Sermons

"Demons" (Mark 1:21-28)

2012-01-30T08:19:00.001-08:00

I had to do a little more than my usual amount of reading and research this week. The scripture passage describes a time when Jesus went into the synagogue in Capernaum and cast out an unclean spirit, or what we might call a demon.

I had to do some extra research this week, because I can’t recall ever having met a demon. I’m pretty sure I’ve never introduced myself to one, shaken his hand, or chatted over a cup of tea. I might have had a demon or two knock on my front door last Halloween, but I have my doubts as to whether or not those were really demons.

No, the truth is that I’m not even sure what a demon looks like. I’ve seen movie previews that showed demons; just a few weeks ago, all the bus stops had giant ads for a movie called Devil Inside, ads that showed the face of an apparently demonized person, and which gave me the creeps everytime I saw one. I wish they wouldn’t put ads like that where people could see them.

I’ve also seen classical depictions of demons, like the one on today’s bulletin cover…. But I really have my doubts that any of these show what a demon really looks like.

Once, when I was a child, I did see – or thought I saw – a glimpse out of the corner of my eye, one of Santa’s elves spying on me to see if I was being good or bad.

It happened while I was playing around with a sleeping bag on the living room floor, crawling into it head first, all the way in to where it was pitch black. It seemed to me a very brave thing to do, because I couldn’t see a thing. It was dark, and it was claustrophobic, which of course made it very exciting … until I saw a little speck of light flicker for just an instant.

I came out of that sleeping bag so fast you would have thought it was on fire! It was many weeks before I dared to crawl back in that sleeping bag, and even then, I would only do so the normal way, feet first, with my head sticking out at all times.

Well, today I have other ideas about what that bright speck I saw was. It might have been a flash of light caused by my exertions squirming around inside the sleeping bag at a moment when my eyes shifted from side to side while my heart beat and blood surged through. The same thing happens today sometimes if I stand up too fast….

Or it may have been a micro-gap in the fabric of the sleeping bag, or in the zipper, that allowed a few photons of light from outside to pass through.

I don’t know for sure what it was, but I am pretty sure – and have been for some time – that it was not one of Santa’s elves surreptitiously spying on me. I am convinced – and have been for some time – that there is a rational, scientific explanation for what I saw.

Which is kind of how I feel about demons. In our society, most people do not believe in the literal existence of demons. Some do; some who lean more toward fundamentalism. And throughout the world, many who live in less scientifically advanced societies believe in the literal existence of demons.

But that’s not most of us. So the fact that Jesus apparently believed in demons – and made casting out demons a prominent part of his ministry – thus presents a real challenge for people of faith in our society. What are we to do with these stories, if many of us no longer believe in demons from another world inhabiting the souls of humans?

One thing we have to do is take these stories seriously. It’s not enough to just say, “Oh, it’s mental illness, and they didn’t understand mental illness back in those days.” There is probably some truth to that statement; and yet, there is a lot more to these stories than that.

Scholars have noted that the first century seems to have been a particularly active period for demons and exorcisms. Although scripture says that Jesus acted with an authority that was rare, he was far from the only exorcist around. There were exorcists all over the place.

Scholars have also compared Galilee in the first century with other cultures where demons and exorcisms seem to be prominent. They discovered that one thing these cultures all had in common is that they were all under the control of a foreign colonial empire, an empire that came in and took possession of the land and of the people; an oppressive, dehumanizing, outside power.

In other words, the possession of individuals by demons seems to occur more often in a society that is possessed by an overpowering outside force.

Do you see the connection?

Rome had occupied Galilee, Judah, and the surrounding regions. The Roman Empire had come in and taken control. Every person’s life was now defined by Rome. Even the synagogues were, in a very real way, controlled by Rome. They had become, as the scripture says, “their” synagogues.

What the people needed was an exorcist. One who could come in and cast out this overpowering, demonic force.

I came across this explanation in a book by John Dominic Crossan, who is one of the leading biblical scholars of our day. However, I wasn’t quite sure about Crossan’s theory that individual demonic possession was a sign of a society’s possession by a foreign, colonial power, so I kept reading.

I was led to an ancient Jewish book called Enoch, or 1 Enoch, since there is also a 2^nd Enoch and a 3^rd Enoch. It is not canonical, which means it is not an official part of scripture, but it did influence some authors of scripture, and the book of Jude (right before Revelation) even quotes the book of Enoch.

Enoch talks about the Nephilim, which are half-god, half-human giants that are mentioned in the sixth chapter of Genesis. According to Enoch, these giants – these Nephilim – breathe out demons into the world.

But Enoch doesn’t mean this literally. Enoch identifies these giants and their evil spirits with the oppressive, dehumanizing institutions of the time: the kingship, the temple, and the priesthood.

Of these institutions, these Nephilim, these giants, Enoch says that “they take no food, but nevertheless hunger and thirst and cause offenses. They consume all the acquisitions of human beings; and when human beings can no longer sustain them, they turn against them and devour humankind.”

In Jesus’ time, the kingship, the temple, and the priesthood so dominated society that they deprived people of their livelihood. They made people into something less than human. New Testament professor Herman Waetjen wrote this about these institutions: “Metaphorically viewed as giants, they were too powerful to be conquered or overthrown. They breathed evil breath, unclean spirits, into society;” unclean spirits that took away people’s autonomy, glory, honor, freedom, and dignity.

Let’s go back to Enoch. Enoch says: “evil spirits have proceeded from the giants’ bodies… The spirits of the giants afflict, oppress, destroy, attack, do battle, and work destruction on the earth and cause trouble.”

So: evil spirits come from the giants. The giants, in turn, are really the institutions that took away people’s rights, oppressed them, and denied them their humanity.

It is significant that Jesus’ encounter takes place in the synagogue. This is twice pointed out. He was in their synagogue.

It’s clear that, in Mark’s gospel, the synagogue is a socioreligious institution aligned with Rome. Rome was using the synagogue to help carry out its agenda, and the synagogue went along. Which makes the synagogue one of the giants; it had become, according to Professor Waetjen, “a subversive reality which fosters necessity, bondage, destruction of individual sovereignty, and living death.”

An exorcism is clearly a victory over the powers of oppression and dehumanization. When Jesus cast out demons, he was casting out the powers of oppression and dehumanization. He was demonstrating that the kingdom of Rome was no longer in control. The kingdom of God was now at hand.

So, for me, the definition of a demon is this: an overpowering, outside force that takes control of one’s mind and one’s life.

An overpowering, outside force that takes control fo one’s mind and one’s life.

I have my doubts about whether there were or are little creatures running around that fit this description. But I do not doubt that these overpowering forces exist in many other forms. Just look around: examples of people losing their minds, having their minds come under the control of outside forces, are everywhere.

If institutions were a problem in Jesus’ day, they are even more so today. Back then, they were too powerful to be conquered; today, they are too big to fail. Indeed, as a nation, we are under the overpowering control of big corporations. Corporations have more favored status in the lawbooks of our nation than human beings do, and politicians of either party are helpless to stop them. It is the corporations that shape our economic laws, our environmental regulations, our health care policies, and our elections.

Because of this, our corporations are making billions of dollars in profit, and yet, at the same time, we can’t even afford to keep our public schools open. It’s hard for me to think of a greater injustice than this.

To restate the words of Enoch: “they consume all the acquisitions of human beings; and when human beings can no longer sustain them, they turn against them and devour humankind.”

How much are you really in c0ntrol of your life? To what extent are you in control of what takes place within your own mind? So many people find their minds consumed by staying ahead, owning the latest technology, wearing the latest fashions, … and worrying, constantly, about falling behind.

As soon as we buy something brand-new – the moment we bring it home – it starts to lose its luster. But that doesn’t stop us from thinking that the next thing we buy will be the thing that truly makes us happy.

Seriously…. We must be out of our minds. The happiest, most fulfilling, most meaningful moments in life have nothing to do with buying something new. We know that that’s true. I don’t need to tell you. But we’re always looking to go buy something new, anyway.

I can only conclude that an overpowering, outside force has somehow taken control of our minds and our lives.

For some people, their mind is controlled by an insatiable desire for power. For others, an insatiable desire for sex; or alcohol, or fame, or facebook, or video games, or drugs.

We don’t want our minds and our lives to be controlled by such things, but sometimes we find ourselves unable to resist.

We want to be free.

We want to be human.

We want to be able to think for ourselves.

That is what Jesus does for us. Jesus sets us free. Jesus saves us from the forces that enslave us and possess us.

When we unite our lives with the way of Jesus, the powers that oppress us now cease to distress us. When we unite our lives with the way of Jesus, we are saved from weak resignation to the evils we deplore. From the powers that long have bound us, Christ frees our hearts to faith and praise.

And the demons possess us no more.

"Worthy" (Jonah 3:1-5, 10)

2012-01-22T07:59:00.000-08:00

The second time the word of the Lord came to Jonah, things went a lot better than they did the first time.

The first time the word of the Lord came to Jonah, things did not go well. God said, “Get up! Go to Ninevah! Preach to the people of that great city!”

But Jonah went the opposite direction, all the way to Tarshish. Jonah did not go to Ninevah. He did not want to preach there.

Why? Were the people of Ninevah really that bad? God wanted the people of Ninevah to hear the message, in the hopes that they would repent. Jonah, apparently, did not think they were worth preaching to, and he really couldn’t care less if God destroyed every single one of them.

Now I don’t know about you, but I can remember having thoughts about people that, while they may not have been quite so extreme, really weren’t all that different.

I remember in high school, feeling that way about some of my classmates. Now, it may surprise you to know that I was not the most talkative kid in the school. For the most part, I sat in my desk, and tried to be invisible. Every once in awhile I did raise my hand to ask a question or to contribute to a class discussion, but it took all the courage of Moses going before Pharaoh for me to do so.

A number of my classmates didn’t have that problem. They had no problem drawing attention to themselves, talking all the time, whether it was in class or out of class.

Naturally, I thought of them as arrogant, egotistical suck-ups, and I didn’t understand why the teachers couldn’t see through their act, why the teachers gave them the attention they begged for, or why the teachers allowed them to dominate class discussions and even send those discussions on detours that had little or nothing to do with what we were supposed to be learning.

It seemed to me that the class would be better off without such students. Indeed, it seemed to me that the school would be better off. Who needs students like that?

If God had told me that there was a special message for these students, and would I please deliver it to them? … I don’t know, but I might have said, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

That’s what Jonah said. Thanks, but no thanks. He didn’t go to Ninevah, but instead, ran away; but after a storm at sea…,

and after being tossed overboard…,

and after being swallowed by a giant fish…,

and after spending three days floating around in that

fish’s digestive system…,

and after being vomited out onto the shore…

…Jonah had a change of heart….

He didn’t have a change of heart regarding the Ninevites – his view of them hadn’t changed – but he did have a change of heart when it came to listening to God and following God’s call. “OK God, I’ll go to Ninevah. Not because they deserve it, but just because you told me to. And, because I’m tired of fish.

Speaking of fish out of water, for two years I was a member of the Chapman College Concert Choir. Or maybe it was one year in the Chapman College Concert Choir and one year in the Chapman University Concert Choir. I can’t remember.

Both years that I was in the choir, we went on tour, traveling by bus throughout the western United States, leading workshops at high schools during the day, performing concerts in church sanctuaries in the evenings, and spending the nights in the houses of church members and school choir families.

I remember one night, getting ready for bed in the bedroom of one host family, talking with another choir member who was my roommate for the night. He was a nice enough guy, even though he was one of those types who liked to talk a lot and draw a lot of attention to himself.

I probably don’t need to say that he did most of the talking in our conversation. And he started talking about this other guy who was in the choir with us, who I’ll call Chris because I don’t remember his name, but Chris sounds like it might be right.

My roommate for the night said that he had always thought of Chris as arrogant and stuck up, because Chris almost never talked to him. But Chris had been his roommate the night before, in whatever city we were in, and he and Chris began talking to one another in a way that they never had before.

Then my roommate said, “And you know what? Chris isn’t arrogant or stuck up. I was wrong. He’s just … quiet. Once I got to know him, I realized, he’s actually pretty cool. And you’re kind of the same way. I used to think people like you and Chris were being rude, but now I realize that you’re just … quiet … and that’s OK.”

The way he said it, I knew that he was really being friendly and positive, and I realized that if he was wrong about me, maybe I was wrong about people like him.

Isn’t it strange, the criteria by which we judge one another? And those arrogant, egotistical classmates of mine really weren’t arrogant and egotistical. Well, most of them weren’t…. They were just more extroverted than I was. And that’s OK.

The people of Ninevah repented. The king of Ninevah himself called on his people to change their ways, so that God might show them mercy. And God, seeing what they did, and how they turned from their evil ways, God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it.

And Jonah threw a fit. Because he could not see the people of Ninevah as being worthy of God’s love. To Jonah, they weren’t “different” or “misguided” or “lost” or “on the wrong path.” To Jonah, they were bad. Evil. Beyond redemption.

When I started leading youth groups, I was surprised when I’d invite a youth to attend, and their first question to me was, “Who’s going to be there?”

Always, I’d happily reply, “You!”

But they wanted to know who was going to be there, because if so-and-so was going to be there, then they weren’t going to show up.

And I was surprised, until I remembered what it was like for me when I was a kid, how easy it was to make judgments, how hard it was to see people who were different as cool, acceptable, and worthy of God’s love.

Whether it’s because someone is from Ninevah, or has wronged us and we can’t let go of a grudge, or we just plain don’t understand what makes them tick, we find ourselves, over and over again, running in the opposite direction, away from them, putting as much distance between us and them as possible, refusing to believe that there are, in fact, more similarities between us than there are differences.

Jonah wanted to put as much space between himself and Ninevah as he could. But God wanted to bring them together. God wanted Jonah to realize that the Ninevites weren’t as different from Jonah as Jonah liked to pretend.

In fact, the Ninevites weren’t the only ones who had lost their way. Jonah’s experience in Ninevah was orchestrated by God not just so the Ninevites could repent and be redeemed. Jonah’s experience in Ninevah was orchestrated by God so that Jonah could also repent, and find redemption.

And together, both Jonah and the people of Ninevah would find wholeness.

In his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tells his followers to “love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you … for God makes the sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” There is some real wisdom there for how we are to treat people who are different from us, or whose personalities we just don’t get.

"What Good Can Come" (John 1: 43-51)

2012-01-15T14:13:00.000-08:00

Every once in awhile I get the opportunity to talk with someone who doesn’t know much about the Christian faith. Well, except for what they hear in the media, which, in my opinion, is most often a distorted image of Christianity.

For example, their impression of Christianity is that it is a religion that is constantly putting people down, telling them that they are no good, that they’re a sinful abomination doomed to hell unless they straighten up. That’s how Christians – and especially Christian pastors – behave.

Now, they don’t come right out and say it in so many words, but I can tell what they’re thinking. They’re thinking that I’m a Christian pastor, and yet they have a hard time imagining me being as condemning as their media-fueled image of Christians. If they did imagine me that way, I don’t think they would have said anything at all.

What they do say, if they are especially curious (and many people are curious), is: “What’s your church like?” Or, if a certain image of Christians is so dominant in their minds, they’ll mention how much they can’t stand Christians, or how much they hate the church, the implication being that I’m not like all those Christians and the church I attend is not like all those other churches, that perhaps I and my church are in a different category altogether, because after all, how could I be in the same category as all those hypocritical, condemning, judgmental – and you’ve gotta say it with a sneer – Christians?

How did we ever get to this point?

I don’t know, but maybe Nathanael had something to do with it. When told that the messiah had come from Nazareth, he said – with a sneer – “Can anything good come from Nazareth?”

The question was rhetorical. No one expected anything good to come from that dinky, backwoods village full of people who were poor, lazy, and stupid. It was a real hillbilly hell.

When looking for something good, Nathanael looked to the people who were like him – or the people he aspired to be. People from Jerusalem. People whose pictures appeared on the cover of People magazine. But not someone from Nazareth.

Well, what I know of the Judeo-Christian faith tradition is that it has a long, long history of focusing on those who were thought to be no good, those who were different, those who were from someplace else. And throughout the entire Bible, both the Old and the New Testaments, there is a movement that is ever-expanding, a movement from provincial to global, a movement that is like an ever-expanding circle that seeks to welcome and draw in more and more of God’s people, until no one is left behind; until no one is told that they are not good enough.

That’s what I tell people.

Early on, when the nation of Israel was first established by God through Moses and Joshua, it was important for Israel to establish its identity. I mentioned last week how establishing one’s identity is an important developmental task, but that it isn’t one’s final or ultimate task.

And so Israel was told early on to shun foreign practices and to only marry other Israelites.

However, already there were signs that the path God leads us on is a path of embracing ever larger circles of people.

Hospitality to foreigners, sojourners and aliens was one of the highest virtues of ancient Israel, and was even important before Israel’s establishment. Abraham and Sarah were honored by God for the hospitality they showed to some travelers from another country, while the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed by God because of their lack of hospitality, and their rude and abusive treatment of those who were not like them, those who were from somewhere else, those who were considered no good.

Many other stories in the Old Testament show how God’s favor came to those who were thought to be no good, folks who weren’t from around here.

Perhaps you remember the story of Naaman, who was not an Israelite but an Aramean. Nevertheless, God used the prophet Elisha to bring healing to this foreigner. All Naaman needed to do was come to the Jordan River, wash himself in the water, and be healed.

Ironically, Naaman threw a fit. “The Jordan River? That muddy ditch? The rivers of my own country are much more magnificent. Nothing good can come from the Jordan.” But he gave in, went to the Jordan, and was healed.

Perhaps you remember the story of Ruth. She was not from Israel, but came to Israel as a result of the previously forbidden practice of intermarriage. Despite the previously law against intermarriage, scripture does not condemn Ruth or anyone in her family. The circle is getting wider.

Ruth’s faith and her loyalty were remarkable, and in fact scripture lifts her up as a model of faith. The 8^th book of the Bible bears her name, and her great-grandson was David, the greatest king in all of Israel’s history.

This progression towards inclusivity continues in the New Testament. Yes, Jesus came from Nazareth, a town from which few thought anything good could come. But to the people of Nazareth, Jesus said, “My work is bigger than this. I must go to the other parts of Israel, too.”

Well, those other parts of Israel were the parts that told Nazareth that it was no good. The people of Nazareth didn’t want Jesus going there. “Jesus, don’t you know what they’re like? They’re mean and rude and judgmental. Just stay here with us; be our Savior, our own personal Savior, just for us.”

Jesus said no. He said he had to go to all the children of Israel, wherever they may be.

The people of Nazareth didn’t like that answer. They tried to take Jesus by force and toss him off a cliff. I guess they figured that if they couldn’t have Jesus all to themselves, to create in their own image, then no one could. I guess if they couldn’t make Jesus fit into their tiny, provincial image of who they thought he should be, then it would be better to get rid of him. After all, we don’t want to let the real Jesus interfere with the tiny, provincial image of Jesus that we’ve created.

Perhaps you remember the time when Jesus met a Syrophoenician woman. To say that she was a Syrophoenician is to say that she was a Greek, a Gentile, a Canaanite, a pagan. In other words, she was not one of the children of Israel.

She came seeking healing for her daughter, but Jesus said that he was sent to and for the children of Israel. She insisted, but Jesus still refused, referring to her the way all children of Israel referred to foreigners and outsiders, by calling her a dog.

Eventually it becomes clear that her faith is a faith that will not give up; and that, I think, is the point, the same point that is made in several other stories that we have about Jesus: that the children of Israel are not the only ones who possess a genuine faith in God. In the end, Jesus commends her faith, and grants her request.

And perhaps you remember that the book of Acts begins in Jerusalem, expands to the surrounding regions of Judea and Samaria, and then eventually expands to the ends of the earth. On the way from Jerusalem to the ends of the earth there are many stories, including one about an Ethiopian eunuch.

Nothing good was expected from an Ethiopian eunuch. For one thing, he was an Ethiopian. He was from a different country – a different continent, even – where people worshiped differently, talked differently, and even looked different.

And for another thing, he was a eunuch. Whether it was by choice, or – more likely – forced upon him, he was sexually different. For all intents and purposes, he was gender-less. And for that, he was not permitted in the temple in Jerusalem. To find out why, read Deuteronomy 23.

But we are on a journey from exclusion to inclusion, a journey from Jerusalem to the ends of the earth. Isaiah 56 specifically overturns Deuteronomy, insisting that God’s house is to be a house of prayer for all people; no longer will the eunuch or the foreigner be told that they are no good.

What good can come from an Aramean? A Syrophoenician? A Gentile? A foreigner? A eunuch?

What good can come from Nazareth?

We live in a world that tells us not to expect anything good from all sorts of people. Christians. Republicans. Democrats. Muslims. Hispanics. African-Americans.

The Christian response is that good can come from anywhere; good can come from anyone. For we are all children of God. And we are all on a journey from Jerusalem to the ends of the earth.

Once upon a time I was the pastor of a congregation in which there was an elderly woman named Iris. Iris was a Japanese-American, and spent part of her childhood at a place called Manzanar, an internment camp for Japanese Americans during World War II.

When the war was over and she was allowed to return home, she found discrimination and prejudice everywhere she went. People were constantly telling her that she was no good.

Except for the people of this little Disciples congregation that welcomed her with open arms. That congregation recognized that it was on a journey from Jerusalem to the ends of the earth, a journey from exclusivity to inclusivity; and the people of that congregation saw that there was a lot of good in Iris, just as there is in every person. It made me proud to be their pastor.

Unfortunately, over time things changed. Iris died, and it wasn’t long after that that the congregation forgot which way it was going on that journey. Instead of going from Jerusalem to the ends of the earth, it started going back to Jerusalem. It stopped moving toward inclusivity, and started moving back toward exclusivity. And there was nothing I could do about it.

That congregation is no longer a Disciples congregation. They have made it clear that those who are sexually different are no longer welcome. And even though this congregation has welcomed the leadership of women pastors in its past – even African-American women pastors – today women are discouraged from any leadership within the church, including serving as an elder or deacon.

Thank God we have a day to honor the legacy of Martin Luther King, Jr. He reminded us that we are on a journey from exclusivity to inclusivity. He reminded us that good can come from any person, of any race or place of origin.

The reason we honor Martin Luther King is because he stopped asking, “can anything good come from white Americans?” He knew that there is good in all races, in all people. He taught us how to see the good, to love both the oppressed and the oppressor, to love even the perceived adversary and the enemy, because even in them there is something good, and from them – even them – something good can come. It may be a long time in coming, and it may need a lot of love to help make it come, but it is possible.

Can anything good come from Nazareth?

Can anything good come from people of different races, nationalities, sexualities, and religions?

Can anything good come from you?

"Captivated" (Mark 1:4-11)

2012-01-08T11:54:00.000-08:00

For three consecutive summers, starting when I was seventeen, I was on staff at Camp Mirimichi, but it wasn’t until I was eighteen that I was allowed to drive the boats.

There was only one way to get to Camp Mirimichi, and that was by crossing Huntington Lake, a five mile-long lake high in the Sierra Nevada, surrounded by rocky peaks rising above forests of lodgepole pines and fir trees. There were two large boats that could each hold 20 or 30 campers and their gear; and there were a couple of smaller boats that were used when the larger boats weren’t necessary.

One evening as the sun was sinking in the western sky, the camp director assigned me the task of taking the day’s trash to the dumpsters on the other side of the lake. We had to do this each day because of the bears, which would tear through the trash if it remained at camp.

He gave me the key to the smallest, fastest boat, which wasn’t nearly as fast as the speedboats that pulled waterskiiers across the lake every afternoon, but fast enough that, if it wasn’t carrying too heavy a load, it could skim the small waves and cause water to spray up into the air, and made it fun to ride.

So I ran down to the dock. I was in a hurry for two reasons: 1. I was excited to take this boat out and have some fun, and 2. I needed to be back before dark, as the boat was not equipped with lights for night time.

I made my way across the lake as the sun met the lowest part of the horizon, off the port side. (One of the cool things about taking a boat out is that you get to say cool things like “off the port side.”) The western end of the lake was the farthest end of the lake, nearly five miles away, and it was also where the outlet was, which means it was the only spot where the sky came down low and touched the water. The sunsets there were amazing, and on this night, with a few clouds overhead that changed from white to pink to purple, it was exceptionally gorgeous.

Once I was on the other side of the lake, I quickly unloaded the trash, then began the return trip. The sun had set. The sky was now a milky grayish-blue, except in the east where the purple shadow of the earth began its rise.

With a boat that was empty except for me, the hull seemed to barely touch the tops of the waves. Cold spray occasionally rose into the air and onto my face. I felt like I was flying, travelling at a phenomenal speed that may even have reached 12 or 13 miles per hour.

I remember that the planet Mars was exceptionally bright in the sky that summer. It appeared, and I gazed in wonder at its red light shining above the mountain known as China Peak, which was itself reddish-brown and barren. The planet was so bright that I saw it twice: in the sky, and reflected in the water.

And in that moment, with the cold spray and the wind in my face, and the blue and purple sky and the red shining planet above the mountain peaks, I lost myself. I don’t know how else to describe it. I would say I was possessed, but the dictionary says that the word possessed refers to being under the control of an evil spirit, and there was nothing evil about whatever it was that was possessing me.

Maybe captivated is a better word; captivated by the beauty of God’s creation, captivated by the universe itself. I felt as if I was one with the universe, one with the mountains, one with the air, the water, the sky; even one with a planet that was millions and millions of miles away.

In the words of Joseph Campbell, where I had thought to be alone, I became one with all the world.

In the words of T.S. Eliot, I felt as if I’d moved “into another intensity, for another union, a deeper communion.”

For that moment, my individual identity ceased to exist. I felt completely embraced by something much, much greater than I. I was in heaven, and it was wonderful. I wanted to shout, and I was sure that Mars would hear me, for Mars and I were one.

This experience will always stand out in my memory. Maybe that’s because of when it happened. 18 years old is the beginning of adulthood, an age when people are figuring out who they are. It’s an age when a person begins to think about making a name for himself, asserting his own individual identity, breaking from the connections of childhood, and finding independence.

That was certainly me. A couple of weeks later, I would move in to Braden Residence Hall at Chapman University, living on my own for the first time. Establishing my independence. Asserting my individual identity.

So to have an experience in which my individual identity – my individual self – all but disappears, and to experience joy and wonder at feeling so connected to the universe, to all that is… it was a strange, mysterious, wonderful thing.

Why am I sharing this story with you? Because it helps me understand what I think Jesus experienced when he came to the Jordan River.

Many people came to John the Baptist at the Jordan River, confessing their sins, getting baptized…. I think they were all looking for a new identity, a new self. They were dissatisfied with who they were. They were dissatisfied with their broken lives. They wanted a new life. They wanted a new identity. They wanted an extreme makeover.

So they came. They confessed. They were baptized in the water, hoping it would wash away their old identity and give each of them a brand-new, individual identity.

Jesus also came down to the river, from Nazareth, to be baptized by John. He got in line with everyone else, waited his turn,… but he wasn’t looking for an extreme makeover. He didn’t want to begin his life over. He didn’t want to establish a new, individual identity.

Instead, he wanted to allow his individual identity to be completely swallowed up by something much greater than him. His desire was to lose himself, to let his individual identity cease to exist, and to become one with God.

I think my moment on the lake was but a small glimpse of what this was like.

One thing that English translations often miss here is the subtle difference between the words in and into. In Greek, it says that the people were baptized in the river Jordan, but that Jesus was baptized into the river Jordan. He completely surrendered himself.

And the Spirit came in and took possession of him.

Again, possession doesn’t seem like quite the right word, because the dictionary definition implies that possession is evil. There is nothing evil here, although some would later accuse Jesus 0f being possessed by demons.

The dictionary also lists, as a synonym for possessed, the word crazy… and yes, there would be those who would accuse Jesus of being crazy and out of his mind.

But we don’t have to use the word possessed. We can say that Jesus was captivated by the Spirit. We can say that he was baptized with the Spirit; the others who came were baptized in water, but Jesus was baptized in and with the Spirit. He lost himself to the Spirit, which took control of him, and made him one with God.

And when he was baptized, Mark says that the heavens were torn apart. Later, at the moment of Jesus’ crucifixion, Mark alludes back to this moment when he says that the curtain in the temple was torn apart. All this tearing apart is a tearing apart of the boundary between God and humanity. In Jesus, that boundary no longer exists. Jesus is made one with God. Humanity is made one with God.

All we who have been baptized have done so in imitation of Christ. Our desire is to follow the example he set.

We were baptized in water, just as he was, but we also hope that we have been baptized into something else, something much greater than water. Our hope is to be baptized into the Spirit.

Our baptism into the Spirit began on the day of our baptism in the water, but unlike our baptism into water, our baptism into the Spirit continues. Baptism in the Spirit is ongoing. It is a lifelong process.

Our baptism into water symbolizes our baptism into the Spirit, and it takes a lifetime because we have to learn, over and over, to step into the water (metaphorically speaking), to trust the water, to completely immerse ourselves in the water. It takes a lifetime to learn to step off the dry land. It takes a lifetime for us to lose ourselves, to let go of our individual identity, and to find a new identity in the Spirit.

Constantly, each individual is trying to assert his or her own self, to create an identity that is completely his own or her own. And this is an important task in life. We have to know who we are before we can give ourselves completely to God.

But in time, we are called to move beyond that, and to lose ourselves and give ourselves over to the God of the universe.

Richard Rohr, a Franciscan priest, wrote that “mature religions, and now some scientists, say that we are hardwired for the Big Picture, for transcendence, for ongoing growth, for union with ourselves and everything else.”

We’re hardwired to lose ourselves, to connect our identity with others, and ultimately to lose ourselves in God.

No wonder we live in families, build communities, and worship together in congregations.

And this is why, historically, becoming a Christian and joining a church are linked. To be honest, I spent much of my life wondering why the two were connected. Couldn’t one become a Christian without joining a church? Couldn’t one be an independent Christian, with one’s own personal, individual faith?

But now I realize that the phrase, “independent Christian” or “individual Christian” is an oxymoron. If a life of faith involves losing yourself, connecting yourself with humanity and God,… you can’t do that by yourself. By yourself, there’s nothing to lose yourself into. By yourself, all you have is yourself. There’s nothing greater than yourself, if yourself is all you have.

That’s why Jesus said that the church exists and the Spirit is present where 2 or 3 are gathered together in his name.

The challenge, of course, is that we try too hard to hold on to the self. It’s not always easy to walk humbly with God….

Remember Paul on the Damascus Road? Up until that moment, he was very proud of who he was, what he had done, and the name he had made for himself. He didn’t want to lose himself. He didn’t want to stumble and fall. He didn’t want to fail. And he wasn’t planning on a period of despair, a time of soul-searching, a time of losing himself.

But God had other plans, and Paul learned how to let go of his life, and surrender control to God.

Psychologists and spiritual elders know that developing one’s self, one’s identity, one’s individuality, is an important life task; but there is a 2^nd task, which comes later, and that is letting go of the self we have created, and giving it over to God. Losing oneself, and then finding oneself, this time as a being united with God and united with all that is.

Whether or not those who came to John the Baptist understood this, I think John himself did understand. “The one who is coming is more powerful than I,” he said. “I baptize with water; he will baptize with the Holy Spirit.”

On another occasion, John said: “he must increase, but I must decrease.” To me, that sounds like John is learning to lose himself in Christ, just as Jesus lost himself in God.

So how about you? Are you ready to get lost in the Spirit? Are you prepared to let yourself be captivated?

What would your life look like if you allowed yourself to be completely captivated by God’s Spirit? What would you become if you immersed yourself completely in the God of the universe?

What would our church look like, if each of us, starting today and throughout the coming year, could find ways to sink into union with God, to lose ourselves in order to find our real meaning and purpose?

And what would our world look like, if all Christians and indeed people of all faiths, embraced communion with God and with one another? What would our world become if each of us lost ourselves in God and found ourselves in the Spirit that unites all people with one another, the Spirit that unites us with all of creation?

Think of the possibilities.

A Christmas Message

2011-12-24T17:00:00.000-08:00

We hear the story every year: a story of prophets and angels; kings and wise men; shepherds at night; a poor, young, unmarried couple with no place to stay; a baby born in a manger….

One would think we’d be tired of this story by now. We’ve heard it so many times. It’s like turning on the TV and watching the same rerun over and over and over again.

Except, it’s not like that, is it? For me, it’s not like that at all. Every year, some new aspect of this story grabs my attention.

When I was a young child, it was the baby in the manger, surrounded by peaceful farm animals. They were like the animals in Snow White, of course: they were clean, and kind, and curious, and intelligent. It wasn’t until later that I realized that farm animals were actually smelly and messy, and that a manger really isn’t the best place for a newborn baby.

There was the year that my thoughts focused on Mary riding that donkey while pregnant. Poor Mary, to have to go on such a journey at such a time!

Shortly after I became a father, I spent a Christmas or two thinking of Joseph, and what it must have been like for him, what thoughts and emotions must have been running through his head. I even wrote a letter to Joseph one year, and then turned that letter into a Christmas sermon.

There were years when I had more questions than answers, particularly in regards to facts that I always thought were true about this story, but which, as it turns out, may or may not be true. I always thought that there were three wise men, or magi, who came to see Jesus, but nowhere in scripture does it say that there were three; and their interaction with Herod on their way to see Jesus shows just how political Jesus’ birth was. Somehow, the political aspects of this story were left out of my childhood nativity scenes.

Matthew says that Mary and Joseph lived in Bethlehem. Luke says they were from Nazareth, but had to journey to Bethlehem because of a census. Scholars say that doesn’t even make any sense.

Both Matthew and Luke say that Jesus was born of a virgin, in order to fulfill a prophesy Isaiah made. But Isaiah doesn’t speak of a virgin, specifically; only a young, unmarried woman.

There were years when questions like these really bothered me. I wanted to know: what really happened?

I still have many questions. And I’ve come to learn that some questions are worth paying more attention to than others.

I still have questions regarding factual details and “what really happened,” but the older I get, as I travel further on my journey of faith, the more I realize that there are other questions, questions that are more important, more meaningful.

After all, if salvation were found in the details of “what really happened,” then you’d think that Matthew and Luke could have presented a consistent story, without the contradictions and discrepancies.

But Matthew and Luke had more important questions in mind. I leave you with some of the questions that I think were on Matthew’s mind and Luke’s mind when they put the Christmas story down on paper:

· What does the Christmas story say about the human condition, social justice, and how we are to relate to one another?

· Why would God allow and even choose for Jesus to be born in a manger rather than in a palace? Homeless the day he was born, vulnerable, without the care of doctors?

· What does it mean that Mary and Joseph were far from home, in what could almost be considered another country, when Jesus was born? Why is that an important part of this story, and why is it significant even today?

· Why did the announcement of Jesus’ birth come first to shepherds? Shepherds, for God’s sake! Men who stunk as bad as the sheep they cared for, who huddled around a fire as they watched their sheep, cussing and drinking, and sleeping at night with no bed but the cold, hard ground? Why did a wealthy and important person like Herod only hear of Jesus’ birth later?

· What does the Christmas story say about what is most important to God? What does the story say about what is God’s passion and vision for the world? What does the story say about your role in making God’s vision for the world a reality?

"Accessible" (Isaiah 40:1-11)

2011-12-04T07:22:00.000-08:00

The Sierra Nevada is the tallest mountain range in California. It forms a nearly impenetrable wall, rising as high as 14,500 feet. It was created by the gradual tilting up of the earth’s crust, a process which continues even today as the mountain range continues to grow taller.

As the Sierra Nevada grows taller, the Owens Valley just east of the mountain range sinks lower and lower. The result is one of the deepest valleys in the world, with the steepest walls. The views from the valley floor to the crest of the Sierra are breathtaking.

Not many roads cross the Sierra. For one stretch of nearly 200 miles, there are no roads at all. The mountains are that rugged. And of those roads that do cross, many are closed and impassable for half the year due to snow which falls a foot at a time; snow that is thick and heavy, and which some who live there refer to as Sierra cement.

Needless to say, it’s not easy to cross the Sierra. For nearly 200 miles, the only way across is by footpaths that are steep, rocky, and which climb to heights that make your heart pound and your head spin.

Trust me. I know.

On the roads that do make it across the Sierra, the going isn’t easy. Steep grades and winding curves keep things interesting. Some of the roads cross the crest at nearly 10,000 feet.

Yet they are a blessing to modern travelers. Early explorers and travelers had it much harder. In the fall of 1846, the Donner Party got trapped in the Sierra by an early snowfall. It took four months for them to get out. Of the 87 members of the party, only 39 survived.

In this age of planes and interstate highways, it is easy to forget how challenging travel was in the not-so-distant past, and how difficult it still is in some of the world’s more remote places. How much easier it would be if the valleys were lifted up, and the mountains and hills were made low, so that the way to one’s destination was always a smooth and level path.

The prophet Isaiah had a vision, a dream, of a smooth, level way for God; a smooth, level way to God. A way for people to easily connect with God. A way for people to easily find wholeness in their lives.

God seems so distant, so inaccessible, so unknowable; just like those lofty mountain peaks reaching up to where the air is thin. God is mighty, strong, and steadfast. We humans are like grass that withers and flowers that fade. The road from where we are to where God is seems long and difficult, if not impossible.

But the prophet says, “Look! Behold! Get a load of this! Here is your God! He comes to you! He makes the path short and easy to travel. He lifts up the valleys and lowers the mountains and hills so that all may travel upon it. The glory of the LORD shall be revealed, and all people shall see it together.”

And what better way for God to remove the barriers and obstacles to knowing and experiencing him than to come to us in human form? Through Jesus, the way of the LORD is made straight and level. Everyone can travel it. It is accessible to all. It is ADA compliant! There are no steps, no boulders to climb, no obstacles, no barriers, no rough places….

One of the scouts in Troop 29 who just earned his Eagle Scout rank was inspired for his Eagle service project when he observed a person in a wheelchair venture out into traffic-filled Wardlow Road to avoid a stretch where there was no sidewalk, only dirt and gravel. There was no safe and easy way for that wheelchair-bound person to navigate this path.

For his Eagle Project, this scout worked with the city to install a beautiful landscaped, handicapped-accessible sidewalk, a pathway that could be easily used by all. He made the uneven ground level. He made the rough places smooth.

I was honored to take part in that project, helping to plant trees and native plants beside the sidewalk. When you consider the words of the prophet, you realize that this is sacred, holy work, building an accessible pathway. This is the work of Christmas, the work of Christ, the work that all those who follow Christ are called to do.

Now it’s true that the pathway the prophet had in mind was a very particular road in the wilderness. For several generations, the people of Israel had been held in captivity in Babylon, far from their homeland. There, they lost hope. They were more than homesick. They had lost their identity. They had lost their connection to God.

But then, one day, they were allowed to return. Their time of captivity had ended.

The problem was that some had long ago given up. Some had forgotten that there ever was a place, a home, where they could feel connected to God. Remember, several generations had passed.

So they needed some encouragement, which the prophet provided.

But the word of God is a marvelous thing. It is a living word, and the Spirit often gives it new meaning in later generations. And the words of the prophets continue to have meaning for us today.

When I read the words of the prophet, I ask myself, “How am I preparing the way of the Lord? How am I working to connect people to God, making the uneven ground level and the rough places smooth?

And how is my church preparing the way of the Lord, helping people find wholeness and connect with God? How is my church removing the barriers and obstacles that separate people from God? How is my church lifting up valleys and making low the mountains and hills, so that all people are able to experience the glory of the Lord?”

With sadness, I must confess that many people today see the church as a barrier that separates them from God. They’re here, God is there, and the church is there in the middle acting as the gatekeeper, only allowing those who meet certain criteria to pass through and connect with God. And only those who have the right opinion on things like abortion and homosexuality and immigration and the interpretation of scripture and doctrine are allowed to pass through.

On the other hand, it is with joy that I remember that the founders of the Disciples of Christ worked hard to remove such barriers and obstacles. They believed in one church, accessible to all. They opened wide the gates and invited everyone in, to connect with God, to commune with God at the Lord’s Table. They encouraged conversation and dialogue regarding the issues Christians disagreed over, rather than casting out all those whose opinions differed from their own.

This is still who we are today. We are Disciples of Christ, a movement for wholeness in a fragmented world. As part of the one body of Christ, we welcome all to the Lord’s Table, just as God has welcomed us.

I learned something interesting this week.

The word ‘religion’ comes from the prefix ‘re’ and the word ‘ligio.’ The word ‘ligio,’ like the word ‘ligament,’ refers to that which connects, that which holds things together. So ‘re-ligio’ means to re-connect, to put back together.

True religion, then, reconnects us back to God. It removes the obstacles and barriers that keep people separated from the one who made them. It makes the uneven ground level and the rough places smooth, so that all people can see – and live in – the glory of the Lord.

You know, the harshest words Jesus ever spoke were to those who made the path to God more difficult to travel instead of making it easier:

Do not do as the scribes and Pharisees do [Jesus once said]. They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others; but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them! They do all their deeds to be seen by others. They love to be thought of as important, holier than others.

Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees. Hypocrites! You lock people out of the kingdom of heaven! When they try to go in, you stop them. You snakes! You brood of vipers! How can you escape being sentenced to hell? [Matthew 23]

That is not true religion. True religion connects people to God and to one another. True religion breaks down the barriers. True religion opens up the way.

Here at Bixby Knolls Christian Church, we are making connections. We’re making connections with one another, with our community, and with God.

This is why we do all that we do. This is why we prepare food for the homeless. This is why we gather for dinner on Wednesday evenings. This is why we pick up litter in our neighborhood one Saturday a month. This is why we are collecting Christmas toys and gifts for Eastmont Community Center. This is why we gather for worship on Sunday mornings:

To reconnect with God. To help others reconnect. To remove the barriers that keep people from God.

In this Advent season, ask yourself: What are the barriers in your life? What is it in your lifestyle, your home, your daily schedule, that makes the path to God more difficult than it needs to be? What mountains have you built, what walls have you constructed, which block your way?

In this Advent season, ask yourself: What barriers are there in the lives of our neighbors? What obstacles are there on the path to God, and which of these obstacles did we, the church, place there? What can we do to remove the obstacles, to make the uneven ground level and the rough places smooth, so that all people may experience wholeness and the glory of the Lord?

Thank God for Jesus, whose birth inaugurated a new kingdom, the kingdom of God, a kingdom accessible to all. Thank God for Jesus, who removes the barriers. Thank God for Jesus, who shows us the way to life lived in God.

"Something Different, Something New" (Isaiah 43:16-21; 2 Corinthians 5:16-21)

2011-11-27T09:37:00.000-08:00

Good morning, and welcome to the season of Advent. This year, Advent and Christmas worship services have required (shall we say) an extra amount of planning, accompanied by a fair amount of hand-wringing, due to the fact that Christmas Day, December 25, falls on a Sunday. There have been conversations about whether or not we should plan something big and special for Christmas Day, or whether anyone will show up; perhaps everyone will be too busy opening presents on Christmas Day to come to church?

One idea I had to make Christmas Day worship special was to have our baptism service on that day. Needless to say, that plan didn’t work out. The baptisms got moved up to today.

However, it didn’t take me long to realize that today is actually an appropriate and very significant day for a baptism; because today is not only the first Sunday of Advent… it’s not only the day we turn our attention to the Advent of Christ and the day of Christ’s birth. Today is also the first day of the liturgical year.

The church calendar is a little different than the civic – or secular – calendar. According to the church calendar, the new year begins on the first Sunday of Advent, and that day is today. This is our New Year’s Day.

And what is New Year’s Day? Well, like the day of one’s baptism, New Year’s Day is a day of hope; a day of new beginnings; a day of starting over.

It is that hope, that opportunity to start over and have a fresh beginning, that inspires people to celebrate the New Year in a variety of ways. Some celebrate past midnight; others get up early to watch the sun rise on a new year5. Some people even celebrate the New Year by plunging themselves into a frigid body of water in a polar bear swim, washing off the old year, greeting the new year fresh, clean, and covered with goose bumps.

The similarities to baptism are striking.

So I guess it should not be surprising that some Christian communities have developed their own New Years’ traditions.

One that I find particularly interesting is called Watch Night. Watch Night began, as far as historians can tell, in 1733, with a group of Moravians in Germany, who spent their New Year’s Eve in prayer, waiting for midnight and the start of the New Year.

Soon, the Watch Night idea spread to the United States. It gained in popularity, especially among the Methodists, who saw it as an opportunity to renew one’s covenant with God.

On New Year’s Even in 1862, Watch Night gained a whole new significance. At the stroke of midnight, when 1862 became 1863, President Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation would become law. In prayer services throughout the U.S., African Americans prayed and waited for the dawn of a new age, an age of freedom. It was a night filled with hope and anticipation, because at midnight, everything would change. Life itself would be different and new. Slavery would be abolished, and all those who had been held in captivity would be free.

A number of faith communities still celebrate Watch Night on New Year’s Eve, filled with singing and prayer, remembering the freedom and new life that came with the dawn of 1863, celebrating the freedom we have in Christ, and the God who rescues his people, who makes a way in the sea, a path in the mighty waters; the God who makes a way in the wilderness for his people, leading them to the promised land.

Just as God’s people passed through the waters of the Red Sea on their way to becoming a new nation, so do God’s people today pass through the waters of baptism on their way to becoming new, receiving new life, and being the people God has called them to be. In the waters of baptism, the world becomes new. Creation becomes new. Life becomes new.

In the waters of baptism, we know that our sins are washed away. Forgiveness comes to us.

Yet, despite this forgiveness, I sometimes think that we beat ourselves up too much over our sins. Sin leads to brokenness. Sin leaves us wounded. Sin keeps us from being whole, from being who God intends for us to be.

We know that we sin. We know that we are imperfect. We know that our lives are broken. So what do we do? We beat ourselves up because of it. We fight with ourselves. We complain about how stupid we were.

Many Christians go to church where they learn that they need to fight against the sin within. It becomes a fierce internal battle. Fight, fight, fight. We wage a war against sin. And since scripture says that it is our nature to be sinful, that all of us have fallen short of the glory of God, the battle against sin becomes a battle against ourselves.

And I can’t help but wonder: Is a state of constant battle really the life to which God is calling us?

Now, if it was your young child who came to you, crying, wounded, would you beat your child up over it? Of course not. Say your child was climbing on a low wall – something that the child should not have been doing – and fell off, scraping a knee or even breaking a bone.

Would you run over to your child, laying there on the ground, injured and crying, and say, “You stupid, crying child, you have done what you weren’t supposed to be doing, and now you’ve fallen and hurt yourself. Therefore I’m going to punish you.”

No. You wouldn’t do that. If your child is laying there hurt, injured, and crying, you wouldn’t try to make your child feel even worse. At some point there may be a time to talk about the lesson learned, but for now you will hold your child, soothe your child, dry your child’s tears, and make sure that your child is safe and gets the care that is needed. You want to heal your child, physically and emotionally.

When we recognize our sin before God, God treats us and our sin the same way: with gentleness, with caring; and God seeks to put us back together again, make us whole again, make us new once again. God takes the wounds that sin creates, cleans our wounds, dabs them with ointment.

In the waters of baptism, God gently bathes your skin with gentleness, cleaning your wounds, providing healing. The forgiveness that comes to us gives us a new opportunity, a new hope. God is not going to punish us for our brokenness, and we don’t need to punish ourselves, either. We’re already wounded. What we need is healing. What we need is wholeness.

There is a personal commitment that comes with baptism. For us, it occurs almost simultaneously with God’s healing forgiveness. It comes when the person who is old enough confesses their sins and recognizes Jesus as the messiah, the one who saves us from a life of brokenness. In other churches, and in our church for those who have been baptized elsewhere as infants, that commitment comes at a time of confirmation.

And in that commitment, we say YES to the new life that God offers. We say, “Yes, God! Come and heal me. Yes, God! Come and wash these wounds. Yes, God! Make me whole again. Make me into something new.”

In that commitment, we look to God to show us the way: the way to healing and wholeness and salvation.

Some time ago I shared with you my experience at El Dorado Nature Center, and that one point at the end of the trail where my sense of direction always fails me. The path to the left just seems to me the quickest way back to the parking lot, and yet past experience has shown me that it’s actually the path to the right.

Two weeks ago, I took these three who have been baptized to that exact spot, and I asked them which way they thought led back to the parking lot. Two of the three said they were sure it was the path to the left. I said that it seems to me that it’s the path to the left, and yet I knew from experience that it was in fact the path to the right.

And I said how God often tells me to take a path that initially seems wrong to me. Love your enemies: that just doesn’t make sense. Don’t fight back and don’t seek revenge: really? Don’t pursue happiness through wealth and material possessions. It’s hard to follow that path, because it sure does seem to me that wealth and material possessions will make me happy.

But experience has shown me that when I do follow that path, I discover that God was right. I discover that what I thought would make me happy leaves me disappointed, while the path God leads me on does, in fact, bring happiness. It’s a whole new world that I discover, one that is very different from the world I thought existed, a world that is so much more than I could have imagined.

That’s what it’s all about on this New Year’s Day: a new hope, a new life, a new creation. In this season of Advent, remember your baptism, and the commitment you have made to following the way of God. In the midst of holiday sales and Christmas gift-giving, remember what it is that actually brings happiness and makes you whole. Remember the kindness, the love, the healing and wholeness that comes to you from God, through Jesus Christ.

"Connected as One" (Ezekiel 34:11-24)

2011-11-20T09:57:00.000-08:00

Two weeks ago, Robbie Charboneau and I attended the South Coast Interfaith Council’s Festival of Music concert. One of the highlights of that concert was hearing the youth choir from one of our local Jewish congregations sing a selection of songs, including one based on Psalm 133:

How very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity!

It was an appropriate and fitting sentiment at a gathering of kindred from many different faith traditions coming together on behalf of unity, peace, and understanding.

In my three years of involvement with the Interfaith Council – the past two as a member of the board of directors – I have gained a new appreciation for the way God has created and structured this world, a world in which all people are bound together, connected in ways we can’t even imagine or understand. We are all a strand on the web of life, inextricably bound to one another.

How very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity!

Last week, Ken Brown, Margo Morales, Ginger and I attended the Interfaith Council’s other big November event, the annual Unity Awards Dinner. Father Greg Boyle, known for his work in helping gang members find jobs, stay out of jail, and live the lives God intends for them, was the keynote speaker.

At one point Father Greg mentioned an incident involving Cesar Chavez, when a reporter said to Chavez something about the great love that so many of the farmworkers had for the civil rights leader. Chavez responded by saying, “the feeling’s mutual.”

Father Greg then explained how that sentiment is behind all the work he does. There is a mutual love at work, a recognition that the gang member is created and loved by God just as he is, and that there is a connection there, a bond of unity, a recognition that we are all threads on a single garment of humanity.

How very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity.

With God as our Creator, children all are we; let us walk with each other in perfect harmony.

Now, if we always remembered that we are children of one Creator; if we always remembered how good it is to live together in unity; if we always remembered the connection that binds us together in mutual love; … then I guess we wouldn’t need people like Father Greg to remind us. We wouldn’t need Cesar Chavez to remind us. We wouldn’t need the South Coast Interfaith Council to remind us. And we wouldn’t need Ezekiel and all those biblical prophets to remind us.

Unfortunately, we don’t always remember our bond of unity. We forget that we are connected as one. In the words of Fred Craddock, we’ve developed the ability to “look at a starving child with a swollen stomach and say, ‘Well, it’s not my kid;’ to look at a recent widow and say, ‘Well, it’s not my mom;’ or to see an old man sitting alone in the park and say, ‘Well, that’s not my dad.’”

And we end up looking at the poor and the outcast the way the rest of the litter looks at the runt, pushing them aside, denying them a place at the feeding trough.

Last month, Edgar – a young man who, ten years ago, lived with my family as a high school exchange student from Brazil – spent two weeks here in Long Beach on business. Conversations with him have helped me gain some perspective on the world and its many cultures, just as conversations with my friends at the interfaith council have helped me gain some perspective on the world and its many religions.

A couple of times while Edgar was here I was able to go downtown and visit him at the apartment where he was staying, and go for a morning walk in this beautiful, amazing city of ours.

And there, one block from his apartment, right across the street from his office in the Landmark Tower, right there in Lincoln Park, were the people of Occupy Long Beach.

The “Occupy” movement began on Wall Street on September 17. It soon spread to other cities around the nation and around the world.

Those who are not part of the movement, including the media, have had a hard time figuring out what the movement is all about. Mostly that’s due to the Occupy movement’s grassroots structure, and its insistence that no one person in the movement has more importance or authority than anyone else.

In other words, a person going to an Occupy camp, looking to get some answers from “someone in charge,” will end up leaving disappointed.

I wasn’t looking for someone in charge, but I was curious and tempted to walk over and talk to some of the members of Occupy Long Beach. But I didn’t. I think I was too intimidated. And I wasn’t sure I completely agreed with them.

Nevertheless, I think I understand what they are about.. Last spring, several months before the Occupy Wall Street movement began, Vanity Fair had an article on wealth inequality. The article mentioned how wealth inequality directly led to the uprisings in a number of countries in recent months, including Egypt, Tunisia, Yemen, Bahrain, and Libya. In those places, people became upset about the lack of opportunity, inequality of wealth, and a government that was controlled by the wealthiest 1% of the population.

The Vanity Fair article went on to say that, in the United States, “the top 1% have the best houses, the best educations, the best doctors, and the best lifestyles, but there is one thing that money doesn’t seem to have bought: an understanding that their fate is bound up with how the other 99% live. Throughout history, this is something that the top 1% eventually do learn. Too late.”

The top 1% have forgotten that their fate is bound up with how the other 99% live. They have forgotten that we are all connected as one.

This was true back in the days of the Roman Empire. The time of Herod the Great and Caesar Augustus was an especially prosperous time. But guess who benefitted from all that wealth?

The top 1%.

According to biblical scholar John Dominic Crossan, the top 1% included the rulers and governors, who owned 50% of the land. It also included the priests, who owned 15% of all land. And it included military officers and bureaucrats.

A small group of merchants formed what I think could be considered a very tiny middle class.

The vast majority of the population were peasants. Peasants struggled to survive. Two-thirds of their annual crop went to support the upper classes. This made things very difficult, and very easy for peasants to lose what little they had, go into debt, or even be forced into indentured servanthood or slavery.

Some of the dispossessed peasants became artisans. Since Jesus was a carpenter, he was part of the artisan class, living in a precarious position between the peasants and the lowest of all classes, the degraded and the expendables. When people in the synagogue heard Jesus speak and responded by saying, “Isn’t this the carpenter?” you can hear the class snobbery in their question.

As a carpenter in a tiny village of Nazareth, it’s likely that Jesus and his father Joseph sold some of their goods in nearby Sepphoris, a very large, very wealthy city less than an hour’s walk away.

Sepphoris’ history no doubt influenced Jesus and his ministry.

When Jesus was just a baby, there was a massive uprising in Sepphoris against Roman rule; sort of an “Occupy Sepphoris” movement, except much more violent. It took the Romans some time to crush the rebellion, but crush it they eventually did.

30,000 residents of Sepphoris were killed or sold into slavery. 2,000 of them were taken to Jerusalem, where they were executed in the manner that Rome deemed appropriate for traitors: by crucifixion. Rome figured that 2,000 corpses hanging on 2,000 crosses would be a pretty good deterrent against future rebellions.

And then Rome burned the city of Sepphoris to the ground.

There can be no doubt that the residents of Nazareth – including new parents Mary and Joseph – were impacted financially, socially, and psychologically as they watched the smoke rising from nearby Sepphoris.

So when Jesus began preaching about a new kingdom, many of his fellow Galileans believed that he just might be the one who could succeed where the rebels in Sepphoris had failed. And when Jesus set his sights on Jerusalem, a city even more important than Sepphoris, they eagerly joined this “Occupy Jerusalem” movement.

And Jesus was almost – but not quite – what they expected. He did make it clear that the inequalities of society, including inequalities of wealth, were contrary to the will of God. He made it clear that such inequalities had no place in God’s kingdom. This teaching was consistent with the words of the prophets, who proclaimed that in the kingdom of God, all people live together in harmony. Lions and lambs lie down together. Food, water, and wealth are shared, so that all may partake of God’s abundant blessings. In God’s kingdom, shepherds look after the sheep, rather than hoarding everything good for themselves, and leaving the sheep to starve.

But Jesus also recognized that everyone – even the Romans, even the shepherds who eat and drink the good stuff and then trample down and foul what is left for everyone else – even they are children of God. And they themselves also suffer from living in a world of inequality, a world where people do not live in unity, a world where people look at one another but do not recognize that they are brothers, sisters, parents, children; one family of humanity, connected as one.

Jesus didn’t share the dream that so many in the lower class had, the dream of revenge against the upper class, the dream of doing to the 1% what they’ve been doing to everyone else. Jesus’ dream was different. His dream of justice, not revenge, involved having no one in any class treated that way.

So when Jesus went to Jerusalem, he went without weapons. He went to Jerusalem, but on the way, he taught his followers to respond to Roman soldiers peacefully, non-violently, by turning the other cheek; and if forced to assist a soldier by carrying his gear for one mile, they were go then go with the soldier for a second mile.

When Jesus got to Jerusalem, he criticized the temple leaders who worked with the oppressive government while pretending to serve the people. He overturned tables in the temple where doves were being sold and money was being changed. Doves were the cheapest acceptable sacrifice; they were what the poorest pilgrims used to present as an offering. But these sellers and money changers were marking up their prices in order to get rich off the backs of the poor, and that infuriated Jesus.

It’s not so different from the way the wealthiest in this country have created their own economy on Wall Street, evading taxes and watching their wealth increase by 18% over the past decade, while incomes for everyone else, all the hard-working Americans on Main Street, have actually gone down over that same period.

Income inequality and oppression in ancient Sepphoris led to an uprising that resulted in that city’s destruction. Income inequality in modern Egypt, Yemen, and elsewhere led to riots and an overthrow of their governments.

Well, guess what: income inequality in the U.S. is actually more extreme than it is in Egypt. When the world’s 134 countries are ranked for income equality, the U.S. comes in at #93, behind China, Russia, Iran, and Egypt, and just barely ahead of Mexico.

So it is good that we remember the poor, especially at a time of Thanksgiving, sharing our wealth in the form of food for the hungry. Let us also remember that we are connected as one with all of humanity, rich and poor, hungry and well-fed. There is a mutuality there, and this is what I hope the people in Lincoln Park and the rest of the Occupy movement remember. It’s what I hope our CEOs and policymakers remember: that there is a mutual love that binds us all together, and which calls upon us to treat even our adversary with kindness and love.

Let us remember and give thanks for a God who actively seeks out the lost, as Ezekiel says; a God who brings back the strayed, binds up the injured, and strengthens the weak. Those sheep who have been pushed aside from the feeding trough, those people who have been denied a place at the table, God will rescue and save. God will feed them with good pasture. They will lie down in good grazing land, and be at peace.

Let us remember the good shepherd sent by God, who shall ensure that the people are fed. He will bring good news to the poor, and proclaim release to the captives. In him the first will become last, and the last will be first.

And then, in God’s kingdom, everyone will recognize that they are indeed one, brothers and sisters, one family, and there will be no more hunger, no more poverty, no more lack of opportunity.

This is the vision we have been given by the prophets and by Jesus. How very good and pleasant it will be when kindred live together in unity, when all people understand that we are connected as one.

"Doubling Our Talents" (Matthew 25: 14-30)

2011-11-13T10:10:00.000-08:00

Last Sunday, on that rainy morning, we took notice of a cloud, the great cloud of witnesses, the saints of the church and of our lives. We remembered those who were important to us, who shaped and influenced our lives, who nurtured our faith, and with whom we shared a deep, abiding love.

Last Sunday we also remembered the saints of generations past, notable figures whose lives were examples to the generations of what it means to be a follower of Jesus.

Now I don’t know about you, but sometimes for me, when I remember the lives of the saints, and all the great things they did, a thought sneaks its way into my mind, a thought that threatens to paralyze me, hold me back, and keep me from fully being all that God has called me to be.

That thought is: “Who am I? How can ‘plain old me’ ever compare to the lives of the saints? I’m nobody. What can I do? I don’t have a lot of influence. I don’t have a lot of power or importance. I struggle so much, day-to-day, just to get by, just to make it through life….

“I lack confidence. I’m insecure. I’m too old. I’m too young. I’m too poor. I’m too lazy. I’m too stressed. I’m too anxious. And I’m just plain not good enough. I’m just me. Not a saint. Just me.”

Anybody here ever have thoughts like that?

In the scripture we just heard, I like to think that I’m one of those who doubles his talents. I mean, we always want to identify with the guy who comes out looking good, right? I want to think of myself as the guy who takes what he is given, does something good with it, and turns it into something greater.

And sometimes, I do. But other times, because I lack confidence in myself or because I doubt God or because I think I’m not good enough, I take my talents, and I bury them in the ground. After all, what can “plain old me” really do?

On December 9, 1579, in the city of Lima, Peru, Martin de Porres was born. Martin was the illegitimate son of a Spanish nobleman and a woman who was a black former slave from Panama.

Martin had the dark complexion of his mother, and that irked his father, who abandoned the family. So Martin was raised in poverty by his mother, until she could no longer support him. Then he was sent away.

Locked in the lowest level of Lima’s society, abandoned by his father, cast away by his mother, and labeled a half-breed, Martin could very easily have turned bitter. He could have taken what little life had given him – certainly less than one talent – and locked it away, hidden it, or buried it in the ground.

But he didn’t.

When he was about 11 or 12, he began an apprenticeship with a barber, from whom he learned how to cut hair and also provide medical care, drawing blood, treating wounds, preparing and administering medicine.

Around the same time, he also became a servant boy with the Dominican convent in Lima. His devotion to prayer and to caring for the sick caught the attention of his superiors. There was a rule that no black person could be accepted into their order, but eventually they decided to ignore that rule and allow Martin to become a Dominica brother in 1603.

Martin continued to nurse the sick and care for the poor. Some of his cures were considered miraculous. He treated all people regardless of color, race, or status. He even treated with kindness animals and all living creatures, including the rats at the monastery, and he was committed to eating a vegetarian diet.

Martin founded an orphanage and took care of slaves that had been brought from Africa. He raised tons of money, mostly by begging, to buy medical supplies that the convent could not afford, and even obtained thousands of dollars for dowries for poor girls so that they could get married.

Throughout his life, he considered himself just a poor slave. When his convent was in debt, he said, “I am only a poor mulatto. Sell me. I am the property of the order. Sell me.”

One day, an old beggar, dirty, covered with ulcers and almost naked, stretched out his hand, and Martin took him to his own bed. He was criticized for this, but Martin replied, “Compassion is preferable to cleanliness.”

In 1962, the Catholic Church recognized Martin de Porres as a saint. Pope John XXIII said of him: “He tried with all his might to redeem the guilty; lovingly he comforted the sick; he provided food, clothing, and medicine for the poor; he helped, as best he could, farm laborers, Negroes, as well as mulattos, who were looked upon at that time as akin to slaves. Thus he deserves to be called by the name the people gave him: ‘Margin of Charity.’”

Today Martin de Porres is recognized as the patron saint of social justice, and of people of mixed race.

I wonder if Martin de Porres ever said, “Who am I?” or “How can ‘plain old me’ ever compare to the lives of the saints…” He did think of himself, throughout his life, as nothing but a “poor slave.” Certainly he would seem to be one to whom life had given very little, and even less to invest.

But Martin de Porres did invest his life. He invested it into the Bank of the Kingdom of Heaven, the “BofK.” And the return on that investment was HUGE.

Each one of us has been given something we can invest. It may be big or it may be small, but that doesn’t really matter. At the very least, you have been given a life, which, when you think about it, is no small thing.

What are you doing with the life that you have been given? What will you do with it? Will you dig a hole in the ground and bury it? Will you hide it? Will you say, “my life isn’t much; what can I do?”

Well, your life might not be much, but I think it’s safe to say that it’s certainly more than one who was born an illegitimate, mixed race child in a time of racism and slavery, abandoned by his parents and raised in poverty.

So what are you going to do?

Bixby Knolls Christian Church has been a part of this community for over 65 years. God has called us to be a movement for wholeness in our community and in our world, seeking justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with God. The saints of our own congregation’s past have given to us an inheritance of many talents: this building, this ministry, our life together.

When I talk to people who don’t currently attend church, I often find that the type of church they wish they could find is exactly the type of church we are. They’re looking for a church that reaches out beyond its walls; a church that is doing good things for the community, rather than simply judging people; a church where it’s okay to ask deep questions, where you don’t have to check your brain in at the door or agree to a lengthy doctrinal statement.

In short, a church that follows Jesus by serving the poor, bringing healing and wholeness to those whose lives are broken, and working to build a world of peace and justice.

This is what we do. This is who we are. And the reason it is what we do and who we are is that we ourselves have experienced the transforming power of God’s spirit in our lives. We’ve experienced healing. We’ve felt the prayers that have been said on our behalf. We’ve been accepted at the Lord’s Table just as we are, with all our strengths as well as our imperfections.

What a wonderful gift we have received in the ministry of this congregation!

Do we dare hide it from the world? Do we dare dig a hole in the ground and bury it?

Of course not.

Our congregation is a treasure worth more than any number of talents. The generosity that you all have shown toward maintaining this ministry signifies that you are aware of just how precious this congregation is, and how life-transforming this congregation is for you and can be in the lives of our neighbors.

So let’s take our talents and invest them. Let’s renew our commitment to the ministry we share. Let’s celebrate the many ways we serve our community, the ways we bring wholeness to our community, and let’s constantly look for new opportunities to serve and to share and to invite our neighbors to experience God’s transformation.

In your bulletin is a copy of our Advent calendar. You received one last week; that one is for you. The one you received today is for you to share with a friend or neighbor. Any Sunday is a good Sunday to invite someone to come, but the Sundays of Advent are an especially good time, with all the special music and programs that take place. Or, invite them to come with you to a Wednesday night dinner. Attending worship for the first time can be an intimidating experience for some, but coming to an informal dinner can be a little less so.

The greatest gift and blessing this church has – our most valuable talents – are our people. YOU are a precious gift from God. Don’t hide. Don’t bury yourself in a hole. That’s not what God created you for. Instead, invest yourself. Let your light shine. Do all you can to let the world know that here, in God’s presence, they are welcome.

"A Word of Comfort" (Revelation 7)

2011-11-06T13:50:00.000-08:00

There was a baby. Screaming and crying. On an airplane. In the row right behind me.

I felt bad for the parents. I once took a plane flight with my own four month-old son, so I know what that’s like. I know how frustrating it is. You want to soothe your child, calm your child, but at the same time a part of you wants to hand that baby off, pretend he’s not yours, ignore him or even chuck him out the window. You want to scream, pull out your hair, and yell, “SHUT UP!”

But you don’t scream. You don’t yell. And you don’t ignore your baby’s cries. Your baby is suffering. So you care for your baby, and do what you can to lessen his suffering.

The baby is screaming, but you respond with gentleness and kindness. You pick your baby up, hold him in your arms, gently rock him back and forth. You speak softly to him, or sing a lullaby.

You try to figure out the cause of your baby’s suffering. Is he hungry? Does he need a diaper change? Is he overstimulated by all the noises and lights in the airplane? Does he need a nap?

Your baby is suffering; and because your baby is suffering, so are you. You and your baby are one. For mothers this was literally true not too long ago, but for fathers as well there is a connection. So when your baby suffers, you suffer.

If you are on an airplane with a crying, screaming baby, odds are good that some of your fellow travellers are suffering as well, especially those sitting nearest to you.

Ignoring your suffering baby will do no good. Neither will fighting, yelling at your baby “SHUT UP!” Every parent has tried that tactic at least once, in a moment of desperation. It never works.

The only thing that works is to treat your baby with kindness and gentleness; to care for your baby; to hold your baby in your arms, and love him, and reassure him that everything will be alright.

Last month, I came down with a pretty bad cold. I had a sore throat, mild headache, stuffy nose, and even a little bit of nausea and lightheadedness. However, I did not have a fever, so I thought that I could just ignore my cold and carry on with life.

For three days I did that. And each day I felt worse than I did the day before. I thought that if I ignored my cold, it would go away. But it didn’t.

By the third day, I felt miserable. I was suffering. Ignoring my suffering did not alleviate it. I realized that I needed to take better care of my suffering body in order to get better.

I spent the next three days in bed, really caring for my body, getting lots of rest, drinking plenty of liquids, trying not to worry about the work I wasn’t doing, the church work or the household chores.

I realized that I needed to make caring for myself a priority in this time of illness and suffering, if I wanted to get better.

There are many types of suffering in our world. As Christians, we are called to follow the example of Christ, and work to ease and alleviate all kinds of suffering. As a movement for wholeness in a fragmented world, we are called to ease and alleviate all kinds of suffering.

The book of Revelation was borne out of great suffering. Through metaphors and symbols, it describes those “who have come out of the great ordeal.”

It was a time of intense persecution. The number of martyrs – those killed because of their faith – was high. Those who were not killed were swallowed by disillusion, despair, sadness, hopelessness, and doubt.

The book of Revelation is a word of comfort in a time of suffering. Modern people often misunderstand the symbolism in Revelation, and for them it becomes a book of fear. I’ve often said that our modern system of politics, with its symbols of donkeys and elephants and red states and blue states and a bearded figure who goes by the name of Uncle Sam, would look just as strange to a first century Christian as Revelation’s symbols of horsemen and eagles and beasts and trumpets appear to us.

But once you understand what these symbols mean, you realize that Revelation, with all its poetic imagery, is really a book of comfort to the suffering and the persecuted, those left behind after so many others had been killed; many of them, like the book’s author, living in exile.

Nevertheless, many still believe that Revelation is more a word of warning and threat than it is a word of comfort. But does it really make sense for God to send a word of warning and threat to a people who were already suffering terribly, enduring horrible persecution? Does it make sense for a loving parent to give warnings and threats to their already crying, suffering baby? Does it make sense for a person suffering from illness to beat their bodies and pull their hair and say to their bodies, “Get well, or else I’m going to punish you even more!” ?

Of course not. And neither does it make sense that Revelation is the scary book of judgment, doom, warnings and threats that so many have made it out to be.

It is a book of comfort, written to those who were already suffering and persecuted.

In chapter seven, we are shown a vision of all those who had been martyred, along with all those still alive who continue to suffer persecution on account of their faith. They come from every nation and every tribe, from all peoples and languages. They’re in heaven, endlessly worshiping and singing praises to God. They have passed though the great ordeal. They have endured tremendous suffering.

And in that time of suffering, God was with them. God cared for them and gave them strength.

God’s care for them continues in this heavenly vision. Worshiping God in heaven, the suffering they have endured will be taken away. They will hunger no more and thirst no more. The Lamb that was slain, the lamb that suffered, will, in an ironic twist, become their shepherd, caring for them. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.

Today we honor and remember and celebrate all the saints, all those who have died, all those whose lives inspired us, touched us, and helped us know God. In a moment we will hear a list of names of mostly family and friends who have passed away, most in the past year. But we also remember those who died long ago; we remember so many who make up that great cloud of witnesses. Prophets like Martin Luther King, Jr., Oscar Romero, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Dorothy Day. Ancient leaders, teachers, mystics, like Francis of Assisi, Teresa of Avila, Augustine, and Martin Luther.

We also remember those who began our ministry here at Bixby Knolls Christian Church. We know how hard it is to maintain a ministry; it takes a lot of commitment and dedication by a lot of people. But what about starting a new ministry from scratch? So today we also celebrate those who, 65 years ago, founded this congregation.

Now, for those we have personally known and loved, even as we celebrate their lives, their love, and all they have meant to us, we also mourn their passing, and are saddened by this time of separation from them. In other words, their departure from this life is a cause of suffering for us as we grieve.

In our church family, we have experienced the losses of several people recently, as well as some earlier this year. In addition, there are those who have passed away in years past, who have not been forgotten. As much as society tries to get us to move past the pain of suffering and grief, it is not a quick process. To some extent, it lasts for the rest of our lives.

So what do we do? Do we ignore our grief and do our best to get on with life? Do we pretend that we are over it, even if we’re not?

Ignoring the suffering within makes about as much sense as ignoring a suffering baby. Pretending that our grief and sorrow are not there or that they have gone away on their own makes as much sense as pretending that your hunger or thirst will go away on its own. Not taking care of your suffering makes as much sense as not taking care of your body when it is sick.

The negative emotions that we have: sorrow, anger, fear, hopelessness, frustration, hatred … ignoring them will not make them go away. Everyone experiences negative emotions in life. Everyone suffers. Ignoring our suffering, pretending that it does not exist, will not make it go away.

Treat your own suffering the same way you would treat the suffering of your baby child: with kindness, with compassion, with love. Hold that suffering, cradle it, sing to it. Embrace it with loving acceptance, for it is a part of you.

Too often, we beat ourselves up for having emotions that are a natural part of the human experience. That only adds to our suffering. As Christians, we are called to ease and alleviate all kinds of suffering. Including our own. And it starts with kindness, compassion, and love.

"From the Desert and the Sea" (Psalm 107)

2011-10-30T10:32:00.000-07:00

It certainly has been an interesting week.

Last weekend, as you know, I was at our Regional Gathering in San Diego. A couple of things stand out to me as I look back on that event. We celebrated the incredible diversity of our region, something I plan to write about in my next newsletter article. Speaking to those who were gathered, our co-regional minister Don Dewey said that our commitment to being a pro-reconciling, anti-racist church is crucial.

Regarding ministry and church life, Don Dewey said something else that caught my attention. He said that “the needs of our neighbors is what should preoccupy our board meetings.” Think about that for a minute. A church that is not serving its community is a church that is not doing what it is called to do. So it makes sense that the needs of our neighbors is what should preoccupy our board meetings.

Our featured speaker for the day was David Shirey, who was called to start a new church in the middle of the Arizona desert. He shared how, at one church meeting, he mentioned the need to install a bigger, better sign in order to make his congregation more visible in the community. One church member looked at him and said, “I’m the sign for this church. You’re the sign for this church.”

Think about that for a minute.

Coolwater Church, the church David Shirey started, is planning on meeting the needs of its neighbors and being a sign to the community in a unique way. In 2012, they hope to log 2,012 hours of volunteer service to the community. Whether it’s an organized church event, like a neighborhood clean-up or a day feeding the homeless, or members volunteering individually, this congregation that is about the same size as ours hopes to log 2,012 hours of service to the community.

It was a good day last Saturday. It gave me a lot to think about.

And San Diego is a nice town. Not as nice as Long Beach, of course, but still nice. And not as nice as Burbank, my hometown, not too far from here.

As a child, I didn’t expect that many people outside of Burbank cared or were even aware that there was such a town. To me it was just some streets with houses, schools, and a very un-exciting downtown that was anything but beautiful.

As a child, I didn’t really think there was anything all that exciting about southern California. It was just where I lived. But gradually I did learn that this is, in my now mature, unbiased opinion, the best place in the world.

The learning began while I was still a child. I was incredibly curious, and I loved learning about the world, so perhaps it was only natural that I would like watching the evening news. Today I can’t stand watching the news on TV. I don’t know if that’s because I’ve changed or the news shows have changed, but I think they are just awful.

But back then, as a child, the evening news was very exciting.

It must have been an El Niño year when I started watching the news because I remember hearing a lot about mudslides and powerful surf and flash floods. Dr. George Fishbeck was the one who told me about all these things. Remember Dr. George, the TV weatherman? With his bow ties and quirkiness? Last I heard, he’s still around, approaching 90 years old, and likes to volunteer at the L.A. Zoo.

Even when the weather was a little more “normal,” Dr. George was full of excitement. At one time, before he was a weatherforecaster, he was a teacher in New Mexico, and his weather segments were always full of learning. He loved, weather, he loved history, and he loved southern California.

Meanwhile, over at the anchor desk sat Jerry Dunphy, who started every newscast by saying, “From the desert to the sea and to all of southern California, good evening.” That little intro also helped me realize what a special place southern California is. We have deserts. We have the sea. And in between, we have pine-covered mountains, covered with snow in winter; peaceful valleys and canyons; and magnificent cities.

At home I have a book that talks about the native plant communities of southern California, and how unique they are due to our unique climate. Very few places in the world have a climate like ours: warm, dry summers, with almost no rain; mild winters with a mixture of rain and sun. A section of coastal Argentina has a similar climate. The tip of South Africa. The southwest coast of Australia. And the region around the Mediterranean Sea, including the Holy Land.

The Holy Land, in particular, has a somewhat similar combination of deserts, mountains, and sea. There is one passage of scripture that criticizes people whose faith is as fleeting as the clouds of the morning. Most people of the world can’t quite relate to that analogy, but here in southern California, where it’s common for the ocean clouds to come in overnight then disappear by noon, it makes sense.

Now, as beautiful and diverse as a region like this can be, we know that it can also be treacherous, especially for travellers. Deserts can be dry and barren. Mountains can be foreboding. And winter storms can whip the seas up to dangerous heights and send damaging waves crashing against the shore.

Think of the challenges travellers would have faced before modern methods of transportation: Chumash and Gabrieliño Indians in their canoes, paddling out to the Channel Islands. Early explorers like Juan Bautista de Anza, traversing mountains and deserts on foot.

When I look at Psalm 107, all this comes to mind.

Psalm 107 gives thanks to God for safe travel. It was perhaps sung by pilgrims coming to Jerusalem to celebrate a festival. They came from the east and the west, from the north and the south. They came across the desert and across the sea.

We learned in particular about those who came across the desert. Apparently it was quite a difficult journey. They “wandered in desert wastes, finding no way to an inhabited town.” They were hungry and thirsty. So “they cried to the LORD in their trouble, and he delivered them.”

Psalm 107 also mentions those whose journey led them through prison, where they “sat in darkness and gloom, prisoners in misery and in irons…. But “they cried to the LORD in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress.”

There were also those who had to journey through sickness, so much so that they could not eat, and “drew near to the gates of death. Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress.”

Then there were those who came by sea, and traveled through stormy wind and tumultuous seas. “Their courage melted away in their calamity; … they were at their wits’ end. Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble, and he brought them out of their distress.”

Then the psalmist calls upon all those who came across the desert or the sea; all those who have passed through sickness and captivity. The psalmist calls upon them all to “thank the LORD for his steadfast love, for his wonderful works to humankind. God satisfies the thirsty, and fills the hungry. God shatters the prison doors, and cuts in two the bars of iron. God sends out his word which heals, and which delivers from destruction. God quiets the storm, and stills the waves of the sea. God turns a wilderness into pools of water, and dry land into springs of water.”

Most people, at some point in their lives, experience wandering in the desert. Maybe that’s where you are today: wandering, hungry, thirsty, longing for that which will renew your life. Or maybe you are imprisoned by guilt, shame, or an endless pursuit of things that do not satisfy. Maybe you are journeying through sickness – physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual – and find yourself in need of healing. Maybe you are journeying across a stormy sea, with no rest, no peace, just one crashing wave after another.

God is with you.

I heard a song on the radio the other day; I think it’s a couple of years old. One line in the song says, “Savior, please save me again.” The line caught my attention, because I don’t hear people asking very often to be saved again. But we do need a savior who will walk with us, through all the storms, deserts, prisons and seas, to hold our hand, to continually restore to us the wholeness and healing that we long for.

God is that savior. That’s what Psalm 107 celebrates. The people cried to the Lord in their distress, their trouble, and the Lord saved them, delivered them, brought them out of fragmentation and restored them to wholeness.

God knows that life is difficult. When we turn to God, God doesn’t judge us, but instead helps us find that path to healing and wholeness.

As the psalmist says, let all people praise God in the midst of the congregation. Let all people give thanks to the LORD, for God is good, and his love endures forever.

What Belongs to God (Matthew 22:15-22)

2011-10-18T13:17:00.001-07:00

The Pharisees plotted. They wanted to figure out a way to entrap Jesus, to trick him into saying something blasphemous or seditious, something against God or against the emperor. Saying something against God or against the emperor would get Jesus in big trouble, which is what the Pharisees wanted.

I’m sure you never did such a thing. I know I didn’t. Not at all. I was the oldest of three siblings, and let me tell you, it’s always the younger siblings who get the older one in trouble. Who here is an oldest child? Am I right? Of course I am.

The Pharisees – these highly respected leaders of the faith – wanted to get Jesus in trouble because he had been telling stories. More specifically, he had been telling parables, in the temple, about the kingdom of God; and every parable made the Pharisees look bad. Every parable turned the world upside down. Every parable lifted up the lowly, and brought down the mighty. Every parable demonstrated God’s compassion for the poor, the outcast, the oppressed. Every parable condemned those who did little to alleviate their suffering.

The parables revealed that the Pharisees were more concerned with temple rituals, proper protocol, and maintaining their reputation than with acts of justice and compassion.

Don’t judge the Pharisees too harshly. They just wanted to see the Temple they loved so much taken care of. 90% of our churches today do the same thing. They spend more time worrying about the building than they do the ministry. They devote more energy to maintaining the institution than they do to making disciples. Most churches, and most church leaders, are guilty of that at least once in awhile. I won’t even exclude myself from that generalization. So please, don’t judge the Pharisees too harshly.

After all, it’s not easy being a spiritual role model. Maintaining a reputation for holiness and perfection is no easy task. To have someone come along and say you’re not as good as you pretend to be, that’s difficult.

It’s happened in our own church, our own denomination. People began to realize some time ago that even though we talked an awful lot about racial equality, we had far too few people of racial and ethnic minorities in top leadership positions.

We didn’t think we were racist. We talked about not being racist. And yet, somehow, most of our ministers and leaders were white.

It took awhile, but we finally realized that somehow, subconsciously perhaps, racism was still present, systemically, in the church.

This wasn’t news we wanted to hear. The temptation to argue it or deny it was strong. But fortunately we instead began to focus on being a pro-reconciliation, anti-racist church.

This has become one of the top priorities of our church. That’s why, once a year, we take up a special offering for our reconciliation ministry. That’s what the envelope in your bulletin is for. When we collect the offering later in a little while, we will actually be collecting two different offerings: our regular collection for the ministry of our congregation, and this special offering for reconciliation, to help us overcome the sin of racism.

So don’t judge the Pharisees too harshly. Our own experience with racism shows that it’s not easy to have one’s sins and deficiencies exposed. It is tempting to want to turn the tables, and get into trouble the one who is bringing those sins to light.

Jesus was bringing to light the sins of the Pharisees, so they tried to get Jesus in trouble by tricking him into saying something against God or against the emperor.

So they asked him: “Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor or not?” By “lawful” they meant Jewish law: Did the teachings of their faith allow one to pay taxes to the emperor?

Some things you need to know:

1. The emperor considered himself a god. Paying taxes is a form of tribute, is it not? Is it proper to offer tribute to a false god?

2. Many coins – not all, but many – bore the emperor’s image. Many Jews believed that using such coins was against the teachings of their faith, since they bore a graven image. The mere possession of such a coin was, for them, a sin.

So, for Jesus to say, “Yes, it’s okay to pay taxes to the emperor,” he would get in trouble with the strict teachings of many, including the Pharisees themselves.

On the other hand, if Jesus were to say, “No, it’s not okay to pay taxes to the emperor,” then he would get in trouble with Rome. He’d be accused of sedition, labeled a traitor. That would, in fact, happen to Jesus eventually, but this was not yet the time.

So how could Jesus safely answer the question?

Jesus said: “Show me a coin used for the tax.” Who has a coin? Did the Pharisees have a coin? Of course they did, because in addition to the tax for the emperor, there was also a temple tax that everyone was required to pay.

The Pharisees brought to Jesus a coin called a denarius. It was worth quite a bit. A hired worker could expect to receive one denarius for a full day of labor.

They handed the denarius to Jesus. He held it up so they could see it. He said to them, “Whose head is this on the coin? Whose title is this?”

Now remember: this is a graven image. And where did Jesus get it? From the Pharisees! Without even saying anything, Jesus had once again exposed the hypocrisy of this group of Pharisees, by showing that they themselves did not always follow the strict, burdensome rules that they imposed upon everyone else. How could they? No one could!

They answered his question: “It is the emperor’s image and title.”

Jesus replied, “Then give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and give to God the things that are God’s.”

We are familiar with that statement. Maybe we’ve heard a slightly different version – “render unto Caesar the things that belong to Caesar,” perhaps – but we are familiar with the saying. However, that doesn’t necessarily mean that we know what to do with it.

Some think it provides a justification for the separation of church and state. I personally think our separation of church and state is a good thing, generally speaking, but I don’t think one can really justify it by using this particular saying.

Some think this saying provides a justification for the compartmentalization of our lives. No one compartmentalizes their lives better than modern-day Christians. We divide our lives into work and home, public and private, religious and non-religious. We go to church on Sunday mornings and we party it up on Friday night. We live for God at certain hours, and live for ourselves at other hours. We talk about God with our church friends, but never mention God to our work colleagues. We dedicate a portion of our money to God, and see nothing holy or sacred about the rest of what we have or how we spend it.

However, the earliest Christians saw their faith not as a religion that could be compartmentalized, but as a way of life. And scripture affirms that everything is sacred and holy.

Therefore the statement “Give to the emperor what belongs to the emperor, and give to God what belongs to God,” cannot be used to justify the compartmentalization and fragmentation and lack of integrity and wholeness of this modern way of living, dividing up one’s life into what’s holy and what is not. That’s not what this saying means.

Here is what I think Jesus meant. He held up the coin. He showed it to them. He asked them who’s image is on it. When they replied, “the emperor’s,” he said, “give to the emperor what belongs to the emperor, and give to God the things that belong to God.”

I think what Jesus was saying is this: “this coin is made in the image of the emperor. So why are you asking me about it? My concern, and the concern of the One who sent me, is with those who are made in the image of God. My concern is with those whom you have oppressed with your harsh demands, your burdensome requirements, and your lack of compassion.

“They are made in the image of God, and they belong to God, even though you erect barriers that keep them from God. In the same way, you yourselves are created in the image of God. Everything about you is holy. Everything. So why do you ask me a question which presumes that some things are holy and some are not?”

The other day, I happened to read about a group called the Beguines. The Beguines formed in the 1100s, almost a thousand years ago. They were a loosely-connected, grassroots movement of laywomen devoted to prayer, simplicity, and service. They were not monastics, they did not live in convents, although they did live together in community.

In a book on church history by Diana Butler Bass, I read that “some of the Beguines blamed the social order for medieval problems. They connected an increase in poverty and suffering to the growth of a moneyed class, new consumerism, and a tepid church.”

Reading that, I wondered: how can the church be “tepid” in a world of injustice? How can the church fail to see the suffering of the poor, the oppressed, much less fail to work for justice? Could it be that the church in the 12th century believed that maintaining the institution was more important than working on behalf of the poor? Had the work of maintaining the institution blinded the church to the image of God present in every person, particularly the “least of these?”

When I read about the Beguines, I thought: Wow. That sounds a lot like 2011. An increase in poverty. The growth of a moneyed class. New consumerism. And a tepid church that is mostly unconcerned by such things.

And I wonder if we have just as hard a time today seeing the image of God in all people, as the church leaders in the 12th century had, or as the Pharisees in Jesus’ time had. We talk about the image of God, but are we more concerned with the images of Caesar that we carry around in our wallets and purses?

The Pharisees believed that it was more important to get the poor to follow their standards of proper living than it was to actually help them. They thought that they could make people into God’s image by making them more like themselves. They didn’t see that God’s image was already there, in the poor, the suffering, the oppressed.

The trial and death of Jesus should make it very clear that the image of God is found among the suffering poor, and not among the centers of power and wealth.

The image of God is more likely to be found among those who march through the streets of Jerusalem than it is among those who sit on seats of power and authority.

The image of God is more likely to be found among the persecuted than it is among those who are doing the persecuting.

It’s everywhere, the image of God, in every person, but it’s easier to find in some than it is in others.

And for some people… for some who have been beat down, bullied, harassed, cast out of the temple, forced out into the streets, and denied a place at the banquet table… for some people, the hardest place to find the image of God, the hardest place to find anything holy … is within. For some people, who have been told over and over that they just aren’t good enough, the holiness within is very hard to see.

And yet, God is there. God is present. You have been created in the image of God. You belong to God. You belong to God.

Give to God what belongs to God.

"Dress Code" (Matthew 22:1-14)

2011-10-09T12:18:00.000-07:00

Good morning! This is a big Sunday for us. I’d like to thank all of you from Brethren Christian for being here today, and blessing us with your wonderful music. You all welcomed me and a bunch of other pastors last Wednesday, and today it is our pleasure to welcome you here. However, I really got the better end of the deal, because you didn’t make me stand up and sing in front of everyone.

However, I did work hard to prepare the best message I could for you this morning. When I prepare to preach, I usually begin by consulting the lectionary, which is a schedule of scripture readings for each Sunday of the year. There are so many scriptures I could preach on, and this helps me narrow it down.

I was directed to the scripture passage we just heard – the parable of the wedding feast in Matthew – but I wasn’t sure. I’ve found that the parable of the wedding feast is a great scripture to refer to in other sermons. It’s great to highlight how, in the kingdom of God, even the people out in the streets have a place at the table: the “poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame,” as Luke puts it in his version of the story.

That preaches well. It can be thrown in almost anywhere. I could have used that last week, on World Communion Sunday, when I talked about Alexander Campbell, and how we Disciples of Christ see ourselves as part of the one body of Christ, welcoming all to the Lord’s Table, as God has welcomed us.

But there is a darker side to this parable, as you may have noticed. Preaching a whole sermon on this parable would force me to acknowledge that darker side, to deal with it, wrestle with it … and I wasn’t sure I wanted to do that, especially since I knew that we were going to have a large number of guests with us this morning.

But in the end, I went with it anyway.

If you were listening closely when the scripture was read, you probably noticed parts of the parable that made you uncomfortable. First of all, those who were invited refuse the invitation. Then they seize the slaves who delivered the invitations, mistreating them and killing them.

Then, the king who sent out the invitations is so angry that he launches a war. An all-out war! He sends out troops, destroys those who killed his slaves, and burns their city.

All while the food sits on the banquet table, waiting to be eaten.

Finally, there is that bit at the end about the man who was bound hand and foot and thrown out into the darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth… just because he wasn’t wearing the right outfit!

And you kids think that your school has a tough dress code!

The gospel is good news, but much of this story seems like bad news, especially for the invited guests and for those who don’t dress right. And just who are the invited guests and the shabbily dressed?

In Matthew’s gospel, this parable is one of several that Jesus tells while in the temple, talking to the chief priests, the elders, and some Pharisees. After Jesus tells the first two parables – both of which focus around the image of a vineyard – the chief priests and Pharisees become angry with Jesus, because they realize that he is telling these parables about them; he is telling these parables against them.

Then Jesus tells this story of the wedding banquet. As soon as he is finished, the Pharisees go and begin to plot against Jesus.

So clearly, this parable was told against the leaders in the temple: the Pharisees, the chief priests, the Sadducees, the elders, and so on. The invited guests in this story are the Jewish leaders; they are the invited guests, the ones who have refused the invitation and have murdered the messengers.

Unfortunately, it is passages like this that have been used to justify anti-Semitism and hatred against Jews. Even though there is nothing Christian about hatred, Christians through the years have hated the Jews, who they saw as the bad guys.

However, this forgets that Jesus and the earliest believers were Jews and considered themselves Jews. The apostle Paul even lists his training as a Pharisee as a positive thing.

It’s easy to say that those who refused the invitation are the Jews. But it’s not just that they were Jews; it’s that they were Jewish insiders, the elite, those who had the authority, wealth, and power.

So really, it is more appropriate to interpret this not as a story of Jews vs. Christians, but as a story of insiders vs. outsiders. It’s a story of the wealthy elite vs. the poor. It’s a story of the powerful vs. the powerless.

Those who are on the inside, those with wealth and power, those who often shut others out, feel no need to attend the king’s banquet. Why should they, especially if the king is willing to invite the poor and other people of all types?

But for those poor, those outside the locked gates, this story is indeed good news. And that should not be surprising: the king is, after all, one who brings good news to the poor, release to the captives, sight to the blind, and freedom to the oppressed. He proclaims that the poor in spirit, those who are meek, are blessed, because the kingdom belongs to them. Where others lock the chains, he breaks them and sets people free.

So, one thing we should ask today is: who’s in? Who’s on the inside? Who, in today’s society, holds the wealth and power? Who holds the keys to the locks? And why do they hold on to their wealth and power, rather than share it with those who are poor, those who lack power and influence, and those who suffer?

The message of the gospel is clear: those who possess wealth and power but do little to help their neighbor who is in need, they will find it hard to enter the kingdom of God. They will be left outside, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

The reason for this is that God cares very much about the world he created. And when scripture talks about the kingdom of God, it talks about a kingdom that exists on earth, in our own time. It is the healing and salvation of the world – this world that God has made. It is a misguided version of Christianity that is concerned only with the world that is yet to come. Because God so loves this world, and all who live in it.

And so, God does not like it when some think they are better than others, when some are allowed in, and others are locked out. All people are precious in God’s sight, and those who are poor or who suffer have a special place in God’s heart. As the prophet Isaiah says, the God who created you and formed you calls you by your name, saying to you: you are my beloved child, precious in my sight. You are my beloved child, and I love you [Isaiah 43:1, 4].

Which brings us to that poor man who showed up without the proper wedding attire. Seems harsh, doesn’t it, to throw him out? If he came in off the street, how can he be expected to have nice clothes? How can a loving God just toss him out like that? God comes across as harsh, arbitrary, mean. I do not like this God.

But wait a minute… This is a parable. Parables are metaphors. They aren’t meant to be taken literally. Maybe this man’s clothing is symbolic of something deeper…

I flipped through the pages of scripture, looking for other passages that deal with clothing. And I discovered the truth about God’s dress code.

In Ephesians it says: “Clothe yourself with the new self, created according to the likeness of God” [Eph. 4:24]. OK, we’re on to something here. Clothing refers to more than what we wear on the outside. It refers to our whole self, our whole being, which is created according to the likeness of God.

So one way the image of clothing is used in scripture is to symbolize one’s inner self.

Flip over to Colossians, and it says this: “Clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness and patience;… above all, clothe yourselves with love” [Col. 3:12, 14].

And then back in Galatians in says: “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.” You have clothed yourselves with Christ. Therefore, “there is no longer Jew nor Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male or female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” [Gal. 3:27-28].

So there it is. That’s the real dress code: we need to clothe ourselves with kindness, compassion, humility and love. If you’re on the inside, holding on to your wealth and power, not sharing it with those who are less fortunate, then you’re not clothed with kindness, compassion, humility and love. You’re not dressed properly.

It may be just a bit of conjecture on my part, but I believe that that is what the man who was thrown out was lacking. He was not clothed with kindness, compassion, humility and love. Maybe he thought himself better than everyone else. Maybe he thought that some of those who had been welcomed to the banquet table didn’t belong. Maybe he thought that they didn’t earn their way in, that they didn’t deserve to be there.

It’s important that we as Christians don’t go around thinking that we are better than anyone else. We’re not. Each one of us is a beloved child of God, precious in God’s sight, but that is true of every person God created. Every person is created in the image of God.

So many people are turned off to Christianity because it seems to them that Christians go around thinking they are better than everyone else. That may be one of the biggest roadblocks to sharing the gospel. So it is important that we are properly dressed, that we clothe ourselves with kindness, compassion, humility, and love.

It is when we humble ourselves before God and our fellow human beings that Christ lifts us up by welcoming us into the banquet hall, to take our place at the table.

"Welcome" (Romans 15:5-7)

2011-10-03T10:29:00.000-07:00

For World Communion Sunday, worship was bilingual, with the sermon translated into Khmer. Thus it was a shorter sermon than normal. Imagine hearing the translation after each paragraph...

200 years ago, many Protestant churches celebrated communion only once or twice a year. Even today, some only celebrate it once a month or even once a quarter.

We in the Disciples of Christ celebrate it every Sunday. There’s a reason for this….

200 years ago, most churches were very particular about who was allowed to receive communion. Even today, there are some churches that will limit the distribution of communion to those who are members of a particular branch or denomination of Christianity.

We in the Disciples of Christ welcome all people, regardless of denominational background, to the Lord’s Table. There is a reason for this….

I’m going to share a story that I’ve shared before, because some stories from our history deserve to be heard on a regular basis.

Alexander Campbell was a young man in Ireland. Within a year he would become an immigrant, joining his father, Thomas Campbell, in America.

Alexander Campbell was a Presbyterian. In anticipation of the communion service, the pastor and the elders of his church spent many weeks visiting the church members. During these visits, they would evaluate each member. If it was determined that the member was worthy to receive communion, he or she was given a token.

On the day of the communion service, the token had to be presented in order to receive the elements.

This was a big deal. Imagine if someone threw a big party, the one party that everyone wanted to be at. An invitation to the party would be very valuable.

People treasured their tokens. Some even asked to be buried with their most recent token. Perhaps they thought St. Peter would ask for the token before opening the heavenly gates.

Alexander Campbell had friends and mentors from whom he learned quite a lot. These friends and mentors did not belong to the same church he belonged to. Obviously, they did not receive a token; they were not invited to the big communion celebration.

On communion Sunday, the church was packed. The preacher went on and on, first telling the congregation how evil and horrible it would be for someone who is not worthy to come forward for communion, and then telling them how evil and horrible it would be for someone who was found to be worthy to not come forward.

Then it was time to come forward. Everyone came forward in groups. It took a long time. First, each person had to present his or her token. Then they were allowed to receive the bread and the wine.

As group after group went forward, Alexander Campbell sat in his pew, his mind in turmoil. This is not how communion is supposed to be, he thought. Communion is not closed or exclusive.

Thinking of his friends who were not allowed in, he knew that communion should not be divisive. All should be welcome.

Alexander went up with the last group. When the plate for the collection of tokens was passed, Alexander threw his token into the plate. The sound of its ringing echoed through the church.

Then Alexander walked out, without receiving or accepting the bread or the wine.

We are Disciples of Christ. As part of the one body of Christ, we welcome all to the Lord’s Table, as God has welcomed us.

We extend hospitality to all, just as Jesus did.

We celebrate communion every Sunday. The party with Jesus is non-stop!

We know that Christ exists in every person, whether they are rich or poor, native or immigrant, proud or humble.

It doesn’t matter what language one speaks, what country one lives in, or what branch of Christianity one belongs to.

Christ sets the table. Christ invites everyone to join him, to dine with him, to experience life in the kingdom of God.

"One Mind With Christ" (Philippians 2)

2011-09-25T17:50:00.001-07:00

If I seem a little tired today, it’s only because of the wonderful time I had yesterday at Rock the Loch, the day-long music festival at Loch Leven, which, as you know, is our camp and conference center in the San Bernardino Mountains.

I was one of several people on the planning team for Rock the Loch, although I must say it was Leah Dewey and Doc Rogers who did most of the work. Doc, especially – who knows something about putting on a concert – did much of the behind the scenes preparation. For me, it was kind of scary, not really knowing what all needed to be done, and also because we as a region had never done anything like this before. We didn’t know if we were capable of handling all the logistics, or even all the people that we hoped would attend. Issues like parking and stage setup and electrical power capacity and weather forecasts gave us plenty to worry about.

But we knew we wanted to provide an opportunity to show off a place that has come to mean so much in the lives of so many people. Did I ever tell you that it was at Loch Leven that I finally heard God’s call to the ministry? For hundreds, if not thousands, of people in the Pacific Southwest Region, Loch Leven has been a place of spiritual growth and renewal, a place to hear God calling, a place of life transformation.

So that’s why we wanted to show it off by inviting the region up for a day-long music festival, and maybe even raise a little support for this place that so many of us love so much, a place that has become so important to so many lives.

Our schools are doing a little bit of that “showing off” this week, at least the schools of the Long Beach Unified School District. Back-to-school nights are mostly about meeting the teachers and finding out what your children will be doing in their classrooms in the coming school year, but there is also a time for someone – the principal, usually – to speak and show off the school a little by highlighting a few programs or accomplishments.

A couple of us here have already heard one such speech a week and a half ago, at the Back-to-School Night at Brethren Christian. Yes, the evening did provide an opportunity for the school to “show off” a little.

We heard how much higher test scores were at Brethren Christian than state or national averages. We heard about how much money had been raised for the construction of the new gym – and how we could help raise the rest that was needed. And we heard what percentage of students from Brethren Christian went on to college after graduation.

And while the presentation of these impressive statistics was taking place, I started wondering: if I were to make a similar speech for Bixby Knolls Christian Church, what would I say? What would be the programs and accomplishments that I would highlight if I only had five or ten minutes to show off how successful we are as a congregation?

The most common measure of a congregation’s success is its average worship attendance. When I go to gatherings of other pastors, that’s probably the most common question we ask one another: “So, how many people do you have in worship?”

Now, I love it when worship attendance is up. Having a lot of people in worship is a good thing, and every Sunday I give thanks to God for every one of you who is here in worship. Whether today is your first Sunday here or your 500th, your presence here is a blessing to me, just as I am sure that you are blessed by being here.

Nevertheless, I don’t know how important a sign of success it is that we can get so many people to come in here and, for one hour, sit still.

As if, by coming in here and sitting still for one hour, we can save ourselves … or save our church … or save the world.

Granted, we do a lot more than sit still for one hour when we come to worship. But think of it this way: Jesus came to save the world. As his disciples, that’s our calling as well: to save the world; to bring wholeness to a fragmented world.

Writing to the Philippians, the apostle Paul told them to let the same mind be in them that was in Christ Jesus; to think of themselves the way Christ Jesus thought of himself. Being one with God, Jesus could have sat on a throne and insisted that people come and serve him, but instead he set aside those privileges and took on the status of a slave, serving others. He lived a selfless, obedient life, and even died a selfless, obedient death, all for the sake of those he came to love and serve.

Church folks cannot sit inside their sanctuaries and wait for the world to come and approach them. That’s what the stereotypical kings and queens of old, in all their haughtiness, did. They sat on their thrones in a grand room inside their castle (a room that wasn’t all that difference in appearance than a chapel), and waited for their subjects to come and bow down before them and offer to them their gifts and their pledge of loyalty and their commitment to serve the crown.

Christ is not that kind of king. Christ doesn’t wait in a palace, on a throne, for his subjects to serve him. Instead, he’s out in the streets, the slums, serving others.

So worship, I think, is not the ultimate demonstration of our success as a congregation. Worship is very important; in worship we honor God and we are equipped for Christian living. But worship is not the end of our obligation to God. It’s where we find out what our obligation to God is.

In that sense, worship is just the beginning.

Our obligation to God is not fulfilled by spending one hour a week sitting in this or any other place of worship. Our obligation to God is

• to follow the example of Christ,

• to go out into our neighborhood, out into the streets, out into the world;

• to humble ourselves and serve others;

• to reach out in love and service; to show kindness and hospitality to strangers.

Our obligation to God is

• to spread the love of God through acts of service and solidarity, uniting ourselves with the world, and especially the poorest, lowliest, and neediest in the world

• to give our lives in service to Christ by serving the least of these

• to recognize that we are our brother’s keeper and our sister’s keeper

• to know that our welfare and their welfare is connected.

• To know that our lives suffer when someone else in our community is suffering, that a person on our block who can’t afford health care makes us sicker, that a person in our neighborhood who suffers from discrimination and prejudice robs our lives of dignity, and that a person in our community without a home or the money to buy food makes our lives poorer.

So, if I were called upon to give a five or ten minute speech showcasing the highlights of our church’s ministry, the signs of our success, I think I’d talk about the group of our members that gathers here on the second Thursday of every month to cook food for the homeless.

I’d talk about how many youth and adults have given up a half hour of their Saturday to improve our neighborhood by picking up trash.

I’d talk about the children around the world who will be warm tonight, wrapped in a blanket they received because of the donations to our blankets+ offering.

I’d talk about the man in Cambodia who lost his leg when he stepped on a landmine, and who contemplated suicide because of the despair he felt at no longer being able to provide for his family, until he received medical care paid for by money we gave to Week of Compassion, and then a water buffalo – a source of income for him – which was paid for by the money our children at Vacation Bible School raised and sent to Heifer International.

I’d talk about the good that so many groups do in our community – boy scouts, girl scouts, karate – that they are able to do because we provide them a place to meet.

I’d talk about the number of young people who commit themselves to lives of service, serving in the Peace Corps, choosing service-oriented careers like teaching or social work, even accepting calls to ministry, because of their experiences at church youth group or camp at Loch Leven.

I’d talk about the number of sack lunches we hand out to people who come to the church office who are hungry.

I’d talk about the many members of our congregation who give back to their community through volunteer work, providing leadership and support to youth organizations, volunteering at the hospital or with the Red Cross, serving on their local PTA, serving on the board of various community and civil rights organizations, sharing their talents with community music organizations or acting companies…

If I had five or ten minutes to show off how successful we are as a congregation, these are the things I would highlight. Worship, I think, provided much of the inspiration for all that we do. The importance of worship in transforming lives for Christ should not be overlooked.

But when the people of Christ look not to their own interests but to the interests of others, making a living sacrifice of their lives by serving their community and their world, giving their life to others in this way … they most fully unite themselves with the mind of Christ, having the same love that he had for the world.

And that’s what it really means to be a follower, a disciple, of Christ.

The Story of Bōb (Exodus 16: 11-18)

2011-09-18T11:50:00.000-07:00

You are familiar with the story of Job. It is the most famous fairytale of our faith.

OK, maybe “fairy tale” isn’t quite accurate, but it does come pretty close. Just listen to how the story starts: “Once upon a time…” Every good fairy tale begins this way. “Once upon a time, in the land of Uz…” It also sounds a lot like, “Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away…”

“Once upon a time in the land of Uz, there was a man whose name was Job.”

The name looks like it should be pronounced Jŏb, but this being long ago in a land far, far away, it’s actually pronounced Jōb, as you know.

One day the heavenly beings came before God. This included the one known as Satan, whose job it was to patrol the earth. In later Judaism and Christianity the character of Satan became a more demonic personification, but here, he’s just one of the heavenly beings.

In the story, the Lord says to Satan, “Look at Job. Why, no one on earth is as blameless and upright as he.”

Satan responds, “That’s because he’s so blessed. Let me take away everything he has, and see what happens to him.”

And God says, “Okay.”

So Satan takes away Job’s wealth. He takes away his children. He takes away his health. Job is left with nothing.

And yet, Job is not destroyed. Not completely.

There is another story. This one, I’m sure you are not familiar with. It is the story of Bōb, a name that looks like it should be pronounced Bŏb, but, well, it’s actually pronounced Bōb.

One day the heavenly beings came before the Lord, including the one known as Satan. In this story the Lord says to Satan, “Look at Bōb. Why, no one on earth is as blameless and upright as he.”

Satan responds, “That’s because his blessings have been limited. He only has enough: enough to live off of, enough to have a life that is satisfying. Let me give him so much more; let me give him everything he ever dreamed of, and see what happens to him.”

And God says, “Okay.”

So Satan adds to Bōb’s wealth. Bōb wins the Lottery! His crops all of a sudden start producing yields that are double and triple what they were before! His livestock – all his sheep and cattle and oxen – begin reproducing and multiplying at an astonishing rate, as do his own children and grandchildren. And his health and strength increase to such a point that he becomes like Samson, endowed with almost super-human abilities.

This all happens overnight, instantly. (If you are wondering about how Bōb could have so many children and grandchildren overnight, you are forgetting the fairy-tale nature of the story.)

At first, Bōb is overwhelmed by his good fortune. He offers a prayer of thanks to God, whom he credits with allowing his every wish to come true.

Then Bōb realizes that he has some work to do. He has to build bigger pens for all his livestock. He has to build bigger barns to store all his grain and other crops. He has to hire a manager – no, a team of managers – to manage all of his lottery winnings.

His family has grown so large; many relatives who he hardly knows keep showing up, but all they want is his money. Meanwhile, those who are closest to Bōb – his children and grandchildren, especially – simply want the joy of being in his presence; to play and laugh and dine with him; to share their love with him and receive his love in return.

Bōb very much wants this as well, but he no longer has time for such things. He’s too busy managing his assets.

As news of Bōb’s fortune spreads, more and more people want a share of the pie. Some of them are willing to do anything to get it, so Bōb has to hire a security team, and install alarm systems.

Bōb is now so busy, he no longer has any time at all for his family. He no longer has any time for God. He doesn’t even have any time for himself.

There is no peace in Bōb’s life any more, and no rest. All his blessings have become a terrible burden to him. His wealth, his possessions, his belongings; all these things are now holding him captive. His life is controlled by the maintenance and security of all he owns. He is no longer free.

Even his superhuman strength has become a liability, as it only separates him more from society by making him seem freakish.

And that is how Satan destroys Bōb. Not by taking everything away from him, but by giving him everything he ever dreamed of.

Is the story of Bōb true? Sure it is. Jesus knew the story. Luke records Jesus telling this story to a man who wanted Jesus to help him get his family inheritance.

This is how Jesus told the story of Bōb:

“The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?’ Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns, and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grains and all my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’

“But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God” [Luke 12:16-21].

The apostle Paul also knew of the story of Bōb. Paul was reminded of the story of Bōb when he wrote to the Christians in Corinth, a group that was blessed with an abundance of wealth when compared to the much poorer Christians in Macedonia.

Paul wrote to the Christians in Corinth that what is good and what is the will of God is for everyone to have just the right amount; not too much, and not too little. Paul said: “It is a question of a fair balance between your present abundance and their need…. As it is written: ‘the one who had much did not have too much, and the one who had little did not have too little’” [2 Corinthians 8:13, 15].

In saying this, Paul quotes a line from the story of the Exodus, when God sent manna to appear in the wilderness. Everyone received as much manna as they needed. Everyone received their daily bread. No more, and no less. Everyone got just what they needed.

This, my dear friends, is what God wants for us. This is what it is like in God’s kingdom. And this is, in fact, what God has provided for us in the world God has created. Enough. For everyone.

But this is not how humanity has managed the use of God’s resources. This is not the model of stewardship we have exercised over the earth. In the world as we have made it, some have much more than they need, while others do not have even the basic necessities they need to survive.

It is a fragmented world in which we live. Some people in this world have just enough to be happy; but most are burdened by having either too little, or too much. They either suffer from not having, like Job; or they suffer from having too much, like Bōb.

We talk about the suffering of those who have too little. We talk about it in church, we take up collections for them.

We don’t talk about the suffering of those who have too much. This is because we believe the lie that is fed to us daily, the lie that says you can never have too much, the lie that says more is always better, the lie that says no matter how much you have, you’ll be happier if you have even more.

We believe this lie even though studies have shown that the wealthy have higher rates of anxiety and depression than those who have enough – those who can meet their basic needs and perhaps have a little extra for an occasional luxury, like a night out at a restaurant once in a while.

It’s a bell curve of sorts. Those who have nothing – absolutely nothing – find happiness very hard to come by. The level of happiness then rises as income rises and basic needs are met. It even rises a little once income rises beyond the level that is needed to meet basic needs. But then, as income keeps rising, the level of happiness wears off.

As income continues to rise, wealth becomes more and more of a burden, and happiness actually begins to decline.

In the United States, studies have surveyed people’s level of happiness in the second half of the 20th century. Those 50 years saw an explosion in wealth. Homes got bigger. The average number of cars per family doubled. New inventions began to fill our homes, things like automatic dishwashers, microwave ovens, TVs, computers, and cell phones, all of which promised to make life easier and more enjoyable.

Yet at the end of the century, Americans reported that they were no happier than they were in 1950. In fact, the level of happiness in America had actually declined some.

What happened? Our wealth became a burden. Just like Bōb, we discovered that wealth and possessions couldn’t give us more of what we really wanted; more of what really matters.

It would be bad enough if the burden of wealth only made the wealthy suffer, but actually, all are made to suffer. As those who had more cars got used to driving themselves everywhere, public transportation ridership went down, leading to cutbacks and elimination of services. Remember the red car? It’s no longer there for those who really need it.

Many poor people cannot afford cell phones, and yet – because so many people do have cell phones – pay phones and even highway call boxes are disappearing, no longer there for those who really need them.

Water is increasingly becoming an endangered resource, both here in southern California and in many regions throughout the world. As clean water becomes more scarce, prices go up. For some, this is not a problem, as they can afford it. So they keep using and wasting water. But this raises the price even more, which makes the burden on the poor even harder to bear.

This is clearly a justice issue. That’s why scripture talks about stewardship so much. That’s why God is so concerned with how you spend your money and manage your resources. That’s why the ancient laws spoke of debt forgiveness and limitations of slavery and jubilee.

It is also an issue of happiness and wholeness. Having too much can be just as much a burden as having too little. In the stories Jesus told, it is the rich man who walks away sad. It is the rich man who cannot find his way into the kingdom of God.

Mahatma Gandhi said that “earth provides enough to satisfy every man’s need, but not every man’s greed.”

The story of Job is real, but so is the story of Bōb. These stories are everyday realities in a fragmented world, a world where some have too much, and some have too little. But with God’s guidance, we can write a new story: a story of wholeness in a fragmented world.

"A Way Forward" (Exodus 14:19-31)

2011-09-11T12:08:00.000-07:00

Not long ago, in the middle of summer, Ginger and I got a surprise. A young man stopped by our house, a young man who we’ve known since he was a 9 year-old kid in the fourth grade, long before he was even capable of sporting the scruffy goatee that now adorns his face. He was spending some time in southern California relaxing, and he stopped by that evening to say hi.

It was really good to see him. We ended up talking until well past midnight, which (just so you know) is way past my bedtime. And it felt a little weird to offer him a beer, because he’s one of our youth kids, except that, of course, he isn’t a kid anymore.

His future is hopeful: he has a job, a girlfriend, and a good relationship with his family. Like many young adults, he still has some maturing to do, but we have quite a lot of hope that he’ll get there.

That wasn’t always the case. When he was a teenager in the church youth group where we were living, Ginger and I feared that he would end up in jail, in the hospital, or worse. Those were his fears, too. He said to us once that he didn’t expect that he would live long.

A friend of his said to us once, when they were still teenagers, that if it wasn’t for Ginger and I and the work we were doing with that church’s youth, that this particular kid may very well have committed suicide. “If it weren’t for you guys,” he said, “my friend probably wouldn’t be here today.”

Talk about a wake-up call. Here we thought that all we were doing was taking kids to bowling alleys and mini golf, giving them a place to hang out, letting them raid our refrigerator and pantry, and maybe talking to them about Jesus every once in a while. Turns out that God was working through all that to take a dead-end life and create a way forward, a path into a future filled with hope.

Pretty amazing stuff. But then, the God we worship is pretty amazing, and we should expect amazing things from God – the God whose love and compassion are so complete, so good, so whole; the God who, time and time again, takes people who think they are at a dead end, and shows them a way forward.

I’ve seen it many times with people who have lost a spouse or a partner. I think it’s almost always the case that when one’s life companion dies, it feels like a dead end. How can life possibly continue? How can one keep moving forward, alone? How can one find hope? How can one ever rediscover joy or laughter?

There are some who never do. However, the vast majority receive the support of family and friends, and the prayers of an entire church. Those with whom they break bread every Sunday show their support, and they show those who are mourning how to take a step forward. And then they help them take another step forward. And another. And another.

And before you know it, they find themselves once again walking into the future.

It’s not easy. They are still carrying their pain. But through the ministry of the church, God has shown them that there is a way forward.

Our God is a God who shows that there is a way forward. When we’re at a dead end, God creates an opening, a way through, and in doing so God provides hope and salvation. God makes possible a future that wasn’t thought to exist.

When the Israelites fled from Egypt, they encountered a dead-end when they reached the Red Sea. In their rush to escape, had no one given any consideration to how they would reach the promised land?

In front of them was a vast sea; no one could swim across it. Behind them came the mighty Egyptian army. No one could possibly stand against it.

They were trapped. They couldn’t go forward, and they couldn’t go back. There would be no future for the people God had called his own.

But then: God had Moses raise his staff over the water; and God parted the waters, creating a path on dry ground right through the middle of the sea.

God pushed the waters of chaos, the dwelling-place of death and demons, to the side, so that the Israelites could pass through its midst, with a wall of water on their left and a wall of water on their right. God created a way forward where the Israelites had seen nothing but a dead end; and that way forward led to a future filled with hope and promise.

Thus God saved Israel that day from the Egyptians. Thus Moses and the Israelites and all generations since have declared: “the LORD is my strength and my might; he has become my salvation.” Thus the psalmist declared that “God is my savior, he who has done great things in Egypt.”

“God is my savior.” In modern times, we tend to define the term “savior” in a way that is much too narrow. If a Christian asks you if you are saved, probably they mean, are you saved from a life in hell after death. But the biblical definition of words like saved and savior and salvation is much deeper than that.

The psalmist declared that “God is my Savior” because God saved the Israelites from slavery, from a life without meaning [Psalm 106:21]. In the book of Hosea, the word “savior” is used the same way when God declares that “I have been the LORD your God ever since the land of Egypt; you know no God but me, and besides me there is no savior” [Hosea 13:4].

Moses and the Israelites declared that “The LORD is my salvation” because when it seemed that they were at a dead end, with no hope for the future, God provided for them a way forward. God saved Israel that day. God restored Israel to wholeness.

The young man who came by the house to visit: God saved him. I really believe that. God restored unto him the joy of salvation. God provided for him a way forward into the future.

So many people who have lost loved ones, who have felt themselves at a dead end with no way forward: God saved them. God restored unto them the joy of salvation. God showed them how to put one foot in front of the other, and find their way forward into the future.

We must remember the salvation of God. We must remember the story of how God provided a way forward for the Israelites when it seemed that all hope was lost.

Ten years ago today, terrorists attacked the United States. I’m sure all of us, except for the very youngest among us, remember that day and the days that followed.

On that day, my baby boy turned two months old. His older brother was four, and on that day his pancreas was starting to shut down insulin production, although we wouldn’t know that until a month later when he was diagnosed with type-1 diabetes.

On that day a group of exchange students from Brazil had just arrived in Texas; some of them would soon discover that the families that had agreed to host them for the year had changed their minds, no longer wanting to house a stranger from overseas. That’s how one of those students came to be a part of my family that year. Their loss, our gain.

On that day I woke up early as I usually do, and tuned into NPR to hear that the FAA had grounded all air traffic. That was the first thing I heard, and I was confused. All air traffic? What for?

And then, like most Americans, and indeed much of the world, I watched the images on TV of planes crashing, towers burning, bodies falling.

I wondered: what next? What was in our future?

Was there even going to be a future?

It would be great if I could tell you that the next thing I thought of was the story of God leading the Israelites through the Red Sea.

Actually, the next thing I thought of was my once-a-month commitment to help deliver meals-on-wheels, since that was my scheduled day. So as I was driving around, delivering meals to folks who were elderly and homebound, I realized that many of them had been through quite a lot in their lives: the deaths of loved ones, the loss of their mobility, and much more.

Most, if not all of them, remembered when the attack on Pearl Harbor took place.

At least one of them sought to comfort me, and offer me words of hope. She knew that people would be looking to me, their pastor, for encouragement. She also knew that I was young; ten years younger than I am now, in fact!

Listening to her, I knew that God would indeed provide us a way forward, a way through what we were now facing. And that gave me the hope and encouragement I needed to turn around and provide hope and encouragement to others.

Ten years later, we’re still here. We have found that path that leads forward into the future. I think that, as a nation, we have stumbled on that path a few times, especially when we’ve been quick to cast blame, and when we’ve allowed our fears to cause us to discriminate against Muslims and deny rights to Muslims in America, the vast majority of whom seek peace and understanding just like the vast majority of Christians do.

We have stumbled, yes, and yet at the same time we do move forward, led by the God of peace and love, the God who makes a path through the waters so that God’s people might be saved.

As you know, we are beginning our stewardship campaign today. Stewardship is about money, yes. But it’s not just about money. It’s about trusting in the one who shows you the way forward, who makes a path into the future; the one who says: “Surely I know the plans I have for you … plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.”

In our lives, we’ve known times when the future seemed without hope. In our congregation’s life, we’ve known times when the future seemed without hope. Times when we felt we were at a dead end.

But then we discovered that life does go on. We discovered that there was a path through the waters, and that we could venture on that path if we could but put one foot in front of the other. We discovered that we could survive difficult economic times. We discovered that beyond conflict and pain, there was healing and hope.

In this season when we focus on stewardship, remember the God who parted the seas, and who provided a way forward. Remember all those who found new life and salvation through the church; odds are you’re one of them. If you are worried about your ability to give, remember the God who has never let you down, the God who won’t let you drown in the sea. Let your commitment to God reflect your joy and gratitude for God’s commitment to you, to provide you a future with hope.

"When You're Sinned Against" (Matthew 18:15-20)

2011-09-04T12:11:00.000-07:00

Labor Day weekend marks the traditional end of summer in North America. Folks are coming back from vacation, although some are taking this 3-day weekend to get one last summer adventure in. Kids are going back to school. The NFL regular season begins later this week. And activities for the fall are starting to kick in.

For some time now, I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to do with our youth. We have four new 6th grade youth this fall, all boys. That pretty much doubles the size of our youth group, and if you happen to be familiar with those 6th grade boys, you know it has the potential to change the group’s dynamics.

Our first big youth group event is in two weeks. I’ve planned a superhero party for our youth. Each youth is invited to come dressed as a superhero, but it has to be a superhero of their own making. I don’t want to see any spiderman or batman costumes. I want the kids to invent their own superhero. And I want them to be able to explain what their super-strength is.

I don’t know what my own costume for this youth event will be. I’m afraid that whatever I come up with will end up looking really silly. Maybe I’ll just make a cape out of a beach towel.

But I do know what my superpower will be. And even though I have been keeping this a secret from the youth, I can tell you, because they aren’t paying any attention to the sermon.

If I could have any superpower, I’d want the ability to see into people’s hearts. It’s kind of like x-ray vision, but for emotions and feelings. It would give me the ability to see what motivates people to do what they do, and explain why they act the way they act.

I’d want this power, because for one thing, it’s not always easy for me to read people’s emotions. This is a challenge for everyone, I think, but some people are much better at reading emotions than I am.

For example, I’ve learned over the years that one reason why people lash out at others is because they are actually anxious, fearful, or insecure. Their anger is just a symptom of their fear. If only I could be aware of their fear in the moment that they lash out; if only I could understand the cause of their anger, it would make it a lot easier to respond in a way that is helpful, a way that eases their suffering, instead of lashing out at them in return and increasing their suffering.

Yes, this would be a very, very helpful superpower to have.

I remember kids in school who were bullies, or who went around campus all full of themselves. I wish I had understood then the fear and insecurity that drove them to act the way they acted.

The ability to see into people’s hearts would have been helpful to me some years ago when a parishioner of a church I once served got offended by something I did – or, in this case, didn’t do. She became upset when I failed to mention the death of someone in the community during the worship announcements one Sunday.

Now, this wasn’t a member of the church, this person who died. It wasn’t even somebody I knew or had ever met. No one had asked me to mention this person’s name during worship, or even informed me about his passing. I knew nothing.

But apparently, I should have, at least in this one parishioner’s opinion. She stopped attending worship. She stopped speaking to me. And she began to spread the word all over town about what a terrible pastor and person I was.

None of this really made sense. I wish I could have seen into her heart, to find out what was going on there.

This parishioner had a sister who lived nearby. A small field separated their two houses. They could look out their back windows and wave to each other. Unfortunately, there was animosity between them, and they didn’t speak to one another.

When this parishioner stopped attending worship and stopped speaking to me, a friend said to me, “Well, now she’s treating you like one of the family.”

Obviously this was a troubled woman. It would have been helpful to be able to see into her heart, to know what was going on.

This superpower would have been helpful to some of my ancestors.

In my office I have a Bible that belonged to my great-grandmother, Octa Terrell. In it is an old newspaper clipping, the obituary of her husband Charles Terrell. Among Charles’ survivors the obituary lists his sister, Mrs. Cora Hatfield. I’m not exactly sure how it can all be traced, but somewhere through all this there is a connection to the Hatfields of western Virginia, who got into that famous feud with the McCoys many years ago.

Several events led up to this decades-long feud. One was an affair. Another was the alleged theft of a pig. A number of folks on both sides of the feud were shot, and some were killed.

Oh, if only some of my ancestors had this superpower, to see what emotions, fears and anxieties were behind the actions of the McCoys, and vice versa; the power to be able to see into another’s heart.

Well, we don’t have this power. And honestly, maybe that’s just as well. Having a power like that would make us “super-human.” But we’re not super-human. We’re human.

And being human is, as Genesis points out, very good.

So maybe it is also very good that we have to communicate with one another not as super-humans, but as humans.

I’ve attended a number of clergy conferences over the years, and when I arrive, the first thing that happens is that I am given a badge to wear that lists my name and city.

There are clergy at these conferences from all over North America. Most of them don’t know each other. Conversations with people you don’t know usually begin with “What’s your name? Where are you from? What do you do?” Well, at these conferences, the first two questions are answered by the name badges, and the third question – “What do you do?” – is useless since we all pretty much do the same thing.

So, how do you start a conversation if the usual conversation starters don’t work? If you already know the answers?

So maybe it’s good that we don’t have the power to see into other people’s hearts. Conversations are good, and conversations usually start with questions. Conversations are more difficult if the questions are already answered.

Now, sometimes, we intentionally – or, more often, I think, unintentionally – offend someone. We sin against one another. And the development of good relationships with one another, the movement toward unity and peace, hits a speedbump.

The scripture we heard this morning gives some guidance on what to do when one of these speedbumps is encountered. Now, it sounds at first like an encouragement to pass judgment and even cast out one who has sinned against you, as long as you follow the proper process. Talk to the offender in person, and if that doesn’t work, take one or two elders or witnesses, and if that doesn’t work, go ahead and turn your back on them. Treat them as an outcast, an unwanted, unwelcome companion.

But is this passage really meant to be interpreted that way, as giving permission for us to exercise such harsh judgment? We stopped reading at verse 20, which is where the lectionary for today stops, but if we were to keep reading, we’d immediately hear Peter ask Jesus how many times one is to forgive a person who has sinned against you. Should such a person be forgiven as many as seven times?

No, Jesus says. Not seven times, but 77 times! Or maybe it’s 70 times 7, the translators aren’t sure. But it might as well be a million. Jesus is using hyperbole to say: don’t ever stop forgiving. Don’t ever stop searching for a way to restore a relationship. Don’t ever stop working for reconciliation.

Now, go back, and read the passage about how to handle the situation of being sinned against, keeping in mind the discussion on forgiveness which immediately follows. Now, it seems that Jesus is trying to get you to talk to the person, to start a conversation. One-on-one is best. If that doesn’t work, talk with a small group – 2 or 3 at most – of trusted, wise elders. Do this, and really work at it, before you give up on the relationship.

Last week, our scripture in worship focused on Moses and the burning bush, highlighting God’s passion for liberation and freedom. People who are in relationships that are strained, where grudges are held, where anger is held on to, and where there is no forgiveness … people in situations like that are in captivity. They aren’t free. They are captive to anger and fear and resentment. Both the person in need of forgiveness and the person who needs to forgive are broken because of it. They’re not whole.

It is God’s desire, God’s passion, that people find wholeness. It is God’s passion that people find release. It is God’s passion that people find freedom from whatever captivity they are in.

According to Marcus Borg, both sinners and those who are sinned against need “liberation, reconnection, healing, wholeness, and a world of justice and peace…. This is central to God’s passion in the Bible as revealed decisively in Jesus.”

If there is someone who has sinned against you, who has offended you in some way: Pray that God will help you understand what is in their heart. Look for every opportunity to make peace with that person. Maybe they have offended you, and are suffering in their need to be forgiven. Maybe you have not worked as hard as you could to offer forgiveness, to listen to them and understand what is going on inside of them. Both of you are suffering, and though it may be difficult, uncomfortable work, only through reconciliation will the suffering both of you are in be relieved. Only through reconciliation will you be restored to wholeness. Only through reconciliation will you be free.

"This is It" (Exodus 3:1-15)

2011-08-28T11:04:00.000-07:00

I have a friend who I’ve known for a long time. We went to seminary together in Indianapolis; before that we were both students at Chapman University; and before that we both attended summer camp together at Loch Leven, as well as at a camp that our church doesn’t use much anymore, a place called Bethany Pines. I don’t see her much anymore – she lives way back east – but we do occasionally connect on the internet and through facebook.

One thing I’ve noticed in her online communication is that she has taken to writing the word “God” by substituting a hyphen in place of the “o”, so that it appears g-hyphen-d [“G-d”]. It looks strange to see it written that way. You can’t really pronounce it.

I haven’t asked her about this, but I think the fact that you can’t pronounce a word with the vowels taken out is, in fact, why she does it. It would be easy to dismiss this habit of hers as one of those unique traits that we all have, the quirky little habits of our friends and family members that we can’t explain but put up with because we love them.

For example, I had another friend in college who was organized to the point of plain ridiculousness. Everyone on his desk had an exact spot where it belonged. Some of us took to moving items around when he would step out of the room; switch the pencil and the stapler, or move a picture frame just 3 inches to the left. When he returned to the room, he’d walk over to the desk and, without saying a word – perhaps without even thinking about it – and return the items to their proper places.

When I was young child, we always had a glass of milk with dinner. And we’d all drink our cups of milk gradually, taking a few bites of food, then washing it down with a swallow of milk. Except Dad. He never took a drink of milk until he was all done with his food. It seemed kind of strange to us kids, but hey, to each his own. It was okay. Just different.

However, my friend who writes God in an unpronounceable way is not alone. Brian McLaren, who preached at this year’s General Assembly in Nashville, does the same thing in his most recent book, Naked Spirituality. He does this, he says, because when God appeared to Moses at the burning bush, Moses tried several times to get God to identify and name himself, but the closest God came to naming himself was to say something that translators still have a hard time figuring out, but which is usually translated: “I AM WHO I AM,” although it could also mean, “I AM WHAT I AM” or “I WILL BE WHAT I WILL BE.” The base word here means “to be,” and it is from this word that we get the divine name for God: Yahweh. Yahweh means I am or I will be or he will be or he causes to be.

In identifying himself this way, God seems to be saying (as Brian McLaren points out): “I will be whoever I will be, Moses, so get used to the fact that you can’t wrestle my identity down.” Or maybe God is saying, “I am the essence of being itself. Everything that is, is me.” And that’s as close as we get to a name for God.

Well, this ancient name for God was rarely spoken. It was written Y-H-W-H, with no vowels, and even though it was based on the verb “to be,” it was considered too holy to say out loud.

Modern translators of scripture continue to honor this ancient tradition. Whenever Yahweh – Y-H-W-H – appears in the ancient texts, modern translators render that name as “the LORD,” with “LORD” written in all capital letters. Whenever you read your Bible and you see “the LORD” written in all capital letters, it refers back to here, to the name that means “I AM WHO I AM.”

Of course, most of us are in the practice of using the word “God” as if it were a proper name itself. And “God” is defined many ways. Most of those definitions – all of them, actually – do limit God in some way. But God will not be limited by our definitions. There is always more to God than we can imagine.

This is why my friend – along with Brian McLaren – writes God with a hyphen: to remind herself that God is essentially unnamed-able undefined-able, and bigger than we can possibly imagine.

Nevertheless, even though scripture refuses to name of define God definitively, and even though the tradition of not naming God continues today in our Bible translations and even among some of our friends, scripture does paint a very clear picture of what God’s character is like. From scripture we see very clearly what is important to God, and what God is passionate about.

Ironically, it is this very same scripture passage that refuses to name or define God that shows us God’s character and God’s passion, what God is like.

It’s all very complex, deep, and full of meaning. No wonder this was, for the Jewish people, the defining story of their faith: the story of Moses, a Hebrew who, as a baby, was in danger of being killed by Pharaoh, that ruthless oppressor who had enslaved the Hebrew people. Desperate, Moses’s mother placed him in a basket and floated him down the river, where, as fate would have it, the daughter of Pharaoh found him, adopted him, and raised him as her own.

When he was older, Moses killed an Egyptian, then ran away to the land of Midian. There he married a woman named Zipporah, and he lived with Zipporah’s family, keeping the flock of his father-in-law Jethro.

Moses was a fugitive, but Midian was far enough away, and he had found a family, a community, a place to belong. Life was, for the most part, simple, peaceful, good.

However, back in Egypt, the Israelites groaned under their slavery, and cried out. Their cry for help rose up to God; God heard their groaning. God remembered his covenant with the children of Abraham; God looked up on the Israelites. And God took notice of them.

So God called out to Moses. Out of the burning bush God called to Moses, and God said: “I have observed the misery of my people; I have heard their cry; I know their sufferings; I have seen how the Egyptians oppress them; and so I will deliver them from the Egyptians. I will deliver them from oppression, bondage, and suffering. I will save them.”

My friends, this is it. This is what it’s all about. God may be bigger than we can comprehend or imagine, unnamed-able and undefine-able, but right here we see who God is by seeing what God is like, what God’s character is, and what is of ultimate importance to God.

Who is God? What is God like? God is the one who observes the misery of his people, who hears their cry, who knows their suffering, and who sees how they are oppressed.

What is God’s priority, God’s passion? To save people from their suffering and deliver them from oppression; to rescue them from brokenness and restore them to wholeness.

This is it. This is what it’s all about.

When Jesus began his ministry, he announced that God’s Spirit had anointed him to bring good news to the poor, release to the captives, sight to the blind, and freedom to the oppressed. He saved people from their suffering and oppression. He rescued them from brokenness and restored them to wholeness.

This is it. This is what it’s all about.

Scripture uses the word “salvation” when speaking of both the deliverance of God’s people from Egypt and the ministry and teaching of Jesus. God saved the Israelites from their suffering by delivering them from Egypt. Jesus saved people from their suffering by restoring to them lives of wholeness.

Unfortunately, in modern times the definition of salvation – as well as the words saved and savior – has been limited to referring only to life after death. That is one meaning, but more often, when these words appear in scripture, they refer to the transformation of life this side of death, the transformation of ourselves and the world.

Saving people from their oppression is so important to God that once the Israelites finally made it to the promised land, God gave them a whole long list of rules and instructions which make up the bulk of the Torah, the Law. Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy – these books and others go on and on with teachings about how God’s people are to treat one another. Many of these laws involved economics, and they were quite radical.

Money lent out was not to be charged interest. Debts were to be completely forgiven every seven years. Indentured slaves were to be set free after seven years. And every 50 years, there was to be a jubilee in which all land was to be returned to its original family without compensation.

Keeping in mind the high number of foreclosures in our current economy, imagine if after 50 years all homes and property were to be returned to the families from which they were taken.

All these laws were to prevent the establishment of a permanently impoverished underclass. They were to prevent the Israelites from creating another Egypt in the promised land, where wealth and power are concentrated in the hands of a few, and where the disparity between the rich and the poor is too extreme.

It’s hard not to get “political” when you realize that this is it, this is what’s important to God. In later generations, when wealth and power was concentrated in and abused by a few elite, God raised up prophets to challenge kings and nations concerning this oppression of the poor.

Needless to say, the prophets were not always very popular, and rarely were they welcomed into palaces with open arms.

In our own time, it is hard for those who take seriously “the law and the prophets” to keep silent when debates rage about how governments should balance their budgets and reduce their deficits. Should taxes be raised on the rich, or should services be cut for the poor?

What do you think God would say, the God who hears the cries of his people and who knows the suffering of those who are oppressed?

What do you think the prophets would say, those who, like Amos, criticized the rich for “buying the poor for silver and the needy for a pair of sandals,” and like Micah, who condemned the rulers of Israel for ignoring the demands of justice and “tearing the skin off God’s people and the flesh off their bones, eating the poor, breaking their bones in pieces, chopping them up like meat in a kettle, like flesh in a cauldron?”

What do you think Jesus would say, he who was anointed by God to bring good news to the poor?

This is it. This is what is important to God. Overcoming oppression. Bringing an end to suffering.

And if you are looking, wondering, what the church should be about, well, this is it. This is what we are called to do. We are called to hear the cries of the oppressed. We are called to know their suffering, and to work to end it. We are called to bring good news to the poor, release to the captives, sight to the blind, and freedom to the oppressed.

To put it another way, we are called to be a movement for wholeness in a fragmented world.

…Because the God we worship is a God who hears the cries of the oppressed. God knows the suffering of God’s people. There is a tender spot in God’s heart for those who are poor, those who mourn, those whose lives are filled with grief, those who are worn out with tears that do not end. God’s compassion is beyond measure. God’s concern for God’s people is boundless.

Because of this, the psalmist can proclaim with confidence: “When I am in distress, when my eye wastes away from grief … when my strength fails because of my misery and my bones waste away … I will trust in you, O LORD; I say, ‘You are my God,’ … How abundant is your goodness, for you have wondrously shown your steadfast love to me.” [Psalm 31]

Risking Foolishness (Matthew 16:13-20)

2011-08-21T11:37:00.000-07:00

Most of you know that I was somewhat shy as a kid. I think I’ve mentioned that to you before. Back then, I was not the gregarious, sociable, outgoing person that I am today.

Have I mentioned to you the quota system under which I became a minister? Well, believe it or not there is a quota system that determines who gets the call to ministry, and on the day God called me to the ministry, God decided that the quota for outgoing extroverts had already been reached, but that a few quiet, socially awkward types were still needed. So there you go.

In school, it’s a good thing learning came early to me, because I was really scared to ask questions. My Calculus teacher said often that the only stupid question is the question that isn’t asked. Well, I had a lot of stupid questions which I kept to myself. I somehow survived high school calculus, but as soon as I put the pencil down on the final exam, most of what I learned in Calculus was gone forever.

I did learn eventually that if I sat in the front of the class, I could sometimes persuade myself to ask a question as long as I didn’t turn around and see everyone else in the room.

The problem, I guess, is that I was afraid of looking foolish.

Now, some people I know have no problem looking foolish.

Some people have no problem looking foolish, and to be honest, I sometimes catch myself living in envy of them. They are not afraid to stand up and take risks. They’re not afraid to be the life of the party. They’re not afraid to dance. They’re not afraid to ask questions. They’re not afraid to take a risk.

Peter, the disciple, has always struck me as such a person. After all, he was the one who stepped out of the boat when Jesus walked on the water. None of the other disciples did. And I certainly would not have, if I were there. I would have been there in the boat, with the rest, trying not to draw attention to myself, yet craning my neck to watch and see whether or not Peter would make a fool of himself yet again.

And he did, as we heard a few weeks ago. He stepped out onto the water, got afraid, panicked, began to sink, and cried out like a baby: “Help! Help!” Yeah, I think I and the rest of the disciples would have been inwardly laughing, shaking our heads at crazy Peter as he stumbled back into the boat, soaking wet after having attempted to walk on water.

I am not like Peter. That’s not to say I’ve never taken any risks. I’ve spoken out during a General Assembly debate before thousands of people. I’ve asked questions of biblical scholars in rooms filled with hundreds of clergy and even seminary professors. Granted, I made sure I was sitting toward the front when I asked, but still, I asked.

But I am sure – I am sure – that I would have taken the safe route if I were among the disciples when Jesus asked the questions we heard in today’s scripture.

“Who do people say that I am?” That first question is the easy one. Everyone is quick to answer. All you have to do is report what other people say, and if their answers are foolish, then it’s the other people who are made to look stupid.

“Who do people say that you are? Oh, that’s easy. Some say that you are John the Baptist. Some say that you are Elijah. Some say that you are Jeremiah or one of the other prophets. This is easy, Jesus; ask us another one!”

Some of the questions in school were this easy. “What’s the capital of Venezuela?” To find the answer, all you have to do is go look it up, see what it says in the atlas. As long as you’ve consulted the atlas, you can confidently share the right answer and avoid looking foolish.

“Who was the 7th president of the United States?” Well, check it out in the history book, and report back. As long as you do your homework, it shouldn’t be a problem.

As I mentioned, Calculus is a little harder. “What don’t you understand?” the teacher asks, and for a lot of us, the answer is, “everything.”

But the hardest questions of all are the ones that start, “What do you think…?” What do you think are the causes of the Spanish-American War? What do you think the poet means when he says this or that? What do you think about Jesus?

That’s what Jesus wanted to know from his disciples. He heard their reports about what others thought; now he wanted to know what they thought.

You can’t consult a history book or an atlas for the answer to a question like that.

The disciples were eager to answer that first question. It’s easy to say what others think. But that second question – “what do you think?” – that’s tougher.

What if your answer ends up making you look foolish?

Mark Twain said that it is better to keep your mouth shut and let everyone wonder if you are a fool than it is to open your mouth and remove all doubt. That’s good advice much of the time. But not always.

The disciples didn’t want to answer Jesus’ question. Except for Peter. Without hesitation (I would guess), Peter stood up and said, “Why, you’re the Christ! The messiah!”

The disciples were getting ready to laugh again. Thank goodness they had Peter around. Let him speak out, let him look foolish, and the rest of them come off looking, well, not-so-foolish. They turned to look at Jesus, to wait for his response.

Jesus looked at Peter and said, “Blessed are you! Blessed are you, Simon, son of Jonah! God has blessed you, because only through my Father in heaven could you have come to that conclusion. And I tell you, you are a rock, the rock on which I will build my church. And I give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven.

And the disciples were amazed, because Peter opened his mouth, and nothing foolish came out. Instead, they witnessed incredible spiritual insight – an insight that they, perhaps, shared, but only Peter had the boldness to go along with it and say it out loud.

Way to go, Peter! You shared your faith. You confessed Christ. You proclaimed your belief in the Messiah, the son of the living God.

And Jesus commended you, and pronounced you “blessed.”

If that were the end of the story, it would seem that the message for us is to go about telling everyone about Jesus, who he is. “Hey, did you hear? Jesus is the messiah, the son of God.” Tell everyone.

But there is, in fact, one more part to this story, one last sentence, one concluding verse. After Jesus commended Peter, “he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the messiah, the Christ.”

What? That doesn’t make sense. I thought this whole story was about confessing your faith out loud. That’s what Peter did, and it was a sign of his blessedness. Doesn’t that mean… Shouldn’t we…

No. Keep quiet. Don’t tell anyone.

Why would Jesus say this?

It wasn’t because Jesus was worried that he or his disciples might look foolish. It was too late to worry about that.

And it wasn’t because Jesus wanted to keep his identity a secret from the rest of the world. Jesus’ very existence was due to the fact that “God so loved the world,” so that can’t be it.

It was because of the profound and deep truth of Peter’s confession. Sometimes you hear something or even say something so profound that you have to stop and ponder it for awhile.

Perhaps you have read something so profoundly true that you have to stop and ponder. You try to keep reading, but your mind can’t get past that one statement.

I admit, it’s happened to me once or twice while writing a sermon. I’ve written sentences which force me to stop and say, whoa! Where did that come from? (I’d like to say that it came from my own brilliance, but I know better than that.)

And often, I will – like you – read or hear something along those lines, something so profoundly true that I can’t stop thinking about it. The words grab hold of me and will not let me go.

“Jesus is the Christ, the son of the living God.” Jesus wants to be sure that Peter and the other disciples understand what those words mean. He wants them to allow these words to marinate in their hearts for awhile. You don’t just hear words like these and immediately go about repeating them.

The day will come, the time will come, when you will be called upon to share what you know. The time will come when you will be called upon to stand up and risk foolishness by proclaiming your faith.

But for Peter and the other disciples, they weren’t ready yet. Peter spoke a profound truth, one that may have caught him by surprise as much as it caught all the other disciples by surprise. It would take some time for the truth of what he said that day to sink in.

After telling them to keep quiet about this, Jesus then began telling and showing his disciples exactly what it means to be the Christ, the messiah, the son of the living God. He explained this truth to them, and it wasn’t always what they expected. Some aspects of what it meant to be the Christ were too much for the disciples to accept. Betrayal? Suffering? Execution? They were not ready to accept this part of the truth. Not yet. It was too much.

Peter’s confession of faith is important to us here at Bixby Knolls Christian Church. Like all Disciples congregations, affirming that confession is the only statement required of those who wish to join the church. We feel that we are called to make that confession out loud, before one another, and before the world. We are called to risk looking foolish by pledging allegiance to one who was betrayed, who suffered, and who was executed for treason on a cross, an instrument used by Rome for the most heinous crimes; and that we are called to take up our own cross as we share in Christ’s crucifixion, knowing that new life in the kingdom of God is also ours to share.

We are called to proclaim this with all the boldness of Peter; and yet, if hearing it from your lips or someone else’s lips does not startle you and force you to pause and ponder…; if these words don’t reach out and grab you and hold tightly to you every time you hear them…

Then it may be that you’re not ready. You’ve heard the truth, you’ve spoken the truth, and for that you are blessed. Ponder that for awhile. Keep learning, keep listening, keep following Jesus. For you, too, are one of Christ’s disciples.

Good and Pleasant (Psalm 133)

2011-08-14T07:59:00.000-07:00

Some of you are aware that I like to hike. Since moving back to southern California 3 ½ years ago, I’ve enjoyed a number of hikes with my good friend David, who still lives in Burbank, the town in which we both grew up.

At first, our hikes developed a strange sort of pattern. We hiked to the top of the Verdugo Hills, where we saw a number of communication towers, and enjoyed a nice view of the San Fernando Valley. Then we hiked to the top of Mt. Lukens, where we saw a number of communication towers, and enjoyed a nice view of the San Fernando Valley. Then we hiked to the top of Cahuenga Peak, where we saw a number of communication towers, and enjoyed a nice view of the San Fernando Valley.

And that’s when I began to suggest that maybe we didn’t always have to hike to the top of a mountain with communications towers, no matter how nice a view it offered.

Hiking to the top of a mountain peak is rewarding. When the scouts of Troop 29 hike to the top of a peak, they get a nice, shiny silver bead. And there is a nice sense of accomplishment in being able to say that you’ve made it to the top.

Well, in my life I’ve been to the top of Strawberry Peak, Mt. Waterman, Ontario Peak, Mt. Baden-Powell, Mugu Peak, Echo Mountain, Mt. Piños, Clouds Rest, Half Dome, Mt. Lassen, and Mt. Whitney, plus many others. I can say I’ve been to the op. I’ve experience that sense of accomplishment many times.

But do you know what I realized? My favorite parts about these hikes is down below, on the slopes, or in the canyons, along the streams, beneath the shade trees, and along the shores of mountain lakes … the peaceful serenity of watching a leaf fall off a tree, land gently on the water, then float downstream, tumbling over tiny cascades, swirling around in the eddies … following a trail that meanders through a forest, not being able to see too far ahead, wondering what will appear around the next bend … marveling at the colors, shapes, and sizes of the wildflowers that grow in abundance, learning to recognize them and understand what makes each species unique.

It took me a long time to realize this. Climbing to the top of a mountain has a certain amount of excitement to it, and in that excitement it’s easy to get so caught up in the destination that you fail to enjoy the goodness of the journey.

Last weekend, I had the pleasure of returning to Mt. Baden-Powell with the scouts of Troop 29. I have been to the top of Mt. Baden-Powell a total of six times now. Named in honor of the founder of scouting, it does have a special appeal. Plus, the view from the top is spectacular. Well above the clouds and most of the surrounding peaks, you can look down on the Mojave Desert to the north, and much of the San Gabriel Valley, Inland Empire, and L.A. basin to the south.

In addition, the top of the mountain contains a forest of rare, ancient limber pines. I’ve mentioned those trees to you before. Some are close to 2,000 years old. Imagine seeing and touching something that’s been alive for 2,000 years!

The trail starts at an elevation of 6600 feet. It’s four miles and nearly 3000 feet in elevation gain to the top, which is at 9400 feet. Just in terms of elevation, that’s nearly the equivalent of climbing the stairs to the observation deck of the Empire State Building three times.

With the rise in elevation, the trail passes through different climate zones, and the forest reflects this. At the bottom it’s oak and ponderosa. Then come Jeffrey pines, white fir, lodgepole pines, and then the limber pines at the top.

I enjoy every moment of this hike; every spot along the trail has its own unique beauty. That’s the real reason I hike: because I enjoy it. It’s good for my soul. My muscles may be a little tight when the day is done, but I feel renewed and refreshed.

You may not need to hear all of this, but I do. Lately I’ve felt the need to remind myself why I hike, that it makes me feel good, that I enjoy it, and that it renews my soul…. Because this Friday, I’ll be hiking Mt. Whitney.

The Mt. Whitney trail begins at 8000 feet and travels 11 miles to the summit, which is at 14,494 feet. That’s 22 miles roundtrip. That’s the equivalent of 3 times up and down Mt. Baden-Powell. That’s the equivalent of nearly 7 times up and down the Empire State Building.

A marathon is 26.2 miles on mostly level terrain. A trip up Mt. Whitney is 22 miles roundtrip with 6500 feet elevation gain at an altitude where there is considerably less oxygen in the atmosphere, which makes it much more strenuous than a marathon, I think.

As I mentioned, I’ve been to the top of Mt. Whitney before. I know that I am physically capable of setting my sights on the top, focusing on my destination, and making it to the summit. But what I have to ask myself is: why? Why do I hike? Is it to make it to the top and reach my destination? Or is it to enjoy the journey?

Sometimes, focusing on the destination is good and important. There are times when it is important to set a goal, and work hard to achieve it. A student working toward graduation. A stewardship campaign to support the ministry of the church. The journey a person takes to work each morning.

Other goals are perhaps not so important: camping out overnight so you can be first in line to buy the latest technological device the day it is released; working extra long and hard in the hopes of getting a promotion at work, without taking the time to understand why getting that promotion is important to you.

The key is in asking why.

Sometimes, we become so focused on what’s on top, what’s on the horizon, what’s coming next, that we overlook the good in what’s present. One of my big concerns in hiking Mt. Whitney is that I will be so focused on reaching the top that I won’t have time to notice the beauty of the trail. I’ll be so focused on reaching 14,494 feet that I won’t admire the scenery at 12,000 feet or 10,000 feet. There will be no time to pause, as the psalmist does, and consider how good and pleasant it is.

It’s a fine line. As I said, it’s good to have goals, and work for them. But it’s also good to stop and notice and be grateful for the blessings that are present here and now. And if I were to make a guess as to which of the two we are more prone to neglect, I would say that it’s stopping to be grateful and notice what’s good and pleasant.

After all, we are constantly urged to keep going, to not stop and notice. In our society, we have so much. Current economic turmoil notwithstanding, we are wealthier than the rest of the world. We have more conveniences and luxuries in our homes than the vast majority of people around the world have, more than most can even dream of.

And yet, strangely enough, developed countries like ours have higher rates of depression than poorer parts of the world.

I can only assume that this is because we, more than anyone else, are constantly being pressured to want more. We have more, but we also want more. Our society trains us to think that we never have enough. Climbing to 12,000 feet isn’t enough; you’ve got to climb to 13,000 feet. When you reach 13,000 feet, you’re told to press onward to 14,000. It’s neverending.

Think about all the advertisements you see and hear in a given day or week. Every single one of them is telling you the same thing: you don’t have enough; your life is incomplete; you’re not there yet. Of course, the promise is that if you purchase whatever it is they are selling, that will complete your life, but that doesn’t happen. No matter how many purchases you make, they keep telling you your life is incomplete.

You’re climbing the mountain, with your attention focused on the summit, but no matter how much you climb, the summit keeps getting farther and farther away.

What are you working for in life? What is your goal? Have you stopped to ask yourself why that is important to you?

A person saves up to buy a new car. Labors night and day, working two jobs, just so he can look good driving down the street. He believes that’s important. He’s been told it’s important. But he never stops to ask, why. Never asks, “what’s the point?”

If he did, he might answer himself that the point is to enjoy life. There’s nothing wrong with that. But is working two jobs, night and day, enjoying life? Perhaps there would be a lot more “enjoying life” if he got a bicycle, and gave up his 2nd job so he could actually relax some.

So now I can ask myself why it is that I hike. What is my goal when I hike? What do I hope to achieve?

And the answer I’ve come up with is that I hike to feel good: physically, emotionally, spiritually. If I can accomplish that goal and make it to the top of Mt. Whitney, great. But if I don’t make it to the top, that’s OK, because I will still have accomplished my goal.

What is your deep down ultimate goal in life? Why do you work for the things you do? Is it to be on top of the world? Or is it to find the good and pleasant things in life?

"Stepping Out" Matthew 14:22-33)

2011-08-07T10:23:00.000-07:00

Last week… Do you remember last week’s sermon? I do. After all, I have a copy of the manuscript.

Last week’s sermon was about wrestling with God. It was about struggling to make sense of our faith in a way that doesn’t force us to check our brains at the door. It was about finding a God we can actually believe in, a God we can actually pray to without feeling like we are just going through the motions.

It was about finding a faith that is believable, and letting go of simplistic notions and childish images of God that get in the way of faith.

Today, one week later, we have the story from Matthew’s gospel in which Jesus walks on the stormy sea; the story in which Peter tries to walk on the stormy sea but fears the storm and begins to sink; the story which concludes with Jesus’s reprimand, “You of little faith – why did you doubt?”

How many of us actually, really, truly believe that we can, with enough faith, walk on water? If anyone raises their hand, I’ll fill the baptistery right now, because that’s something we’d all like to see.

I suspect that most, if not all, of us have sentimentalized this Bible story – and others as well – so that we don’t really have to think about them too much. We read stories like this and say, “Well, you just gotta have enough faith. You just need to put away your doubt.” But we don’t really think about what we are saying. Do we really believe what we are saying? Do we really believe that with enough faith, we can walk on water?

We don’t really think about what we are saying, which means that we do voluntarily check our brains in at the door.

Well, if that’s the case, then I invite you to go back to the door and retrieve your brain and bring it back in here with you. If you need a minute to do that, we’ll wait. It’s going to be important for you to have that thinking camp on as we wrestle with this Bible story today. With our thinking caps on, we may or may not decide to take stories like this literally. In fact, I’m not going to tell you that you should or should not believe the literal truth of this story. It doesn’t really matter to me much if you take this story literally or not. But it does matter that you take it seriously, and you can only do that with your thinking cap on.

I don’t know about you, but as a kid growing up in Sunday School, I was taught to believe that I really could walk on water if I had enough faith. I don’t know if my Sunday School teachers meant to leave me with that impression or not, but they did. Hearing this story, it seemed to me that Jesus really did expect folks to have enough faith to walk on water themselves. And of course, Peter actually did it! He only lasted a moment, but hey, that moment “proved” that it was possible.

Then he became afraid and began to sink. Peter – the boldest and bravest of the disciples – began to sink. This proved that having enough faith was a very difficult thing to achieve. It set the bar impossibly high.

It wasn’t long before I realized I had a problem: if even Jesus’s boldest, bravest disciple couldn’t muster up enough faith, what hope was there for a timid young boy like me?

And that is the dilemma I think many people find themselves in. How can we possibly have enough faith? How can we possibly believe every unbelievable thing that the church tells us to believe?

A lot of people leave the church and even abandon their faith because they feel as if they are being asked to believe the unbelievable. They know that they’ll never walk on water, so they give up.

And I can’t really say that I blame them. The church has a history of insisting that its members walk on water. Come on, you can do it, if you have enough faith … and if you check your brain at the door.

Let’s get real, shall we? You and I are never going to literally walk on water. I can fill up the baptistery and you can practice all you want, but even though I’m a seminary-trained, church-ordained, prayer-sustained preacher, I am certain that your feet will find the bottom of the baptistry.

For some of you, that may come as a disappointment. You were really hoping to one day walk on water! For most of you, though, I suspect it’s a great relief to hear this. Now you can stop trying to walk on water, stop trying to do the impossible, stop checking your brain at the door, and be real.

By the way, yes, I do know that “all things are possible with God.” But why would God, who created the laws of nature and physics, choose to violate those laws just so you can impress your friends by walking across the baptistry without getting wet? Why is that important to God?

So. What do we do with this story now? Let’s start by talking about language.

Jesus, it says, walked on not just any water; Jesus walked on the sea. Twice it says that. Jesus walked toward the disciples on the sea. The disciples saw Jesus walking toward them on the sea.

Peter, it says, wanted to walk on the water. “Lord, command me to come to you on the water.” Jesus said, “Come,” and Peter started walking on the water.

Literally speaking, I suppose it makes no difference whether you call it the sea or the water. But why, then, did Matthew twice say that Jesus walked on the sea, and twice that Peter walked on the water?

What if I told you that water is water, but the sea is much more? In the book of Job, it says that God alone tramples the waves of the sea; God along stomps on the sea’s back. The reference in Hebrew is to the Canaanite sea god, Yam, the god who represents chaos and turmoil.

Jesus didn’t just walk on water; he trampled across the sea. He trampled on the chaos of this world.

There is a lot of chaos and turmoil in the world, and most of it causes a great deal of fear. The news media, of course, thrive on chaos and turmoil; we watch the news, we witness the chaos and turmoil, and it leaves us feeling anxious and afraid.

And when we become anxious and afraid, it negatively affects our behavior. We turn against our fellow human beings. We circle the wagons, and become overly protective of all that we’ve come to think of as ours. Anyone who is different than us, and anything that is different than what we are used to, becomes an enemy.

The media feed us a steady diet of chaos and turmoil, which we ravenously consume. Wars. Famines. Terrorism. Economic collapse. The breakdown of society.

The resulting fear and anxiety is seen in the backlash against immigrants. Scripture is very clear about welcoming the foreigner, the alien among you, but a lot of Christians seem to forget that in their anxiety.

The resulting fear and anxiety is seen in the fact that we spend 6 ½ times what any other nation spends on military defense and weapons of war. 6 ½ times.

And how do you explain what happened to Martin David Sanchez two weeks ago today? Daniel, who lives in Ontario, was in Long Beach visiting friends on July 24 when he was physically assaulted after admitting he was gay. Some teeth were knocked out, others were cracked, and he suffered tissue damage and abrasions all over his body. What was it about him that his attackers feared so much?

Yam, the god of chaos and turmoil, is alive and well.

Even in the church.

Think of all the ways the world has changed in the last 50 or 100 years. What a different world this was in 1911 or even 1961 than it is today!

Now think of how much the church has changed in order to be relevant to a 21st century world.

We haven’t changed all that much. We’ve resisted change. Because we’re afraid. We’re afraid of sinking in the chaos and the turmoil.

A raging sea of chaos, turmoil, and uncertainty. Rather than succumb to all this, Jesus calmly walked upon it. He believed in God, which is to say that he trusted God completely, so no matter how much fear was within him, he was able to stay on top of it, and not sink into the negative attitudes and actions that fear gives way to.

Well, the disciples had never seen this before. In a world under Roman occupation, they were surrounded by fear. Fear was what drove them. Fear was what led some of them to want to fight back, and fear was what led others to hide or acquiesce to Roman power. Either way, they lived under the power of Yam.

So when they saw Jesus walking across Yam’s back, well, they had never seen such a thing before. It was so startling to them that it only added to their fear. Who could possibly walk upon the back of the sea god but a ghost?

But Jesus said to them: “Do not be afraid.” Do not fear.

And that’s when Peter said, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” And Jesus said, “Come.” So Peter stepped out of the boat and started walking on the water.

But wait a minute: you can’t walk on water! Peter, realizing this, became afraid. Yam took control over Peter, and he began to sink.

Jesus pulled him out of the water and as they climbed back into the boat, Jesus said: “You of little faith; why did you doubt?”

By now you’re probably beginning to realize that there’s more going on here than walking across some water. It’s not just some little magic trick, walking on water, or a little initiation of sorts to see who can walk on water and who can’t. It’s much more than that.

And if your head is swirling around in confusion because you’re not quite sure about the meaning of this story, then good for you. That’s a sign that your brain is now engaged. Perhaps you have more unanswered questions now than you did when you walked in here this morning. Good. Only fools think they have all the answers.

It doesn’t matter whether you believe it’s possible to actually walk on water or not. Walking on water isn’t really the point, and believing whether or not it’s possible, or whether or not Jesus actually walked on water, misses the point of what the Bible means when it uses words like believe and faith.

For example, as pastor it is my hope that all of you believe in Bixby Knolls Christian Church and the work we do here. Now, what does that mean? Does it mean that you believe everything about this church? Do you believe that this church is made primarily out of wood, with stained glass window?

Do you believe in the trinity of sanctuary, fellowship hall, and classrooms, three buildings that are connected into one?

Do you believe that in 1946, construction began on the sanctuary, which in turn became the fellowship hall once the new sanctuary was built?

Do you believe that the wood used to build this church is treated yellow pine, harvested in western North America by flannel-wearing lumberjacks, delivered to 1240 E. Carson St. via flatbed trucks and trailers in accordance with city building codes and safety regulations?

Does it matter?

Isn’t it more important to ask, “Do you believe in the ministry of Bixby Knolls Christian Church? Are you willing to commit yourself to its mission, dedicate your life to what it stands for, and love the God it represents with your whole heart?”

That is what it means to believe, Biblically-speaking.

It doesn’t matter if you believe it’s possible to walk on water. What matters is that you believe in the one who can calm the storms and calm the fears in your life. What matters is that you put your faith in the one who is able to walk across chaos and turmoil without sinking into it. What matters is that you love and trust God, who holds you by the hand and will not let you sink.

To believe that God is with you and will not let you sink into the world’s turmoil, to really believe that – now that’s a miracle.

Wrestling With God (Genesis 32)

2011-07-31T16:25:00.001-07:00

What would you guess are the most popular names parents give their babies these days? What do you think is the most popular boy name? (Jacob.) What do you think is the most popular girl name? (Isabella.)

Second place for boys is Ethan (which, by the way, shot up to #2 from #62 15 years ago), followed by Michael, Jayden, and William.

Number two for girls is Sophia, followed by Emma, Olivia, and Ava.

I notice that the boy names all have more consonants than vowels, while all of the girls’ names either have more vowels than consonants or at least the same number of vowels and consonants. Are consonants more masculine and vowels more feminine? Should I be concerned that the name Daniel does not have more consonants than vowels?

With Jacob and Isabella at #1, I know someone is going to ask, so I’ll tell you: Edward is currently the 136th most popular boys’ name, which puts it behind Diego, Isaiah, and even Jaxon (spelled with an ‘x’).

Parents choose baby names for all sorts of reasons. Some are, obviously, inspired by movies and other media. Others pass down names of family members to the next generation. And some try for something creative, innovative, and unique.

Like Jaxon with an ‘x’.

In the Bible, it is common for a person to receive a new name at a significant, life-changing event. You’re familiar with how Abram became Abraham … how Saul became Paul … and we just heard how Jacob became Israel.

Jacob’s naming came after he wrestled with an unknown (at the time) stranger. And what a strange story it is. Jacob had been in a mental wrestling match with his brother Esau for twenty years. Now he was about to meet his older, stronger brother face-to-face for the first time in two decades, and he was a little nervous, to say the least: Would Esau still hold a grudge after all these years?

Not only was Esau bigger and stronger; his household was much larger than Jacob’s. Indeed, Jacob hears that Esau was on his way to meet him with an army of 400 men.

In his wrestling match with the stranger, Jacob prevailed, but his hip was dislocated. His adversary asked Jacob to release him, and Jacob said, “Not until you bless me.” The man did bless Jacob, and gave him a new name – Israel – and then Jacob comments: “I have seen God face-to-face.”

So, all along the man was God-in-disguise? Who knew?

The name Israel was then passed down through Jacob’s many descendants, who become the nation of Israel: God’s own people.

But why “Israel” for a name? Was it a family name? Was it popular in those days? Did God, perhaps, just like the way it sounded?

The Bible explains that the name Israel was chosen because it means “wrestles with God” or “struggles with God,” which is what Jacob did. But is that a good thing, to wrestle with God? Is that a good name for God’s people?

The prophet Hosea wasn’t so sure. He described this incident; you tell me if Hosea thinks wrestling with God is a good thing.

Hosea says: “The LORD is about to punish Jacob for all his deceitful ways. Before Jacob was born, he struggled with his brother; when he became a man, he even strove with God. He fought with the angel and prevailed, he wept and sought his favor.”

He wept and sought his favor … sounds almost as if Jacob isn’t merely asking for a blessing, but that he’s asking for forgiveness from this stranger whom Hosea refers to as an angel.

Interesting.

What’s even more interesting is that the nation or Israel – which, in Hosea’s time, meant the northern kingdom – seemed to agree with Hosea’s interpretation of this story, but Judah – the southern kingdom – did not.

Personally, I see a lot of wrestling going on here. Hosea wrestled with the Genesis story, trying to make sense of it. Then Israel and Judah each wrestled with Hosea’s interpretation of the story – and came to opposite conclusions.

Israel – one who wrestles with God … seems like an appropriate description. But still…

Wrestling with God means, by definition, a struggle. What a name to give someone!

If it were me, I might have chosen, well, Daniel. The name Daniel means “God is my judge,” or, “judged by God.” Sounds better than “struggles with God.” And easier, too. If I just let God judge, then I don’t have to wrestle or struggle. God can judge what’s right and wrong, and let me know. I don’t have to figure it out for myself. No struggle. Easy.

Or maybe I would choose another good Hebrew name, Bethuel: it means, dweller in God. That sounds OK. Or Ezekiel, which means God strengthens. Or Gabriel: God is my warrior. Or Ariel: Lion of God. Beautiful, isn’t it? Or Immanuel, which means God is with us.

But no. Jacob gets the name Israel. One who struggles with God. One who wrestles with God. A whole nation gets that name. God’s chosen people get that name, Israel. Strugglers with God. Wrestlers with God.

Now I know people who wrestle and struggle with God, and let me tell you, they’re not usually the sort of people we think of as spiritual heroes. They often lack confidence. They often have doubts.

Someone once said to me, “I don’t think I belong in church.” I asked why. They said, “Because I have a lot of questions about God.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Well, questions about what God is like. I’m not confident in my faith like all those church-goers. I don’t think that God always acts the way the church says he does. When I try to pray, I have no idea who or what I’m praying to.”

You know what type of person that is? That’s a person who is poor in spirit. The strange thing is that Jesus offers a special blessing to the poor in spirit. He says that the kingdom of heaven belongs to them.

Sometimes I’ll ask that person, “What sort of God are you trying to pray to?” and they say, “I don’t know.”

So then I ask, “Well, what do you think this God should be like? And they’ll describe for me a judge, a king, maybe a shepherd, but always a person or being separate from themselves, a person or being that is somewhere across the galaxies, many light years away.

That’s when I might admit to them that I have a hard time praying to a God like that as well. I find it difficult enough to communicate over a phone line that goes from my house to a neighbor three blocks away. So praying to some God across the galaxy: that’s a problem.

And while it’s true that God is a judge, a king, a father, a shepherd … the fact that there are so many of these names for God suggests that these are all metaphors. The Bible says all that, but it also says that God is the one “in whom we live and move and have our being,” which I take to mean the great creative lifeforce which surrounds us, encompasses us, and dwells within us. That’s a very different God than one who lives somewhere across the universe.

Thinking about God in this way does not end the struggle. It takes the struggle from “out there” and brings it “in here.” It takes it from being a superhuman struggle to a human struggle, which is not to say that it makes it any easier to understand. Understanding humanity, understanding our own human nature, is certainly a big enough struggle for a lifetime.

At our Wednesday night dinner – I sure enjoy our Wednesday night dinners. It’s just a small group of us who come, but there’s always room for more…. I mentioned to those who came this past Wednesday a book I just checked out from the Dana library. It’s called The Seven Spiritual Laws of Superheroes.

Chapter one is about the law of balance, and it talks about finding the balance between good and evil, light and dark, aspects of every human.

Batman is called the Dark Knight, because his role as protector of the downtrodden and upholder of justice is the result of shadows and fears: “memories of a tortured childhood shattered by tragedy, the fear of being isolated, and the angst of feeling purposeless.” Wrestling and struggling with this anguish – that’s what makes Batman who is he.

Likewise, Spiderman has a dark side. At one point, a dark symbiote (or symbiont, to use the proper term) latches on to Spiderman, bringing out his darker impulses, making him arrogant, vengeful, and selfish. He wrestles with this inner darkness and eventually overcomes it, but it still remains, and the struggle continues. Without the struggle, Spiderman would not be who he is.

In some ways, our struggle to understand who God is, is a struggle to understand who we are. Is God a vengeful, angry, jealous God, prone to violence, wiping out entire cities? Or is God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love?

Are we ourselves able to resist the temptation to violence, to resentment, to jealousy and anger? How shall we acknowledge this dark side within us and wrestle with it so that we might more fully live in the light?

We learned at VBS about Peter, the disciple who was constantly in a wrestling match with Jesus and with himself. Peter would say one thing, bringing praise and blessing from Jesus, and in the very next moment say something else that would cause Jesus to curse Peter and refer to him as Satan.

What we learned about at VBS was the struggle Peter endured the night of Jesus’s trial and crucifixion. Three times Peter denied knowing Jesus. Then he wept bitterly at his giving in to the dark side.

Yet Peter became one of the great leaders of the early church; but this did not mean that his wrestling days were over. Once, he had a vision encouraging him to go to a group of Gentiles, enjoy fellowship with them, dine with them, and share with the good news about Jesus. But Peter, like all of the very earliest followers of Jesus, considered himself a good Jew, and good Jews were to have nothing to do with those other types of people. If even said so in scripture, to not eat with or associate with people who were unclean.

And yet, Jesus had, on occasion, done just that: associated with unclean people.

Peter wrestled with this. He wrestled with himself. He wrestled with God. The vision came to him three times before he was able to accept it; three times before he was able to put aside what he had learned; three times before he was able to put aside his resentment, his parochialism, his prejudice, and welcome these people who were different.

Israel.

Wrestles with God.

It’s a good name.

The Present Kingdom (Matthew 13)

2011-07-27T13:49:00.001-07:00

A friend of mine refers to today as “Simile Sunday.” You know what a simile is, of course. “The kingdom of heaven is like this. The kingdom of heaven is like that… The kingdom is like a mustard seed. The kingdom is like yeast. The kingdom is like a hidden treasure. The kingdom is a pearl of great value.”

Similes. Parables.

Oh, there’s more: The kingdom is like a banquet. It’s like a party! It’s like a gathering in the wilderness with thousands of people and no food, except somehow, miraculously, everyone eats and is filled, with baskets of leftovers.

The kingdom is like a debtor who owed his master 10,000 talents, a huge fortune, and was forgiven his debt.

The kingdom is like a man going on a journey who was attacked and beaten and left for dead. Several of his own kinsfolk, leaders in his own community, passed by without even stopping to see if he was dead or alive; but a Samaritan, a member of an opposing tribe, a people who speak with accents and who practice a different sort of faith, stopped and offered aid, caring for the man, going above and beyond to make sure he was restored back to health.

Over and over again, Jesus described and presented the kingdom, each time in a different way. One would think that, after awhile, he’d get tired of the topic, and move on to something else. In Algebra we move on from 2x=4 to the quadratic formula. In science we move from simple observation to the study of quantum physics and dark matter. In grammar we move from nouns and verbs to prepositions and dangling participles.

But Jesus kept returning back to the same topic, over and over again: the kingdom of God – or, as Matthew likes to call it, the kingdom of heaven. Either his followers just didn’t get what he was talking about, or this was one really important lesson that they had to learn.

In fact, both are true. Many in the first century anticipated the coming kingdom of God, but what they had in mind was a military overthrow of the Roman Empire led by God’s own anointed one: the messiah. The kingdom as Jesus described it was an alternative to Rome, and yet it was very different from what most were expecting.

And it was very important. Jesus’ entire message is summed up in the scripture with this one sentence: “The kingdom of God is at hand.”

So Jesus taught what the kingdom was like. Then he did it again, in a slightly different way. And then, again, and again. Mustard seeds and yeast and hidden pearls and banquets.

And when Jesus taught his followers to pray, he taught them a prayer which really is a kingdom prayer. Every week, when we pray that prayer, we say, “thy kingdom come.”

Well, first we pray, “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.” We pray that God’s name may be holy. And God’s name is holy when God’s kingdom is present. So after we pray “hallowed be thy name,” we pray, “thy kingdom come.”

And when is God’s kingdom come? When God’s will is done. So, after praying “thy kingdom come,” we pray, “thy will be done.” God’s kingdom is present when God’s will is done.

And when is God’s will done? When all people have their daily bread. When no one goes hungry, not even those who live in poverty. You probably remember what Isaiah said: “You who are thirsty, come to the water; and you who have no money, come, buy, and eat. Come, be satisfied, and delight yourselves in rich food.”

That’s what the kingdom of heaven is like. It’s like 5,000 people in the wilderness in no food, and yet they are all given their daily bread. That is God’s will.

It is also God’s will that debts be forgiven. In the first century, debt was a form of slavery, and one could argue that it is the same today. Right now, there are nations in such great debt that they can’t even feed their own people, because they are too busy paying off their debt. Some think we should alter the words of the Lord’s Prayer by saying sins instead of debts, because it seems silly that God would be concerned with something so trivial and profane as monetary debt. But it’s not trivial. It’s life-and-death.

That’s what the kingdom is like. It’s like one who was in great debt but was forgiven of that debt, and set free.

It is also God’s will that we do not give in to temptation. It’s tempting to seek our own will. It’s tempting to justify means by the ends that are achieved or hoped for. It’s tempting to overlook injustice, to force people into debts they cannot repay, to deny people their daily bread. It’s tempting to seek our own self-interest, and to use violence to ensure that our self-interest is upheld.

Of course, it’s not just our own self-interest we say; it’s for the greater good. But acting violently, ruthlessly, and without compassion is never the will of God.

That’s what the kingdom is like. It’s like a person who resists the temptation to do harm, no matter what the justification.

When we act with compassion, making peace instead of war, working for justice and loving our neighbors, then we are doing the will of God… then, God is present… then God’s name is holy.

To what shall I compare the kingdom of God?

“The kingdom of God is peace, justice, and joy.”

To what shall you compare the kingdom of God?

Amos had a vision of justice rolling down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

Isaiah saw a lion and lamb lying down together. A later prophet, speaking in Isaiah’s name, saw a new creation in which the sound of weeping is no longer heard, where people are able to live in their own homes and eat the fruit of their own vineyards.

To what shall you compare the kingdom of God? What simile or metaphor would you use?

Martin Luther King, Jr. dreamed of an oasis of freedom and justice where formerly there was injustice and oppression.

To what shall we compare the kingdom? Jesus said that the kingdom exists among us. The kingdom is present, right here, right now. Can you see it?

Jesus said that the kingdom belongs to those who have faith like a child. Can you see the kingdom? What does it look like?

Building an Altar (Genesis 28)

2011-07-20T07:39:00.000-07:00

Well, it started out as a sort of competition between me and my brother-in-law. You’ve met my brother-in-law, Ed. He and his sister and their two girls have visited here once or twice. They attend a Methodist church near their home, but we don’t hold that against them.

Anyway, I don’t remember which one of us initiated the competition. All I know is that we were at the beach one day, with our families, a beach that was covered with rocks and thus was not very good for swimming.

The rocks that covered the beach were of various sizes. Most ranged from golf-ball-size to the size of my fist, though some were larger, even as large as a watermelon. Most were smoothly rounded, but some had jagged edges.

One of us took a few of these rocks and stacked them on top of one another. The other of us responded by taking the same number of rocks plus one, and stacking them … and the competition was on.

It’s amazing how tall you can balance a stack of rocks. I wouldn’t have believed you could do such a thing until I tried. In fact, that right there is a very powerful lesson, one that probably deserves its own sermon: that so many things actually seem impossible, until you actually try.

People walking by stared in disbelief. One person actually asked, “Did you use glue to hold those together?”

No. I just balanced them. Carefully. Patiently.

On subsequent visits to the beach, I found myself stacking rocks, even if Ed wasn’t around. Eventually I found a facebook page devoted to rockstacking. I discovered that among some Buddhists, rockstacking is a form of meditative practice. And at Bella Cosa, perhaps the cutest store in Bixby Knolls, they sell a sculpture that is nothing more than 5 egg-shaped stones stacked on top of each other, held together by glue or a rod drilled through them or something like that. It retails for $34.95.

It wasn’t long before stacking rocks became for me more of a spiritual practice and less of a friendly competition or way to pass the time on a beach that wasn’t conducive to body surfing. Everyday life has so many anxieties and worries. We feel the pressure to do ten things at once. Hardly ever do we have the opportunity to focus on a single task, to meditate on a single topic, without being distracted by other thoughts.

Robert Fulghum, who has had many different jobs throughout his life, once wrote about the job he’d really like to have. If I remember correctly (it’s been many years since I read this), the job he most wanted was to live in a culture or tribe where his job would be to polish the stick. That’s it. He’d be the stick-polisher. It would be his one task, a task he could focus on and do well. Nothing else would distract him because he would be the stick-polisher.

I get that. I feel the same way sometimes when I’m doing a simple but important task, like painting a room. I get all set up, and start painting. For the day, until it’s done, that’s my one task. I can focus on it, and do it well.

Most tasks in life are not so simple. But balancing rocks on top of one another is as simple as it gets. And it requires all your concentration, all your focus. You have to know the tower, and anticipate how the addition of each new rock will affect the balance of the whole thing. You have to know each individual rock, intimately, for lack of a better word. Sometimes the rock just doesn’t want to balance, so you discard it and find another. Most rocks are willing, however, and will balance if you just have enough patience.

And, for some reason, it’s all very satisfying.

Last year at Loch Leven, I convinced a dozen or so kids to spend an hour with me stacking and balancing rocks by the stream. Some of them were actually pretty good at it. I was surprised. They were able to focus and show the patience necessary to make some really beautiful towers.

It made me think that rockstacking might be a really useful practice for kids and adults with attention deficit disorder. I think someone should do a study on that.

As we were stacking rocks, I introduced those kids to Ebenezer. Are you familiar with Ebenezer? I started thinking about Ebenezer soon after I started stacking rocks.

Perhaps this will help you remember Ebenezer. This morning we sang the hymn, “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.” Verse two includes the line, “Here I raise my Ebenezer.”

I purposely had us use the original words to this hymn. If you happened to open up your Chalice Hymnal, you probably noticed that the words “Here I raise my Ebenezer” have been altered to read, “Here I raise to thee an altar.” So if you don’t know already, that should tell you that Ebenezer is an old word – an old Hebrew word, actually – and that it means an altar.

It comes from the first book of Samuel. God intervened on behalf of the Israelites by saving them from the Philistine army. The scripture says that, in response, “Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Jeshanah, and named it Ebenezer,” which means stone of help.

Jacob also made an altar by stacking rocks in response to his sacred encounter with God. Well, he took one rock and set it up as a pillar, or, depending on how the Hebrew is interpreted, he took one rock and set it on top of a pillar of rocks. He did this in response to a special encounter he had with God at that place, which he named Bethel, a word that means house of God.

Of course, the altars built by Samuel and Jacob were probably a bit studier than my rock towers, which were easily toppled by seagulls, ocean breezes, or even the vibrations of the nearby pounding surf. Those biblical altars were built to last, to serve as a reminder to future passersby and even future generations of a special encounter with God that took place at a specific location.

Well, one thing leads to another, and just as my rockstacking led to an exploration and study of these biblical altars, that exploration and study in turn has led me to wonder how people today respond to a significant encounter with God. What altars – literal and figurative – do we build today? What do we do to remind ourselves and the world that, in our life and location, God has been present?

65 years ago, a committed group of Christians decided to build an altar in a new and growing section of Long Beach, and call it “Bixby Knolls Christian Church.” Do you know how much effort it takes to build a church? To raise the interest, to get people to commit their time, and to raise the money? There are times when I walk around this place, and I look at the buildings, the stained-glass windows, the classrooms, and I think: Wow. The people who built this church were incredibly generous and hardworking. This place really is a testimony to their dedication to God. They sacrificed great amounts of their money and their lives to establishing a place where God is worshiped, where the good news of God’s love for all people is shared with neighbors near and far.

You are impressed by my ability to stack rocks, something that takes one hour and is knocked down in the next hour. Far more impressive, I think, is the ability of a group of dedicated, committed Christians to establish a church and keep it going.

The generosity of our current members and friends is what keeps this church going, which is a remarkable thing given that we live in an age when it seems everyone wants to keep as much as they can for themselves. It’s harder to get people to commit to any kind of social or religious organization these days. This church, this building, this ministry, continues to be an altar to God.

"True Freedom" (Matthew 11:16-30)

2011-07-03T11:45:00.000-07:00

235 years ago tomorrow, 56 men representing thirteen British colonies in North American signed a declaration of independence, which proclaimed that those colonies were free and independent states. They took a stand for freedom; and, in order to protect that freedom, those 56 men pledged their honor and their lives to its defense.

33 years after the signing of the Declaration of Independence, Thomas Campbell wrote a document called the Declaration and Address, on behalf of the 22 members of the Christian Association of Washington, Pennsylvania. This document gave birth to the Restoration Movement, of which Bixby Knolls Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) is a part.

With our beginnings in America not many years after the founding of our nation, it is no surprise that freedom is a defining characteristic of our movement. Our members are free to interpret scripture as the Spirit guides them. Our congregations are free to conduct their worship and administration as seems best. And if anyone tries to tell us otherwise, we protest against the infringement on our freedom.

Next week my family and I will gather with a couple thousand close friends at the General Assembly in Nashville. Every two years the General Assembly of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) meets; the next one will be in Orlando, in case you are interested.

One of the things the General Assembly does is vote on various resolutions concerning a variety of topics and issues. Those resolutions carry the power of encouragement and persuasion, but unlike the governing bodies of other denominations, the General Assembly cannot dictate to congregations how they are to behave. Why? Because we value our freedom. For us as Americans and as members of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), freedom is one of our core values.

2,000 years ago, the Jewish people longed for freedom. Just like the Israelites who were slaves in Egypt many centuries before that, the Jewish people longed to be free from oppression. In their case it was freedom from the Roman Empire for which they longed.

Roman governors taxed the Jewish people heavily – oppressively – in order to support massive military spending, as well as a few extravagant building projects. (I’ll leave it to you to draw the modern parallels.) Roman soldiers were everywhere, intimidating the people, and forcing them to do special favors for them … like forcing them to carry their gear for up to a mile.

The Jewish people prayed that God would intervene, that God would send them a messiah who would deliver them from their Roman oppressors much like David delivered Israel from their Philistine oppressors; a messiah who would replace the kingdom of Rome with a kingdom of God.

We still pray today for God’s kingdom to come on earth.

2,000 years ago, John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming, “Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand! God’s intervention is about to arrive. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees!” In other words: get ready, for a God-led revolution is about to take place.

Well, there was one thing John didn’t quite understand. God, it turns out, did not intervene by getting rid of the Roman oppressors. In fact, the Romans eventually locked John up in prison, where he remained until he was executed. By Romans.

Jesus, who was baptized by John – and who saw what happened to John – took John’s message and tweaked it. You can tell that Jesus’ message was a little different from John’s in today’s scripture, where it says that John came neither eating nor drinking, while Jesus came eating and drinking. That’s a difference.

Jesus did say that the kingdom of God was at hand, just as John had said; but the difference is that Jesus said that the kingdom wasn’t coming with things that could be seen; in the 17th chapter of Luke, Jesus said that.

Now, think about that for a moment. What would it have meant if someone said, 235 years ago, that American independence was coming, but not in a way that could be seen? What would it mean to say that the birth of a new nation was at hand, but not in a way that could be observed?

Jesus said, in fact, that God’s kingdom was already present, among the faithful followers of God. The kingdom was present among them, in their hearts and minds.

That’s a modification of John’s kingdom proclamations.

Jesus said that God’s kingdom is a peaceful kingdom. A violent overthrow of Rome would just replace one violent regime with another violent regime. And with violence in your hearts, you still would not be free. You would still be captive to a culture of violence. But God’s kingdom, according to Jesus, is a kingdom of peace.

Now, you can be free – right now – as long as you refuse to accommodate yourself to the oppressive, violent culture around you. Caesar may take your money, but he can’t take your faith. Soldiers may force you to walk a mile, but they can’t take your dignity. Not unless you let them.

What Jesus said is to not give in to the culture of violence and oppression. Don’t let the ways of the oppressor become your ways. Give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also. If anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile.

Even in the midst of oppression, the kingdom of God can still shine forth in your heart and in your soul. Don’t wait for God to intervene in your life to set you free, because God is already present in you. The kingdom is alive in you.

In the case of the ancient Israelites held as slaves in Egypt, God did intervene. God sent all those plagues – the frogs, the flies, the locusts, the diseases, the darkness, the death of the firstborn – until Pharaoh released the Israelites from their captivity and set them free.

But they weren’t really free after all that. Once they departed Egypt, once they passed through the Red Sea, they found that even though their bodies were free, their hearts and their minds were still captive. They had got out of Egypt, but they hadn’t been able to get Egypt out of them.

The plan was to go and establish a new nation, a free nation, a kingdom of God in a promised land. But God said, “You know what? You’re not ready. I brought you out of Egypt, but true freedom, the freedom you long for, does not come with things that can be observed. True freedom comes from among you. True freedom comes from within you. Until you figure that out, you are not ready to enter the promised land.”

And so they wandered in the wilderness for 40 years, figuring that out.

235 years ago, the United States of America declared its freedom and independence. Eleven years after that, our constitution was ratified, and then the Bill of Rights, granting us constitutional freedom. Twenty-one years after that, the Restoration Movement, with its emphasis on freedom, was born.

We’ve been living with freedom for a long time. And we think we know what it means. But then someone introduces the newest version of the latest electronic gizmo, and we become all anxious because our version is the old version, and we worry that we won’t be able to keep up with society.

That’s not freedom.

And then someone says, “I can say and do whatever I want, it’s a free country,” and we respond by saying, “I can say and do whatever I want, it’s a free country,” and we begin a battle of defending our turf and defending our ideas and putting down anyone who disagrees with us.

That’s not freedom.

And then we take that promotion even though it means more time away from the family, because we’ve been told how important it is to provide, to have a nice home, a nice car or two, with all the latest technology. We sacrifice family and relationships for money and possessions, until money and possessions are all we have left.

That’s not freedom.

And we feel so trapped by it all that we reach for a cigarette, or a bottle, or a drug, or a habit; and such habits make us feel free, but we become dependent, and in being dependent, find that we are not free after all.

And we’re so happy to live in a nation where we’re free to worship as we choose, and many exercise that freedom by choosing not to worship; or, to say it more accurately, they choose to worship at the altar of consumerism and hedonism rather than at the altar of peace and love. They spend more time, more money, and more of their life-energy on pursuits other than God.

Which is ironic, because it is here, in God, where true freedom is found. All those other pursuits, those other “freedoms,” leave a person tied and captive, tired and worn out, anxious and depressed. We’re weary from it all.

But then we hear the invitation to leave all that behind, to break free from that oppression, and be truly free. We hear the invitation to release our hearts and minds from the captivity into which we have allowed them to fall. We hear the invitation to be free, and it sounds like this:

“Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.”

"Dead to Sin, Alive to God" (Romans 6)

2011-06-26T11:47:00.000-07:00

The internet is a powerful tool, but of course, one must be careful when surfing the web. Do a search on google – especially an image search – and you might run into all kinds of objectionable and dangerous stuff, stuff you might not have been looking for, stuff that you really didn’t want to see. It can be quite dangerous, surfing the internet.

The other day I did a google search using the phrase “Romans 6,” part of which was just read for us. You would not believe what came up. Fully half of the images that came up focused on a phrase that appears near the end of the chapter, not even a full verse, just six words long: “the wages of sin is death.” And there were pictures of flames and bodies, bodies being consumed by flames, and captions of death and damnation.

Dangerous stuff, indeed.

Well, I followed a few of those links to their webpages. It is sometimes hard to avert one’s gaze from objectionable content. And I read all about sinful humanity, and how death and damnation are what await, but that Jesus Christ took our place by dying so that we don’t have to.

Jesus saved us by taking our place; by suffering the punishment that we deserve.

This is what the theologians call substitutionary atonement. Jesus was our substitute. He died in our place.

Substitutionary atonement is all over the internet. A search for “Romans 6” will yield many examples of substitutionary atonement. However, substitutionary atonement is neither mentioned nor described in Romans 6. In fact, substitutionary atonement isn’t mentioned or described anywhere in the New Testament. The idea first appeared over 1,000 years later, in the writings of an archbishop named Anselm.

Substitutionary atonement – the idea that Christ died in our place, that Christ died, so that we don’t have to die – is a very different idea from what appears in Romans 6.

In Romans 6, it says that all of us were baptized into Christ’s death, that we have been buried with him by baptism into death, that we have, in fact, died with Christ.

According to this, Christ didn’t die in our place. According to this, we have been united with Christ in death; we have been crucified with Christ.

Paul says the same thing in the book of Galatians: “I have been crucified with Christ.” He doesn’t say “Christ was crucified instead of me.” He says “I have been crucified with Christ.”

This is what theologians call “participatory atonement.” It means that Jesus doesn’t save us from the death he suffered; instead, it means that we are brought in to participate with Christ in Christ’s death. We are crucified with Christ.

Back in Romans, Paul mentions that this dying happens by baptism. “We have been buried with him by baptism into death.” Because of our baptism, we are crucified with Christ.

I can understand why people prefer to think that Christ died in their place, so that they don’t have to. It’s not exactly a great way to get people to join the church, to say, “come, get baptized … into death!”

So let’s talk about that a little.

Do you remember your own baptism? Martin Luther said it was important to remember one’s baptism, which is kind of strange since he himself was baptized as an infant; so whether or not you remember your baptism, it’s important to “remember” your baptism.

Two weeks ago, we had seven young people get baptized here at BKCC. If you were here and you saw that, maybe that helped you remember. What was it like, your baptism? Maybe the water was cold. (It sure was two weeks ago!) Maybe you were nervous. Maybe you were baptized outside, in a creek or the ocean.

Ginger, by the way, was baptized in an irrigation canal near the Mexico border. I love hearing her tell that story.

Jesus was baptized by John in the Jordan River. John, the scripture says, “proclaimed a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” John, it seems, didn’t quite understand why Jesus came to him to be baptized; I think many of us share John’s confusion. Why would the one person who is without sin need to undergo a “baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins?”

Matthew’s gospel quotes John as saying, “I should be baptized by you, and yet you are coming to me?” The gospel of Luke, meanwhile, rushes through Jesus’ baptism, and John’s gospel is so embarrassed by the whole thing that it leaves out the baptism story completely.

And why did John baptize in the Jordan? Why did he make people go all the way out into the desert? Why not just use the pools, aqueducts, or streams closer to the city?

Because baptism was a reenactment of the Exodus story, when the whole nation of Israel left Egypt, wandered through the desert, and then passed through the Jordan River, becoming a whole new people. There, in the Jordan River, their old life in Egypt and their old ways of living were finally laid to rest. There, they died to their old selves and received a new life.

Our baptism brings us into this story, just as Jesus’ baptism did for him. Our baptism unites us in Christ’s death, which I think took place at his baptism at least as much as it did at his crucifixion. It was at his baptism that Jesus really gave up his life. It was there in the Jordan River that he gave up his own personal, selfish desires. It was there that he gave up any thought of living for himself.

He gave up his life. He gave it up for God.

From that moment on, he would be living a life that was not his own. His life, the life he had, was in Nazareth, where he made a living as a carpenter. But that man – the carpenter, living a quiet life in Nazareth – that man died when he stepped into the Jordan River.

The man who emerged out of the water was now fully committed to doing God’s work. He no longer had his own agenda. Only God’s agenda mattered now. God would direct his life; God would lead him completely.

The apostle Paul understood this. Paul referred to himself as a servant of Christ; and Christ, obviously, lived his life in service to God. In the first century, a servant is one who has placed himself under the control of another. One could almost say that a first century servant was under the ownership of another. A first-century servant no longer had his own life. This was an agreement made between a servant and his master, which usually was a way of paying off a debt that could not otherwise be repaid. And so, at least until the debt was repaid, the servant’s life belonged to his master.

When he was baptized, Jesus gave up his own life to God; but, in return, he found a new life: a new life in God. And, according to Paul, if we have been crucified with Christ, united in his death, then we are also united with Christ in newness of life. “If we have died with Christ, we will also live with him.”

See, being crucified with Christ is only half the story.

Best of all, nothing can destroy this new kind of life. Not even a crucifixion. The Romans thought that they were killing Jesus, son of Joseph, a carpenter from the town of Nazareth. Well, that man that they thought they were crucifying was, in a very real sense, already dead.

This new being, living a new life in God … well, no weapon formed can prosper over new life in God. The Roman swords, clubs, whips, and even their cross had no power over the Godlife Jesus was now living.

And that’s the life that we share with Christ.

We do suffer with Christ. Those whips and floggings really do hurt. The pain and suffering are real. The blood is real.

But none of that can destroy us. For we share a life with Christ that not even the cross can destroy.

Now, sometimes – a lot of the time, actually – it seems that there is a struggle between the old life and the new life. We don’t want to give up that old life completely. How much more peaceful it is to spend our days quietly, at home in Nazareth, making our tables and chairs and sleeping in our own bed in our own little house.

The apostle Paul knows that this new life in Christ is infinitely better than the old life he has given up, and yet he can’t help longing for that old life, just like the Israelites in the desert on their way to the promised land couldn’t help but long for their old life in Egypt. Paul missed his old life, and sometimes tried to get that old self, that person named Saul, to rise from the dead.

In the 7^th chapter of Romans, he says: “I don’t understand it. For I do not do what I want, but instead do the very thing I hate. I delight in the law of God, but find that I am captive to the law of sin.”

I don’t know about you, but I know too well what Paul is talking about. My new life in Christ is the best thing ever, and yet there are times when I want to stay in Nazareth, times when I want to go back to Egypt, times when I want to live my life.

I want a nice home in a quiet neighborhood. I want to be able to send my kids to college and my wife on that cruise she’s always wanted to go on. I want a TV with a remote that isn’t broken. I want to be able to take Ethan to see a show on Broadway and Tristan to see the Tillamook Cheese Factory. (He loves cheese.) I want to be able to afford an annual pass to Disneyland.

This is my life. I have a hard time letting it go. This is my agenda. This is what I want. I am so tempted to think of it all as perfect. If I had all these things, then life would be perfect.

But in what I just said, there is nothing about love. There is nothing in that vision about justice. There is nothing there about compassion or hope or peace.

In fact, an overly zealous pursuit of the things I want can very easily get in the way of pursuing the things God wants.

And if that happens – when that happens – it becomes sin.

I have been baptized into Christ Jesus. I have repented of my old life, and confessed that I have at times placed more importance on what I want than on what God wants. Unlike Jesus, I cannot fully cast off my old life on my own. The temptation is just too strong. I am weak and imperfect.

But as Paul says in the 8^th chapter of Romans, there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. Where we fail, the Spirit succeeds. Therefore I can consider myself dead to sin and alive to God. I can share in the new life where hope and justice and love and compassion reign, the new life that cannot be destroyed.

As Paul says: “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord,” who makes all things possible.

"Very Good" (Genesis 1)

2011-06-19T12:01:00.000-07:00

Some of you know that I was once the pastor of a small country church. It was the only Protestant church for at least 15 miles in any direction. The church building was built in 1883, and it was there that many generations of farming families were brought up in the Christian faith.

One mile south of the church was the high school. It was the only high school for at least 15 miles in any direction. It had 350 students in grades 9-12. I know, that number seems high to you, but it’s only because there were a number of families from the next county over where the cities and schools were much bigger who sent their kids to our rural school because they wanted a smaller, more personalized education for their children.

A community like this is one where – for better and for worse – everyone pretty much knows everyone else. Except for me, because what I’m going to tell you next happened less than two weeks after I arrived.

The phone rang. I answered it, and then listened as the person on the other end informed me that a 14 year-old in the community had just committed suicide. If my memory is correct, it was the boy’s grandfather on the phone. He asked if I would officiate at the funeral, and I said yes, of course.

The next phone call I received was from the high school. I was asked if I would be willing to come to school the next day. As students arrived and heard the news about their classmate, some of them might like someone to talk to. A school counselor would be present, but some of them might want to talk to a pastor.

I said yes, of course.

I arrived at the high school the next morning. In their first period classes the students were told what had happened, although most had heard it already. The students were also told that a counselor and a pastor were available if anyone wanted to talk.

Needless to say, the mood on campus that day was somber. Passing periods and lunchtime were eerily silent. Friends huddled and embraced. Tears could be seen on the faces of a number of girls, and even some of the boys.

The few students who didn’t know the one who had died – mostly those who had transferred in from outside the county – tried to carry on like normal, but their laughter in the school quad sounded awkwardly out of place, as if they were cracking jokes from the back pew of the funeral itself.

Watching as the students comforted and consoled one another, I realized that this 14 year-old boy had no idea how much he meant to those who knew him. I’m sure he took for granted the relationships he had with others; I’m sure of it, because just about everyone takes these things for granted. And yet, they are the most important things we have: our relationships with our families, our friendships, and even the connections we have with people who we might think aren’t even aware of our existence.

Certainly, if we understood how important our relationships are – how meaningful they are – we’d work harder to take care of them. And if we understood how much we mean to others, we’d take better care of ourselves.

From the very beginning, God created us to live in relationship. God created light, and it was good. God created the sky, the land, and the sea, and it was good. God created stars, planets, the sun and moon; God created plants and animals: mighty redwoods and golden poppies and sabertooth cats and grizzly bears and penguins, and it was all good.

And then God created humankind. In God’s own image, he created them. Male and female, he created them.

And then God said to the humans: “all that I have created – the apple trees and the sycamores and the polar bears and coyotes and the eagles – all of it, I give to you. The earth is yours. From it, you will get food. From it, you will receive life. And you are to care for it.”

Now, look at this story closely, and you will see relationships with one another, emphasized by the fact that humanity was made male and female.

Look closely, and you will see relationships with all of creation, emphasized by our mutual dependence and the command to be God’s stewards.

Look closely, and you will see relationships with God, emphasized by the fact that humankind was created in God’s own image.

And this, God says, is very good.

It so happened that as I was thinking about these things the other day, pondering them over in my mind, it came to my attention that that particular day was 155 years to the day that Chief Seattle died.

Chief Seattle was the leader of the Suquamish tribe in what is today the state of Washington. In a famous letter attributed to Chief Seattle, the relationships between people and the earth are described like this:

“All things are connected like the blood which unites one family. All things are connected. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. Man did not weave the web of life; he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.”

The world as God intends it to be is a world of wholeness, and wholeness is found in our relationships. When we cut ourselves off from one another, when we cut ourselves off from the earth, then we become broken, less-than-whole. When we recognize and nurture our relationships – when we recognize that we are part of a much larger whole – then we find life. We find joy. We find heaven.

In the second creation story, the male and female are created separately. The male is created first, before the woman, and even before the animals. He is alone; and, being alone, he is incomplete. Not until there are animals to care for and another human to love is he made whole. Without others to love and care for, he is incomplete.

Brian McLaren is one of the preachers scheduled for next month’s General Assembly in Nashville. In his newest book, Naked Spirituality, he shares an email he received from songwriter and musician Steve Bell.

Steve wanted to share with Brian a special moment that took place during one of his concert. Here is how Steve described it:

“At one point, Mike, my piano player, was taking a solo; he seemed particularly inspired…. I was intrigued by some of the rhythmical ideas he was playing with in his solo, and we locked eyes as I dialed into what he was doing by doing everything I could with my guitar to support and accent his ideas. Not always, but often enough, you can get so absorbed by what another player is doing onstage that you almost lose consciousness of yourself as you become absorbed toward the other.

“Suddenly, and surprisingly, it dawned on me that as much as I was absorbed in supporting Mike’s playing, he was doing the exact same thing toward me. I was playing off him, and he was playing off me – neither was leading … and almost as suddenly as I realized this, the whole scene stopped like a freeze frame, like someone hit pause on the DVD player. And there was a brief suspension in which the voice of God spoke to me and said, “Pay attention to this, Steve. This is who I am.” And just as quickly, the whole scene was back in full motion, Mike was burning up the piano, and I was so overcome with a sense of psychic vertigo that I thought I might faint.”

For a long time now, I’ve had this idea of heaven as a state of existence in which a person’s individual sense of self merges into something much greater, and becomes aware that it is part of the one all-encompassing lifeforce that binds all things together in harmony and love; and maybe that’s my definition of God: this all-encompassing lifeforce in which we all live and more and have our being, and which binds all things together in harmony and love.

Just thinking about such things almost makes me faint, because I know I’m dealing with something that is, in fact, much bigger than I am capable of understanding. But what Steve Bell said makes sense to me. When we allow the connections between us to become so strong that we lose ourselves in those connections, that we lose ourselves in God, well, it is good. It is very good.

By the end of that day I spent on campus, no one had come to talk to me. Not one person. I just sat there all day, and when the final bell rang, I went home.

What a waste of a day, I thought. I was there all day, and no one came to talk with me.

I had great plans for my new ministry location. I had goals I wanted to reach, things I wanted to accomplish; and sitting around all day doing nothing was not going to help me get there. The day was a complete failure as far as I was concerned; a total waste of time.

However, I had forgotten that there was more to me than just me. I had forgotten that I was and am a part of something much bigger. I thought it was just me on that school campus. I thought that, because no one came to talk to me, that no connections were made, that nothing good was accomplished.

But the connections and relationships exist whether we acknowledge them or not. They exist whether we are aware of them or not. The God in whom we live and move and have our being is present whether we acknowledge that or not.

I didn’t realize until later the tremendous amount of comfort it brought to the students and even the faculty just to know that I was there. I was for them a reminder of God’s presence, a reminder that God cares, a reminder that they were not alone and that God had not forgotten them, that God was with them, and that they were connected.

It wasn’t I who did that. It was God working through me in a way that I wasn’t even aware of at the time. It was God working through them, too, as they comforted and consoled each other, reassuring one another that they were not alone, that their grief was in fact much bigger than any one of them, that it was something that was shared.

It was a terrible tragedy, what happened. But in the demonstration of communal sharing and grieving – and in the presence of a pastor who symbolized the presence of God – perhaps a greater understanding arose regarding just how connected we all are, to one another, to all life, to God; a greater understanding of how interdependent we all are, how each one of us is a strand on that web of life, a tiny strand, perhaps, but one that is intricately connected to the whole; and even though it is a small strand, seemingly insignificant, what happens to that one small strand affects the entire web.

For we are all connected. We are created to live in relationship with each other, and with all that is.

That’s how God created us.

And it is very good.

"Witness" (Acts 1:6-14)

2011-06-05T13:15:00.001-07:00

Last week, I mentioned to you in passing that I’ve been reading several books. One, a book on kindness, is by Nawang Khechog, who spent a number of years as a Buddhist monk and who studied with the Dalai Lama.

I chose this book for several reasons. One reason is that I heard an interview on the radio with Sylvia Boorstein. At the time I didn't know who she was, but listening to her talk, her gentle voice that emanated wisdom and gentleness, I was captivated. Sylvia Boorstein was raised Jewish and now practices Buddhism and has written several books herself including one on finding happiness, and another titled, That's Funny, You Don't Look Buddhist.

Now it happened that I was in the car when I heard this interview, but I couldn't hear very well what she was saying because the rest of the family was in the car as well. Even the dog! And everyone was talking (except the dog), and asking to listen to something else, and complaining about why we all needed to be going where we were going ... and finally I yelled, "Shut up! I'm trying to listen to this! Just shut up!"

And then it got real quiet, except for Sylvia Boorstein on the radio; and she was talking about kindness. And I realized that maybe I should learn a little more about kindness, and try to practice it more.

Another reason I chose a book on kindness is that I realized that kindness has been the most overlooked of all virtues for me. The call to act with kindness is everywhere, but I didn't see it. It's in my church's vision statement, which is based on Micah 6:8: "What does the Lord require of you? Do justice, love kindness, walk humbly..." It's the sixth point of the boy scout law: "A scout is kind." It's one of the fruits of the Spirit Paul writes about in his letter to the Galatians: "The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness...."

And not too long ago, at the end of one of our worship services here, I almost stopped cold in the middle of the benediction, because I was startled to realize that kindness is one of the blessings mentioned in my paraphrase of Numbers 6:26, which I use quite often: "May God bless you and keep you, may God's face shine upon you and be gracious to you, may God look upon you with kindness ... and give you peace."

I had always thought that kindness was kind of wimpy when compared to other virtues, like love, boldness, justice, and peacemaking. But suddenly realizing that the call to kindness surrounded me, it seemed to me that perhaps I should explore that.

Another book I've been reading is a book on the moral vision of César Chávez. My daily prayer book featured some quotes from César Chávez recently, and it seemed to me that I should learn more about this influential and inspiring Californian of the 20th century.

Normally, I try to focus my attention on one book at a time; but for some reason I found myself alternating back and forth, reading one chapter from the book on kindness and then one chapter about César Chávez's moral and religious convictions. And in my mind, these two books started conversing with each other. César Chávez's Catholic faith taught him that every human being has worth and deserves to be treated with dignity; and recognizing one's God-given worth, I realized, is made possible when we learn to practice kindness. Treating people with kindness, and treating them with dignity, are almost the same thing. And they are much more important than I realized.

For me, that is an important part of César Chávez’s witness. Not just what he did, but how he did it. As much as he fought against the injustice of agribusiness, it’s hard to find anything written or spoken by him that dehumanizes the wealthy landowners and growers personally. He practiced nonviolence, even when those working with him were threatened or killed for speaking out. He chose to live in poverty, taking for himself a subsistence wage even though he could have commanded a six-figure salary as the head of a large, influential union. His witness was made powerful not just by the work he did and the things he said, but also by how he lived. His witness was made powerful by his kindness, and the dignity he afforded to every human being, no matter who they were.

I share this with you today because of Jesus’s words to us, his words that “you will be my witnesses.” These are Jesus’s last words to his disciples and to all those who would follow them, including us: “you will be my witnesses. You will be my witnesses right here in Jerusalem. You will be my witnesses in the communities and regions of Judea and Samaria. From your doorsteps to the ends of the earth, you will be my witnesses.”

The movie Saved – one of my favorite movies of all time – follows a group of friends at a Christian high school. There’s Hillary Faye, who’s perfect in every way. She has all the answers as well as the respect of the entire school. A modern-day Pharisee.

Then there’s Mary. Mary has a lot more questions than she does answers, and she struggles with those questions throughout the movie.

Hillary Faye decides that what Mary needs is a witness. What Mary needs, she thinks, is someone who will “witness” to Mary the perfect love of God for those who just overlook the questions and have faith.

But Mary can’t overlook the questions, and she can’t accept Hillary Faye’s simplistic explanations of God’s love. The two of them get into an argument, and Hillary Faye actually throws a Bible at Mary – literally picks up a Bible and chucks it at Mary’s head – as she screams, “I am full of God’s love!”

Not a very convincing witness.

As some of you know, there is, around the corner from where I live, a bar that has inside a game called the Lobster Zone. It’s like those things filled with stuffed animals where you put in some money and maneuver a mechanical claw in an attempt to retrieve the toy, except this particular game has live lobsters instead of stuffed animals.

For several months now, a group of protesters has been gathering on the sidewalk in front of the bar. They believe that it is wrong to kill animals for entertainment.

I respect that belief. Once upon a time, people treated the killing of animals for food as a sacred act, giving thanks to God and sometimes even to the spirit of the animal itself for its sacrifice that provides food for us to eat, and leather and fur for clothing and, in some cases, shelter.

Of course, the protesters’ desire is for everyone to become vegetarian or vegan. That is also a belief that I can respect. Choosing to be vegetarian is an act of kindness. But treating the necessary killing of animals for food as a holy, sacred event is also an act of kindness.

To get their message across, however, the protesters outside the bar scream at passersby, even using a megaphone when they think the police aren’t looking. They follow bar patrons around, yelling at them and harassing them. The sound of their angry chants reaches my house and many others in the neighborhood. Little girls walking to ballet class are frightened by the protesters, as are the neighborhood dogs.

When a group that supports animal rights is setting everyone’s pets on edge, I think it’s safe to say that they are compromising their own witness. When a group that professes a belief in kindness and in respect for all living things causes little girls in pink leotards and ballet slippers to hide behind their parents, I think it’s safe to say that they are undermining their own witness.

All this has left me wondering about my own witness, and the witness of our church. We are all witnesses, whether we realize it or not. The question is, what kind of witnesses are we?

What kind of a witness are you to the people who live next door? Are you a witness of love? Of kindness?

Some folks don’t even know their next door neighbors by name. Their witness, then, is one of not caring. Their life bears witness to a God who doesn’t care.

That, of course, is a false witness. Your life – how you live – is a witness. If people see you, a follower of Jesus, and they see you not making an effort to at least be friendly, to get to know them, then you’re witnessing to a God who isn’t friendly, a God who doesn’t care, and that is a false witness … and “thou shalt not bear false witness.”

Perhaps it’s time to introduce ourselves to our neighbors.

I actually did this last week. We have a number of neighbors here at the church, people whose property backs up to our parking lot, our property, residents on the east and south side of the church, and businesses over on the west side.

Last week, I realized, I didn’t even know who they were; and that, I realized, was not a very good witness.

So I knocked on some doors, introduced myself. I let them know that we as a church wanted to be a good neighbor, and I invited them to let me know if they had any suggestions as to how we could do that. To my surprise they were very happy to receive my kindness and introduction, and they responded with great kindness in return.

You see, last week I decided that I didn’t want our witness to be a witness of hostility or even indifference. I wanted us to have a witness of kindness. I wanted us to have a witness of love. I wanted us to have a witness of recognizing our common humanity with those around us.

Hitting someone over the head with a Bible (literally or figuratively) does not bear witness to God’s love. Shouting angrily at someone does not bear witness to God’s kindness. Ignoring one’s neighbor does not bear witness to the God who calls each person by name.

You are a witness for Christ. What kind of a witness are you?

"Come and See, Come and Hear" (Psalm 66)

2011-05-29T13:02:00.000-07:00

This week, the public schools all had their open houses. The elementary schools had theirs on Monday, the middle schools had theirs on Tuesday, and the high schools had theirs on Wednesday.

As I walked around two different campuses this week taking in all the sights and wonders of Open House, I realized that, in a world where so much is changing, the public school open house is something that never does change much. There was a computer powerpoint projecting slide show images of the children in one class, but other than that, things are pretty much as they have been for many years.

In elementary school, the children excitedly lead their parents around the school, around the classroom, showing them where they sit and who they sit next to. There’s some work on the desk, and the students show that to their parents, and the parents smile and nod and say “very nice.”

And then the students leads the parents over to the bulletin board. “Come and see!” they say. And there on the bulletin board is the students’ artwork, or a poem that they wrote in their best (though not quite perfect) cursive handwriting, or a hand-drawn map in colored pencil with the teacher’s hand-drawn smiley face in red ink on it.

In middle school and high school, it’s a little different than that. For most teenagers, it’s not as cool to appear so excited about school. They may not even say those words out loud, the words “Come and see,” but inside they are still quite thrilled to be showing their parents around, letting their parents see this … world, this universe, that is such a big part of their lives, but which the parents normally don’t see much of.

Monday night’s Open House was, for me, the last I would ever attend as a parent of an elementary school student, so I hope you’ll forgive me if I seem a big nostalgic this morning. Next year, it’s middle school and high school for us.

One thing that happened – something that happens to me every year – is that I couldn’t help looking around the classroom and remember when I myself sat in one of those little chairs, at one of those little desks. I remembered how excited I got, every year, for open house, how excited I was to take my parents by the hand, lead them around the classroom. I’m sure I must have said many times to my own parents, “Come and see! Come and see!”

And always, they did come and see. And always, I remember, that made me feel good.

There are other times when my kids will say to me, “Hey Dad, come and see. Come and see what I just built out of Legos. Come and see me reach the next level on my video game. Come see what I can do on the monkey bars.” And I’ll admit, it’s not always easy to go and see. It’s not always convenient. It’s sometimes an interruption.

And sometimes I’m just lazy.

Sometimes the call to “come and see” comes just as I’ve sat down in a comfortable chair with a cup of green tea and a book that I’ve just opened up to read. I have several books that I’m working my way through right now, including a book on kindness by a Buddhist monk, a new collection of sermons by Fred Craddock, and a book about the moral vision of César Chávez which I checked out from the Dana Library and have had to renew once because it’s taking me awhile to read it.

But I know how important it is for a child to have someone Come and See, so I try to respond positively. Fortunately it is almost always the case that when I do respond, I am able to express my admiration and affirmation, and it is, in fact, a genuine, sincere expression. And the heart of the child who summoned me is lifted, just a little….

…Because there’s something that happens when a person is able to share something important, something meaningful, with another person. It really is a powerful thing. As an introvert, I do value my alone time, and if I’m out and about, I’ve found that even a quiet lunch at a table for one can be a nice, peaceful, pleasant experience. However, even better is an experience that can be shared.

A few years back, when my family was fortunate enough to obtain annual passes to Disneyland, there were a couple of times when I would head there on a Friday morning by myself – Friday being my day off – and then the rest of the family would join me once they got off work and out of school.

It was fun, being there by myself. I’d go on some rides that the rest of the family didn’t care for much, and I’d use the single rider lines that a few of the attractions have so that I didn’t have to wait so long. And I enjoyed it, going at my own pace, doing my own thing, even waiting in line for a vegetable skewer at the Bengal BBQ which I love so much but which the kids think is an anomaly, having vegetables at the happiest place on earth.

So it was kind of nice, being there by myself. And I’d go see the show at the Golden Horseshoe; and being there by myself, I could walk in a few minutes before showtime into the crowded restaurant/theater, find an empty seat right up front, and say, “Excuse me, is this seat taken?” (because you can do that sort of thing at Disneyland), and with a smile someone would respond “No; have a seat.”

One time I did this, it was a woman in a wheelchair who invited me to sit at her table, right up front next to the stage. With a few minutes before the show started we introduced ourselves. “Where are you from?”

“I’m from Long Beach; and you?”

“I’m from Riverside. My daughter here brought me for my birthday.”

And we chatted for a bit, and shared about our lives, and shared our favorite tips for getting the most out of a day at Disneyland. And then the show started and the woman whose birthday it was enjoyed it thoroughly. I mean, she laughed whole-heartedly, without holding back, and even got some acknowledgement from the performers on stage, which made her laugh even more.

And the show and indeed even the whole day became more enjoyable and more meaningful for me because I had established a connection with this woman who was now enjoying herself so much.

And then in the afternoon when my family arrived, I just had to tell them about the woman in the wheelchair whose birthday it was and how hard she laughed during the show. I had to tell them, because I thought they’d enjoy hearing about it, and because the experience becomes more meaningful for me when I am able to share it with someone else.

Sometimes, things don’t even seem real until you are able to share them. Something incredible happens, and you find someone near you and say, “Did you see that?” And if there isn’t anyone near you, you call someone, or you post it on facebook. It’s almost as if it didn’t really happen unless you are able to share it with someone.

Come and see! Let me show you. Come and hear my story. Come, let me share my life with you.

We find those words in today’s psalm. “Come and see; come and see what God has done. Come and hear my story; let me tell you what God has done for me.”

Sharing is important, and we share for different reasons. In scripture, after the resurrection, and just before he ascended into heaven, Jesus commanded his disciples to share what they had seen and heard. He said, “You will be my witnesses; you will share what you have seen and heard in Jerusalem, in Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

But that’s next week’s scripture, actually; and a command to share isn’t quite the same as a children showing their parents around at Open House, or an adult wanting to share what he saw and experienced at the Golden Horseshoe, or even, I think, a psalmist who is motivated only by his own heart to share his experience of God, so I won’t dwell on that too much today.

You may recall that the prophets had a certain knack for telling and sharing about their experiences of God. However, their sharing the word of God did not always improve the quality of their lives personally. It wasn’t always easy for them to share; and yet, it would have been even harder for them not to share.

As you may remember, Jeremiah wished he could keep all that he knew and all that he experienced to himself. He didn’t want to share it. The people didn’t want to hear it. But whenever Jeremiah tried to hold it all in, he found that he could not. It was physically impossible. He said that there was something like a burning fire shut up in his bones, and he had to let it out.

But that’s not the same as the psalmist’s enthusiastic desire to share, or the child’s invitation to come and see.

You may also remember when Philip became a disciple. Philip went and found Nathaniel – he had to tell someone about what he’d seen! – and he said to Nathaniel, “Come! We have found the one about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote; it’s Jesus, son of Joseph from Nazareth.”

This, I think, is closer to the enthusiastic sharing of the psalmist. However, Nathaniel did not, at first, share Philip’s enthusiasm. He said, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”

Even if you’ve never read this particular scripture, you can probably guess Philip’s response. He said, “Come and see. Come and see.”

If you’ve read your newsletter or looked at the schedule of events listed in the bulletin, you may have noticed something new listed for Wednesday evening. In the newsletter it’s called the Wednesday Night Supper Club; elsewhere I’ve just called it Wednesday Night Dinner. We’re not settled on a name yet.

But what it is, is an opportunity for you to come and enjoy a light dinner – nothing too fancy – in our fellowship hall. We’ll eat, and then we’ll have conversation. We’ll share our stories with one another.

And hopefully we will be able to share our stories with some neighbors as well, and we’ll be able to hear them share their stories with us, too. That will be good for us as well as them.

The plan is to continue doing this every week. We’ll see how it goes. How it all evolves will be up to those who attend. We may even get a little Bible study thrown in on occasion.

What I know for sure is this:

We will start promptly at six and end promptly at seven.

Anyone who attends for the first time will not be asked to pay. Since this week will be everyone’s first time, we aren’t even going to put a basket out.

All ages are welcome; the youth may want their own table, and that will be okay.

We will eat. We will share.

We will do this because we need to share. Not only because Jesus commands us to share, but because we need to share in order to learn, to grow, to experience all the meaning and fullness and wholeness that life has to offer. We need to share with others and develop significant relationships with others in order to be fully human.

The week before last, our Christian Women’s Fellowship groups met for a salad lunch and general meeting. Betsy Hillig gave a presentation and shared with those present a book that has been meaningful to her in her life.

The book began with a quote by Dr. James Comer: “No significant learning occurs without a significant relationship.”

That is why we share our stories with one another. That is why we say to one another, “Come and see.” Come and hear.” … So that we might find the significant relationships that help us learn, grow, and be the people God intends for us to be.

You're Not Alone (Psalm 23)

2011-05-22T07:48:00.000-07:00

We’ve heard in the news this spring of terrible storms that have ravaged many parts of the country. Tornadoes wiped out entire neighborhoods in the south. Floodwaters reached near record levels along the Mississippi River. Countless lives and livelihoods have been affected.

You should know that the church has responded to help those in need. Money that you have given to the church – to Disciples Mission Fund and Week of Compassion – is at work, helping to rebuild lives and communities. And the best thing about the work we do through these ministries is that it doesn’t end as soon as the media spotlight moves on to some other issue. Rebuilding efforts like these take many years, which is why we are still supporting work in Nashville a year after that city experienced some of its worst flooding ever. It’s why we are still working in Haiti, more than a year after the devastating earthquake there. It’s why we are still working in the Gulf Coast, quite a few years after Hurricanes Katrina and Rita. And it’s why we will be in the Mississippi River region for many months to come, at least; as long as it takes. Through the work of the church, God lets those in difficult circumstances know that they are not alone; God is with them, even in the darkest valley.

The images in the news of houses flooded almost up to their rooftops reminds me of a story I once heard:

It had been raining for days and days, and a terrible flood had come over the land. The waters rose so high that one man was forced to climb onto the roof of his house. There, he prayed for God to save him.

As the waters rose higher and higher, a man in a rowboat appeared, and told him to get in. "No," replied the man on the roof. "I have faith in the Lord; the Lord will save me." So the man in the rowboat went away, while the man on the roof prayed for God to save him.

The waters rose higher and higher, and suddenly a speedboat appeared. "Climb in!" shouted a man in the boat. "No," replied the man on the roof. "I have faith in the Lord; the Lord will save me." So the man in the speedboat went away. The man on the roof prayed for God to save him.

The waters continued to rise. A helicopter appeared and over the loudspeaker, the pilot announced he would lower a rope to the man on the roof. "No," replied the man on the roof. "I have faith in the Lord; the Lord will save me." So the helicopter went away. The man on the roof prayed for God to save him.

The waters rose higher and higher, and eventually they rose so high that the man on the roof was washed away, and alas, the poor man drowned.

Upon arriving in heaven, the man marched straight over to God. "Heavenly Father," he said, "I had faith in you, I prayed to you to save me, and yet you did nothing. Why?" God gave him a puzzled look, and replied, "I sent you two boats and a helicopter, what more did you expect?"

Trusting in God: it’s not always easy, is it?

Another story:

A man named Jack was walking along a steep cliff one day when he accidentally got too close to the edge and fell. On the way down he grabbed a branch, which temporarily stopped his fall. He looked down and, to his horror, saw that the canyon fell straight down for more than a thousand feet. He couldn’t hang onto the branch forever, and there was no way for him to climb up the steep wall of the cliff.

So Jack began yelling for help, hoping that someone passing by would hear him and lower a rope or something. HELP! HELP! Is anyone up there? “HELP!” He yelled for a long time, but no one heard him. He was about to give up when he heard a voice.

“Jack, Jack. Can you hear me?”

“Yes, yes! I can hear you. I’m down here!”

“I can see you, Jack. Are you all right?”

“Yes, but who are you, and where are you?

“I am the Lord, Jack. I’m everywhere.”

“The Lord? You mean, GOD?”

“That’s Me.”

“God, please help me! I promise if, you’ll get me down from here, I’ll stop sinning. I’ll be a really good person. I’ll serve You for the rest of my life.”

Easy on the promises, Jack. Let’s get you off from there; then we can talk.” “Now, here’s what I want you to do. Listen carefully.”

“I’ll do anything, Lord. Just tell me what to do.”

“Okay. Let go of the branch.”

“What?”

“I said, let go of the branch.” Just trust Me. Let go.”

There was a long silence. Finally Jack yelled, “HELP! HELP! IS ANYONE ELSE UP THERE?”

Trusting in God. It’s not always easy.

The book of Psalms contains 150 hymns through which God’s people express their troubles and fears, their hopes and aspirations, and their trust in God. Among the psalms of trust, none is more well-known than Psalm 23.

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures.”

In times of darkness and difficulty, we trust in the Lord to lead us to the green pastures. The green pastures are located beside still waters. And yet, as we rest there, and look out across those waters, it often seems as if everyone else is over on the other side of those waters. They’re over there on the other side, having what looks to be a grand ol’ time, while we’re over here all by ourselves. And to our eyes, it even appears as if the grass is greener, over there on the other side.

And so we start to question God: is this really the right side for us to be on?

Over on the other side we see big houses. Over on the other side we see bright lights. Over on the other side we see the latest 3-D digital entertainment.

And enjoying it all are all the people, rushing back and forth from one thing to another. There’s so much to do over there, they never have a dull moment. Life is one big rush.

Over here, on this side, it’s just … you.

Or is it?

I must confess that, too often, my words and actions are influenced by all those on the other side. I want to be part of the crowd. That’s just human nature. We are social creatures. We want to be part of a group. We want to be liked. We don’t like to be over all by ourselves.

In my best moments, though, I dare to stand up, stick my head out, above the tall grass of the pasture, and declare that this side really is better, that life isn’t all about bright lights, big money, and non-stop entertainment. The Lord led me to this green pasture, where life is simpler, and even though everyone on the other side thinks I’m crazy, I have learned that the Lord was right, that a peaceful simplicity is actually far more satisfying than all the hussle and bussle of the other side.

It’s hard to say things like this. It’s even harder to actually live like this, to remain on this side and not be tempted to cross over to the other side. It’s hard to trust in the Lord like this, especially when I’m the only one.

But when I do stand up and say things like this, a surprising thing happens. A couple yards away, a head will rise above the grass and say to me, “It’s so nice to know you think that way, because that’s how I think, too, but I thought I was the only one.”

And then another head will rise up, and say, “I thought I was the only one.” And then another will rise up, and then another, and then we all look around, and we discover that there’s a whole crowd of us, and that each of us who are a part of the crowd had thought that we were the only one.

But it doesn’t stop there. When just one or two of us stick our heads up, the people on the other side look over and see us, and they are simultaneously filled with several contradictory emotions.

First, there’s a longing to come over and join us. Life on that other side, though glamorous, comes at a price. They’re too busy. Too busy working, too busy rushing from place to place, to enjoy life. They don’t know each other, except at a superficial level, because they’re too busy for real conversation. There’s no time to rest, and no real satisfaction.

However, they also see that there’s just one or two over on this side, and the influence of those around them is too strong; the pressure to stay where they are is too great. So they consider us idealists, fools, or even freaks. And they go back to their own hectic, crazy lives.

When a few more heads rise up out of the grass on our side, they’ll look again. The longing to cross over will return; but, with sadness, they’ll say, “I just can’t.” They’re too invested where they are to move. They’d like to trust God, believe God, that things really are better over here, but they can’t.

But as the number of heads rising up on this side continues to increase, people on the other side will dip their toes in the water. A few will begin crossing over. And, slowly, they’ll realize that God was right, that goodness and mercy and joy and happiness really do exist on this side.

And so, we become a group; a group with ties that bind us close together as a family. And our happiness grows. The wealth and glamor on the other side, we discover, is really just an illusion. Even the grass that appeared so much greener, we now realize, is nothing but artificial turf.

I’ve been reading a fascinating book lately. It’s by journalist Tina Rosenberg, and it’s called Join the Club: How Peer Pressure Can Transform the World. We often think of peer pressure as a negative: it’s what keeps people on the other side, and what keeps people on this side from coming out of hiding. But it can also be positive, as when those on this side realize that they have something in common, that their lives are in fact better because they trusted in the Lord, and they can hold one another accountable so that they can continue to resist the temptation to go back over on the other side.

Also, on this side, our relationships with one another are stronger. There’s no time on the other side to develop lasting relationships. Over there, we’re more of a herd; over here, we’re more of a family. Over there, we feel alone, even though we’re surrounded by people. Over here, we feel connected.

On page 181 of her book, Tina Rosenberg has this to say: “Joining a group increases your happiness as much as doubling your income.” Feeling truly connected, in a deep (not superficial) way, to God and to other people, has real value.

I’ve talked about this side and that side, but the truth is that all of us live on both sides. We have one foot in each of these two different worlds.

Will you follow the Lord to where the pastures are truly green? How much do you trust? How much do you believe?

Does it look lonely over there, where God is leading you? Do not fear, for God is with you. God’s rod and God’s staff will comfort you. Besides, odds are you’ll discover that you really are not alone after all, that there are others waiting to join you … if you will but take that first step.

Recognizing Christ (Luke 24:13-35)

2011-05-08T11:59:00.000-07:00

I have great sympathy for Cleopas and his companion. There they were, walking from Jerusalem to Emmaus on the first day of the week…. Yesterday was the Sabbath; the day before that was the crucifixion. Here, on the third day, it was time for them to go home.

As they were traveling, Jesus comes near them – Jesus himself! – and starts walking with them. And get this: they do not recognize him.

I sympathize with them, because that is a pastor’s worst nightmare: “Hi, welcome to Bixby Knolls Christian Church, is this your first visit?”

“Uh, no, I was here last week. Don’t you recognize me?”

Just take my size 9 ½ and shove it in my mouth right now, ‘cause I’m done.

Some years ago I was asked to meet with a family to plan the funeral of their mother. I may have told you this before. The daughter, who I would say was maybe around 60, showed up to the meeting in jeans and tennis shoes, which was fine. And we talked for awhile, shared memories, and planned the service.

A few days later I was at the church for the funeral, and a woman walks in, and she looks perfect: very dressed up, very formal, with beautiful clothes, makeup just right, and not one hair out of place. I was about to walk up to her and introduce myself, welcome her, and possibly ask how she knew the person who had died when, just in time, I recognized her as the daughter I had met with just a few days ago.

I tell you, that was a close one. One mistake like that can incite a whole flock of wrath. Entire ministries have fallen over lesser sins than that.

Cleopas and his companion did not recognize Jesus. Apparently they had been two of Jesus’ followers. They had listened to his teachings. Probably they had dined with Jesus on one or more occasion. And yet, after all this, they did not recognize him.

The scripture says that “their eyes were kept from recognizing him.” By what? By God? Did God keep their eyes from recognizing Jesus?

Could it be that their eyes were kept from recognizing Jesus by their own confusion and disillusionment following the crucifixion?

What was it that kept their eyes from recognizing Jesus?

Before Jesus, it was believed that God’s messiah would be one who would rule with power and might. Jesus did not fit that description, not in the way that people expected the messiah to; he exercised power and might in a very different way. Many, many people did not recognize Jesus because of that.

Cleopas and his companion: could it be that their eyes were kept from recognizing Jesus by their own preconceived ideas about what God was like?

This man walking alongside them looked like Jesus, but Jesus had been crucified, and people who had been crucified don’t walk with you along a road. Maybe they saw Jesus with their eyes but not with their minds, and seeing really is a function of the mind more than it is of the eyes.

I heard a story once about how, when the first ship arrived in the New World from Europe, many of the Native Americans could not see it. It was right there in front of them, just offshore, but it was so different from anything they had ever seen or imagined, that the mind refused to accept the image that was coming to it from the eyes. To the mind, it was simply unbelievable, so the mind erased the image, and replaced the image of white sails with something that made more sense: white clouds. And that’s all the Native Americans could see: white clouds over an empty sea.

The eyes of Cleopas and his companion saw this man with the same features as Jesus, the same voice as Jesus, but their minds knew that that was impossible. And so, their “eyes” were kept from recognizing him.

That’s what I think, anyway.

By the way, if you ask me later, I will show you a little demonstration that will have your mind see something that your eyes do not. It’s really cool. Ask me.

Anyway, I think that Cleopas and his companion could not see Jesus because what they were seeing conflicted with what they thought was possible, and because Jesus himself was not all that they had imaged the messiah to be. What they thought God was like got in the way of what God was really like.

In this, they are not alone. In describing what happened at the crucifixion, Luke’s gospel reports that Jesus prayed that those who crucified him would be forgiven. “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”

In most translations, this verse has a footnote that mentions that this verse, in which Jesus prays for forgiveness, is not present in many of the ancient copies of Luke’s gospel. Some have this verse; others do not.

Well, what happened is that many of the scribes who copied those ancient documents lived in situations of severe persecutions by Romans and even by non-believing Jews, and they could not imagine a God who would forgive Romans and Jews. They could not imagine a God who would forgive those who crucified Jesus. They could not imagine a God who would forgive those who persecuted them so ruthlessly. Where’s the justice in that?

So they left that verse out. Jesus said it; but they did not recognize it as something he would say. They could not recognize it as something that was of God. They could not imagine a God who forgives so generously.

Those who take seriously a journey of spiritual growth find that, at many places on that journey, their ideas about who God is and what God is like are challenged. We each have our own image of what God is like. There really is no getting around that. And none of these images that we have are completely true. We are limited by our own imagination.

Anne Lamott has written that you know you’ve created God in your own image when God hates all the same people you hate. Those ancient scribes, whose God hated the Romans and the Jews the same as they did, had created for themselves an image of God that was at least partly of their own making. Those who expected the messiah to come with a certain type of might and power had created a God in their own image.

Elijah waited for God to come in a great windstorm; after all, in all those movies, whenever God is near, the wind is blowing. Cecil B. DeMille, right? When God is present, you cue the offscreen fans to blow the hair and ruffle the clothes so that they flap in the wind. Elijah also waited for God to come in the midst of a great earthquake. You see that in the movies, too. So Elijah had an image of God that involved windstorms and earthquakes.

But God did not conform to Elijah’s preconceived notions. God through Elijah for a loop by coming in the midst of calm and silence.

We create God in our own image whenever we believe that God hates all the same people we hate, whenever we assume that God is always on our team. We create God in our own image when we assume that God is a republican like us … or a democrat like us … We create God in our own image when we assume that God condemns gays and lesbians to hell just because they make us uncomfortable.

We create God in our own image when we assume that God rejoice with us over the death of Osama bin Laden.

Yes, all of a sudden the struggle of Cleopas and his companion is our struggle, too. It is my struggle, as a theologian and a preacher, because this week one of the things I’ve been pondering is this: if Jesus were crucified on the Twin Towers instead of at Calvary, would he have prayed of those terrorists: “Father, forgive them…?”

I think he would have.

And if someone were to record those words, would someone else try to take those words out from the record, remove them, saying “How could God possibly forgive those who could commit such evil?”

Difficult questions, I know. And on Mother’s Day, no less. What was I thinking?

The eyes of Cleopas and his companion were kept from recognizing Jesus. I guess it was just too much. And yet there must have been some sort of opening there, because they invited him to accompany them, and they listened with open hearts to all he had to say. It stretched their imagination. It expanded their minds. It challenged their own way of thinking about God, to listen to Jesus. But still, they listened.

Upon reaching their destination, they even invited him to stay with them. Apparently, they wanted to hear more, to learn more, to have their established ways of thinking about God be challenged further.

And then, in the breaking of the bread, their eyes were finally opened, and they recognized him. They recognized God in their midst.

As soon as they recognized Jesus, he vanished, which is a strange thing. How could he do that? I don’t know. It stretches my imagination!

All I know is that if I keep my eyes and my mind open, God will continue stretching my imagination. I have my own ways of imagining God, but God is always bigger than that. Which means that there are times when I fail to recognize God in my midst. There is still much within me that keeps me from recognizing God, but every day, I’m learning…

Life in Christ's Name (John 20:19-31)

2011-05-01T12:57:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the second Sunday of Easter, the second Sunday of a 50-day period of celebrating the risen Christ and the new life that God makes available through Christ to all who follow him.

Today’s scripture reading comes near the end of John’s gospel, when the risen Christ appears to his disciples. Poor Thomas was not there; some have guessed that perhaps he was out getting some food for everyone, this being back in the days before someone would come up with that wonderful idea of pizza delivery. By the time Thomas returned with three extra larges (anchovies and olives, yes, but no ham) the other disciples said to him, “We have seen the Lord!”

As Thomas set the pizzas down, he said, without looking up, “Right. Sure you did.” When the disciples insisted that they were telling the truth, Thomas said, “Come on, guys. That’s not funny.” But still the disciples persisted, so finally Thomas, about to bite into a piece of pizza, said: “Look. Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

A week later, the disciples were gathered together once again, and this time Thomas was with them. And Jesus appeared to them, and Thomas believed.

After this, the gospel writer says that Jesus did many other signs. This is kind of a reminder to the reader of the seven signs John did write about. Each sign that Jesus did appears to be greater than the one before it. They are, in order:

• Turning water into wine

• Healing the son of a royal official

• Healing a lame man at the pool of Bethzātha

• Feeding 5,000

• Walking on water

• Restoring sight to a blind man

• Raising Lazarus from the dead

I’ve mentioned to you before that it is probably not a coincidence that John writs about seven signs, even though (as he says) Jesus did many other signs as well. Seven is a symbolic number signifying completeness, wholeness, goodness. The earth was created in seven days. The number seven appears repeatedly in the dreams Joseph interpreted for Pharaoh. At Jericho, on the seventh day, seven priests carrying seven trumpets marched around the city seven times before the walls fell.

Many times in scripture, seven seems to be just the right number. Six is not enough, and eight—well, eight is too much of a good thing. Eight would be having the whole number, plus one extra.

Seven sons of Jesse were brought before the prophet Samuel; and when the prophet saw all seven, he said to himself, “surely the Lord’s anointed one is among them.” But in fact, the Lord’s anointed was the eighth son, David, who was out in the field, taking care of the sheep. In this case, there was too much of a good thing, and the Lord’s anointed came from outside that inner circle of seven.

John’s gospel has seven signs of Jesus, but then there is the resurrection: the eighth sign. In raising Jesus, God went beyond what was good. God went beyond what was expected. God did something truly remarkable, not just for the people of Israel, but for all the nations of the earth.

These eight signs are written (John says in his gospel) “so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.”

So, this is what it’s all about: having life in Christ’s name. That’s the main thing here. If those who read John’s gospel find new life through believing, then John has succeeded in accomplishing his purpose.

Now, I don’t know about you, but as a reader of John’s gospel, I can’t help but what wonder what it means, exactly, to have life in Christ’s name. What does that mean?

Does it mean to get a job, buy a house, and work hard so you can fill that house with nice things: furniture, appliances, and so on?

Does it mean to make a name for yourself, through your accomplishments or charitable gifts?

Does it mean raising a family, doing everything you can to provide for your children everything they could need or want, from the right style jeans to the latest electronic devices?

It’s easy to say no to questions like these. It’s easy to say what we know is the right answer. We recognize that life in Christ’s name does not mean a life of wealth, does not mean making a name for yourself, does not mean providing everything for your family. By themselves, these things are not necessarily bad or evil, except that they can and do confuse us as to what life in Christ really is, and how we can achieve life in Christ.

Throughout John’s gospel, Jesus himself talks repeatedly about “eternal life.” In John’s gospel, people are always asking Jesus about eternal life, and Jesus talks about eternal life often, sometimes even without being asked. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life.”

We often think of that phrase – “eternal life” – as meaning little more than a life that will go on forever. But here at the end of the gospel, for some reason, John switches from “eternal life” to “life in Christ’s name.”

Both phrases mean the same thing, and they mean much more than a life that goes on forever. It is the life of the ages, a life that is deeper, richer, more fulfilling, both now and in the future. It is life filled with an intimate awareness of God. It is life in the kingdom of God, as Matthew, Mark, and Luke describe it. It is a life of wholeness that is possible, even in a fragmented world.

The path to living this life is often counterintuitive, which makes it a difficult life to life…. I have, several times, enjoyed walking the trails at the El Dorado Nature Center. It never fails that, after walking most of what is called the two-mile trail, I come to a junction; and the way this junction is aligned, my sense of direction – which is normally really good – tells me that I need to take the left trail in order to return to the parking lot. The first time I hiked there, that’s exactly what I did – and I ended up hiking a lot further than I had intended.

The next time I hiked those trails and came to that same junction, I was again tempted to go left. It just seemed so right, to go left! I literally stood there for ten minutes, fighting with myself, resisting the urge, the instinct, to go left, even though I knew that the right path was the way to go. It just looked so wrong to me! It was the strangest feeling, because as I said, I have a very good sense of direction, and yet, for whatever reason, at this particular trail junction, that sense of direction is wrong.

I did, eventually, convince myself to take the right trail, even though my intuition kept repeating over and over “this is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong” like some sort of mantra echoing in the back of my head. Every step required a great mental effort, until the trail slowly started to curve back around to the left, and the mantra died away.

One of the scouts in Troop 29 is in the process of planning and organizing his Eagle Project, which will involve replacing all the trail signs at the nature center. I’ve already put in my request for him to add a sign at this particular trail junction pointing to the exit. I think I’d even like to be the person who sticks that sign in the ground, except that I would probably have it pointing in the wrong direction.

So many people in scripture had a hard time understanding what Jesus was talking about when he described eternal life or life in the kingdom. The Jews disputed among themselves; the disciples threw up their hands. Jesus said over and over, “this is the way to go, the way that will lead you home,” but it just didn’t seem right. It just doesn’t seem right. Our own instinct, our own sense of direction, pulls us the other way.

Wealth brings us happiness? That can’t be right. Military might won’t bring us security? Forgiving our enemies will bring us more satisfaction than seeking revenge? Seeking reconciliation will bring us more satisfaction than holding on to our prejudices and our grudges? Really?

Living a life of service, a life of sacrifice, will bring greater joy? I don’t think so, Jesus. That can’t be the way. You want me to follow you? That way? But everything inside me says, “this is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong…” No, this path over here is the right way, Jesus; I just know it is. Why don’t you follow me?

John’s gospel was written so that you may believe. “Believe,” in scripture, doesn’t mean just that you believe that something happened, that you believe what you’ve heard, that you believe that Jesus actually existed. Even Satan believes that Jesus actually existed.

To believe means to believe in – to believe in – Jesus, to trust in him wholeheartedly, to place your faith in him.

John’s gospel was written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, the one anointed by God, the one who knows which path is the right path. To believe in him means to follow him on that path even though every instinct in your body is telling you this is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong. To believe in Christ means to trust that the path Christ leads you down will eventually curve back around, revealing itself to in fact be the right path, the path that leads you home, the path that leads to life in his name.