Joshua J Sander
8/29/10
14th Sunday after Pentecost—22nd in Ordinary Time
“Hospitality”
Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16
Luke 14:1, 7-14
Often times, when we find Jesus in these little teaching moments, we find Jesus saying something surprising—we find Jesus giving some new and startling interpretation of the scriptures. This is not one of those times. When he observes how the guests choose the best seats for themselves, he logically and succinctly cautions them against it. Similarly, he turns to his host and cautions him against only ever inviting friends, relatives and rich neighbors into his home. It may seem strange to us, but these would not have been new concepts for the people listening to Jesus. He is reminding them of something they already know—the rules of hospitality; the proper reception and treatment of guests and strangers. Even the underlying message—the message that somewhere down the line God will humble the exalted and exalt the humble—was not new; prophets had been delivering that message for generations.
Every society has rules concerning hospitality. Many businesses today have a huge interest in hospitality—especially businesses like hotels and resorts. You can even go to school and get a Masters of Business Administration in Hospitality Management. But societal rules of hospitality run deeper than that. I’m reminded of an old Jeff Foxworthy bit he says, "You have to clean up. Or you have to at least you have to make people think you do. We've all done that, been home on the weekend, had the phone ring, "Hey, we're in the neighborhood, thought we'd stop by and see y'all." You always say, "Sure! Come on, we'd love to have you." You hang up and to that Flight of the Bumblebee. 90-mile-an-hour fluffin' stuff. You're sweatin' when they get there and the first thing you say is, "Excuse the house, it's a mess, come on in, the house is a mess."
Doesn’t that sound familiar to anyone? It does to me. Or how about this, how many of you have ever seen folk fight over who gets to pay the check at a restaurant? Keep your hand raised if it was a member of your family doing the arguing! See? There are all kinds of rules we abide by.
Hospitality rules in nomadic societies—you know, cultures where people travel from place to place living in tents… like the ancient Israelites—hospitality rules in those kinds of cultures are much more serious business than the Flight of the Bumblebee cleaning spree. If you are alone in the wilderness and you come upon a nomad’s tent whether or not they let you in could mean the difference between life and death. Even after such people settle down into villages and cities, they tend to retain these very strict rules—strangers are made guests without question and as long as they are your guests it is your responsibility to protect them.
There are many, many stories from many different cultures. If you ever had to read the Odyssey, you’ve seen examples of the kind of hospitality I’m talking about. The story is about the adventure of Odysseus returning home from war, yes, but one of the major themes has to do with hospitality—the heroes and allies of the story appropriately and exuberantly give and receive hospitality and the villains not only fail to protect their guests by are themselves dangerous to them.
A less mythic example of such hospitality can be found in Scottish history. Specifically, the chief of Clan Lamont arrived at the home of the MacGregor chief, told him that he was fleeing from foes and requested refuge. Later that night a member of the MacGregor clan arrived, informing their chief that the Lamont had killed his son. Not only did the MacGregor chief refuse to hand over the Lamont to his clansmen, but the next morning he escorted the Lamont back to their ancestral lands.
This kind of hospitality is a two-way street, of course. Later on, the Lamonts gave safe haven to many of the MacGregor clan. In the Odyssey, the gods reward good hospitality and punish the opposite. And of course there’s the argument that the author of the letter to the Hebrews makes, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” Paul is referring to the most extreme hospitality story that I’ve ever heard—you can find it in the book of Genesis and it goes something like this:
One evening two angels came into the city, and they found there a man who immediately offered them hospitality. “Please my lords,” he said, “turn aside to your servant’s house and spend the night, and wash your feet; they you can rise early and go on your way.” But the angels said, “No. We will spend the night in the square.” But the man strongly urged them to reconsider, so they turned aside and entered his house. The man made them a feast, and baked unleavened bread, and they ate.
But before they went to bed, all the men of the city, both young and old, came and surrounded the house in a mob and cried out, “Where are the men who came to you tonight? Send them out so we can rape them.” The host went outside, shut the door behind him, and begged the mob not to do such a horrible thing. In fact, the host’s sense of hospitality was so strong that he offered his two virgin daughters to the mob rather than betray his guests to their violent intent. But the mob said, “You’re an outsider here, too! How dare you judge us? Now we’ll do worse to you than we were going to do to them.”
Then the mob rushed the host and started to break down the door. But the angels opened the door, pulled in their host, and struck the entire mob blind. Then they told their host to gather up whatever family he had in the city and escape, “For we are about to destroy this place, because the outcry against its people has become great before the Lord who has sent us to destroy it.” And so Lot and his family escaped the city of Sodom and its destruction. Well, all but Lot’s wife, but that’s another story.
Jesus knew Lot’s story. The Pharisees knew Lot’s story. All of the guests knew Lot’s story. And so it wouldn’t—or at least shouldn’t—have been surprising to hear Jesus tell his host not to simply invite people into the feast who he knew could return the favor, but to also invite in strangers. It wouldn’t—or at least shouldn’t—have been a surprise to hear Jesus tell the other guests not to assume that they should take the best seats. After all, even God’s angels initially said, “No. We’ll sleep in the square.”
Jesus, and the author of the letter to the Hebrews, and Lot’s story all speak of an extreme hospitality that most if not all of us fall short of. I don’t know about you, but I can’t remember the last time I stopped a couple of men on the street and asked them to my apartment for dinner and a sleep over. But I can think of a few times when I was a stranger being shown hospitality. I did the first half of my undergraduate work at Phillips University in Enid, Oklahoma. Phillips was my parents’ alma mater, and the reason for my not graduating from there is a whole other story. In any case, Enid, Oklahoma was far enough away from North Stonington, Connecticut that it wasn’t a responsible use of time or money to fly home every time we had a school break. I was home for Christmas and the summer, and that was it. When I was lucky, one of my classmates would think of me in those times, and take me home with them.
One of those times still goes down as one of the most interesting trips ever. I won’t mention any names, especially since we’ve reconnected on Facebook since then, but my memory of it goes something like this. Just before the trip, my friend comes up with this plan to put in a fake nose ring to surprise her mother with as a kind of prank. I remember asking her if that was really such a good idea, and she kept telling me that her mom would think it was funny. So it wasn’t until we’d been driving for hours on end that I began to ask her what her mother thought of her bringing a male friend home—and she tells me that she thought it would be funny not to tell her mother that I was coming.
Now, I won’t say that her parents were inhospitable. But I will say that her mother did not find the fake nose ring to be at all funny. Nor did she find the idea of “Surprise! I brought a friend with me!” to be the height of humor either. They were decent folk, and I don’t think I would have had to fear for my life if a mob had surrounded the house and demanded to do violence to me. However, I definitely felt like a stranger on that trip—and worse, I felt like I was imposing—so much so that when I got back to the dorm I got out my checkbook and sent her family some money to offset the cost of having me there.
Now, in contrast, there was the time Rich and Liz brought me home to Liz’s parents in Tulsa. One of the first things I remember happening was being taken out to Cracker Barrel for dinner. I was a little uncomfortable, because to my poor college student eyes, everything was on the expensive side—but my college student stomach won out and I ordered chicken ‘n’ dumplings and fried apples. I remember that Liz was sitting to my right, and her mother was on Liz’s other side. I remember this because I offered Liz one of my apples. Liz happily speared one from my plate and when I turned back to my dinner I heard her mother say, “We do not eat off of each other’s plates in this household.” I was instantly mortified—and Liz instantly laughed. “Josh? Did you not see that?” she said, “Mom, do it again!” I looked to my right as her mother cheerfully speared something from Liz’s plate as she announced again, “We do not eat off each other’s plates in this household!”
To this day, we still joke about that moment. I knew right then that I was going to get along just fine with Liz’s family. And her mother still speaks of how well I took being teased—and that she knew I was A-ok in that moment. The other thing that made my experience in Tulsa very different was that I was told up front what to expect—that I was going to be treated as a guest and that I wasn’t to argue about who was to pay for what. In fact, I was told that it would be insulting if I did. So I offered to pay for my dinner. Once. And when the answer was, “No you aren’t either.” I let it go. I was a stranger to Liz’s parents, but they met me with sincere hospitality and a lovely sense of warmth and playfulness that has never waned. I know that I am always welcome in their home, and if they appeared on my doorstep, I would be delighted. In point of fact, I try to model my own hospitality on the kind that they showed me.
There is a Hindu saying that I’m sure I cannot pronounce correctly, so I won’t even try. But it’s from one of the Upanishads—sacred writings—and it says that one should worship Mother, Father, Teacher and Guests as God. In our own tradition, we believe that we were all created in God’s image. So while I wouldn’t go so far as to say we should worship one another, we should honor the image of God we find in Mother, Father, Teacher—and yes, Guests. When you look at it that way, the extreme hospitality I’ve been talking about makes a whole lot more sense. Some people see it as too much when a church specifically and publically invites parts of society that are considered outsiders into their congregations. Some people saw it as too much when the MacGregor clan chief escorted the Lamonts back to their ancestral lands. Many people see it as too much when Lot offers his daughters up to be raped instead of giving over the strangers he’d taken in. But it’s that kind of hospitality that causes you to entertain angels unaware.
Please be with me in the spirit of prayer. Welcoming protector God, we do not feel safe giving out the kind of hospitality that Lot gave out so freely. Help us to remember the words of your prophet Ezekiel who said, “This was the sin of your sister Sodom: she and her daughters had pride, surfeit of food and prosperous ease, but did not aid the poor and needy.” Help us to see the irony of using this most profound story of inhospitality as license to ostracize others. Forgive the misuse of your word. Forgive our judgment of others. Help us to see your image in our neighbors. Help us to open our hearts and our homes as you see fit. We pray these things in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Passing By
Joshua J Sander
7/11/10
7th Sunday after Pentecost—15th in Ordinary Time
“Passing By”
Amos 7:7-17
Luke 10:25—37
The last time we had the story of the Good Samaritan as the morning scripture was Youth Sunday, when we got to hear all about last year’s Mission Trip and see pictures of the Senior High Youth group working in a food bank and putting up roofing and so forth. And of course, that was an appropriate choice of scripture for that service—after all, the annual Mission Trip is one of those times during the year when a large group of us intentionally takes the time to seek out our neighbors and do something for them. But if you were here for Youth Sunday, you already know this. What you probably don’t know, is that the story of the Good Samaritan almost wasn’t used as the scripture for Youth Sunday. When the Senior High Youth group was discussing scripture, one of them pointed out that the Good Samaritan has been way too overdone. And it’s true. This is one of Christianity’s favorite parables, and we’ve probably all heard it a million times. So it’s awfully tempting to give it a pass, right?
The problem with giving it a pass, though, is that you could fall into the same category as the lawyer at the beginning of the story. Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. "Teacher," he said, "what must I do to inherit eternal life?" And Jesus answered the lawyer's question with a question, "What is written in the law? What do you read there?" The lawyer answered, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself." And Jesus answered, "You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live."
But the lawyer wanted to hear that what he was doing was good enough, he wanted to be able to adhere to the letter of the law and give the spirit of the law a pass, so he asked Jesus, "And who is my neighbor?" And that's when Jesus replied, "A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho..." It kind of feels like there’s a lawyer joke in there somewhere—something about how the slick lawyer tries to turn the words of the law around to suit his own purposes only to be verbally smacked down by Jesus with a real-world example.
Only it isn’t funny. To tell you the truth, I was never much for lawyer jokes anyway. I think that they exist—in part— because so often a lawyer’s job is to make arguments, to use their command of language to turn things to the advantage of their clients, even if their client is in the wrong. I think one of the reasons Jesus ministered as a storyteller and not as a lawyer is because a storyteller infuses words with as much meaning as possible where a lawyer reduces words to the most specific meaning possible. The lawyer in the story tries to twist the words of the law until they lose their intended meaning—and Jesus responds with a story that so clearly expresses the intent of the law that the lawyer can make no further argument.
And I think that this is important to note because words matter. On the surface, this scripture is a theoretical discussion. The lawyer and Jesus are having a scholarly debate about scripture. The kind of discourse that threatens to be “…full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” If Jesus had simply said, “Well, everyone is your neighbor,” then the argument would have continued and the words, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself," could have gained so many different interpretations as to lose all meaning. And that matters. And the story of the Good Samaritan shows how it matters by reminding us that theoretical discussions can have huge implications on real-world situations.
It isn’t every day that we’re faced with a literal Good Samaritan situation. But the theoretical discussion about such situations matters. Take for example the concept of the Bystander Effect. Have you heard about this? The Bystander Effect is the phenomenon in which the greater the numbers of people present, the less likely people are to help a person in distress.
The reasons for this reality are complex, but there are two main reasons. The first is a diffusion of responsibility; when there are other observers, individuals tend not to feel as much pressure to take action because the perceived responsibility to do so is shared among all of those present.
The second is a need to behave in correct and socially acceptable ways; when other observers fail to react, individuals often take this as a signal that a response is not needed or appropriate. This is simply the way most of us are wired—to respond to situations according to the social cues of those around us. This is not the same thing as saying we cannot help doing nothing. But knowing the theory behind why people sometimes do nothing can help us break out of the Bystander Effect and take appropriate action when necessary.
Another example of how theoretical discussion matters is to know what appropriate action might be. In Connecticut, Good Samaritan laws protect emergency personnel, trained medical personnel, and even those simply trained in CPR from being sued for anything less than gross negligence while administering emergency care. So unless you’re one of those folk—and you know who you are—it’s best not to try to touch or move someone who needs medical attention. However… it is appropriate to call 911 and then stay on the scene to guide emergency care to whatever the emergency is. I recently saw an article that said that something like 95% of all 911 calls are made by passing motorists who don't bother to stop. But you should. And you can even attempt to direct traffic, if that’s necessary.
So why am I giving you all this information about social psychological theories and Connecticut State Law in a Sunday sermon? Because it’s a low down dirty rotten shame that over twenty people passed by Hugo Tale-Yax as he lay bleeding to death on a sidewalk in Queens last April. He was stabbed when he came to the aid of a woman being attacked by a knife-wielding assailant and the disturbing security video of people passing by his prone body has been circulating the internet ever since.
Equally disturbing was the footage of the hit & run accident on Park Street in Hartford in May of 2008 which paralyzed and later resulted in the death of Angel Torres. The fact that four people called 911 within the first minute after the accident and that police showed up within moments does little to ameliorate the footage of gawking bystanders and cars simply driving around him.
And it’s so easy to say to ourselves, “Well that’s not me, I would have done something to help.” But unless you understand the psychological theory—unless you already know how you can best do something to help—unless you know, in other words, why people might pass by—you could easily end up on one of those security cameras wondering why the people around you aren’t helping or afraid of doing something wrong. What I’m giving you this morning is only words. But words matter.
The prophet Amos knew that words matter. And so did Amaziah, the priest of Beth-el as well as King Jeroboam of Israel. Few people know how much and how quickly a few words can destroy you as politicians do. So when Amos took the word of the Lord into Israel, and that word was “I am setting a plumb-line in the midst of my people Israel; I will never again pass them by… Jeroboam shall die by the sword, and Israel must go into exile away from his land,” well, Amaziah tells Amos to take his words and make his living off them elsewhere.
But Amos isn’t one of those fancy professional prophets. He’s the real deal, a farmer who was told by God, “Go, prophesy to my people Israel.” In essence, Amos’ counter-argument is “You say, ‘Do not prophesy against Israel,” but these words are important. They are true. And I will continue to say them.
Now this is a Good Samaritan situation that happens every day. You may not be hearing literal voices from God telling you to prophesy against the government. In fact, if you are, we maybe ought to talk. But words matter, and I bet there are words that you hear every day that you should speak up about.
Within the Christian tradition, one of the most common of these things is the phrase OMG. “Oh my God!” Now, I’m not saying that it’s never ok to say “Oh my God.” In fact, I’m pretty sure that I myself have said “Oh my God” three times in the last 30 seconds. But words are important. And God is important. So when people toss off “Oh my God” as if it were nothing more than an exclamation point, it bothers me. So at the risk of being unpopular with the youth I work with, every time I hear the phrase “Oh my God,” I try to assume that he or she is starting a prayer—and I ask them what they’re praying about.
Now that’s just a small example of not letting language pass you by that happens to be important to me. I’m aware that it’s a losing battle—I’ve even seen advertisements with the letters OMG everywhere. But I bet you can think of times when people say things that you wish you’d had the courage to dispute. Like when a friend makes an off-hand comment that seems a bit racist. Or when an acquaintance uses the word “gay” to be synonymous with the word “bad.” Or when a co-worker refers to a bad idea as “retarded.”
These are all situations that are easy to pass by. Especially since the victims aren’t literally bleeding to death on the sidewalk. But I’ve known too many good people who have been negatively affected by racism. I have too many close friends who are queer. And I have to tell you that I grew up with a friend who has a retarded sister, and she’s one of the sweetest people I know. What I’m trying to tell you is that it’s easy to be the lawyer, and focus on the words, and argue yourself into why they’re ok. But when you tell a story, put a face on it, bring it back into the real world, understand that those words are likely to be hurting actual people—suddenly you get it.
I had the opportunity to be delegate to the United Church of Christ’s General Synod 23 in 2001 which was held in Kansas City. That was one of the years that we literally worked side-by-side with the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) as they had their General Assembly at the same time in the same place. One of the things their denomination was working on was their stance toward Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender people—and the United Church of Christ already had a reputation of being Open and Affirming.
So you can see why Fred Phelps’ people saw it as a wonderful opportunity to show up and protest. I have never seen such hatred up close before or since. Many horrible things were screamed at us as we came and went from the convention center—but I particularly remember the signs. Signs that said things like “AIDS is a Gift from God.” And signs with words describing the queer community that I won’t even repeat here. Several striking stories came out of that experience, but the one that applies here went like this:
When Synod broke for lunch, the people would pour out of the convention center, past the screaming protesters, and into the streets of Kansas City in search of a restaurant that wasn’t so crowded that they would be late to get back. Many people in official General Synod name badges swamped local fast food places—and so it was that one of our delegates was standing in line for a burger. And when he reached the girl taking the orders, she had a question for him.
She’d seen the protesters. She’d read the signs. And she wanted to know what was going on. So he explained about Fred Phelps, and the reputation the United Church of Christ has concerning the queer community, and why Phelps’ people might want to send protesters to the national meeting of a Christian denomination. And the girl behind the counter burst into tears. And she said to him, “You mean…? There’s a church for people like me?”
Those protesters had no idea that their words were hurting the girl that served them burgers at the fast food restaurant across the way. That delegate had no idea that his response to a simple question would have such a deep and personal impact on the person asking the question. But they did. Words matter. Don’t let them pass you by.
Please be with me in the spirit of prayer. Loving and challenging God, help us to hear the story of the Good Samaritan anew. Help us to always think of our neighbors, and having thought, help us act. Give us the strength that you gave your prophet, Amos, so that we might stand up for our neighbors who may be silent and hurting from the painful misuse of words. And help us to always remember that our words really do matter. We pray these things in the name of the Creator and of the Christ and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
7/11/10
7th Sunday after Pentecost—15th in Ordinary Time
“Passing By”
Amos 7:7-17
Luke 10:25—37
The last time we had the story of the Good Samaritan as the morning scripture was Youth Sunday, when we got to hear all about last year’s Mission Trip and see pictures of the Senior High Youth group working in a food bank and putting up roofing and so forth. And of course, that was an appropriate choice of scripture for that service—after all, the annual Mission Trip is one of those times during the year when a large group of us intentionally takes the time to seek out our neighbors and do something for them. But if you were here for Youth Sunday, you already know this. What you probably don’t know, is that the story of the Good Samaritan almost wasn’t used as the scripture for Youth Sunday. When the Senior High Youth group was discussing scripture, one of them pointed out that the Good Samaritan has been way too overdone. And it’s true. This is one of Christianity’s favorite parables, and we’ve probably all heard it a million times. So it’s awfully tempting to give it a pass, right?
The problem with giving it a pass, though, is that you could fall into the same category as the lawyer at the beginning of the story. Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. "Teacher," he said, "what must I do to inherit eternal life?" And Jesus answered the lawyer's question with a question, "What is written in the law? What do you read there?" The lawyer answered, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself." And Jesus answered, "You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live."
But the lawyer wanted to hear that what he was doing was good enough, he wanted to be able to adhere to the letter of the law and give the spirit of the law a pass, so he asked Jesus, "And who is my neighbor?" And that's when Jesus replied, "A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho..." It kind of feels like there’s a lawyer joke in there somewhere—something about how the slick lawyer tries to turn the words of the law around to suit his own purposes only to be verbally smacked down by Jesus with a real-world example.
Only it isn’t funny. To tell you the truth, I was never much for lawyer jokes anyway. I think that they exist—in part— because so often a lawyer’s job is to make arguments, to use their command of language to turn things to the advantage of their clients, even if their client is in the wrong. I think one of the reasons Jesus ministered as a storyteller and not as a lawyer is because a storyteller infuses words with as much meaning as possible where a lawyer reduces words to the most specific meaning possible. The lawyer in the story tries to twist the words of the law until they lose their intended meaning—and Jesus responds with a story that so clearly expresses the intent of the law that the lawyer can make no further argument.
And I think that this is important to note because words matter. On the surface, this scripture is a theoretical discussion. The lawyer and Jesus are having a scholarly debate about scripture. The kind of discourse that threatens to be “…full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” If Jesus had simply said, “Well, everyone is your neighbor,” then the argument would have continued and the words, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself," could have gained so many different interpretations as to lose all meaning. And that matters. And the story of the Good Samaritan shows how it matters by reminding us that theoretical discussions can have huge implications on real-world situations.
It isn’t every day that we’re faced with a literal Good Samaritan situation. But the theoretical discussion about such situations matters. Take for example the concept of the Bystander Effect. Have you heard about this? The Bystander Effect is the phenomenon in which the greater the numbers of people present, the less likely people are to help a person in distress.
The reasons for this reality are complex, but there are two main reasons. The first is a diffusion of responsibility; when there are other observers, individuals tend not to feel as much pressure to take action because the perceived responsibility to do so is shared among all of those present.
The second is a need to behave in correct and socially acceptable ways; when other observers fail to react, individuals often take this as a signal that a response is not needed or appropriate. This is simply the way most of us are wired—to respond to situations according to the social cues of those around us. This is not the same thing as saying we cannot help doing nothing. But knowing the theory behind why people sometimes do nothing can help us break out of the Bystander Effect and take appropriate action when necessary.
Another example of how theoretical discussion matters is to know what appropriate action might be. In Connecticut, Good Samaritan laws protect emergency personnel, trained medical personnel, and even those simply trained in CPR from being sued for anything less than gross negligence while administering emergency care. So unless you’re one of those folk—and you know who you are—it’s best not to try to touch or move someone who needs medical attention. However… it is appropriate to call 911 and then stay on the scene to guide emergency care to whatever the emergency is. I recently saw an article that said that something like 95% of all 911 calls are made by passing motorists who don't bother to stop. But you should. And you can even attempt to direct traffic, if that’s necessary.
So why am I giving you all this information about social psychological theories and Connecticut State Law in a Sunday sermon? Because it’s a low down dirty rotten shame that over twenty people passed by Hugo Tale-Yax as he lay bleeding to death on a sidewalk in Queens last April. He was stabbed when he came to the aid of a woman being attacked by a knife-wielding assailant and the disturbing security video of people passing by his prone body has been circulating the internet ever since.
Equally disturbing was the footage of the hit & run accident on Park Street in Hartford in May of 2008 which paralyzed and later resulted in the death of Angel Torres. The fact that four people called 911 within the first minute after the accident and that police showed up within moments does little to ameliorate the footage of gawking bystanders and cars simply driving around him.
And it’s so easy to say to ourselves, “Well that’s not me, I would have done something to help.” But unless you understand the psychological theory—unless you already know how you can best do something to help—unless you know, in other words, why people might pass by—you could easily end up on one of those security cameras wondering why the people around you aren’t helping or afraid of doing something wrong. What I’m giving you this morning is only words. But words matter.
The prophet Amos knew that words matter. And so did Amaziah, the priest of Beth-el as well as King Jeroboam of Israel. Few people know how much and how quickly a few words can destroy you as politicians do. So when Amos took the word of the Lord into Israel, and that word was “I am setting a plumb-line in the midst of my people Israel; I will never again pass them by… Jeroboam shall die by the sword, and Israel must go into exile away from his land,” well, Amaziah tells Amos to take his words and make his living off them elsewhere.
But Amos isn’t one of those fancy professional prophets. He’s the real deal, a farmer who was told by God, “Go, prophesy to my people Israel.” In essence, Amos’ counter-argument is “You say, ‘Do not prophesy against Israel,” but these words are important. They are true. And I will continue to say them.
Now this is a Good Samaritan situation that happens every day. You may not be hearing literal voices from God telling you to prophesy against the government. In fact, if you are, we maybe ought to talk. But words matter, and I bet there are words that you hear every day that you should speak up about.
Within the Christian tradition, one of the most common of these things is the phrase OMG. “Oh my God!” Now, I’m not saying that it’s never ok to say “Oh my God.” In fact, I’m pretty sure that I myself have said “Oh my God” three times in the last 30 seconds. But words are important. And God is important. So when people toss off “Oh my God” as if it were nothing more than an exclamation point, it bothers me. So at the risk of being unpopular with the youth I work with, every time I hear the phrase “Oh my God,” I try to assume that he or she is starting a prayer—and I ask them what they’re praying about.
Now that’s just a small example of not letting language pass you by that happens to be important to me. I’m aware that it’s a losing battle—I’ve even seen advertisements with the letters OMG everywhere. But I bet you can think of times when people say things that you wish you’d had the courage to dispute. Like when a friend makes an off-hand comment that seems a bit racist. Or when an acquaintance uses the word “gay” to be synonymous with the word “bad.” Or when a co-worker refers to a bad idea as “retarded.”
These are all situations that are easy to pass by. Especially since the victims aren’t literally bleeding to death on the sidewalk. But I’ve known too many good people who have been negatively affected by racism. I have too many close friends who are queer. And I have to tell you that I grew up with a friend who has a retarded sister, and she’s one of the sweetest people I know. What I’m trying to tell you is that it’s easy to be the lawyer, and focus on the words, and argue yourself into why they’re ok. But when you tell a story, put a face on it, bring it back into the real world, understand that those words are likely to be hurting actual people—suddenly you get it.
I had the opportunity to be delegate to the United Church of Christ’s General Synod 23 in 2001 which was held in Kansas City. That was one of the years that we literally worked side-by-side with the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) as they had their General Assembly at the same time in the same place. One of the things their denomination was working on was their stance toward Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender people—and the United Church of Christ already had a reputation of being Open and Affirming.
So you can see why Fred Phelps’ people saw it as a wonderful opportunity to show up and protest. I have never seen such hatred up close before or since. Many horrible things were screamed at us as we came and went from the convention center—but I particularly remember the signs. Signs that said things like “AIDS is a Gift from God.” And signs with words describing the queer community that I won’t even repeat here. Several striking stories came out of that experience, but the one that applies here went like this:
When Synod broke for lunch, the people would pour out of the convention center, past the screaming protesters, and into the streets of Kansas City in search of a restaurant that wasn’t so crowded that they would be late to get back. Many people in official General Synod name badges swamped local fast food places—and so it was that one of our delegates was standing in line for a burger. And when he reached the girl taking the orders, she had a question for him.
She’d seen the protesters. She’d read the signs. And she wanted to know what was going on. So he explained about Fred Phelps, and the reputation the United Church of Christ has concerning the queer community, and why Phelps’ people might want to send protesters to the national meeting of a Christian denomination. And the girl behind the counter burst into tears. And she said to him, “You mean…? There’s a church for people like me?”
Those protesters had no idea that their words were hurting the girl that served them burgers at the fast food restaurant across the way. That delegate had no idea that his response to a simple question would have such a deep and personal impact on the person asking the question. But they did. Words matter. Don’t let them pass you by.
Please be with me in the spirit of prayer. Loving and challenging God, help us to hear the story of the Good Samaritan anew. Help us to always think of our neighbors, and having thought, help us act. Give us the strength that you gave your prophet, Amos, so that we might stand up for our neighbors who may be silent and hurting from the painful misuse of words. And help us to always remember that our words really do matter. We pray these things in the name of the Creator and of the Christ and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Faith of Our Fathers
Joshua J Sander
6/20/10
Father's Day
“Faith of Our Fathers”
Galatians 3:23-29
It is a tradition in many local churches, including this one, to sing the hymn “Faith of Our Fathers” on Father’s Day, but have you ever given much thought to what that really means? What does it mean to have the same faith as our fathers? The hymn paints a picture of something rock-solid—a faith that lives on even when the faithful are thrown into dungeons, put to the sword, or burned at the stake. According to the hymn, this is the faith of martyrs—a faith one holds until death comes!
That’s pretty heavy stuff, isn’t it? Especially on a day like Father’s Day. You see, we should never forget that Father’s Day is an awfully emotionally charged holiday to begin with. For some of us, it is a reminder that we’re blessed and lucky to have the fathers we have; strong men who love and support us and impart valuable lessons in life. The kinds of men who take us fishing, force us to mow the lawn, and teach us how to change a flat tire. For others, however, Father’s Day is a reminder of death. For still others it is a reminder of abandonment. And for some it is a reminder of pain and abuse and neglect. I find it difficult to sing “Faith of our fathers… how our hearts beat high with joy…” when I know full well that for some of us our fathers cause our heart to beat high with adrenaline…
…and yet—I find myself not wanting to completely toss out the phrase “Faith of our Fathers.” Something deeply resonates when you can say, “…like my father before me.” If you’re a science fiction geek—like me—you may be remembering the way it felt in Return of the Jedi when Luke Skywalker turns away from his hatred, throws down his weapon and says “Never. I’ll never turn to the dark side. I am a Jedi… like my father before me…”
Or if you’re a Bible geek—again, like me—you may be remembering when Moses asked God, “If I come to the Israelites and say to them, "The God of your ancestors has sent me to you,' and they ask me, "What is his name?' what shall I say to them?" And God responded, "I am who I am. Thus you shall say to the Israelites, "I am has sent me to you. The Lord, the God of your ancestors, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, has sent me to you': This is my name forever, and this my title for all generations.”
God’s name is “I am who I am.” And God’s title is “the God of your father, and your father’s father, and your father’s father’s father…” And there’s something to that. For example, one study shows that if a child is dropped off at church by their parents—but their parents themselves do not attend—they are not likely to grown into church-going people. The likelihood increases if one parent or the other attended church. And, of course, the children of parents who both go to church are much more likely to become church-going adults. Children are really bad at “Do as I say, not as I do.” They just are. They’re really, really good at doing what you do, though. So we really do have the faith—or lack of faith—of our fathers.
Some of you may be curious about why I would choose for the title of the hymn “Faith of Our Fathers” for the sermon title and then pick “The God of Abraham Praise” for the hymn that follows. Ah, but there is method in my madness. God’s name is “I am who I am.” And God’s title is “the God of your ancestors, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob!” “The God of Abraham praise. All praised be the Name, who was, and is, and is to be, is still the same…” We worship the same God as the ancient Hebrew people, the same God as all Christians from every time and place, the same God as the Muslims came to worship. And despite the great variation within Judaism, despite the great variation within Christianity, despite the great variation within Islam, and despite the great variation between the three Abrahamic faiths—we still worship the God of our father, and our father’s father, and our father’s father’s father. The same God through all generations.
Sometimes, in all our human brokenness, we confuse the fact that our God is the same God as our fathers’ with the idea that nothing should ever change. I do not find the virtue of unchanging rigidness in the Biblical witness, however. If you’re a Bible geek like me you can probably think of a bunch of places where God changes course. Moses convinced God not to destroy all the tribes of Israel when they worshiped the Golden Calf. Abraham argued God down from “I’m gonna destroy Sodom entirely,” to “If there are 10 righteous people in Sodom, I won’t destroy it.” And then there was the Incarnation. That was rather new.
And so much of the Hebrew scriptures are about making the Jewish people holy, set aside, different than others. All those laws about who not to worship, what not to eat, what not to wear—they’re all about making sure that God’s people are different from everyone else. That’s why we end up with only two categories of people—Jew and Gentile; God’s chosen and everyone else. But then Jesus is convinced by the argument of a Canaanite woman that she, too, deserved His help.
Then there’s the vision that Peter has, where God shows him a plethora of un-kosher foods and tells Peter to eat. And when Peter politely declines—citing God’s own law—a voice replies, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.” It is immediately after that when Peter sits down and eats in the house of a Gentile, witnesses the movement of the Holy Spirit there, and Baptizes them.
And then there’s Paul. Paul is probably the most well known Jewish Christian missionary to the Gentile world. And as such he was right in the middle of a lot of interesting arguments around whether or not the new Greek Christians—who were considered Gentiles, remember—needed to observe Judaism in order to be considered good Christians. Talk about a Faith of Our Fathers conversation, right?
Paul’s answer to that question is to claim that faith in Jesus is an ultimate trump card:
And so I want to leave you with two challenges today. Continue coming to church, bring a friend, bring your kids, walk in the tradition—in the Faith—of Our Fathers. Worship the God of Abraham and converse with “I am who I am.” Which brings me to the second challenge: don’t fall into the trap of thinking that the Faith of Our Fathers is rigid. Don’t confuse undying with unchanging. When you converse the God of Our Fathers, be sure to listen—God really is still speaking. And sometimes the Word is, “I’m asking you to do a new thing.”
Let us pray. Oh Great I Am, God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, You who were, and are, and are to be, we pray that you instill in us a thankful heart for our good fathers. Bring comfort to those who mourn, and help us to remember that for some people, Father's and Mother's Day are sad times not because they miss their parents, but because they do not—that not everyone gets the father they deserve in this life. For those people, Holy Father, we pray that you be the Father and Mother they deserve. Oh Eternal and Infinite God, help your Children when we become confused and mistake the infinite for the ultimate, when we confuse your unending presence with a need for status quo, when we ask for restoration so loudly that we do not hear your still speaking voice.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
6/20/10
Father's Day
“Faith of Our Fathers”
Galatians 3:23-29
It is a tradition in many local churches, including this one, to sing the hymn “Faith of Our Fathers” on Father’s Day, but have you ever given much thought to what that really means? What does it mean to have the same faith as our fathers? The hymn paints a picture of something rock-solid—a faith that lives on even when the faithful are thrown into dungeons, put to the sword, or burned at the stake. According to the hymn, this is the faith of martyrs—a faith one holds until death comes!
That’s pretty heavy stuff, isn’t it? Especially on a day like Father’s Day. You see, we should never forget that Father’s Day is an awfully emotionally charged holiday to begin with. For some of us, it is a reminder that we’re blessed and lucky to have the fathers we have; strong men who love and support us and impart valuable lessons in life. The kinds of men who take us fishing, force us to mow the lawn, and teach us how to change a flat tire. For others, however, Father’s Day is a reminder of death. For still others it is a reminder of abandonment. And for some it is a reminder of pain and abuse and neglect. I find it difficult to sing “Faith of our fathers… how our hearts beat high with joy…” when I know full well that for some of us our fathers cause our heart to beat high with adrenaline…
…and yet—I find myself not wanting to completely toss out the phrase “Faith of our Fathers.” Something deeply resonates when you can say, “…like my father before me.” If you’re a science fiction geek—like me—you may be remembering the way it felt in Return of the Jedi when Luke Skywalker turns away from his hatred, throws down his weapon and says “Never. I’ll never turn to the dark side. I am a Jedi… like my father before me…”
Or if you’re a Bible geek—again, like me—you may be remembering when Moses asked God, “If I come to the Israelites and say to them, "The God of your ancestors has sent me to you,' and they ask me, "What is his name?' what shall I say to them?" And God responded, "I am who I am. Thus you shall say to the Israelites, "I am has sent me to you. The Lord, the God of your ancestors, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, has sent me to you': This is my name forever, and this my title for all generations.”
God’s name is “I am who I am.” And God’s title is “the God of your father, and your father’s father, and your father’s father’s father…” And there’s something to that. For example, one study shows that if a child is dropped off at church by their parents—but their parents themselves do not attend—they are not likely to grown into church-going people. The likelihood increases if one parent or the other attended church. And, of course, the children of parents who both go to church are much more likely to become church-going adults. Children are really bad at “Do as I say, not as I do.” They just are. They’re really, really good at doing what you do, though. So we really do have the faith—or lack of faith—of our fathers.
Some of you may be curious about why I would choose for the title of the hymn “Faith of Our Fathers” for the sermon title and then pick “The God of Abraham Praise” for the hymn that follows. Ah, but there is method in my madness. God’s name is “I am who I am.” And God’s title is “the God of your ancestors, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob!” “The God of Abraham praise. All praised be the Name, who was, and is, and is to be, is still the same…” We worship the same God as the ancient Hebrew people, the same God as all Christians from every time and place, the same God as the Muslims came to worship. And despite the great variation within Judaism, despite the great variation within Christianity, despite the great variation within Islam, and despite the great variation between the three Abrahamic faiths—we still worship the God of our father, and our father’s father, and our father’s father’s father. The same God through all generations.
Sometimes, in all our human brokenness, we confuse the fact that our God is the same God as our fathers’ with the idea that nothing should ever change. I do not find the virtue of unchanging rigidness in the Biblical witness, however. If you’re a Bible geek like me you can probably think of a bunch of places where God changes course. Moses convinced God not to destroy all the tribes of Israel when they worshiped the Golden Calf. Abraham argued God down from “I’m gonna destroy Sodom entirely,” to “If there are 10 righteous people in Sodom, I won’t destroy it.” And then there was the Incarnation. That was rather new.
And so much of the Hebrew scriptures are about making the Jewish people holy, set aside, different than others. All those laws about who not to worship, what not to eat, what not to wear—they’re all about making sure that God’s people are different from everyone else. That’s why we end up with only two categories of people—Jew and Gentile; God’s chosen and everyone else. But then Jesus is convinced by the argument of a Canaanite woman that she, too, deserved His help.
Then there’s the vision that Peter has, where God shows him a plethora of un-kosher foods and tells Peter to eat. And when Peter politely declines—citing God’s own law—a voice replies, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.” It is immediately after that when Peter sits down and eats in the house of a Gentile, witnesses the movement of the Holy Spirit there, and Baptizes them.
And then there’s Paul. Paul is probably the most well known Jewish Christian missionary to the Gentile world. And as such he was right in the middle of a lot of interesting arguments around whether or not the new Greek Christians—who were considered Gentiles, remember—needed to observe Judaism in order to be considered good Christians. Talk about a Faith of Our Fathers conversation, right?
Paul’s answer to that question is to claim that faith in Jesus is an ultimate trump card:
Now before faith came, we were imprisoned and guarded under the law until faith would be revealed. Therefore the law was our disciplinarian until Christ came, so that we might be justified by faith. But now that faith has come, we are no longer subject to a disciplinarian, for in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith. As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus. And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham's offspring, heirs according to the promise.Paul’s theology is not only arguing that God did something brand new in Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. This theology is precisely why White Anglo-Saxon Protestants can claim “I am who I am, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob” as the God of our ancestors—as the God of our Fathers. Paul’s theology was a very new thing—and so you can see why I don’t equate the Faith of Our Fathers with something unchanging and rigid. But as in everything, there’s a balance to be had. We walk together in the traditions of our ancestors—including the one where we listen when God comes to us and says, “I am asking you to do a new thing.”
And so I want to leave you with two challenges today. Continue coming to church, bring a friend, bring your kids, walk in the tradition—in the Faith—of Our Fathers. Worship the God of Abraham and converse with “I am who I am.” Which brings me to the second challenge: don’t fall into the trap of thinking that the Faith of Our Fathers is rigid. Don’t confuse undying with unchanging. When you converse the God of Our Fathers, be sure to listen—God really is still speaking. And sometimes the Word is, “I’m asking you to do a new thing.”
Let us pray. Oh Great I Am, God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, You who were, and are, and are to be, we pray that you instill in us a thankful heart for our good fathers. Bring comfort to those who mourn, and help us to remember that for some people, Father's and Mother's Day are sad times not because they miss their parents, but because they do not—that not everyone gets the father they deserve in this life. For those people, Holy Father, we pray that you be the Father and Mother they deserve. Oh Eternal and Infinite God, help your Children when we become confused and mistake the infinite for the ultimate, when we confuse your unending presence with a need for status quo, when we ask for restoration so loudly that we do not hear your still speaking voice.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
These Are Days
Joshua J Sander
5/23/10
Pentecost
“These Are Days”
Acts 2:1-21
Confirmation is one of those events that gets all wrapped up in defining a single moment in time. Like a birthday or an anniversary, like the first day of school or a first kiss, like getting baptized or getting married—it’s a big thing narrowed down to just one moment. And so, when my thoughts turn to Confirmation, they turn to the idea of time.
We talk about time in our everyday lives—well, all the time. We say things like, “When I grow up” or “When I was your age.” We say things like “Time’s a-wastin’” or “Time is money.” We say things like “The good old days” or “Young people are the future of the Church.” And we say things like “There’s something wrong with the world today.”
Oh how we love to say, “There’s something wrong with the world today!” There’s something wrong with the world today, the youth are sexting and cyber-bullying and what’s the deal with those Emo kids? There’s something wrong with the world today, the youth are playing violent video games and what’s the deal with those Grunge kids? There’s something wrong with the world today, Heavy Metal music, Punk hairdos, protesting in the streets, Disco, platform shoes, Laugh-In, draft dodgers, bell-bottoms, Hippies, Elvis gyrating on stage, Doo Wop, women in the workforce, Jazz musicians, Vaudeville, women smoking, Flappers—what was I talking about? Oh yes. Time.
We have a profound tendency to shift our focus when it comes to time. When asked to imagine the future of a congregation, or its church school, or its youth program, there are often people who say, “Well I remember the way it used to be…” Rev. DaVita Foy Crabtree calls this misfiling the past into the future—because if we want to grow and evolve as a church our goal shouldn’t be going back in time! Right?
You know who’s really good at imagining the future? Prophets. Like Isaiah, who said: The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them.
Like John who wrote: See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away."
Like Jesus, who told us over and over again that the kingdom of God is at hand.
Like Joel, who said: I will pour out my spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions.
Wouldn’t that be a wonderful future? To be a people literally soaked in the Holy Spirit? To be a people whose sons and daughters receive and share the Word of God? To be a people whose old men dream dreams and whose young men have visions? Not passing fancies. Not hallucinations. But to dare to Dream—to have Vision.
Peter raised his voice and addressed them, “…this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel: ‘In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams…’”
We have a profound tendency to shift our focus when it comes to time. When Jesus tells us that the Kingdom of God is close by, we think “someday.” When we read the story of Pentecost, we think “done and gone.” But the wonderful thing is that we’re still living in the days spoken through the prophet Joel. We are that Spirit-soaked people. Your sons and daughters are receiving and sharing the Word of God. Your young men have Vision. Your old men dare to Dream. And Jesus is still telling us that the Kingdom of God is at hand because when we Prophesy, when we have Vision, when we Dream it is for the purpose of bringing the Kingdom of God closer to fruition.
Our ancestors knew it—when Rev. John Robinson sent the Mayflower on its way to the New World he told the Pilgrims that God had “more truth and light yet to break forth out of his holy word.” Or as Gracie Allen would sum it up later, “Never place a period where God has placed a comma.” Or as the United Church of Christ simply puts it, “God is still speaking.”
It’s like the scene in the film “Oh God!” where John Denver’s character asks God why God doesn’t do something about all the suffering and evil in the world and God responds, “Why don’t I do something about it? Why don’t you do something about it?”
It’s exactly like when Martin Luther King Jr. told us that he had a dream that his “…children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.” Are we there yet? No. Are we closer today than we were then? I believe that we are. Our old men Dream and then we work hard—sometimes we break our backs—to bring the Kingdom of God into the here and now.
And believe me. Please believe me. Your sons and daughters do prophesy. They may not start their sentences with “Thus sayeth the Lord,” they may not even begin their thoughts with “I have a dream,” but they have their convictions and in many ways they are ahead of the curve on many moral and spiritual issues!
We have a profound tendency to shift our focus when it comes to time. The youth are not our future. They are right here, right now. Confirmation is not the end of church school. Confirmation is a promise made by some very special young ladies to be full participants in the Church.
Olivia, Kate, Hannah, Fiona, I taught you that Statements of Faith shift and grow over time. It shouldn’t surprise you, then, to hear that your own Faiths will shift and grow over time as well. All of us here are on our own spiritual journey. But one of the things that makes the Church so special is that we’ve chosen to walk on that journey together. So I have just one more favor to ask of you as a Confirmation Class—just show up. That’s all. Come to church. Morning, evening, youth group, whatever—I don’t care—just so long as you come. Not because you ought to or even because I begged you—but because God has more to say to you here. And because God has more for you to say to us.
Let us pray: Disturbing God of Wind and Fire, we do not know what the future holds. But we pray that you continue to provoke us to new and wonderful things through the movement of your Holy Spirit. Let us be your Spirit-soaked people. Help us to Prophesy, to Dream—give us a Vision of what it means to be the Church—the body of your Son, Jesus Christ. In the name of the Creator, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
5/23/10
Pentecost
“These Are Days”
Acts 2:1-21
Confirmation is one of those events that gets all wrapped up in defining a single moment in time. Like a birthday or an anniversary, like the first day of school or a first kiss, like getting baptized or getting married—it’s a big thing narrowed down to just one moment. And so, when my thoughts turn to Confirmation, they turn to the idea of time.
We talk about time in our everyday lives—well, all the time. We say things like, “When I grow up” or “When I was your age.” We say things like “Time’s a-wastin’” or “Time is money.” We say things like “The good old days” or “Young people are the future of the Church.” And we say things like “There’s something wrong with the world today.”
Oh how we love to say, “There’s something wrong with the world today!” There’s something wrong with the world today, the youth are sexting and cyber-bullying and what’s the deal with those Emo kids? There’s something wrong with the world today, the youth are playing violent video games and what’s the deal with those Grunge kids? There’s something wrong with the world today, Heavy Metal music, Punk hairdos, protesting in the streets, Disco, platform shoes, Laugh-In, draft dodgers, bell-bottoms, Hippies, Elvis gyrating on stage, Doo Wop, women in the workforce, Jazz musicians, Vaudeville, women smoking, Flappers—what was I talking about? Oh yes. Time.
We have a profound tendency to shift our focus when it comes to time. When asked to imagine the future of a congregation, or its church school, or its youth program, there are often people who say, “Well I remember the way it used to be…” Rev. DaVita Foy Crabtree calls this misfiling the past into the future—because if we want to grow and evolve as a church our goal shouldn’t be going back in time! Right?
You know who’s really good at imagining the future? Prophets. Like Isaiah, who said: The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them.
Like John who wrote: See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away."
Like Jesus, who told us over and over again that the kingdom of God is at hand.
Like Joel, who said: I will pour out my spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions.
Wouldn’t that be a wonderful future? To be a people literally soaked in the Holy Spirit? To be a people whose sons and daughters receive and share the Word of God? To be a people whose old men dream dreams and whose young men have visions? Not passing fancies. Not hallucinations. But to dare to Dream—to have Vision.
Peter raised his voice and addressed them, “…this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel: ‘In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams…’”
We have a profound tendency to shift our focus when it comes to time. When Jesus tells us that the Kingdom of God is close by, we think “someday.” When we read the story of Pentecost, we think “done and gone.” But the wonderful thing is that we’re still living in the days spoken through the prophet Joel. We are that Spirit-soaked people. Your sons and daughters are receiving and sharing the Word of God. Your young men have Vision. Your old men dare to Dream. And Jesus is still telling us that the Kingdom of God is at hand because when we Prophesy, when we have Vision, when we Dream it is for the purpose of bringing the Kingdom of God closer to fruition.
Our ancestors knew it—when Rev. John Robinson sent the Mayflower on its way to the New World he told the Pilgrims that God had “more truth and light yet to break forth out of his holy word.” Or as Gracie Allen would sum it up later, “Never place a period where God has placed a comma.” Or as the United Church of Christ simply puts it, “God is still speaking.”
It’s like the scene in the film “Oh God!” where John Denver’s character asks God why God doesn’t do something about all the suffering and evil in the world and God responds, “Why don’t I do something about it? Why don’t you do something about it?”
It’s exactly like when Martin Luther King Jr. told us that he had a dream that his “…children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.” Are we there yet? No. Are we closer today than we were then? I believe that we are. Our old men Dream and then we work hard—sometimes we break our backs—to bring the Kingdom of God into the here and now.
And believe me. Please believe me. Your sons and daughters do prophesy. They may not start their sentences with “Thus sayeth the Lord,” they may not even begin their thoughts with “I have a dream,” but they have their convictions and in many ways they are ahead of the curve on many moral and spiritual issues!
We have a profound tendency to shift our focus when it comes to time. The youth are not our future. They are right here, right now. Confirmation is not the end of church school. Confirmation is a promise made by some very special young ladies to be full participants in the Church.
Olivia, Kate, Hannah, Fiona, I taught you that Statements of Faith shift and grow over time. It shouldn’t surprise you, then, to hear that your own Faiths will shift and grow over time as well. All of us here are on our own spiritual journey. But one of the things that makes the Church so special is that we’ve chosen to walk on that journey together. So I have just one more favor to ask of you as a Confirmation Class—just show up. That’s all. Come to church. Morning, evening, youth group, whatever—I don’t care—just so long as you come. Not because you ought to or even because I begged you—but because God has more to say to you here. And because God has more for you to say to us.
Let us pray: Disturbing God of Wind and Fire, we do not know what the future holds. But we pray that you continue to provoke us to new and wonderful things through the movement of your Holy Spirit. Let us be your Spirit-soaked people. Help us to Prophesy, to Dream—give us a Vision of what it means to be the Church—the body of your Son, Jesus Christ. In the name of the Creator, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Monday, May 10, 2010
The Faith Line
Joshua J Sander
4/18/10
Guest Preaching at St. Thomas
“The Faith Line”
Acts 9:1-6
The Gospel lesson today leaves us in kind of a cliffhanger, with Saul sitting in the middle of the road, blind and needing to finish his journey into Damascus to receive word from the Lord on what it is Saul is to do. Now, “The men who were traveling with him stood speechless because they heard the voice but saw no one. Saul got up from the ground, and though his eyes were open, he could see nothing; so they led him by the hand and brought him into Damascus. For three days he was without sight, and neither ate nor drank. Now there was a disciple in Damascus named Ananias. The Lord said to him in a vision, “Ananias.” He answered, “Here I am, Lord.” The Lord said to him, “Get up and go to the street called Straight, and at the house of Judas look for a man of Tarsus named Saul. At this moment he is praying, and he has seen in a vision a man named Ananias come in and lay his hands on him so that he might regain his sight.” But Ananias answered, “Lord, I have heard from many about this man, how much evil he has done to your saints in Jerusalem; and here he has authority from the chief priests to bind all who invoke your name.”
Well, let's pause there for a moment. Because it's important for us, as we consider this story, to understand whether or not Ananias is overstating his case. His words remind me a little bit of Jonah, who tried to run away from his duty rather than give the people of Nineveh a chance to repent because he thought they were too evil to live. Even after the entire city—including the animals!— repented, Jonah hated the people of Nineveh and wished them dead. Jonah was wrong. Was Ananias? Our only clue, really, is a little appendix to the story of Stephen.
Now during those days, when the disciples were increasing in number, they chose Stephen, a man full of faith and the Holy Spirit, along with several others. They had these men stand before the apostles, who prayed and laid their hands on them. Stephen, full of grace and power, did great wonders and signs among the people. Then some of those who belonged to a particular synagogue stood up and argued with Stephen. But they could not withstand the wisdom and the Spirit with which he spoke. So they stirred up the people as well as the elders and the scribes; then they suddenly confronted him, seized him, and brought him before the council. They set up false witnesses who claimed that Stephen was teaching blasphemy—sound familiar?—and when the high priest asked him, ‘Are these things so?’ Stephen replied: ‘You stiff-necked people, uncircumcised in heart and ears, you are forever opposing the Holy Spirit, just as your ancestors used to do. Which of the prophets did your ancestors not persecute? They killed those who foretold the coming of the Righteous One, and now you have become his betrayers and murderers. You are the ones that received the law as ordained by angels, and yet you have not kept it.’ When they heard these things, they dragged him out of the city and began to stone him; and the witnesses laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul. And Saul approved of their killing him. Devout men buried Stephen and made loud lamentation over him. But Saul ravaged the church by entering house after house; dragging off both men and women and tossing them into prison.
So Ananias was well within his rights to say, “Lord, I have heard from many about this man, how much evil he has done to your saints in Jerusalem; and here he has authority from the chief priests to bind all who invoke your name.” It’s ok to question God occasionally—as long as you’re willing to listen to the answer. The Lord answered Ananias, “Go, for he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel; I myself will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name.” So Ananias went and entered the house. He laid his hands on Saul and said, “Brother Saul, the Lord Jesus, who appeared to you on your way here, has sent me so that you may regain your sight and be filled with the Holy Spirit.” And immediately something like scales fell from his eyes, and his sight was restored. Then he got up and was baptized, and after taking some food, he regained his strength. For several days he was with the disciples in Damascus, and immediately he began to proclaim Jesus in the synagogues, saying, “He is the Son of God.”
This transformation reminds me forcibly of Eboo Patel—the American Muslim founder of Interfaith Youth Core—who wrote, "One hundred years ago, the great African American scholar W. E. B. Du Bois famously said, 'The problem of the twentieth century is the problem of the color line.' I believe that the twenty-first century will be shaped by the faith line. On one side of the faith line are the religious totalitarians. Their conviction is that only one interpretation of one religion is a legitimate way of being, believing, and belonging on earth. Everyone else needs to be cowed, or converted, or condemned, or killed. On the other side of the faith line are the religious pluralists, who hold that people believing in different creeds and belonging to different communities need to learn to live together..."
At first it may be difficult to see what the story of Saul has to do with the religious extremism of today, but Luke, the author of Acts, says, "Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest." Can you think of a group of religious extremists who breathe threats and murder against another group based on their religious beliefs? I know I can. And it is all too easy to for us to say, "Al-Qaeda, breathing threats and murder..." Or "Hamas, breathing threats and murder..." and forget to include "Hutaree, breathing threats and murder..." and "The Ku Klux Klan, breathing threats and murder..." When speaking of religious totalitarian extremists, Christianity must remove the log from their own eye before attempting to remove anything from the eyes of our neighbors.
Saul—a Pharisaic Jew—breathing threats and murder against Christian Jews definitely falls into the category of believing that only one interpretation of one religion is a legitimate way of being, believing, and belonging on earth. And that everyone else needs to be cowed, or converted, or condemned, or killed. But Saul—a converted Christian Jew—is another story altogether. This Saul crosses the faith line from totalitarianism to pluralism—from the belief that everyone else needs to be cowed, or converted, or condemned, or killed to the belief that people believing in different creeds and belonging to different communities need to learn to live together. In fact, Saul the Christian Jew has such a complete turn-around—which is the meaning of “repentance” by the way, it is a turning around and going the other way—Saul the Christian Jew has had such a complete repentance that he changes his name. Saul, the extremist totalitarian Pharisaic Jew crosses the faith line and becomes the Apostle Paul.
This is the same Paul who settles an argument for the Church in Corinth concerning whether or not they could eat meat that had been sacrificed to other Gods. As a Greek church in the Roman era, encountering such food was commonplace. Saul would have said absolutely no—not ever, but Paul writes, “‘All things are lawful’, but not all things are beneficial. ‘All things are lawful’, but not all things build up. Eat whatever is sold in the meat market without raising any question on the ground of conscience, for ‘the earth and its fullness are the Lord’s.’ If an unbeliever invites you to a meal and you are disposed to go, eat whatever is set before you without raising any question on the ground of conscience. But if someone says to you, ‘This has been offered in sacrifice’, then do not eat it, out of consideration for the one who informed you, and for the sake of conscience— I mean the other’s conscience, not your own.” Paul, in other words, finds a way for people believing in different creeds and belonging to different communities to learn to live together. In fact, Paul breaks down all kinds of barriers, between Greeks and Jews, between slaves and free, between men and women!
As for me, I believe that Dr. Patel is correct: the twenty-first century will be shaped by the faith line. On one side of the faith line are the religious extremist totalitarians. On the other side of the faith line are the religious pluralists. Coming to understand the beliefs of people believing in different creeds and belonging to different communities does not threaten your own beliefs—in fact often times bumping up against beliefs that are not your own help you solidify and understand your own beliefs more fully! And what’s more, the basis for religious pluralism does exist within our tradition. Everything is lawful, but we should choose that which builds up. And I believe that living out, teaching—dare I say evangelizing?—about religious pluralism is of the utmost importance.
Eboo Patel’s family moved to the United States from India in the mid 70’s when he was just a baby. He writes, “At the age of nineteen, I was already convinced that America understood only violence. I was just this side of believing that it was my responsibility to inflict it. I only needed a nudge.” The world he lived in—the same world that I grew up in—taught him that America only understands violence. And he was one nudge away from giving his country something to understand. Today, Dr. Patel is promoting religious pluralism through the Interfaith Youth Core and was recently on the cover of the Christian Century. Why is he a hero of interfaith dialogue instead of another suicide bombing headline? Because his mother taught him that Islam is a diverse religion. Because when he learned to sing the song “Pass It On” at the local YMCA, his mother said, “I hope they teach the kids Jewish and Hindu songs, too. That’s the kind of Muslims we want our kids to be.” Because in that key moment when one nudge would have sent him down the path of violence—he discovered the work of Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker movement.
We live in a world where mass media has the tools to instantly bombard us with images of violence from all over the world—and they do so because it sells newspapers, spikes television ratings, and drives up the hit counters on their web sites. We live in a world where we have the tools to anonymously say the most hateful and cruel things imaginable to an ever wider audience. We live in a world, in other words, that could easily teach our young people that the only thing the world understands is violence—and at that point, all it takes is a nudge. So it’s up to us—just like it was up to Dr. Patel’s mother and the Catholic Workers—to teach another way. We have to choose which side of the faith line we’re on. We have to decide what kind of Christians we are—what kind of Christians we want our young people to be. And it’s up to us to live up to the ideals we teach. Not just because we ought to practice what we preach, but also because children are much better at doing what you do than they are at doing what you say—and I have to tell you, young people have an amazing built-in hypocrisy detector. I think that we probably want to be the kind of Christians who know that it’s not ok to stone Stephen, that no one is dispensable and that love is more powerful than violence.
Ok, Rev. Josh, we’re on board, where do we start? It starts with little things—showing our young people that their tradition is a diverse one, giving our young people the opportunity to know someone who doesn’t hold the same beliefs as they do. Maybe it starts with folk from St. Thomas’ and folk from 1st Congregational Church making a commitment to come together and listen to each other. It certainly could start with us. And I don’t know where it ends—but I hope and pray and dream that it ends in a world that more closely resembles the Kingdom of God.
And I pray it the name of the Creator, and the Christ, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
4/18/10
Guest Preaching at St. Thomas
“The Faith Line”
Acts 9:1-6
The Gospel lesson today leaves us in kind of a cliffhanger, with Saul sitting in the middle of the road, blind and needing to finish his journey into Damascus to receive word from the Lord on what it is Saul is to do. Now, “The men who were traveling with him stood speechless because they heard the voice but saw no one. Saul got up from the ground, and though his eyes were open, he could see nothing; so they led him by the hand and brought him into Damascus. For three days he was without sight, and neither ate nor drank. Now there was a disciple in Damascus named Ananias. The Lord said to him in a vision, “Ananias.” He answered, “Here I am, Lord.” The Lord said to him, “Get up and go to the street called Straight, and at the house of Judas look for a man of Tarsus named Saul. At this moment he is praying, and he has seen in a vision a man named Ananias come in and lay his hands on him so that he might regain his sight.” But Ananias answered, “Lord, I have heard from many about this man, how much evil he has done to your saints in Jerusalem; and here he has authority from the chief priests to bind all who invoke your name.”
Well, let's pause there for a moment. Because it's important for us, as we consider this story, to understand whether or not Ananias is overstating his case. His words remind me a little bit of Jonah, who tried to run away from his duty rather than give the people of Nineveh a chance to repent because he thought they were too evil to live. Even after the entire city—including the animals!— repented, Jonah hated the people of Nineveh and wished them dead. Jonah was wrong. Was Ananias? Our only clue, really, is a little appendix to the story of Stephen.
Now during those days, when the disciples were increasing in number, they chose Stephen, a man full of faith and the Holy Spirit, along with several others. They had these men stand before the apostles, who prayed and laid their hands on them. Stephen, full of grace and power, did great wonders and signs among the people. Then some of those who belonged to a particular synagogue stood up and argued with Stephen. But they could not withstand the wisdom and the Spirit with which he spoke. So they stirred up the people as well as the elders and the scribes; then they suddenly confronted him, seized him, and brought him before the council. They set up false witnesses who claimed that Stephen was teaching blasphemy—sound familiar?—and when the high priest asked him, ‘Are these things so?’ Stephen replied: ‘You stiff-necked people, uncircumcised in heart and ears, you are forever opposing the Holy Spirit, just as your ancestors used to do. Which of the prophets did your ancestors not persecute? They killed those who foretold the coming of the Righteous One, and now you have become his betrayers and murderers. You are the ones that received the law as ordained by angels, and yet you have not kept it.’ When they heard these things, they dragged him out of the city and began to stone him; and the witnesses laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul. And Saul approved of their killing him. Devout men buried Stephen and made loud lamentation over him. But Saul ravaged the church by entering house after house; dragging off both men and women and tossing them into prison.
So Ananias was well within his rights to say, “Lord, I have heard from many about this man, how much evil he has done to your saints in Jerusalem; and here he has authority from the chief priests to bind all who invoke your name.” It’s ok to question God occasionally—as long as you’re willing to listen to the answer. The Lord answered Ananias, “Go, for he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel; I myself will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name.” So Ananias went and entered the house. He laid his hands on Saul and said, “Brother Saul, the Lord Jesus, who appeared to you on your way here, has sent me so that you may regain your sight and be filled with the Holy Spirit.” And immediately something like scales fell from his eyes, and his sight was restored. Then he got up and was baptized, and after taking some food, he regained his strength. For several days he was with the disciples in Damascus, and immediately he began to proclaim Jesus in the synagogues, saying, “He is the Son of God.”
This transformation reminds me forcibly of Eboo Patel—the American Muslim founder of Interfaith Youth Core—who wrote, "One hundred years ago, the great African American scholar W. E. B. Du Bois famously said, 'The problem of the twentieth century is the problem of the color line.' I believe that the twenty-first century will be shaped by the faith line. On one side of the faith line are the religious totalitarians. Their conviction is that only one interpretation of one religion is a legitimate way of being, believing, and belonging on earth. Everyone else needs to be cowed, or converted, or condemned, or killed. On the other side of the faith line are the religious pluralists, who hold that people believing in different creeds and belonging to different communities need to learn to live together..."
At first it may be difficult to see what the story of Saul has to do with the religious extremism of today, but Luke, the author of Acts, says, "Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest." Can you think of a group of religious extremists who breathe threats and murder against another group based on their religious beliefs? I know I can. And it is all too easy to for us to say, "Al-Qaeda, breathing threats and murder..." Or "Hamas, breathing threats and murder..." and forget to include "Hutaree, breathing threats and murder..." and "The Ku Klux Klan, breathing threats and murder..." When speaking of religious totalitarian extremists, Christianity must remove the log from their own eye before attempting to remove anything from the eyes of our neighbors.
Saul—a Pharisaic Jew—breathing threats and murder against Christian Jews definitely falls into the category of believing that only one interpretation of one religion is a legitimate way of being, believing, and belonging on earth. And that everyone else needs to be cowed, or converted, or condemned, or killed. But Saul—a converted Christian Jew—is another story altogether. This Saul crosses the faith line from totalitarianism to pluralism—from the belief that everyone else needs to be cowed, or converted, or condemned, or killed to the belief that people believing in different creeds and belonging to different communities need to learn to live together. In fact, Saul the Christian Jew has such a complete turn-around—which is the meaning of “repentance” by the way, it is a turning around and going the other way—Saul the Christian Jew has had such a complete repentance that he changes his name. Saul, the extremist totalitarian Pharisaic Jew crosses the faith line and becomes the Apostle Paul.
This is the same Paul who settles an argument for the Church in Corinth concerning whether or not they could eat meat that had been sacrificed to other Gods. As a Greek church in the Roman era, encountering such food was commonplace. Saul would have said absolutely no—not ever, but Paul writes, “‘All things are lawful’, but not all things are beneficial. ‘All things are lawful’, but not all things build up. Eat whatever is sold in the meat market without raising any question on the ground of conscience, for ‘the earth and its fullness are the Lord’s.’ If an unbeliever invites you to a meal and you are disposed to go, eat whatever is set before you without raising any question on the ground of conscience. But if someone says to you, ‘This has been offered in sacrifice’, then do not eat it, out of consideration for the one who informed you, and for the sake of conscience— I mean the other’s conscience, not your own.” Paul, in other words, finds a way for people believing in different creeds and belonging to different communities to learn to live together. In fact, Paul breaks down all kinds of barriers, between Greeks and Jews, between slaves and free, between men and women!
As for me, I believe that Dr. Patel is correct: the twenty-first century will be shaped by the faith line. On one side of the faith line are the religious extremist totalitarians. On the other side of the faith line are the religious pluralists. Coming to understand the beliefs of people believing in different creeds and belonging to different communities does not threaten your own beliefs—in fact often times bumping up against beliefs that are not your own help you solidify and understand your own beliefs more fully! And what’s more, the basis for religious pluralism does exist within our tradition. Everything is lawful, but we should choose that which builds up. And I believe that living out, teaching—dare I say evangelizing?—about religious pluralism is of the utmost importance.
Eboo Patel’s family moved to the United States from India in the mid 70’s when he was just a baby. He writes, “At the age of nineteen, I was already convinced that America understood only violence. I was just this side of believing that it was my responsibility to inflict it. I only needed a nudge.” The world he lived in—the same world that I grew up in—taught him that America only understands violence. And he was one nudge away from giving his country something to understand. Today, Dr. Patel is promoting religious pluralism through the Interfaith Youth Core and was recently on the cover of the Christian Century. Why is he a hero of interfaith dialogue instead of another suicide bombing headline? Because his mother taught him that Islam is a diverse religion. Because when he learned to sing the song “Pass It On” at the local YMCA, his mother said, “I hope they teach the kids Jewish and Hindu songs, too. That’s the kind of Muslims we want our kids to be.” Because in that key moment when one nudge would have sent him down the path of violence—he discovered the work of Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker movement.
We live in a world where mass media has the tools to instantly bombard us with images of violence from all over the world—and they do so because it sells newspapers, spikes television ratings, and drives up the hit counters on their web sites. We live in a world where we have the tools to anonymously say the most hateful and cruel things imaginable to an ever wider audience. We live in a world, in other words, that could easily teach our young people that the only thing the world understands is violence—and at that point, all it takes is a nudge. So it’s up to us—just like it was up to Dr. Patel’s mother and the Catholic Workers—to teach another way. We have to choose which side of the faith line we’re on. We have to decide what kind of Christians we are—what kind of Christians we want our young people to be. And it’s up to us to live up to the ideals we teach. Not just because we ought to practice what we preach, but also because children are much better at doing what you do than they are at doing what you say—and I have to tell you, young people have an amazing built-in hypocrisy detector. I think that we probably want to be the kind of Christians who know that it’s not ok to stone Stephen, that no one is dispensable and that love is more powerful than violence.
Ok, Rev. Josh, we’re on board, where do we start? It starts with little things—showing our young people that their tradition is a diverse one, giving our young people the opportunity to know someone who doesn’t hold the same beliefs as they do. Maybe it starts with folk from St. Thomas’ and folk from 1st Congregational Church making a commitment to come together and listen to each other. It certainly could start with us. And I don’t know where it ends—but I hope and pray and dream that it ends in a world that more closely resembles the Kingdom of God.
And I pray it the name of the Creator, and the Christ, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Monday, March 29, 2010
The Black Parade
Joshua J Sander
3/28/10
Palm Sunday
“The Black Parade”
Luke 19:28-40
Some of you have no doubt have caught the reference in the title of this sermon or at least recognize the lyric sheet you hold in your hands. You’re probably an interesting mix of excited, nervous and curious—possibly even anxious. Good. Hold on to that feeling. Because as Jesus and his followers approached Jerusalem, they were mostly likely feeling all of that and more.
Remember that Jesus and his followers lived in conquered land. The Romans in all their misery and hate ruled over the Jewish people with an iron fist. Pontius Pilate was in Jerusalem to ensure that the turbulent time of Passover did not escalate from turbulent directly into full-blown rebellion—and he rode into the city as representative of the Empire, with armed and armored troops and on the back of mighty warhorse! Jesus and his followers knew that they were headed toward the proverbial powder keg when they turned their faces towards Jerusalem—and Jesus had not once, not twice, but three times told his disciples that one day he’d leave them. And if the disciples refused to hear him, who can blame them? Who wants to believe in a world that sends you reeling from decimated dreams?
And then there’s all that business with the colt. As they get to the Mount of Olives, Jesus says, “Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it.’” And it goes exactly as Jesus described. How exciting! Not simply because Jesus knew what he was talking about when he sent his people to take the donkey—but also because Jesus is clearly and intentionally acting out the words of the prophet Zecharaiah:
No! No, no, no! This is completely inappropriate! We cannot shout hosanna! We must not be defiant, or it will be our end! On and on we carry through the fears of bodies in the streets, and here you come on your donkey and your followers singing? No! I refuse to look upon the disappointed faces of your peers should you be put to death and I do not care for this—obscene parade! I demand that your followers cease singing before you bring the wrath of Rome down on all our heads!
And Jesus, the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out." It was a bad, bad move to ride into Jerusalem in the manner of the triumphant King spoken of by the prophet Zecharaiah. It was a bad, bad move to let His followers sing and shout like a victorious army coming home. But it was a necessary thing—because even though it was a bad, bad move… it was true. Jesus was the Messiah that the people had been waiting for and he was riding toward his greatest victory. This was a truth so profound that if people had not proclaimed it, the rest of creation—even stones!—would have done so. As it turned out, the stones didn’t need to proclaim anything—because Jesus had a parade.
Which brings me back to the song we just heard. It wasn’t intended to be about Jesus. The album it comes from is a rock opera about a cancer patient and tells the story of his apparent death, experiences of the afterlife, and subsequent reflection of his life. Gerard Way is the band’s front man, co-founder, and co-songwriter, and the imagery of the Black Parade comes from his belief that death comes for a person in the form of their fondest memory, in this case seeing a parade as a child. But if you think about it, death coming in the form of a parade is kind of what this scripture is about, isn’t it? It would be all too easy to march into Jerusalem with the victorious king, with our Savior the Messiah, shouting Hosanna to the rafters today—and then come back next week and sing Alleluia, He is Risen!—without ever considering what comes between.
The followers of Jesus weren’t singing “Welcome to the Black Parade” on that fateful day, but I think they might have resonated with its message. I won't explain or say “I'm sorry.” I'm unashamed, I'm gonna show my scar. Give a cheer for all the broken, listen here, because it's who we are. We’ll carry on. Even unto death on a cross. We’ll carry on.
Please be with me in the spirit of prayer. God of truth and light, sometimes we are a people who’d rather focus on the parade than consider its consequences. Sometimes we are a people who are more afraid of making a bad move than we are in the most profound truths. Sometimes we simply do not know when we should shout and sing. And, much like the disciples of Jesus, sometimes we get confused as to just what kind of a savior we have. Guide us, we pray. Direct our focus, soothe our fears, and grant us the knowledge to help your will be done on earth. In the name of your Son, Jesus Christ. Amen.
3/28/10
Palm Sunday
“The Black Parade”
Luke 19:28-40
Some of you have no doubt have caught the reference in the title of this sermon or at least recognize the lyric sheet you hold in your hands. You’re probably an interesting mix of excited, nervous and curious—possibly even anxious. Good. Hold on to that feeling. Because as Jesus and his followers approached Jerusalem, they were mostly likely feeling all of that and more.
Remember that Jesus and his followers lived in conquered land. The Romans in all their misery and hate ruled over the Jewish people with an iron fist. Pontius Pilate was in Jerusalem to ensure that the turbulent time of Passover did not escalate from turbulent directly into full-blown rebellion—and he rode into the city as representative of the Empire, with armed and armored troops and on the back of mighty warhorse! Jesus and his followers knew that they were headed toward the proverbial powder keg when they turned their faces towards Jerusalem—and Jesus had not once, not twice, but three times told his disciples that one day he’d leave them. And if the disciples refused to hear him, who can blame them? Who wants to believe in a world that sends you reeling from decimated dreams?
And then there’s all that business with the colt. As they get to the Mount of Olives, Jesus says, “Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it.’” And it goes exactly as Jesus described. How exciting! Not simply because Jesus knew what he was talking about when he sent his people to take the donkey—but also because Jesus is clearly and intentionally acting out the words of the prophet Zecharaiah:
Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey. He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the war-horse from Jerusalem; and the battle bow shall be cut off, and he shall command peace to the nations; his dominion shall be from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth. (Zechariah 9:9-10)Jesus! Your King! Triumphant and victorious! Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest heaven! Jesus! He who defeats demons and the plans of the non-believers! Hosanna! Let’s shout it loud and clear! Hosanna! (cue the music) Take it back! Hosanna! We want it all! Hosanna! You’ll never break me! Hosanna! Defiant to the end we hear the call!
No! No, no, no! This is completely inappropriate! We cannot shout hosanna! We must not be defiant, or it will be our end! On and on we carry through the fears of bodies in the streets, and here you come on your donkey and your followers singing? No! I refuse to look upon the disappointed faces of your peers should you be put to death and I do not care for this—obscene parade! I demand that your followers cease singing before you bring the wrath of Rome down on all our heads!
And Jesus, the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out." It was a bad, bad move to ride into Jerusalem in the manner of the triumphant King spoken of by the prophet Zecharaiah. It was a bad, bad move to let His followers sing and shout like a victorious army coming home. But it was a necessary thing—because even though it was a bad, bad move… it was true. Jesus was the Messiah that the people had been waiting for and he was riding toward his greatest victory. This was a truth so profound that if people had not proclaimed it, the rest of creation—even stones!—would have done so. As it turned out, the stones didn’t need to proclaim anything—because Jesus had a parade.
Which brings me back to the song we just heard. It wasn’t intended to be about Jesus. The album it comes from is a rock opera about a cancer patient and tells the story of his apparent death, experiences of the afterlife, and subsequent reflection of his life. Gerard Way is the band’s front man, co-founder, and co-songwriter, and the imagery of the Black Parade comes from his belief that death comes for a person in the form of their fondest memory, in this case seeing a parade as a child. But if you think about it, death coming in the form of a parade is kind of what this scripture is about, isn’t it? It would be all too easy to march into Jerusalem with the victorious king, with our Savior the Messiah, shouting Hosanna to the rafters today—and then come back next week and sing Alleluia, He is Risen!—without ever considering what comes between.
The followers of Jesus weren’t singing “Welcome to the Black Parade” on that fateful day, but I think they might have resonated with its message. I won't explain or say “I'm sorry.” I'm unashamed, I'm gonna show my scar. Give a cheer for all the broken, listen here, because it's who we are. We’ll carry on. Even unto death on a cross. We’ll carry on.
Please be with me in the spirit of prayer. God of truth and light, sometimes we are a people who’d rather focus on the parade than consider its consequences. Sometimes we are a people who are more afraid of making a bad move than we are in the most profound truths. Sometimes we simply do not know when we should shout and sing. And, much like the disciples of Jesus, sometimes we get confused as to just what kind of a savior we have. Guide us, we pray. Direct our focus, soothe our fears, and grant us the knowledge to help your will be done on earth. In the name of your Son, Jesus Christ. Amen.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
"untitled"
Emmi Hanson
"untitled"
01/24/10
Psalm 84:1-4
I was ten years old my first summer at Silver Lake. And I didn't want to go. As it turns out, that was one of my best, most life changing weeks ever. On Sunday afternoon, my parents dropped off a reluctant pessimist and when they came for me on Saturday I was in tears, not wanting to leave. I haven't missed a summer since then and I cannot imagine what it would take to make me miss one in the future.
That first week I learned how to love and be loved, that I could just be myself and that was ok, and how wonderful it felt living in community working and playing in God's backyard.
My time as a camper encouraged me to bring home the normal camp stuff: new songs, games, art projects; but it also encouraged me to bring home a stronger connection to my home church, a better understanding of mission work and a true sense of belonging for the first time in my life.
The summer before ninth grade I knew I would begin confirmation class in the fall. Although, in order to be confirmed, I first needed to be baptized. My parents were brought up in a fundamentalist background encouraging believer's baptism. So, they did not have me baptized as an infant. Instead, they left the decision for me to choose if and when I thought it would be best.
Having such a strong spiritual connection to Silver Lake, I worked with my pastor and the original (and then) director Alden Tyrol and we arranged to do it the Saturday following my Summer conference just after the rest of the campers left. And so, two days before my fourteenth birthday I was immersed in the lake with one other camper, my deans, counselors and some of summer staff as witnesses.
As soon as I was old enough, I applied to be on camp staff. I wanted to be like the people who had made such a difference in my life. The summer I turned sixteen I was on Camp Family, a special part of staff for first years under the age of eighteen. They do the grunt work: dishes, small maintenance, cleaning buildings and helping out other parts of staff as needed. I worked alongside my brothers and sisters for ten weeks, sixteen hours a day, six days a week doing some of the most demanding physical labor I have experienced. We were paid a stipend of five hundred dollars for the summer, which, when broken down works out to about thirteen cents an hour. And. It was the BEST summer of my life.
And I came back. The following summer I was on Resource assisting conferences, running games, sorting mail...
Once I needed to be working full time , I settled for volunteering one week a summer. First as a counselor, and now as a dean. Through all of these experiences I learned the skills that made me a better Christian educator and youth leader.
It is this level of dedication that keeps Silver Lake alive. We volunteer our time, money and talents to give back what was given to us. To show each camper that they are good. Teach them to love God, love their neighbors and most of all, love themselves. And in the end we challenge them in the same way we were challenged: to live our faith every day and figure a way to take a piece of Silver Lake home with us and out into the world.
"untitled"
01/24/10
Psalm 84:1-4
I was ten years old my first summer at Silver Lake. And I didn't want to go. As it turns out, that was one of my best, most life changing weeks ever. On Sunday afternoon, my parents dropped off a reluctant pessimist and when they came for me on Saturday I was in tears, not wanting to leave. I haven't missed a summer since then and I cannot imagine what it would take to make me miss one in the future.
That first week I learned how to love and be loved, that I could just be myself and that was ok, and how wonderful it felt living in community working and playing in God's backyard.
My time as a camper encouraged me to bring home the normal camp stuff: new songs, games, art projects; but it also encouraged me to bring home a stronger connection to my home church, a better understanding of mission work and a true sense of belonging for the first time in my life.
The summer before ninth grade I knew I would begin confirmation class in the fall. Although, in order to be confirmed, I first needed to be baptized. My parents were brought up in a fundamentalist background encouraging believer's baptism. So, they did not have me baptized as an infant. Instead, they left the decision for me to choose if and when I thought it would be best.
Having such a strong spiritual connection to Silver Lake, I worked with my pastor and the original (and then) director Alden Tyrol and we arranged to do it the Saturday following my Summer conference just after the rest of the campers left. And so, two days before my fourteenth birthday I was immersed in the lake with one other camper, my deans, counselors and some of summer staff as witnesses.
As soon as I was old enough, I applied to be on camp staff. I wanted to be like the people who had made such a difference in my life. The summer I turned sixteen I was on Camp Family, a special part of staff for first years under the age of eighteen. They do the grunt work: dishes, small maintenance, cleaning buildings and helping out other parts of staff as needed. I worked alongside my brothers and sisters for ten weeks, sixteen hours a day, six days a week doing some of the most demanding physical labor I have experienced. We were paid a stipend of five hundred dollars for the summer, which, when broken down works out to about thirteen cents an hour. And. It was the BEST summer of my life.
And I came back. The following summer I was on Resource assisting conferences, running games, sorting mail...
Once I needed to be working full time , I settled for volunteering one week a summer. First as a counselor, and now as a dean. Through all of these experiences I learned the skills that made me a better Christian educator and youth leader.
It is this level of dedication that keeps Silver Lake alive. We volunteer our time, money and talents to give back what was given to us. To show each camper that they are good. Teach them to love God, love their neighbors and most of all, love themselves. And in the end we challenge them in the same way we were challenged: to live our faith every day and figure a way to take a piece of Silver Lake home with us and out into the world.
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