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.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
The Power of Half
Joshua J Sander
6/26/11
2nd Sunday after Pentecost—13th in Ordinary Time
Neutral Pulpit at First Congregational Church of Ansonia
"The Power of Half"
Matthew 10:40-42
This morning’s Gospel lesson is a little bit like picking up a television series in the middle somewhere. Yes, every episode stands on it’s own with it’s own little story arc and you can probably piece together what’s going on--more or less. But in the end, it’s obvious that the episode has it’s place within the larger story and that you need some knowledge of what happened earlier in the series to really understand everything that’s going on. The common story-telling device used to give the viewer that knowledge is called the recap and it usually starts with the words, “Previously on...” and is followed by a montage of clips from the show. Sound familiar?
So, previously on the Gospel of Matthew, Chapter 10, Jesus gathered the twelve disciples and gave them the authority to cast out unclean spirits and to cure every disease and every sickness. Then he sent them out with instructions to go to the lost sheep of the house of Israel and proclaim the good news that “The kingdom of heaven has come near.” They were told to cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons--all without being paid. They were instructed not to take any money or supplies, but rather to depend on the hospitality of those they served. “Whatever town or village you enter,” Jesus said, “find out who in it is worthy, and stay there until you leave. As you enter the house, greet it. If the house is worthy, let your peace come upon it; but if it is not worthy, let your peace return to you. If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, shake off the dust from your feet as you leave that house or town.”
After the instructions, came the warnings. “See, I am sending you out like sheep into the midst of wolves; so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. Beware of them, for they will hand you over to councils and flog you in their synagogues; and you will be dragged before governors and kings because of me... Brother will betray brother to death, and a father his child, and children will rise against parents and have them put to death; and you will be hated by all because of my name. But the one who endures to the end will be saved.”
And again, “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household. Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”
All is not doom, however, for Jesus tells the Twelve to “...have no fear of them; for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known. What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light; and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops. Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul... Everyone therefore who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven; but whoever denies me before others, I also will deny before my Father...”
This morning’s lesson is the final word of instruction from Jesus to the Twelve as he sends them out to share the good news, “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward; and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous; and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”
These instructions and warnings were spoken to a very specific set of people--the Twelve Disciples--at a very specific time and place--during the life of Jesus in Israel. We do not live in twenty-something BC Israel--but that doesn’t mean we should ignore these instructions. Instead, we should ask ourselves how to interpret them for life in post-modern America. How should we preach the message that the Kingdom of God is at hand, knowing that the heavenly rewards will outweigh the earthly ones? It’s pretty easy to come up with examples, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Theresa, Hannah Salwen...
Wait, how many of you have heard of Hannah Salwen? Hannah is 18 years old this year and graduating from high school where she was a member of both the varsity volleyball and swim teams. Growing up, Hannah wanted for nothing, her father Kevin was a former Wall Street Journal writer and editor turned entrepreneur and her mother Joan was a former high-powered consultant turned school teacher. As Kevin would later observe about their lifestyle, “We weren’t trying to be obnoxious, consuming yuppies, we just were. This was the American Dream, wasn’t it, to live better than your parents did?”
But then one day, when Hannah was 14, Kevin was driving her back to their “6,500-square-foot landmark home” after a sleepover, when they got caught at what may very well be the Longest Light in Atlanta. And there, “perched in front of a rusting chainlink fence, was a homeless man.” Her father was busy with his own internal dialogue, “I’m out of McDonald’s cards. Should I give him cash? No, just sit tight.” He “squirmed in his seat, avoiding eye contact.”
“But over in the passenger seat, Hannah was having quite a different experience. As she looked at the homeless man, a sight she had seen dozens of times before, on this day his situation registered more deeply. That’s because when she looked in the other direction, she spotted another man driving a black Mercedes coupe... She started talking slowly, thinking as she went. ‘Dad,’ she began, ‘if that man had a less nice car, that man there could have a meal.’”
This moment of realization--this Epiphany--lead Hannah to challenge her family as they ate dinner together, insisting that “We should fix this.” Kevin and Joan reacted to Hannah with a certain amount of defensiveness. They pointed out to both Hannah and her brother Joseph that their family wasn’t exactly sitting around doing nothing. They “told them about” their “annual giving.” They “reminded them of the volunteer work” they “did... “Hannah didn’t say much more that night, but it was clear as she and” her father “loaded the dishwasher that she remained unconvinced of the seriousness of” her “family’s contribution to society.”
Sure enough, Hannah wasn’t going to let it go. Later that week, right after the “Amen” at the end of their prayer over dinner, Hannah burst out with the statement, “I really don’t want to be the kind of family that just talks about doing things.” she said, “I want to be a family that actually does them... This time Joan was better prepared than she had been three days earlier.” she “...wanted to see how much” Hannah “was willing to sacrifice to change the lives of others... So when Hannah brought up the subject of doing more over dinner, Joan looked” her “square in the eye.” and said, “What do you want to do... sell our house? Move into a smaller one and give what’s left over to charity? ...If you guys really want to make a difference, we don’t need this large house... Enough is as good as a feast. We could live in a place half this size and use the excess money to really do something to help others.’”
“I’ll give up my bedroom. Dude, we should definitely do this,” Hannah declared. “We should sell the house and give away the money. Definitely.”
“Are you sure... that you want to move out of the house that has been yours since you were seven? And give the money away to help people we don’t know? Are you aware this would mean giving up a bunch of your stuff--maybe half the things in your room?”
“I want to do this... Let’s sell the house and do some good with it. We don’t need this place.”
As you can imagine, this led to quite a family discussion; a discussion that culminated in the decision to do just that. They put their mansion on the market, bought a house half the size, and entered a long and intricate process to decide where the money should go, and why. You can read about the whole thing in the book, The Power of Half, but it’s worth mentioning that to make the project work, the whole family had to dedicate themselves to finding one hour a week to journal and discuss how they were going to move forward. I don’t know if any of you have two teenage children, but I come from a background in youth ministry, and believe me: finding that one hour a week takes an amazing amount of dedication.
It’s also worthwhile to uplift the fact that Joan and Kevin realized that for Hannah and Joseph to really feel like they were doing something--to know in their hearts that they were truly part of the process--they needed to have real authority and help guide the project with full voting rights. As Joan explained to her husband, “We might end up with decisions different from those you and I might make on our own, but I think we’ll end up with something that we all actually believe in.”
It’s also worth noting that the Salwen family made their move just as the economy and the housing market tanked. They made their decision on how much money they would donate based on the pre-market-crash value of their mansion. Their house was still standing, unsold, costing them in mortgage and upkeep when it came time to honor their agreement to give to the Hunger Project. When faced with the decision to stall on their payment, pay just a little bit now and the rest when the house sold, or find some other way of funding the full payment--and by “some other way” I mean to say “primarily Hannah’s college fund.”--Hannah claimed that the choice was a “no brainer.” “We should definitely use our savings, and we’ll repay the college fund somehow. Or I’ll figure out something for college. We made a commitment. We keep it.” I’d say that Hannah and her family are living their lives as if the Kingdom of God were at hand, wouldn’t you?
I’d like, if I may, to send us all out with a challenge. Now, before you get nervous, let me give you a thought from Hannah’s father. He writes, “Some people say to us, ‘I could never sell my house.’ Who expects you to? Our project was never about size. We chose to sell our house because it was something that our family could handle form the perspective of giving half... your ‘half’ can be whatever you choose at whatever budget you set.”
And Kevin is right--it doesn’t have to be about size. After all, whoever gives even a cup of cold water to a little one will receive their reward. And yet I wonder how loudly we could preach the good news that the Kingdom of God is at hand if we all went out and embraced the same process the Salwen family did. What if each of our local churches dedicated themselves to fixing one of the ills of the world, dedicated an hour a week to journaling, discussion, and decision making, and then actually did something about it? Something measurable, and real? What if we all figured out what our “half” is and then acted on it? I really do wonder...
Please be with me in the spirit of prayer: Loving and abiding God, we pray that you give us the insight, the strength, and the outrage of a fourteen year old girl. We pray that you give us the dedication to have discussions and make decisions about how to best do your work here on earth. And we pray that you give us the bravery to go out like sheep among wolves, with gentleness and wisdom, to preach your good news, knowing full well that even giving a single cup of water has its own reward. We pray these things in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
6/26/11
2nd Sunday after Pentecost—13th in Ordinary Time
Neutral Pulpit at First Congregational Church of Ansonia
"The Power of Half"
Matthew 10:40-42
This morning’s Gospel lesson is a little bit like picking up a television series in the middle somewhere. Yes, every episode stands on it’s own with it’s own little story arc and you can probably piece together what’s going on--more or less. But in the end, it’s obvious that the episode has it’s place within the larger story and that you need some knowledge of what happened earlier in the series to really understand everything that’s going on. The common story-telling device used to give the viewer that knowledge is called the recap and it usually starts with the words, “Previously on...” and is followed by a montage of clips from the show. Sound familiar?
So, previously on the Gospel of Matthew, Chapter 10, Jesus gathered the twelve disciples and gave them the authority to cast out unclean spirits and to cure every disease and every sickness. Then he sent them out with instructions to go to the lost sheep of the house of Israel and proclaim the good news that “The kingdom of heaven has come near.” They were told to cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons--all without being paid. They were instructed not to take any money or supplies, but rather to depend on the hospitality of those they served. “Whatever town or village you enter,” Jesus said, “find out who in it is worthy, and stay there until you leave. As you enter the house, greet it. If the house is worthy, let your peace come upon it; but if it is not worthy, let your peace return to you. If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, shake off the dust from your feet as you leave that house or town.”
After the instructions, came the warnings. “See, I am sending you out like sheep into the midst of wolves; so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. Beware of them, for they will hand you over to councils and flog you in their synagogues; and you will be dragged before governors and kings because of me... Brother will betray brother to death, and a father his child, and children will rise against parents and have them put to death; and you will be hated by all because of my name. But the one who endures to the end will be saved.”
And again, “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household. Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”
All is not doom, however, for Jesus tells the Twelve to “...have no fear of them; for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known. What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light; and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops. Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul... Everyone therefore who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven; but whoever denies me before others, I also will deny before my Father...”
This morning’s lesson is the final word of instruction from Jesus to the Twelve as he sends them out to share the good news, “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward; and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous; and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.”
These instructions and warnings were spoken to a very specific set of people--the Twelve Disciples--at a very specific time and place--during the life of Jesus in Israel. We do not live in twenty-something BC Israel--but that doesn’t mean we should ignore these instructions. Instead, we should ask ourselves how to interpret them for life in post-modern America. How should we preach the message that the Kingdom of God is at hand, knowing that the heavenly rewards will outweigh the earthly ones? It’s pretty easy to come up with examples, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Theresa, Hannah Salwen...
Wait, how many of you have heard of Hannah Salwen? Hannah is 18 years old this year and graduating from high school where she was a member of both the varsity volleyball and swim teams. Growing up, Hannah wanted for nothing, her father Kevin was a former Wall Street Journal writer and editor turned entrepreneur and her mother Joan was a former high-powered consultant turned school teacher. As Kevin would later observe about their lifestyle, “We weren’t trying to be obnoxious, consuming yuppies, we just were. This was the American Dream, wasn’t it, to live better than your parents did?”
But then one day, when Hannah was 14, Kevin was driving her back to their “6,500-square-foot landmark home” after a sleepover, when they got caught at what may very well be the Longest Light in Atlanta. And there, “perched in front of a rusting chainlink fence, was a homeless man.” Her father was busy with his own internal dialogue, “I’m out of McDonald’s cards. Should I give him cash? No, just sit tight.” He “squirmed in his seat, avoiding eye contact.”
“But over in the passenger seat, Hannah was having quite a different experience. As she looked at the homeless man, a sight she had seen dozens of times before, on this day his situation registered more deeply. That’s because when she looked in the other direction, she spotted another man driving a black Mercedes coupe... She started talking slowly, thinking as she went. ‘Dad,’ she began, ‘if that man had a less nice car, that man there could have a meal.’”
This moment of realization--this Epiphany--lead Hannah to challenge her family as they ate dinner together, insisting that “We should fix this.” Kevin and Joan reacted to Hannah with a certain amount of defensiveness. They pointed out to both Hannah and her brother Joseph that their family wasn’t exactly sitting around doing nothing. They “told them about” their “annual giving.” They “reminded them of the volunteer work” they “did... “Hannah didn’t say much more that night, but it was clear as she and” her father “loaded the dishwasher that she remained unconvinced of the seriousness of” her “family’s contribution to society.”
Sure enough, Hannah wasn’t going to let it go. Later that week, right after the “Amen” at the end of their prayer over dinner, Hannah burst out with the statement, “I really don’t want to be the kind of family that just talks about doing things.” she said, “I want to be a family that actually does them... This time Joan was better prepared than she had been three days earlier.” she “...wanted to see how much” Hannah “was willing to sacrifice to change the lives of others... So when Hannah brought up the subject of doing more over dinner, Joan looked” her “square in the eye.” and said, “What do you want to do... sell our house? Move into a smaller one and give what’s left over to charity? ...If you guys really want to make a difference, we don’t need this large house... Enough is as good as a feast. We could live in a place half this size and use the excess money to really do something to help others.’”
“I’ll give up my bedroom. Dude, we should definitely do this,” Hannah declared. “We should sell the house and give away the money. Definitely.”
“Are you sure... that you want to move out of the house that has been yours since you were seven? And give the money away to help people we don’t know? Are you aware this would mean giving up a bunch of your stuff--maybe half the things in your room?”
“I want to do this... Let’s sell the house and do some good with it. We don’t need this place.”
As you can imagine, this led to quite a family discussion; a discussion that culminated in the decision to do just that. They put their mansion on the market, bought a house half the size, and entered a long and intricate process to decide where the money should go, and why. You can read about the whole thing in the book, The Power of Half, but it’s worth mentioning that to make the project work, the whole family had to dedicate themselves to finding one hour a week to journal and discuss how they were going to move forward. I don’t know if any of you have two teenage children, but I come from a background in youth ministry, and believe me: finding that one hour a week takes an amazing amount of dedication.
It’s also worthwhile to uplift the fact that Joan and Kevin realized that for Hannah and Joseph to really feel like they were doing something--to know in their hearts that they were truly part of the process--they needed to have real authority and help guide the project with full voting rights. As Joan explained to her husband, “We might end up with decisions different from those you and I might make on our own, but I think we’ll end up with something that we all actually believe in.”
It’s also worth noting that the Salwen family made their move just as the economy and the housing market tanked. They made their decision on how much money they would donate based on the pre-market-crash value of their mansion. Their house was still standing, unsold, costing them in mortgage and upkeep when it came time to honor their agreement to give to the Hunger Project. When faced with the decision to stall on their payment, pay just a little bit now and the rest when the house sold, or find some other way of funding the full payment--and by “some other way” I mean to say “primarily Hannah’s college fund.”--Hannah claimed that the choice was a “no brainer.” “We should definitely use our savings, and we’ll repay the college fund somehow. Or I’ll figure out something for college. We made a commitment. We keep it.” I’d say that Hannah and her family are living their lives as if the Kingdom of God were at hand, wouldn’t you?
I’d like, if I may, to send us all out with a challenge. Now, before you get nervous, let me give you a thought from Hannah’s father. He writes, “Some people say to us, ‘I could never sell my house.’ Who expects you to? Our project was never about size. We chose to sell our house because it was something that our family could handle form the perspective of giving half... your ‘half’ can be whatever you choose at whatever budget you set.”
And Kevin is right--it doesn’t have to be about size. After all, whoever gives even a cup of cold water to a little one will receive their reward. And yet I wonder how loudly we could preach the good news that the Kingdom of God is at hand if we all went out and embraced the same process the Salwen family did. What if each of our local churches dedicated themselves to fixing one of the ills of the world, dedicated an hour a week to journaling, discussion, and decision making, and then actually did something about it? Something measurable, and real? What if we all figured out what our “half” is and then acted on it? I really do wonder...
Please be with me in the spirit of prayer: Loving and abiding God, we pray that you give us the insight, the strength, and the outrage of a fourteen year old girl. We pray that you give us the dedication to have discussions and make decisions about how to best do your work here on earth. And we pray that you give us the bravery to go out like sheep among wolves, with gentleness and wisdom, to preach your good news, knowing full well that even giving a single cup of water has its own reward. We pray these things in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Hospitality
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.
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.
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.
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