Joshua J Sander
7/17/11
5th Sunday after Pentecost—16th in Ordinary Time
Pulpit Supply at Olivet Congregational Church
"He's Everywhere!"
Psalm 139:1-12, 23-24
Have you ever spent any significant time digging around through the Psalms? Maybe it’s because I’m something of a poet myself, but I love the Psalms--there’s so much good stuff in there--beauty and tragedy, victory and strife--it’s all in there.
From “Make a joyful noise to the Lord all the earth / Worship the Lord with gladness,” to “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?” From “I waited patiently for the Lord; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the desolate pit, out of the miry bog” to “I hear the whispering of many--terror all around!--as they scheme together against me, as they plot to take my life.” It’s all in the Psalms.
But I have to admit that today’s scripture lesson is quite possibly my very favorite Psalm. “Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there. If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast. If I say, ‘Surely the shadows shall cover me, and the light around me become night,’ even the night is not without light to you; the night is as bright as the day, for night is as light to you.”
Absolutely beautiful! Unless you think about it for too long, and then it gets kind of creepy, right? The Inescapable God! Sometimes it feels a little bit like when an old high school buddy of mine put a photograph up on the wall opposite his toilet with the caption “Jeff Goldblum Is Watching You” underneath.
Or worse, it’s kind of like something I noticed in the Halo video game series. Sometimes, as the sci-fi war hero charges the enemy lines, the alien Grunts break rank and flee--and every once in a while you can hear one cry out in terror, “He’s everywhere!”
Fortunately, we are not members of an alien alliance at war with humanity, God is not a cybernetically enhanced super-soldier in SPARTAN-II armor, and life is not a video game.
You see, the other point that Psalm 139 makes is that God knows us intimately. “O God, you have searched me and known me. You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from far away. You search out my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways. Even before a word is on my tongue, O God, you know it completely. You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain it.”
People are often frightened to let themselves be known so completely. Letting somebody know who you really are leaves you open to being hurt. But when I stop to think about the people who have known me the best--the people I could always talk to, the people I could go to for honest advice, the people I could expect help from--I wind up reliving a lot of very good memories.
Many of those memories are centered around Silver Lake. In fact, Silver Lake Conference Center is well loved by many generations of people because it has always been a place where folk felt comfortable revealing their true selves without fear of getting hurt.
Once, when I was a conferee at Silver Lake, I was standing around with several other youth talking about how great it is to be in such a safe place, a place where we could truly be ourselves, when one of our counselors joined the conversation. Instead of simply agreeing with us, she gave us a challenge--figure out a way to bring that Silver Lake Feeling with us out into the real world.
I think I know what to do to accomplish that--and even though it’s simple, it isn’t always easy. We need to recognize that God knows us and loves us completely and that God is everywhere.
God has searched us and knows us. God knows when we sit down and when we rise up; God knows our thoughts from far away. God searches out our path and knows where we’re going to sleep tonight. God is acquainted with all our ways. Even before we can say a single word, God knows it completely. God knows everything about us, good and bad, and loves us anyway. And we can always talk to God, always go to God for advice, always expect help from God--because God is always there. God is everywhere. And I don’t just mean in you and me--although I do mean that. And I don’t just mean at Silver Lake and in rainbows and butterflies--although God is surely there also.
I’m telling you that if you really look and listen and pay attention, that God is in EVERYTHING--a pair of sneakers, a video game, a pocketful of change, a professional wrestler, a song on the radio--
Here, let’s use a song on the radio as an example. I’m going to play a song for you by the Dixie Chicks. The words are in your bulletin, if you want to follow along. Actually, I’m going to end up playing it twice, so don’t get too hung up on getting all of it the first time through.
On this first listen, I want you to pretend that you aren’t in church--you’re wherever you might be listening to the radio--in your car stuck in a traffic jam, laying on the beach--just a normal day and this is a song on the radio...
On an average, normal day, what would be your first impression of what the song is about?
Ok, now, on this second listen through, I want you imagine that the Dixie Chicks are actually prophets or angels--messengers from God with an important message just for you. In other words, I want you to imagine that God is speaking the words that they are singing.
Do you see what I mean? Do you see how much better life can be when you start looking for God outside of this building? Because God is everywhere. And God does know you. And God loves you very much. Don’t worry about it if people think you’re a little crazy when you start seeing God in George the Animal Steele and Dixie Chicks tunes.
God will be there although you might not see God--it's never easy for God to get through to us when we aren’t listening--but when the laughter dies away, then God will take care of you.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
"The Beast"
Joshua J Sander
7/10/11
4th Sunday after Pentecost—15th in Ordinary Time
Pulpit Supply at Olivet Congregational Church
"The Beast"
Genesis 25:19-34
When I was a child, my brother Matthew and I would wake up on Saturday mornings and camp out in front of the television. I have a lot of hazy memories of short-lived cartoons. And I have some very distinct memories--like eating Pillsbury cinnamon rolls in front of “The Smurfs” and my Mom interrupting the WWF broadcast to make us promise never to try what we were seeing on each other. “They know how to do that stuff without killing each other,” she insisted, “I never want to see you doing any of that.”
Even though that moment was a little bit like learning how, exactly, Penn & Teller forced you to pick the Three of Clubs, it didn’t stop Matthew and I from enjoying watching Hulk Hogan, and Randy Savage, and Tito Santana and all those guys wrasslin’ on Saturday mornings. And one of our favorites to watch was George “The Animal” Steele.
“The Animal” had a bald head and a clean-shaven face, but the rest of his body was completely covered in hair. He somehow dyed his tongue green--which we know because it was frequently hanging out of his mouth as he stalked around the ring. And our very favorite part was his finish--where he would tear the turnbuckle cover open with his teeth and strew the stuffing around the ring before bashing his opponent’s face into the exposed turnbuckle!
I have to admit that when I read about Jacob and Esau, my brain immediately jumps to George “The Animal” Steel ripping open the turnbuckle cover with his teeth. And there’s probably some good reasons for that. The text says that when Rebekah’s time to give birth was at hand, there were twins in her womb. The first came out red, and his entire body looked like a hairy mantle; so they named him Esau. Esau means “Hair,” but like the hair of a goat--fur if you will. Afterwards his brother came out, with his hand gripping Esau's heel; so he was named Jacob, which means “Heel Snake.”
So not only is Esau hairy like a beast from birth--in fact, Jacob uses a goat skin to trick their father Isaac into giving him the dying blessing intended for Esau, but that’s later in the story--not only is Esau literally hairy, but he was also named something like “Beasthair.” And I’ll admit that I’m a little superstitious about how children live up to their names. I have a second cousin once removed named Maverick. I’ve never met him, but the only thing I know about him is that he once got in trouble for pulling down a ceiling fan while trying to hang from it. On the other hand, that sounds like something I might have tried as a child--so let’s go back to the text and see what kind of a beast Esau turns out to be.
When the boys grew up, Esau was a skillful hunter, a man of the field, while Jacob was a quiet man, living in tents. Well, here Esau sounds like a real Good Ol’ Boy. I’ve known my share of Good Ol’ Boys. Some of them are pretty cool. Others really do behave like animals.
Once when Jacob was cooking a stew, Esau came in from the field, and he was famished. Esau said to Jacob, "Gimme some of that red stuff, I’m starving!" But Jacob replies, “First sell me your birthright."
Well, just like any story, we could see both sides of this. It’s actually kind of interesting, my wife immediately sees it from Esau’s perspective--just imagine you’ve been out working in the sun, hunting for food to put on the table. You’re hot. You’re tired. You’re really, really hungry. You drag yourself home and there’s the wonderful smell of fresh baked bread and lentil stew--Mmmmm! Gimme some of that! Only to have your brother say, “Huh-uh, not so fast, you have something I want...” The little schemer.
I always find myself seeing things from Jacob’s perspective. Gentle and good--but gentle and good rarely go hand in hand with popularity. No-no, you have to be a bit of a beast to be popular around here. You’ve been slaving over a hot stove, baking bread, cooking stew--with no meat in it, by the way, the mighty hunter has not lifted a finger to help you, when in he rolls with his green tongue hanging out and bits of turnbuckle padding in his chest hair and grunts out, “Gimmie some of that red stuff!” Neanderthal.
In all honesty, I’m not in love with either character at this point in the story. Neither of them is completely in the right--neither completely wrong. Esau said, "I’m about to die; what good is a birthright to me?" Jacob said, "Swear to me first." So he swore to him, and sold his birthright to Jacob. Then Jacob gave Esau bread and lentil stew, and he ate and drank, and rose and went his way. Thus Esau despised his birthright.
I think that last sentence is where the crux of the matter is. “Thus Esau despised his birthright.” The word “despised” seems awfully strong to describe someone essentially behaving like a teenage boy, “Whatever, I’m hungry.” But what if his birthright is something more important than a physical inheritance when his father dies? I think that there must be something more to this story than a moment of hungry weakness.
It becomes more and more clear that God favors Jacob over Esau as their story progresses. Jacob steals the dying blessing of their father from Esau, so Esau vows to wait until Isaac has died and then kill Jacob. But word gets back to Rebekah, who sends Jacob off. While in hiding from Esau, Jacob sees the vision of the ladder going up to heaven, gets married, makes his fortune and more enemies before returning home.
Meanwhile, Esau stays at home and gets married--but even that has the taint of vengeance all over it. He intentionally marries a Canaanite woman because he knows it’ll anger Isaac. Esau let’s himself be ruled by his passions--hunger, rage, vengeance--like a beast. Perhaps that’s what the text means when it says that Esau despises his birthright.
Think about it. What are birthrights? What rights do we all have, universally, and based on the simple fact of our birth? Today we refer to these as human rights, and most of us ascribe to the 27 outlined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights adopted and proclaimed by the United Nations on December 10, 1948.
Politicians and philosophers are still arguing over what human rights are, how they work, and whether a specific right actually qualifies. I believe that those kinds of arguments are necessary and important--and beyond the scope of this sermon. So let us not miss the forest for the trees. What we know in our hearts, what politicians and philosophers struggle to describe in detail, is that when those rights are violated we descend into the realm of inhumanity. People are treated like animals. And people behave as if they were beasts. The best positive description of the point I’m trying to make comes from an Episcopalian priest named Martin Bell, who writes:
“Something like an eternity ago, human beings got all caught up in the illusion that being human is a relatively unimportant sort of proposition... What’s more tragic, of course, is that in the wake of this basic error there quickly followed the idea that human beings are expendable, which easily degenerated into the proposition that some human beings are expendable. Really bad guys... Guys with low I.Q.’s... Anyone who disagrees with me... Well, that’s not true. It’s wrong. All wrong. And it has always been wrong. From the creation of the heavens and the earth, it has been--wrong. There is nothing more important than being human... God raised Jesus from the dead to the end that we should be clear--once and for all--that there is nothing more important than being human. Our lives have eternal significance. And no one--absolutely no one--is expendable.”
I think that is your birthright. And it is not something to despise.
But I bet you’re wondering if Esau ever learned that lesson. As Jacob drew closer to home, he sent out messengers to tell Esau that he had been living a life of exile, that he had made his fortune, and that he was coming home. The messengers returned with the news that Esau was riding out to meet Jacob with four hundred men.
So, fearing for his life and the life of his people, he split his people and his belongings into two groups, so at least half of them would have a fighting chance to escape his brother’s wrath. Then he sends out an extravagant “please don’t kill us” gift to Esau. And then, finding himself alone, he has that famous wrestling match with the angel who puts his hip out of place and renames him Israel.
So limping, fearful, and blessed by an angel, Jacob finally comes face to face with his brother Esau. And Esau strides up to him and--hugs him. And tries to refuse the “don’t kill me gift.” But of course Jacob insists--and so what could have been a blood bath turns instead into what it looks like when my father argues with a house guest over who gets to pick up the check in a restaurant.
The text does not tell us why or how Esau was changed. And maybe it’s not important. Maybe it’s enough to notice that when Esau stopped behaving like a starving, wounded beast all manner of good things fell into place. Simply being human is enough of a birthright. There is nothing more important than being human. Our lives have eternal significance. And no one--absolutely no one--is expendable.
That is your birthright. And your neighbor’s birthright. Do not despise it.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
7/10/11
4th Sunday after Pentecost—15th in Ordinary Time
Pulpit Supply at Olivet Congregational Church
"The Beast"
Genesis 25:19-34
When I was a child, my brother Matthew and I would wake up on Saturday mornings and camp out in front of the television. I have a lot of hazy memories of short-lived cartoons. And I have some very distinct memories--like eating Pillsbury cinnamon rolls in front of “The Smurfs” and my Mom interrupting the WWF broadcast to make us promise never to try what we were seeing on each other. “They know how to do that stuff without killing each other,” she insisted, “I never want to see you doing any of that.”
Even though that moment was a little bit like learning how, exactly, Penn & Teller forced you to pick the Three of Clubs, it didn’t stop Matthew and I from enjoying watching Hulk Hogan, and Randy Savage, and Tito Santana and all those guys wrasslin’ on Saturday mornings. And one of our favorites to watch was George “The Animal” Steele.
“The Animal” had a bald head and a clean-shaven face, but the rest of his body was completely covered in hair. He somehow dyed his tongue green--which we know because it was frequently hanging out of his mouth as he stalked around the ring. And our very favorite part was his finish--where he would tear the turnbuckle cover open with his teeth and strew the stuffing around the ring before bashing his opponent’s face into the exposed turnbuckle!
I have to admit that when I read about Jacob and Esau, my brain immediately jumps to George “The Animal” Steel ripping open the turnbuckle cover with his teeth. And there’s probably some good reasons for that. The text says that when Rebekah’s time to give birth was at hand, there were twins in her womb. The first came out red, and his entire body looked like a hairy mantle; so they named him Esau. Esau means “Hair,” but like the hair of a goat--fur if you will. Afterwards his brother came out, with his hand gripping Esau's heel; so he was named Jacob, which means “Heel Snake.”
So not only is Esau hairy like a beast from birth--in fact, Jacob uses a goat skin to trick their father Isaac into giving him the dying blessing intended for Esau, but that’s later in the story--not only is Esau literally hairy, but he was also named something like “Beasthair.” And I’ll admit that I’m a little superstitious about how children live up to their names. I have a second cousin once removed named Maverick. I’ve never met him, but the only thing I know about him is that he once got in trouble for pulling down a ceiling fan while trying to hang from it. On the other hand, that sounds like something I might have tried as a child--so let’s go back to the text and see what kind of a beast Esau turns out to be.
When the boys grew up, Esau was a skillful hunter, a man of the field, while Jacob was a quiet man, living in tents. Well, here Esau sounds like a real Good Ol’ Boy. I’ve known my share of Good Ol’ Boys. Some of them are pretty cool. Others really do behave like animals.
Once when Jacob was cooking a stew, Esau came in from the field, and he was famished. Esau said to Jacob, "Gimme some of that red stuff, I’m starving!" But Jacob replies, “First sell me your birthright."
Well, just like any story, we could see both sides of this. It’s actually kind of interesting, my wife immediately sees it from Esau’s perspective--just imagine you’ve been out working in the sun, hunting for food to put on the table. You’re hot. You’re tired. You’re really, really hungry. You drag yourself home and there’s the wonderful smell of fresh baked bread and lentil stew--Mmmmm! Gimme some of that! Only to have your brother say, “Huh-uh, not so fast, you have something I want...” The little schemer.
I always find myself seeing things from Jacob’s perspective. Gentle and good--but gentle and good rarely go hand in hand with popularity. No-no, you have to be a bit of a beast to be popular around here. You’ve been slaving over a hot stove, baking bread, cooking stew--with no meat in it, by the way, the mighty hunter has not lifted a finger to help you, when in he rolls with his green tongue hanging out and bits of turnbuckle padding in his chest hair and grunts out, “Gimmie some of that red stuff!” Neanderthal.
In all honesty, I’m not in love with either character at this point in the story. Neither of them is completely in the right--neither completely wrong. Esau said, "I’m about to die; what good is a birthright to me?" Jacob said, "Swear to me first." So he swore to him, and sold his birthright to Jacob. Then Jacob gave Esau bread and lentil stew, and he ate and drank, and rose and went his way. Thus Esau despised his birthright.
I think that last sentence is where the crux of the matter is. “Thus Esau despised his birthright.” The word “despised” seems awfully strong to describe someone essentially behaving like a teenage boy, “Whatever, I’m hungry.” But what if his birthright is something more important than a physical inheritance when his father dies? I think that there must be something more to this story than a moment of hungry weakness.
It becomes more and more clear that God favors Jacob over Esau as their story progresses. Jacob steals the dying blessing of their father from Esau, so Esau vows to wait until Isaac has died and then kill Jacob. But word gets back to Rebekah, who sends Jacob off. While in hiding from Esau, Jacob sees the vision of the ladder going up to heaven, gets married, makes his fortune and more enemies before returning home.
Meanwhile, Esau stays at home and gets married--but even that has the taint of vengeance all over it. He intentionally marries a Canaanite woman because he knows it’ll anger Isaac. Esau let’s himself be ruled by his passions--hunger, rage, vengeance--like a beast. Perhaps that’s what the text means when it says that Esau despises his birthright.
Think about it. What are birthrights? What rights do we all have, universally, and based on the simple fact of our birth? Today we refer to these as human rights, and most of us ascribe to the 27 outlined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights adopted and proclaimed by the United Nations on December 10, 1948.
Politicians and philosophers are still arguing over what human rights are, how they work, and whether a specific right actually qualifies. I believe that those kinds of arguments are necessary and important--and beyond the scope of this sermon. So let us not miss the forest for the trees. What we know in our hearts, what politicians and philosophers struggle to describe in detail, is that when those rights are violated we descend into the realm of inhumanity. People are treated like animals. And people behave as if they were beasts. The best positive description of the point I’m trying to make comes from an Episcopalian priest named Martin Bell, who writes:
“Something like an eternity ago, human beings got all caught up in the illusion that being human is a relatively unimportant sort of proposition... What’s more tragic, of course, is that in the wake of this basic error there quickly followed the idea that human beings are expendable, which easily degenerated into the proposition that some human beings are expendable. Really bad guys... Guys with low I.Q.’s... Anyone who disagrees with me... Well, that’s not true. It’s wrong. All wrong. And it has always been wrong. From the creation of the heavens and the earth, it has been--wrong. There is nothing more important than being human... God raised Jesus from the dead to the end that we should be clear--once and for all--that there is nothing more important than being human. Our lives have eternal significance. And no one--absolutely no one--is expendable.”
I think that is your birthright. And it is not something to despise.
But I bet you’re wondering if Esau ever learned that lesson. As Jacob drew closer to home, he sent out messengers to tell Esau that he had been living a life of exile, that he had made his fortune, and that he was coming home. The messengers returned with the news that Esau was riding out to meet Jacob with four hundred men.
So, fearing for his life and the life of his people, he split his people and his belongings into two groups, so at least half of them would have a fighting chance to escape his brother’s wrath. Then he sends out an extravagant “please don’t kill us” gift to Esau. And then, finding himself alone, he has that famous wrestling match with the angel who puts his hip out of place and renames him Israel.
So limping, fearful, and blessed by an angel, Jacob finally comes face to face with his brother Esau. And Esau strides up to him and--hugs him. And tries to refuse the “don’t kill me gift.” But of course Jacob insists--and so what could have been a blood bath turns instead into what it looks like when my father argues with a house guest over who gets to pick up the check in a restaurant.
The text does not tell us why or how Esau was changed. And maybe it’s not important. Maybe it’s enough to notice that when Esau stopped behaving like a starving, wounded beast all manner of good things fell into place. Simply being human is enough of a birthright. There is nothing more important than being human. Our lives have eternal significance. And no one--absolutely no one--is expendable.
That is your birthright. And your neighbor’s birthright. Do not despise it.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
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