Post-Tragedy Routine

In the wake of the most recent round of mass shootings outside of Roanoke, Virginia, my sister has taken fingers to keyboard to reflect upon this tragedy.  I had hoped that none of my family members would ever have to be as close to a tragedy of this kind as I have been, but it is clear that this is is a fantasy.  In the world in which we live, it seems like no one can escape the horrors of violence.

While I have lost the ability to reflect upon these tragedies rationally, my sister has found her voice.  I encourage you to read her words.  While I tend to use theological language to reflect on things, Sallie does an excellent job of reflecting on the events that affected someone she knew in college in more direct language.  Please take time to read her post.

https://casualthursdays.wordpress.com/2015/08/28/making-sense-of-a-senseless-tragedy/

Luke 15:11-32 - Home

This summer, Elizabeth and I are preaching about stories that give meaning and depth to our lives as Christians.  Not only Biblical stories, but also stories that might not seem overtly religious.  Stories that feel secular, but end up having deep religious meaning.  Many of these stories seem simple, but are actually quite complex.  I love children’s books that have some complexity built in, that remind us that being a child is complicated.  I know I forget that all too often.  But I am reminded of that when I read one of my favorite children’s books.

I’m not sure you can appreciate how excited I am to talk about Where the Wild Things Are in a sermon.  It’s basically the dream-come-true of the 5 year old in me.  Max is a young child who is full of energy.  He enjoys running around and making a ruckus.  Max donned his wolf suit and did what he did best: he made some terrible noise, he chased around the dog, and he got sent to his room with no supper.  Surprisingly similar to my childhood.

Max was mad and he wanted to get away.  He wanted to be somewhere else.  Suddenly his room had turned into a jungle, and a boat carried him away, far, far away, to where the wild things were.  The wild things were scary at first as they roared their terrible roars, and gnashed their terrible teeth, and rolled their terrible eyes, and showed their terrible claws.  But Max tamed them when he looked into their eyes without blinking once.

For a time, Max was certainly happy with the wild things.  They had good times together, joining in the wild rumpus.  But soon Max realized that he was lonely, and he wanted to be with someone who loved him best of all.  So he decided to return home.
He sailed back, back, back to his room, and when he arrived, his supper was waiting for him, and it was still hot.

Even as I grew up, I loved this story.  I liked the fact that the main character’s name was so close to mine.  The story had a main character that had the adventures that I wanted to have, with as active an imagination as I had.  I liked that Max got into all kinds of mischief.  I liked the idea of the fantastic creatures.  I loved the illustrations.  The wonderful sweeping pictures of Max, the wild things, and the wild rumpus.

This is also a story full of deep meaning.  From Max’s desire to escape his world for another experience, to the way Max tames the wild things by looking into their eyes, to my favorite little detail, that when Max returned him his supper was waiting for him and it was still hot.  Such was his welcome to the place where someone loved him best of all.  Such was his welcome home.

The story of the prodigal son may be a familiar one.  It is so complicated and beautiful that it needs little explanation.  The younger son - like Max - leaves his family behind in almost a spiteful way.  By asking his father for the inheritance he is essentially saying to his father, "You are dead to me."  He sets off in search of an adventure.  He may not have met beasts with rolling eyes and gnashing teeth and sharp claws, but the prodigal son also finds himself in a place of despair.  After all of his searching, after his seeking for that which was not to be found he finds himself in a desperate situation.

So often, the search turns out fruitless.  So often we discover ourselves in the midst of a foreign place, a foreign circumstance, a foreign relationship, looking for something we couldn’t find before.  So often, we are unable to find that something.  So often the life that we set out to live doesn’t turn out to be all we'd hoped it would be,  So often, the wild rumpus leaves us unfulfilled.

You may remember a time in your life when you were engaged in such a search,  You may find yourself in such a search now, looking for something more, hoping or longing or struggling for meaning.  Or you may have yet to begin that search.  It is one we all find ourselves involved in, at one point or another.  An attempt to make sense of the world, and attempt to understand our purpose.

Both of our stories today reach a turning point.  The prodigal son finds himself feeding unclean animals wishing he could share their meal.  He comes to himself, realizes his sins, regrets his choices, and resolves to return to his father and seek forgiveness.  To be where he is loved.  Max sits alone after the wild rumpus and realizes that he is lonely.  He realizes that the wild things don’t truly love him,  He comes to himself, and realizes that he wants to be where he is loved.  So Max and the prodigal son turn back,  They turn away from their searches.  Returning to their homes, they find what was missing.  They find welcome.  They find love.  They find grace.

Perhaps this is true for us as well.  Perhaps the conclusion of their journeys sheds some light on the conclusion of our journeys too.  We search and search, we have experiences, we grow, we change.  The journey may not necessarily be a bad thing.  Perhaps the prodigal son needed his foreign excursion to understand his father’s love.  Perhaps Max needed to feel the loneliness of the terrible wild things, to appreciate the love of a simple warm meal,  In the end, perhaps we find ourselves longing for what it was we find at home.

These stories may speak to our churches as well.  Our denomination, our faith tradition,  our individual churches, are feeling the strain of modernity.  The world is becoming more secularized.  People think differently about what “regular membership” means.  We constantly hear about churches closing their doors.  The church itself seems to be out wandering, searching for meaning, searching for identity.  We need to read Max’s story.  We need to read the prodigal son’s story.  We need to be reminded that what we are searching for can be found at home.  What we’re searching for can be found in the grace of God: a grace that runs out to meet the estranged son, a grace that leaves out supper waiting to be found, a grace that reminds us that we love because God first loved us.

John Newton  was an English sailor in the late 1700s.  He had a very difficult life.  Newton was forced into service in the Royal Navy.  When he tried to escape he was captured, punished, and abandoned.  He eventually ended up on a slave ship fueling the slave trade between Britain, Africa, and the Americas.  While sailing off the coast of Ireland, Newton’s ship was caught in a storm.  He woke in the middle of the night to find the ship filling with water.  He cried out to God in fear and panic, and found his ship brought through the storm.  Following this experience, Newton became a Christian, and, eventually, left the slave trade to become an abolitionist.  Newton reflected on his life before and after the storm and wrote many interesting observations about his search for God.

He once wrote: "I am not what I ought to be.  I am not what I want to be.  I am not what I hope to be in another world.  But still, I am not what I once used to be, and by the grace of God, I am what I am."

I think this is what might have gone through the prodigal son’s head when his father ran out to meet him,  I think this is what might have gone through Max’s head when he found his supper waiting for him, still warm.  "I am not what I want to be...but still. I am not what I used to be, and by the grace of God, I am what I am."

Newton’s most famous words also echo this sentiment.  "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.  I once was lost but now I’m found, was blind but now I see."  I once was lost but now I’m found.

It’s God’s grace that Newton found in that storm.  It’s God grace that the prodigal son encountered in the father who RAN out to embrace his estranged son.  It’s God’s grace that Max found in the supper in his room.  God’s grace is the warm embrace of home.  It is the comfort in which we rest.  It is the place where we are safe, where we are known, where we are loved.

This is what the prodigal son found at the end of his search, this is what Max found at the end of his search, this is what we find at the end of our search:  HOME.  Amen.

John 17:6-19 - A Prayer for God's People

Scripture is always life-giving and should be taken seriously, but sometimes when I read certain passages I have to kind of giggle about them.  Jesus – part of the Trinity – prays a prayer to God – part of the Trinity.  I have this image in my head of my brother and me wrestling when we were younger.  Some of you may have had a similar experience.  My brother gets me to where I can’t escape and to add insult to injury, he grabs my hand, starts slapping the top of my head with it, and asking, “Why are you hitting yourself Matt?  Why are you hitting yourself?”  This is all with in the sphere of brotherly love, of course.

I have this image floating around in the back of my head as Jesus prays this prayer. “Why are you praying to yourself Jesus?  Why are you praying to yourself?”  If you ever catch me giggling while I read Scripture, this is probably the kind of thing that is happening.

I can’t help but think that sometimes, when Jesus prays to God, he’s really doing it for our benefit.  When he prays the Lord’s Prayer, he’s really doing it so that we can know something of the mind of Christ.  That’s what is happening in John 17.  

             

Elizabeth and I have talked some about the World Café which gathered in the Pit Stop about a month ago.  One of the question that representatives from our churches discussed was, “What would the church of Christ’s dreams look like?  I think that’s what we are getting in this passage.  By listening in on Christ’s prayer, we get to hear a little bit about his hopes and dreams for his ministry.

When I look at this passage, I notice that the word “world” is used 13 times in the span of 13 verses.  When one word is used that many times it is impossible to ignore it.  In the beginning of his prayer, Christ talks about the world as a place from which his disciples came.  He also describes the world as hating the disciples, because they are not of the world.  When John speaks of this world, he is describing a world that is at odds with God.  A world that is lost, ruined, and depraved.  A world of chaos.  This world is the world in which we live. We are reminded daily of the chaos and lostness of the world: trains which careen off tracks, people abusing and mistreating each other, discrimination destroying lives left right and center.  This is not the world which Jesus wanted, this is not the world of Christ’s dreams.

But that didn’t mean Jesus was done with the world.  Jesus goes on in his prayer, "I am not asking you to take them out of the world, but I ask you to protect them from evil.  They do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world."  We are a people in the world, but not of the world.  Jesus doesn’t want us to retreat from the world, he wants us to be in it.  He also doesn’t want us to simply conform to the world he calls us to not be of the world.  Basically, Jesus is calling us to continue his mission.

God sent Jesus into the world, God did not remain separate.  God realized that, in order for true discipleship to be born, there had to be an advocate who could be of two kinds: both in the world able to affect the world, but of something different - able to speak truth to the world and able to change the world.  So God sent Jesus into the world, and so Jesus sends us into the world. not to conform to the world, but to affect change in it.

This is a tough thing to do.  We’ve always wanted to do one or the other.  Sometimes we’ve wanted to not be in the world at all.  We built monasteries and convents, we retreated from the world and lived as mystics.  Claire and I went on a cruise a few weeks ago, and I realized there is no more obvious retreat from the world than a cruise.  It is an artificial world in which you put out to sea and leave all your cares behind.  You have just about everything you could need.  It’s nice to be just not “in the world” sometimes.  It’s nice to be able to focus only on our own selves, on our spirituality.  But God became flesh, and dwelt among us.

Sometimes we’ve decided to be “of the world”.  We’ve conformed to human schemes.  We’ve idolized food, or money, or people rather than worshiping only God.  We’ve placed our priorities higher than God’s priorities.We do this because it’s easy.  But Jesus came so that the world might be saved, so that the world might be changed.

We are called to carry out the legacy of Christ in the world.  Jesus says, I have sent them into the world,  just as you have sent me into the world.  We are sent to be like Christ.  This is Christ’s dream for the church: a people who change the world by being in it and unlike it.

So how do we do this?  How do we – the church – be a people who are in the world but not of the world?  How do we change the world?  How do we become the church of Christ’s dreams?  What does that church look like?

I have a friend who is a Methodist pastor.  More than that, she is a blogger and a truth-teller.  She has a blog which I love to read, and she recently wrote a post about churches and how we do them.  The title of the post was, 5 Reasons NOT To Come to...Any Church.  In it she highlights the five things you should not care about when you decide to go to any church.  What follows is a summary of her article.

1.     Don’t come for perfect programming.  This doesn’t mean we don’t do a good job,
and it doesn’t mean we don’t try.  It means that sometimes there is a little holy chaos mixed in there.  As my friend says, not every moment of every program is going to be picture perfect.  Don’t come because you expect everything to be seamless and sterile,
come to join the mess.

2.     Don’t come for good preaching.  I know that good preaching helps.  The thing about preachers is, eventually, like all things in life, they change.  Don’t come to church to follow a pastor, come to church to follow Jesus.

3.     Don’t come for the best music.  This music isn’t made for the sake of entertainment.  By all means enjoy it, love it, and support it.  But know that it is made to glorify God.
As my friend says, being the best is not our goal, offering our best is.

4.     Don’t come because we are hospitable.  Don’t be mistaken, we want to be warm and inviting and welcoming.  But at some point, in some way, on some day,
we are going to disappoint you.  As much as we don’t want to, we’re all human, and we will disappoint each other.  The question is, what will you do when that happens?  Will you help us do better?  Will you help us become a better church?

5.     The last one, and the one that really sums it up: don’t come because you’re only looking for your needs to be met.  This is a place of nourishment.  This is a place to which you can turn in both your joys and your sorrows.  We love each other and we are there for each other, no matter what.  But fulfilling Christ’s call is more than that.  Jesus came not to be served, but to serve.  It ultimately isn’t really about us.  It’s about God, God’s call on our lives, and the mission to which Christ calls us.

All five of these things point to the church as a sent-out people, not a come-to people.
Our programs, our music, our preaching, our hospitality, our pastoral care, our love for one another, all of these things exist to help us become the church of Christ’s dreams.  A church that reaches out to the world around us.  A church that demonstrates God’s love in our love for those around us.  As my friend says, “The point of church is not to get people into a building, the point of church is to get disciples of Jesus into the world.”  There are so many people in the world who need to experience the love of Christ.  

By being in the world, but not of the world, we have the great opportunity to give them that love.  We have the opportunity to change the world for the better.  Friends, we have the opportunity to become the church of Christ’s dreams.  
Let that be our mission.  
Let that be our legacy.

Amen.

Luke 24:13-35 - What's Next?

Easter has come, but do we see it?  From the fanfare of Palm Sunday, to the sorrow of Good Friday, the person Jesus of Nazareth came into the city, preached, was betrayed by his own, captured, condemned, and crucified.  The mighty prophet, the one who claimed to be Messiah has come and gone, and two disciples find themselves on the road home from Jerusalem.  They find themselves walking home with less of a bounce in their step.  There is a burden of sorrow that seems to rest on their shoulders.  If you saw them walking on the road, you would know something had happened.  You would know that some kind of tragedy had occurred.  The first thing you might ask is “What is wrong?”

A stranger approaches the two disciples.  We know this stranger to be the resurrected Jesus, but the disciples’ eyes are kept from recognizing him.  The stranger asks these two disciples, "What were you discussing as you walked along the way?"

The two disciples are surprised that anyone would have to ask that question.  They think to themselves, “Who wouldn’t know what everyone is talking about today?"  But they are also saddened by what they must answer.

They tell Jesus the story of Jesus.  They tell of this prophet, mighty in word and deed.  They tell of his arrest and death, and they say these words: “But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.”

You can hear the deflation of their hopes in those words.  You can hear the disappointment.  We placed our trust, and love, and hope in this person, and now he has been killed, before he fulfilled his promise.  Things have not gone as they had expected, as they had planned, and there is a question that sits in their midst: the question that they surely asked themselves as they walked home; the question that resonated in the empty hole that Jesus left; the question that echoed in their empty hearts.  “What’s next?”

Whenever I hear this particular, simple question, I am reminded of a favorite TV show of mine: The West Wing.  This is a political drama about the white house and the people who work there.  In this show the President, played by Martin Sheen, has a good relationship with his staff.  One of the things that is well known about the president is his propensity to asking this particular question, “What’s next?”  In one episode the staff get hung up on something that has gone wrong, and the president asks this question many times.  He finally explains that he is asking this question because he is ready to move on and face the next challenge.  The question crops up again in the show when one of the major characters is shot.  He goes through hours and hours of surgery with the uncertainty of his survival hanging in the air like a thick cloud which envelops all of the characters on the show.  At the end of the successful surgery the president goes to visit his injured colleague in his hospital room.  The wounded man is barely able to whisper one phrase: “What’s next?"

It is the question of transition.  It is the question of change; of endings and beginnings.  It is a question that comes up in simplicity:  “Ok, I finished vacuuming the bedroom...what’s next?  Oh, the closet.”

“Ok, I finished watching episode 2 on Netflix.  What’s next?  Well, I guess episode 3.  Then probably episode 4.”

But it is a question that also comes up in complexity.  “My child is graduating from high school and moving away from home.  My primary focus for the last 18 years of my life has been keeping this child alive and well.  What’s next?”

“I have committed so much time and energy to practicing and playing this sport, but will I continue to play from here on out?  What’s next?”

“I dedicated my life to my work, doing that about which I was passionate.  Now, I have come to retirement. I have reached the end of my working life.  What’s next?”

It is also a question which arises in the wake of the unexpected.  In the wake of the tragic, or the disturbing, or the disarming, when hopelessness is the sense that pervades.

This past Thursday marked the passage of 8 years since the tragedy at Virginia Tech.  32 students were killed and over 20 were injured, including a close friend of mine.  I remember the presence of this question, if not in obvious ways, then lingering in the backs of everyone’s minds.  What were we to do now?  In the wake of such terrible violence in our community we struggled with the most basic challenges, and asked the most fearful questions.  How were we to move forward with a loss of security, and a loss of hope.  What was next?

This disciples asked this question in the midst of all of three scenarios.  After facing the tragic death of their friend, teacher, and Lord they wondered how could life go on.  The situation they faced was one of immense complexity.  They had placed their faith, trust, even their livelihoods in the mission and goal of this person who seemed to have failed.  They even faced the “what’s next” question in simple terms.  These two disciples asked, “Where should we go?  Should we stay in Jerusalem, should we go home?"
The amount of uncertainty they faced must have been overwhelming.  Out of their moment of hopelessness they wondered, “What’s next?”

What does happen next?  They are met on the road by a stranger.  Though they do not recognize this stranger for who he is, the Scriptures are opened to them.  Jesus walks with the two disciples, without them recognizing him, along the road, teaching them about his true identity, his true mission, what his life and death really meant, and how the Scriptures were fulfilled in him.

At the end of the journey the two disciples invite Jesus to share a meal with him.  They sit down at a meal together, and share it a familiar tradition.  Then this guest breaks bread before them, and their eyes are opened and they recognize this stranger in a new way.  They see in this person their friend, the risen Lord.  Jesus needs to say nothing.  The two disciples reflect on the time they spent together on the road,
understanding it in a new way.  “Were not our hearts burning within us?  How could we not have known?"

Their sense of hope for the future is restored.  Their, “What’s next,” gets an answer.  Their immediate response is to get up and return to Jerusalem.  While their journey to Emmaus had been characterized by sad faces and downcast glances, they return to Jerusalem with haste,eager to tell their story,  no longer wondering about what would be next.

It was important for these disciples to ask this question after Christ died.  It is important for us to ask this question as well.  On Monday of this week, there was a gathering at First Presbyterian Church of members from churches all around our area.  There were people from Badin Presbyterian Church, First Presbyterian Locust, First Presbyterian Concord, and First Presbyterian Norwood.  I’m reminded as I read out this list how creative we are with our naming...

Pastors and members of these churches gathered with a team of people from around our presbytery appropriately called, the Emmaus Team.  We spent an hour and a half talking about our churches.  We discussed what we are excited about, what gives us energy, what we are doing that fulfills God’s call to us.  We spent time talking about the future of the church, talking about what’s next.  We discussed what it is that already do that we need to carry into the future, and what it is we can change right now to make our churches the best embodiment of Christ on earth as we can.

This team of people is wrestling with the question, “What’s next?”  They are not asking it in a fearful way.  They are not running away from the difficult challenges we face.  Just like the disciples, they are walking on the road, as Easter people, hoping to find Christ.  They are hoping to have the scriptures opened up and revealed, hoping to recognize Christ in the community of believers, and hoping to discern the future, so they may run back and spread the good news.                     

The answer to, "What’s next," is an answer of hope.  It is an answer of encouragement.  I am excited this April, because 8 years after being shot in the leg three times in her French class my friend is reclaiming the month of April, one that has haunted her and her friends in the years that followed.  She is challenging April head on by getting married this year.  She is turning a situation and a place of fear and tragedy into one of hope and love.  She is looking forward to the future, changed, but strong.

We all have our own, "What's next," moments.  We all have times in our lives when we face uncertainty: uncertainty at work, in a relationship, with health, friends, or family.  We all find ourselves asking this question.  Maybe that's where you find yourself today.  Maybe you are facing a small uncertainty - What's for lunch?  Maybe you are facing a complex uncertainty - What does life hold for me  now?  Maybe you are facing uncertainty after tragedy - a death in your family, the loss of a relationship, a sense of fear that lingers.

This is a natural thing.  It is human of us to ask, "What's next?"  As we walk the road, as we ask the question, God calls us to meet Jesus.  We may not recognize him.  He may look like our friends or our family.  He may look like a neighbor or a stranger.  He may be a hunger person whom we feed.  We may be a community of people that needs water.  He may be someone we comfort in a dark place.  He may even be someone we can't see or hear.  His promise is to bring us eyesight in new ways.  He promises in the breaking of bread at the table, in the communion of our lives together, to meet us on the road.  To send us forward running with eagerness and excitement about the future, knowing the answer to the question, "What's next?"

Amen.

Mark 6:30-44

It is late on a Friday afternoon and the hospital is getting energized.  Families arrive to visit their loved ones, children walk through halls with balloons for their grandparents, and nurses slump their shoulders at the end of their all-day shifts or scamper around collecting information about their patients to begin their overnight push.  Things are changing - transitioning in most of the hospital.  But not in the emergency room.
At a trauma 1 hospital like this one, things are always a bit on edge in the emergency department.  

Two trauma patients come in - a young mother and her 2-year-old daughter.  They were in a car wreck on their way to the family beach vacation.  While driving down the highway, a tree inexplicably fell across their path.  The car swerved into the median and crashed.  The woman and her daughter are flown in by helicopter, and all the nurses and doctors begin to fret and fuss.  Their injuries are not alarming, but their story is.  Word travels fast - from one EMT to another, to a doctor, to a nurse.  The mother and the daughter were not the only passengers in the car.  The father was the one driving.  He swerved to miss the falling tree, and he was killed in the accident.

The nurses also discover that the mother doesn’t know that her husband was killed.  She was rushed from the scene too quickly to know.  No one in the emergency room can tell her, though they all know the terrible truth.  Only a police officer who was at the scene can give a guaranteed-to-be-true, eye witness account.  Only someone who was at the scene can report on the father’s condition so that no false rumors are reported.  So the nurses and doctors wait, holding in the news they know.  The mother waits for news of her husband, asking every person that enters, “Is my husband ok?”

All dwelling in a place of quiet desolation.
                       

In the only miracle story told by all four gospels, Jesus sees the people and he is moved to compassion for them.  To him, they are like sheep who have lost their shepherd.  Jesus teaches them and instructs them.  He shares with them - at length, about the kingdom of heaven.  Jesus shares with them so much, that meal times come and go.  The dial goes waaaay past the 12:00 end of worship deadline, and Jesus is still just preaching away.  The disciples become concerned for the well-being of the people.  They go to Jesus and say to him: “This is a desolate place, and the hour is now very late, send them away so that they may go into the surrounding country and villages and buy something for themselves to eat.”

This is a desolate place.  This is a deserted place.  This is a place of isolation, a place of separation from what is known and loved.  The disciples don’t get the answer they expect.  Jesus says, “You give them something to eat.  You feed them.”

The disciples, those following Jesus, find themselves in a desolate place.  When have you found yourself in a desolate place?  When have you found yourself deserted, isolated, alone?  When have you found yourself like those nurses and doctors, in a desolate place - a place of fear and uncertainty, a place of solitude?  We know what a time of desolation feels like: a loved one lost, a relationship broken, a dream shattered.  These are the desolate places of life.  These are the times when we’d like to throw in the towel.

This is not a new concept for anyone in our faith tradition.  After escaping the clutches of Egypt, the Israelites wandered in the wilderness for 40 years.  They had little food, they had little water, they traveled through a deserted land, wishing they had never fled Egypt to begin with.  Yet into this desolation, God sent manna, a blessing from heaven.  God fed the people in their hour of need.  When their hope faltered, when they despaired in a place of desolation, God sent bread from heaven to save them.  Into the desolate place, God brought life.

This experience is written about, in one of the most well-known Psalms: Psalm 23.
Ye thou I walk through the valley of the shadow of death - what place is more desolate there than that?  I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me - in that desolate place, God is with us.  God walks beside us.  Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me - like a good shepherd, God’s love is there.  God makes us lie down in green pastures, God leads us beside the still waters, God restores our souls, God give us life, and life abundantly.

This is the experience of the disciples in Mark’s gospel.  They see this crowd in a desolate place, and they reach out to Jesus.  There in that desolate place, Jesus has the people lie down in green pastures, beside the still waters of the sea of Galilee, and Jesus provides for them food.  Jesus provides for them life, and life abundantly.

We have just begun the season of Lent - a time for spiritual reflection and self-contemplation.  Throughout Lent we are going to be spending time thinking about the face of Jesus, considering what encounters of Jesus might have looked like.

Feeding of the 5000
by Morgan Smet

One of the ways we are going to be exploring the face of Jesus is through artwork.  Each Sunday, a different artist from our congregation is going to create a piece of artwork based off the Scripture reading for that week.  I encourage you to look at this piece of artwork, spend time observing the colors, notice the details of the painting, try to see the face of Jesus.

Morgan Smet is our artist for the Feeding of 5000.  In her depiction of this story, Jesus’ gift in a desolate place shines bright.  Into the darkness of a desolate place, the miracle of the fish and bread brings the light of hope.  An over-flowing bounty is given.

Our regional gathering of Presbyterian churches convened recently in a presbytery meeting.  Your pastors and elder representatives considered a number of issues facing our church.  One of the many important things our presbytery considered yesterday  was the addition of a confession to our constitution.  Currently, part of our constitution is made up of our book of confessions.  These are 11 confessions and creeds which Christians have used throughout history which state the things that we believe.  A couple of the more well known ones are the Apostle’s Creed, and the Brief Statement of Faith, both which we regularly use in worship.

\We believe that these confessions are works written by humans, inspired by the presence of the Holy Spirit, which reflect a belief held by Christians at pivotal points in our faith tradition’s history.  It is a long and complex process to add a confession to this list, but our presbytery voted yesterday to include a new confession, called the Belhar Confession.  This is a confession which comes out of apartheid-era South Africa.  It speaks strongly about the need for racial justice, equality, and reconciliation.  This is a confession born out of a community of people who found themselves in a desolate place - a community facing severe oppression and violence, with no end or hope in sight.  In the midst of this desolate place, God was at work, and the Holy Spirit moved.  The Holy Spirit working in the people of the Dutch Reformed Mission Church in South Africa.  A community of faith was led by the Holy Spirit to speak out against division, to take a stand for racial unity, to confess their belief in a God who brings life into desolation.  Within a matter of years, apartheid began to erode.

This is the promise of the Gospel: that God meets us in our moments of desolation, that we may find Jesus’ face in our places of desolation, that the Holy Spirit is with us in the shadow valley.  That is why we gather around the communion table.  In our story today, Jesus gathered the loaves and fish that the disciples had, he looked up to heaven, he blessed them, he broke them, and he gave them to his disciples.  If this sounds familiar, that’s because it is.  This is exactly what Jesus did immediately before his death in the upper room with his disciples.  He took the loaf, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them.  In that sacrament, they met Jesus, and found hope.

The feeding of the 5000 is the story of Jesus providing bread in a desolate place and it is also the story of a sacrament.  It is the story of communion.  God meets us in our moments of desolation at the table.  This table is not just for those of us who have it figured out who have all the answers, it’s also for those who have the questions.  It’s not just for those who have their lives all neatly put together, it’s also for those who find themselves in a desolate place right now.  It’s not just for those who have followed Jesus their whole lives, it’s also for those who trust that this is a place where they have a chance to see the face of Jesus for the first time.  

Come to this table, just as you are, even in the midst of your desolation. 

Come to this table, and, in this holy gift of life, meet your God.

Amen.

Ash Wednesday Sermon 2015

Joel 2:1-2 and 12-17

What is the point of Ash Wednesday?

It is the day that follows Shrove Tuesday - which is also typically connected with Mardi Gras or Fat Tuesday.  Shrove Tuesday is a last attempt to rid our pantries and our lives of the “fat” things - too much butter, too much extravagance.

On the opposite side of the spectrum is Lent.  Ash Wednesday is a marker for the beginning of the season of Lent.  Lent is the 40 days (not including Sundays) which immediately precede Easter Sunday.  This is a season typically marked by introspection.  It is a somewhat somber time during the liturgical year, a time devoid of Alleluias, when Christians attempt to assess their lives, to discern whether they are living out God’s call to the fullest.

Ash Wednesday bridges the gap between Fat Tuesday and Lent.  It is a day characterized by a turning, by repentance, by ashes placed on foreheads, by a solemn assembly, solemn words, and solemn hearts.  The deep meaning of Ash Wednesday can be found in the words that are spoken when ashes are placed on our foreheads: "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."  One of the primary focuses of Ash Wednesday is death. 

I have to admit that I, more often than I would like, fall prey to the temptation of the Facebook video.  This is what Facebook has become: it is less a place to stay in touch with your friends and share pictures of your life, and more a place to share a funny/entertaining/emotionally compelling video.  Whether it is goats screaming, babies laughing, kittens cuddling, or videos of inspirational words set to acoustic music, Facebook is the place to waste time watching it.

When I was scanning through the videos and articles this week, I found one of a little girl named Sadie.  This is a video of a 5 year-old-girl and her 3-month-old brother.
And the video recently went viral.  In the video, Sadie is sitting next to her little brother, absolutely bawling.  I know it sounds wrong to say it, but it’s so cute.  Sadie is crying because she thinks that her little brother is the cutest thing ever.  She says to the camera, "I don’t want him to ever grow up!  He’s so cute.  I love his cute little smile!"

 She’s absolutely sobbing the entire time she’s saying this.  She has a point, the chubby little brother is sitting there the whole time, just staring at her with these baby eyes, laughing and giggling.  This prompts Sadie to lean over and give him little kisses on his head.

It’s one big video of cuteness and tears and giggling all balled up into less than a minute.  I was almost in tears myself as I was watching this video, and I found myself wondering why she’d gotten herself so worked up about her baby brother growing up.  Then there is this turning point in the video.  Sadie says, “He’s so cute, and I don’t want to die when I’m a hundred.”  At that moment, the video took on a completely different meaning for me.  I realized that this girl is just starting to understand what it means to grow up.  She’s just starting to understand how temporary life is.  She’s realizing that she is going to die one day, and if she is going to die, her little brother will die to.  This is what has upset little Sadie so much: she has begun to understand mortality.

When you receive ashes on your forehead and you hear those ancient words: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you will return,” you will be justified in feeling a sense of discomfort.  Just like Sadie, we feel some amount of discomfort when we think of death.  We don’t really like to talk about it, we don’t really even like to think of it.  And our culture backs this up.  Think of how many beauty products you've seen to eliminate wrinkles, or how many other products which promise to keep you looking young.  This is taking advantage of our glorification of youth and our desire to avoid aging and the inevitable outcome of aging.  But Ash Wednesday is a day which we can dedicate to consider the meaning of death.

In the beginning of Genesis God creates light out of the darkness.  God creates the earth and the waters and all the animals that live, and God creates humans.  It is because of this story that we speak the words, "Remember that you are dust."  In one of the creation stories, God takes dirt from the earth and creates the first human: Adam.  It is no accident that Adam’s name is Adam.  The Hebrew word for earth or land is adamah.  This first human is created from the stuff of earth.  This symbolizes a deep connection we have with the earth.  In our very being as created creatures, we are tied to the earth.  It is to this earth - to which we are so connected - that we will return.

This is part of God’s calling for our lives.  We will live and do God’s work, we will glorify God with each one of our breathes, until our very last breath.  Then our bodies will return to that from which they were created, when we will be raised to return to the one who created us.  There is a beginning and an end to all things.

How do we respond to this truth about life and death?  Joel suggests we repent.  But Joel is not talking about repentance for the reasons we might think.  He doesn't focus on our sins.  He isn't concerned about what sins caused what damages, rather Joel is primarily concerned with the actions of the people.  Joel see repentance as an admission of our total dependence upon God.  Joel calls us to repent in order to help us recognize that we are totally dependent upon God.  We owe all that we are, our very created existence to God.  This calls us to a state of humility.  It takes a lot of humility to admit that we are not in control, especially for a species which really does seem to be in control.  By turning to God, by repenting and acknowledging God as Lord, we accept our humble state.

Joel suggests that our repentance should include two things.  First he suggests we turn from our former ways, that we go in a new direction, toward God, and that we do so with the heart.  He also instructs us to rend our hearts.  In other words, allow our hearts to be opened, and maybe even broken; allow our hearts to break for those who experience pain in the world; allow ourselves to be called out of our isolationism to experience the people around us.

These are the challenges I give you this Lent season turn to God with all your heart.  Allow your heart to be broken and opened, for the world and those around you.  Look for the moments when the face of Jesus appears in unexpected ways:
not in glory, but in shame,
not in power, but in weakness,
not in triumph, but in suffering with us.

With a deep sense of humility, begin your Lenten journey by affirming that, by the wonderful grace of God, we are dust, and to dust we will return.  Amen.