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.

The Stump of Jesse

Isaiah 11:1-9

1 A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse,
    and a branch shall grow out of his roots.

² The spirit of the Lord shall rest on him,
    the spirit of wisdom and understanding,
    the spirit of counsel and might,
    the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord.

³ His delight shall be in the fear of the Lord.
He shall not judge by what his eyes see,
    or decide by what his ears hear;

⁴ but with righteousness he shall judge the poor,
    and decide with equity for the meek of the earth;
he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth,
    and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked.

⁵ Righteousness shall be the belt around his waist,
    and faithfulness the belt around his loins.

⁶ 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.

⁷ The cow and the bear shall graze,
    their young shall lie down together;
    and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.

⁸ The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp,
    and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den.

⁹ They will not hurt or destroy
    on all my holy mountain;
for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord
    as the waters cover the sea.

For many children of my generation, to say the phrase, “the circle of life,” immediately brought to mind images of African desserts, gazelle leaping, and a lecture by a father figure about the nature of life from the Disney movie, “The Lion King.”  The movie is about a young lion named Simba, who, since it is a Disney movie, talks.  Simba’s father is the King of the African plains.  When Simba is young, his father is killed, and the death is blamed on Simba.  Simba runs from his home and his family in shame.  Years later, after finding companions and dealing with those years of puberty in exile, Simba returns and battles for his rightful place as king.

 

This movie was so engrained in my childhood that my siblings and I have been quoting the movie for years.  There is one quote in particular that we often use while backpacking.  In the movie, Simba’s father is explaining to him the nature of life and death.  He explains that while the lions eat the gazelle, when the lions die their bodies become the grass, which the gazelle eat – hence the circle of life.

Through the years my siblings and I have been on many backpacking trips, and, at any time in the trip, we are prone to burst out in a cry of, “The circle of life!”  This happens when one of us spots a unique tree or stump.  One that is dead, but one on which a new plant is growing.  Like John the Baptist in the wilderness, the cry issues forth in the tranquil forest: The circle of life!  The otherwise peaceful wildlife scatters.  Obviously we’re not the most quiet of backpackers.

This is the image that comes to mind when I read Isaiah’s prophesy about the stump of Jesse.  In spite of the failures of the past, the prophet Isaiah looks to the future with hope.  This is why Isaiah speaks of the stump of Jesse,  who was David’s father.  Isaiah goes back to roots which he believes to be pure in hopes that the sins of the elders will not be the deeds of the new generation.  Isaiah uses an image of the natural world, the image of tree growth, to describe the world around him.

The image that stood out to Isaiah to describe the world he lived in, the world he feared for, was that of a stump.  All that remained of what was once beautiful and vibrant is a dead stump.  Where once there was a line of wise and wonderful rulers - Saul, David, Solomon - the line is dead and what remains is a shadow of its former self.

Imagine a stump.  Maybe you can picture one that you have seen in the past on a hike or a walk.  Maybe you have an image of a barren landscape after clearcut logging.  Maybe you can imagine a fallen tree after a brutal storm, with its root ball sticking high up in the air.  This is a scary image.

But perhaps it is not an altogether unfamiliar one.  Isaiah felt that it was an image that described his world...perhaps this is an image that describes our world in some ways too.  Where are the stumps in our world?  Where are the stumps in our lives?  Where are the places where death or decay seem to rule the day?

Even if the stumps are not that obvious in our individual lives, we need not look far in broader culture.  The social issues that have rocked our nation in recent weeks point to some glaring stumps.  No matter the perspective that we bring to the table, the tension and frustration that has obviously been built up, brings to light some stumps in our culture.

Real deaths, those of Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Johnathan Ferrell, and others, have revealed dead stumps – the dead stumps of relationships:
between minorities and majorities,
between blacks and whites,
between communities of poverty and communities of wealth,
between those with power, and those without,
between police and the communities they serve.

Regardless of how one feels about the particularities or details of any of these cases, there is something terribly wrong happening.  These relationships have been revealed to be at best strained, and at least shrouded in turmoil.  

Arguments have erupted about whether this is real discrimination, whether racism has played a role in these deaths, whether the responses across the country have been reasonable ones.  Whether the inequalities are real or perceived, they erect walls of distrust and tension between people.  Fingers are pointed, angry words are heaved like grenades, fear and anger leave the landscape of our culture, littered with stumps.

The Eden Project

If stumps are part of our image and turmoil in our society is envisioned as a field of stumps, the solution must surely be reforestation.  One of the many projects trying to better the world today is called The Eden Project.[1]  The Eden Project is a series of reforestation projects in the countries of Haiti, Madagascar, and Ethiopia.

Their statistics are astounding.
             In Ethiopia, 98% of forested areas have been destroyed in the last 50 years.
            Madagascar has only 10% of it’s original forests still standing.
            Only 2% of Haiti’s land is covered by forests.
The organization provides a wonderful description of the need for reforestation.  They believe that not only does reforestation increase our number of trees, it provides better habitats, it raises water tables, it restores rainfall patterns, it stops soil erosion and increases soil quality.  This increases crop yield which provides more food animals of all kinds.  This decreases extreme poverty and creates a more equitable society.

The Eden Project believes that one of the ways to address the stumps of society is to address the real stumps – the lack of trees.  The Eden Project has chosen to try to bring about a better creation and a better society by planting trees.

Isaiah doesn’t just talk about a stump, he also talks about trees.  His first words are, "A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, a branch shall grow out of his roots."

Where we have seen death, where we have seen the tree felled, where we have seen a society plagued by violence, pain, and distrust, where we have seen decay, in that very place, out of that very spot, a shoot shall come up.  Out of those roots that seemed to have withered, a branch shall grow.

That image of the circle of life comes back to mind.  A dead stump with a little green plant growing out of it.  It is the out of that dead thing, and as a result of that dead thing, that new life grows, that the shoots springs up, and the branch comes forth.

Perhaps this is Isaiah’s prophesy for our lives: it is after, it is out of, maybe it is even because of, the challenges that we face that new life is born.

I read a blog post this week about how difficult Advent has been this year.  Advent is a season defined by waiting, and the last thing this author wanted to do is wait.  This author wanted to take action, this author wanted to bring justice into the world, this author wanted to fight to bring about change.  

I can certainly understand the sentiment.  It is my nature to what to do things, which is probably true of most people.  And maybe that is what the world needs, more people who are willing to take action.

I cannot help but think that Advent has come at just the right time.  I cannot help but think that there is no better time for a season of forced waiting and patience, when all we want to do is take matters into our own hands – in whatever circumstance.  Because it is not by our action that the shoot springs up out of the stump of Jesse.

For Christians who read this passage, our hope can be traced to something specific.  In this season of Advent we look to the birth of Jesus of Nazareth, truly a new shoot out of what seemed to be a dead line.  We look to Jesus, to God incarnate, as the agent of hope born into a hopeless world.  This humble shoot out of the stump of Jesse, who will bring into focus the will of God for the people.

What better reminder that it is God who brings the shoot out of the stump of Jesse?  What better reminder that our eyes should be turned to the stable, to the humble child born in a manger for our salvation?

If we interpret Isaiah’s words as a call to action, a call to take up arms to strike down the mighty, we miss the point.  It is not we who bring the shoot out of the stump, it is God.  It is not we who right the wrongs of the world, it is God.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. himself said, “Only God is able.”  He said, “There is so much frustration in the world because we have relied on gods rather than God.”
    

Isaiah’s call is a call to hope, not just a call to act.  It is a call to the actions which flow from a place of hope.  A call to overturn old assumptions and replace them with love.  A call to abandon sad cynicism, and replace it with faith.  A call to reach out to those around us, to those who are different from us,  to affect real change.

These actions, these hopeful actions, inspired by faith and hope in Christ, these are the actions that create forests out of barren fields.

It is by God’s spirit at work that the Lord of all things enters into a world which seems consumed by power, through a tiny baby in a manger.  It is by God’s spirit at work that what was dead rises to new life.

In this season of waiting I invite you to consider:
In what ways might you be called to hope anew?
How might God work in your life to bring forth a shoot from the stump?
How will the coming of Christ into the world
            change it?

Amen.

---

[1] http://www.edenprojects.org/our_work

The End

Matthew 25:31-46
 “When the Son of Man comes in his glory,
 and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. 

All the nations will be gathered before him, 

and he will separate people one from another
as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, 

and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. 

Then the king will say to those at his right hand, 

‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father,
inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; 

for I was hungry and you gave me food, 

I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink,
I was a stranger and you welcomed me, 

I was naked and you gave me clothing,
I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’

Then the righteous will answer him,
‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food,
or thirsty and gave you something to drink? 

And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you,
or naked and gave you clothing?

And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ 

And the king will answer them,
‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these
who are members of my family, you did it to me.’ 

Then he will say to those at his left hand,
‘You that are accursed,
depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; 

for I was hungry and you gave me no food,
I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, 

I was a stranger and you did not welcome me,
naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’

Then they also will answer,
‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger
or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?’ 

Then he will answer them,
‘Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these,
you did not do it to me.’ 

And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”

If I asked you what is special about this particular Sunday, what kind of answers might you give?  Maybe you would say, “It’s almost Thanksgiving.”
             

I’m guessing one of the first answers you might give is not that it is the end of the year.  Especially since we are only at the end of November.  But, it is the end of the year, at least in the liturgical calendar.  See, for Christians, the beginning of Advent is really the beginning of the new year.  It is the beginning of the cycle of Christ’s birth, life, death, and resurrection that we celebrate every year.  So in a way, this is the last day of the Christian year.

The other defining characteristic of this day is that it is called Christ the King Sunday, or Reign of Christ Sunday.  We celebrate the status of Christ as Lord and as King.  We celebrate Christ’s final identity after resurrection, the King of creation, the Lord of all.

One of the behind-the-scenes things that happens every week here at First Presbyterian involves the marquee board outside.  Each week, or almost each week, Elizabeth or I – whoever is preaching – picks out a sermon title.  On Tuesday our maintenance man, John, puts that sermon title up on the marquee board, at the corner.  We get extra points if we keep our titles to three words or less.
             

This week, John came to me and asked if I was going to be preaching about the apocalypse and I was pretty confused because, if I’m honest, I don’t always remember what title I choose.  He and I had very different reactions to my sermon title this week: The End.  While I wrote the end because of the end of the liturgical year, John went much more broad and heard the end of all things.  Hopefully this sermon will just indicate the end of the former and not the latter.

I don’t think John’s understanding of the words, “the end” is a unique one.  Our culture is fascinated with the end.  We are fascinated by the end of cycles – liturgical or calendar years.  We are fascinated with our own individual ends, our deaths.  We are particularly fascinated with our communal end, with the end of the world.

The is objectively the best movie ever.
No, don't argue.  It is.

If you doubt this, think of the number of apocalypse stories in popular culture of late: Hunger Games, Divergent – government sponsored apocalypse; The Day the Earth Stood Still, Independence Day – alien apocalypse, World War Z, The Walking Dead, Dawn of the Dead, I Am Legend – zombie apocalypse; 2012, Contagion, The Day After Tomorrow – miscellaneous apocalypse; and my favorite lately: Interstellar – space apocalypse.  Religious groups have even gotten into the mix – a new version of Left Behind has just come out.  We are fascinate with the end.  And our passage today uses the method of talking about the end as a way to talk about who God is.

There is a blending of imagery here in our passage: the imagery of the king and the shepherd.  This would not have been an unfamiliar blend for the ancient readers.  Kings were often thought of as shepherds who tended to their flocks.  Scripture uses this image to talk about the bad human kings of the past.  But God is the good shepherd, the good king.  We see this imagery in our Matthew passage.

In Matthew’s passage Jesus takes on the role of the shepherd-king.  He will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats.  There is something about that image that is meaningful for us, but what is it?

In this passage Jesus the shepherd-king divides the people there are some at his right hand and some at his left.  Those at his right hand have done something right and those at his left have not.  What is it that causes Christ to separate these two groups?

It is the way the two different groups treated Jesus.  But the groups are confused: "When did we care for you, when did we feed you, clothe you, visit you?"  Or "When did we ignore you, when were we not attentive to you?  We don’t remember this Jesus."

Jesus responds: "Whenever you did these things or did not do these things for the least among you - for the least important, the least wealthy, the least beautiful, the most vulnerable - you did them for me.

I think the last part of this passage, the least of these, gives us some idea of why Matthew wrote this.  Our minds immediately go the apocalypse/end of the world route.  We may think, this is the Christ-ultimatum.  When the kingdom of heaven comes, this is what Christ is saying we will be judged on.  Our tendency is to look at this as a do-or-die thing.

But perhaps Jesus gives us this set of instructions not as a precursor to some apocalyptic judgment, but as a way of conveying the kind of living that a life of faith demands.  

If we try to think of the kind of person that Jesus might identify with, who do we think of?  What kind of person would Christ say he is like?  Jesus identifies himself with the least of these.  The life that faith requires, is one where we see Christ in those around us, especially in the most vulnerable, and treat them accordingly.

So much of what we read or hear in the news every day is about the bad things that happen in the world.  War, disease, chaos, hunger.  While these things are a reality, and we should never ignore the world, I find myself leaping at the chance to read about something good happening in the world.

I heard a story this week from a program called StoryCorps about an assisted living home in California called Valley Springs Manor.[1]  The facility was closed down last fall, I’m guessing for financial reasons.  After the staff stopped getting paid, they all left.  Well, almost all of them left.

See when the facility closed down, the residents fell through the cracks: 16 residents were left behind to fend for themselves.  Some of these residents were dementia patients, and they went from receiving care 24 hours a day, to being left to prepare their own meals and care for themselves.  Two members of the staff, a cook named Maurice Rowland and a janitor named Miguel Alvarez, decided to stay on with the residents.

So these two young men - both in their mid 30’s - decided that they would care for the residents.  They spent all of their time at the assisted living home, cooking, handing out medication, bathing and cleaning for these left-behind people.  Miguel says that he was abandoned by his parents when he was a child, and he could not do the same thing to these people.  Maurice said that even though these people weren’t their family, they were kind of like their family for this short period of time.

Miguel and Maurice spent several days caring for the residents until the fire department and sheriff took over.  As a result of this incident, the Residential Care for the Elderly Reform Act of 2014 was passed.  This is a story of caring for the least of these, of shepherding for weak sheep.

As we look at the world around us, we see a world full of the “least of these” people.  People who are hungry and thirsty, who need food for today and food for tomorrow.  People who are strangers in this land, who need a place to live, a refuge and a welcome.  People who have no shelter or no clothes, no way to stay warm, who need a roof, or a coat, or money to pay their power bill.  People who make up our overwhelmingly large prison population, who need to be visited, and reminded that they are cared for and not forgotten.

The people and organizations that care for the least of these are struggling organizations like Stanly Community Christian Ministries, Homes of Hope, the Community Inn.  These avenues by which we care for the least these struggle to keep their doors open.

In the faces of the least of these, we see the face of Christ.  As we come to the end of the liturgical year, and as we look to the beginning of Advent, we hear the renewed call.  The call of the king who has the power to care for all people.  The call of the shepherd who is willing to sacrifice all for another.  Let us see the need in the world, and not stand idly by.  Let us care for the least of these.

Amen.

---

[1] Alvarez, Miguel and Rowland, Maurice. (2014, November 21) “If We Left, They Wouldn’t Have Nobody.” Jud Esty-Kendall (Producer), StoryCorps. Hayward, CA: National Public Radio.  Retrieved from http://www.npr.org 

The Struggle

Jacob struggles by the riverside.

A group of members and friends of First Presbyterian, Albemarle went white water rafting yesterday on the Nantahala River in western North Carolina.  We had an incredible time, and I recommend such a trip to everyone.  I have to confess, however, that the trip was not without incident: one of the boats flipped at the very end, and it took us some time to find all of our group members.  Let’s just say I have a new appreciation for struggling by the river…

I also couldn't get this piece of Scripture out of my head, partially because I am preaching on it, but mostly because of the way the river looked.  As we floated down the river, there was a thick layer of haze that hung over the river like a thick blanket.  When we rode through the haze, you could smell and taste the fresh air.

Even though it was the middle of the day I could picture a figure emerging out of the night-time haze to grapple with Jacob by the rushing river.  I could picture Jacob and this figure wrestling in the pre-dawn fog, sometimes visible in the mist, sometimes disappearing from view.

Jacob has led a somewhat troubled life.  From the time he was born, he was marked as a trickster.  IN fact, that is what his name means: trickster.
He tricked his brother, Esau, into giving up his birthright out of desperate thirst, he tricked his father into giving him the birthright by disguising himself as Esau.  He tricked his uncle, Laban, into giving him many sheep and goats.

Now Jacob finds himself perched on a ledge, preparing to return to the land of his birth, preparing to face those whom he has wronged, preparing to meet them face to face.  And a face-to-face meeting is what he gets - just not the one he expects.

It went pretty much like this.

Jacob stands alone on the edge of the Jabbok, when he is attacked by a man.  The man wrestles with Jacob and they struggle through the entire night.  They go back and forth, pushing and pulling, struggling and shoving and scraping.  The two seem evenly matched until the climax of the action at the break of day.

This text is just as notable for its ambiguity as it is for its powerful imagery.  There are many unanswered questions, many issues that seem to be intentionally left vague.  One of the most significant questions is, "Who is the man with whom Jacob wrestles?"  The text simply says a man, and the reader is left to decide who the man is.  There have been a number of ideas posed, and each understanding of who the man is has a different impact upon the way the story is read.

Some interpreters have claimed that the man is Jacob’s brother Esau.  When Jacob left Canaan to flee from his family, the last we heard of Esau was that he intended to kill Jacob.  The man who attacks Jacob could be his brother, coming to follow through on his intentions.

If this is Esau, the story reflects a difficult truth of life: we seem prone to struggle the most with the people with whom we are the closest - with our family members, with our loved ones, with our brothers and sisters in Christ.
            

Some people believe that the story is about Jacob's struggles with himself.  As Jacob prepares to return to his homeland he must come to terms with his own nature.

This may also be something we can relate to.  Perhaps we have noticed that we can be our own undoing.  Perhaps we have been troubled and distracted and we realize that our fears and our hesitations are the things which trouble and distract us.  Perhaps our own desires or addictions have been that which undoes us.  Maybe we, too, must struggle with ourselves, must meet ourselves in a vulnerable place, must confront our inner demons.

The most compelling interpretation of the man is that it is God who comes and wrestles with Jacob by the stream.  If this is true, the most surprising thing is that it seems to be an even match.  God wrestles with Jacob all night until day break and comes out unable to prevail.  Even when God injures Jacob, Jacob refuses to let God go.

Unfortunately, this explanation raises as many questions as it answers.  Why does God choose to wrestle with Jacob? Why is the sovereign God unable to defeat a human?  What does this say about God's power?  

One of my favorite books when I was young was The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis.  If you are not familiar with the book, four children find themselves transported to a magical land called Narnia covered in snow and ice, where animals talk and even the trees are listening.  There is a character in the story named Aslan.  He is believed by the talking animals of Narnia to be a savior capable of defeating the white witch who cloaks their land in cold and makes it always winter but never Christmas.  It is no surprise that there are many parallels drawn between Aslan and God, even overt connections within the story.  There is a particular scene in which the children are discussing with some kind beavers what sort of person Aslan is.

Mrs. Beaver tells the children: "Aslan is a lion - The Lion, the Great lion."
Susan exclaims, "Ohh, I'd thought he was a man.  Is he quite safe?"
Mr. Beaver replies, "Safe?  Who said anything about safe?  Course he isn't safe.  But he is good."

God is like Aslan in this way, and Jacob can attest to this truth, or rather Jacob's hip can.  This story reminds us that God is very, very good, but being a child of God, being in relationship with God, does not mean absolute safety.  Does not mean that we will never experience pain or lose, or heartache.  But knowing that God is good means that though we've struggled through the dark of night when the day breaks, God has a blessing to give us.

After his struggle is over, after he is given a new name and blessed, Jacob gives the place a name.  He names it Peniel - the face of God.  Jacob met God face to face and lived to tell the story.  This encounter that changed him physically, changed his identity by giving him a new name, and changed him by creating a relationship with God.

Such may be true for us as well.  When in your life, have you encountered God?  Was it like Jacob's encounter? How?  How was it different?  Where are the Peniel moments, the meeting God face-to-face moments in your life?

Jacob lives through the encounter with a name change - he is now Israel.  You can be sure that every name has significance.  This passage describes the name Israel as meaning, "One who strives or struggles with God."

And, as you know, this is the name that comes to be given to Jacob's descendants: God's people.  This may seem a strange name to give God's chosen people, but it reflects a powerful truth.

In order for God to wrestle with a human, neither party can be passive in the relationship.  God must play an active role.  While Jacob pushed back and forth with God, he felt the very breath of God.  In fact, God seems to set aside some power to engage in the relationship.  God seems to accept some level of human weakness for the sake of even the possibility of creating a relationships with Jacob.  God is willing to risk a real struggle - not just a play fight - with a human being.

This is a God we know.  A God who became incarnate, who became human in Christ.  A God who suffered and died on a cross.  A God willing to play an active role in the relationship.

Humans must also play an active role.  Our participation in the relationship with God is required.

This is the story of God's people - those who are in a relationship with God,

            those who praise God,
            those who thank God,
            those who struggle with God,
            those who pray to God, who laugh with God, who cry with God,
            and those who live with God.
This is the story of God's people,
and it is our story.

Amen.