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.

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