself between the soldiers and the Palestinians shouting, “What are you doing? Don't you see that they have saved my life? Do you want to kill them? Put down your rifles!” The soldiers, caught off guard by this reaction, told her to come and stand beside them. She refused, saying, “Get away, I am not going to stand beside you but beside those who could have killed me but instead protected me and comforted me.” Fortunately, the soldiers understood. They let the Palestinians go, and the woman for her part went off in her car. As for me, I went on my way praying for peace between these blood brothers.”

If we’re going to “love one another,” we have to thread the needle between betrayal and denial; we have to get up on our own two feet, and with our own two hands—do something. We learn “love”—and peace—by “doing.”
--+ Christ is risen—indeed! AMEN.


As always, thanks for checking it out.