Sunday, June 23, 2013

Strength in the Silence


June 23, 2013
1 Kings 19:1-15
1Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah had done, and how he had killed all the prophets with the sword. 2Then Jezebel sent a messenger to Elijah, saying, "So may the gods do to me, and more also, if I do not make your life like the life of one of them by this time tomorrow." 3Then he was afraid; he got up and fled for his life, and came to Beer-sheba, which belongs to Judah; he left his servant there.
4But he himself went a day's journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a solitary broom tree. He asked that he might die: "It is enough; now, O LORD, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors." 5Then he lay down under the broom tree and fell asleep. Suddenly an angel touched him and said to him, "Get up and eat." 6He looked, and there at his head was a cake baked on hot stones, and a jar of water. He ate and drank, and lay down again. 7The angel of the LORD came a second time, touched him, and said, "Get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you." 8He got up, and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God. 9At that place he came to a cave, and spent the night there.
Then the word of the LORD came to him, saying, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" 10He answered, "I have been very zealous for the LORD, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away."
11He said, "Go out and stand on the mountain before the LORD, for the LORD is about to pass by." Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake; 12and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. 13When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, "What are you doing here, Elijah?" 14He answered, "I have been very zealous for the LORD, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away." 15Then the LORD said to him, "Go, return on your way to the wilderness of Damascus; when you arrive, you shall anoint Hazael as king over Aram.

Sermon: “Strength in the Silence”

They say hindsight is 20/20.  It certainly was for me. But right in the middle of it all, I never realized my mistakes.   I not only crossed the line, y’all, I catapulted over it.  But, I’m getting ahead of myself, here.  Let’s begin with my name: it’s Elijah, but you can call me Eli. 

I was a prophet in the time of an evil king of Judah named Jeroboam.  I was a small-town boy from Tishbe in Gilead, but then I put up a video of myself performing a miracle  up on YouTube and bam!  Instant fame.  Okay, it didn’t exactly work that way back then.  But I did predict a great drought, help a widow produce an abundant supply of oil and food to eat and raise her son from death.  Celebrity comes with its own challenges, though, and about then I started acting like a bit of a show off.

I challenged the prophets of Baal, nearly 500 of them, to a show-down, campfire-style (I believe your pastor told you this story a few weeks ago), and while those prophets couldn’t even get a spark on their fire from their so-called god, I called down fire from Yahweh and engulfed a whole sopping wet altar in flames.  My E! True Hollywood story would say this was the beginning of my downfall.

You see, I really became a diva then.  In fact, I’m ashamed to say, I had all of the prophets of Baal killed after my little victory, which in our violent times back then, was our way of saying, “Na na na na-na!”  I hope that this is not how y’all show power today.  The chip on my shoulder at this point weighed as much as Mount Horeb. 

But life has a way of taking you down a few notches when you get up on your high horse, y’all.  That celebrity status evaporated just as quickly as it had arrived, through a letter from none other than Queen Jezebel.  She was not a wordy woman, but managed to get to the point rather quickly, “See what you’ve just done to my prophets?  Tomorrow, that’s your fate.” 

So, I did what any man would do.  I ran for my life!   I fled into the wilderness.  Exhausted and thirsty, I reached my lowest point.  I sat down under a pathetically lonely tree and said, “It is enough, Lord, take my life.”
In my language it was a more intense statement: I was saying “Too much, God!”  It’s all too much: this sudden fame, this sudden fear, the feeling that I had reached my peak and my life was coming to a rapid end, all mingled with physical exhaustion and spiritual emptiness.  It was all too much.  So I gave up. God didn’t.  

Like a pesky alarm clock that you can’t turn off, an angel from God woke me two times to eat and drink. And I survived.  If I’m honest with you, after many days (I believe it was 40 or so) I even started liking that wilderness place.  There was no angry Queen there, no false prophets, in fact no one to prophesy for at all, except maybe some locusts, but they didn’t really care for my prophecies.

It was like an early retirement from the spotlight, in my own little rustic desert camp.  But just when I started thinking that I could pitch my Out of Africa tent and sip champagne from my Waterford crystal without having to interact with anyone else for the rest of my days, God came.   And God asked that uncomfortable question that refused to let me keep things the way they were: “What are you doing here, Elijah?” 

I could have, of course, lied.  “Oh hello, Yahweh, how ya been?  My, you’re looking extra radiant this evening.  I’m just, er, enjoying this here lovely locust in the wilderness and pondering how you made it.  It really is beautiful, well done, you!”

But I knew the real answer to that question, and so did God.  I was hiding.  Oh I called it “being zealous for the Lord” like I was Sister Maria venturing into the Swiss alps to yodel with the Divine.  But the truth was, I was retreating within myself and my faith to keep separate from the world, and thus avoid its pain and danger.

But our faith isn’t some sort of get-out-of-hurt-free card that allows us to escape life’s troubles.  And a relationship with God that’s completely isolated from a relationship with others, even with those who mean us harm, well, that’s no relationship at all.

And so God spoke.  I have to say, after a taste of the ol’ Hollywood prophet scene, I was expecting something pretty grand.  You know, like God coming in Raiders of the Lost Ark with lightning and flame.  Or perhaps, a little burning bush action with God’s voice echoing out of the nearest shrub, like God did with Moses.  I would have loved for God to show up like Morgan Freeman immaculately decked out (pun intended) in a nice suit, with that calming, deep voice.

But silence?  That I did not expect.  How do you even describe a voice that sounds like silence?  I suppose that might be the point; that God’s voice is beyond our categories or expectations.  Though I don’t have the words to describe that voice, I heard it all the same.  Do you know how I know it was God speaking, even in that empty quiet void?

The question.  It was the same one, a second time.  “What are you doing here, Elijah?”  My reply was the same as well, "I’ve done a lot for you, God.  More than most. But I’m the only one left.  What do you expect me to do?”

And that calming voice-beneath-the-storm answered me with a call: “Go.”  “Go, back into that terrifying place of political maneuvering and violent retaliations.  Go and do what it is a prophet is meant to do: prophesy.”

And so I did.  There were blessings to discover once I left the wilderness: calling people back to God, selecting Elisha (gosh, that name sounds familiar) to be my protégé, and even being sent up into heaven in a whirlwind.  There were plenty of hardships, too: violent overthrows, idolatry and sleepless nights spent worrying about God’s people. 

But I never regretted leaving the wilderness when God called.  Because God had taught me something profound in that wilderness place, something I needed to take to others, even to you today.  Here it is: God doesn’t need the stage lighting or a deep booming sound system to speak, like I as a prophet needed fame.  God doesn’t even need me to speak.  God can speak anytime, anywhere, in anyway God chooses.  And, if we allow ourselves to become quiet without letting our anxiety or restlessness take over, we will hear the voice that has been speaking to us all along. 

I know what you’re thinking (I’m a prophet, remember?).  You’re thinking “But how do we know it’s God’s voice?”  The honest answer is, sometimes we don’t.  God’s voice comes in many different forms, in those around us, in a whisper within our minds, in golden sunlight through evening trees, even in hard-to-hear criticism. 

But we know God is speaking because there is always that question, that annoyingly-spot-on query that God asked me twice: “What are you doing here?”  God’s voice will always call us to re-evaluate our lives, questioning whether we are living them in a secluded wilderness serving ourselves, or in a chaotic world, serving others with words of hope and acts of courage.

Allow this weary old prophet one more prophecy: if you choose to listen to that voice of God, and if you indeed go into this messy world to proclaim that God is still working through your own hands and feet, you will never go alone.  Even the echoing silence is teeming with the words of God, words of resilience and hope, giving you the strength to not only find your own voice, but the even greater strength to really listen to the voice of another.

God is speaking.  And perhaps, like me, God speaks to you in a way you do not expect.  Don’t miss that voice.  It just may lead you on your greatest adventure yet.  It just may lead you to become who you were always made to be.  It just may lead you home again.  Amen.  

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Love Matters Most of All

image source

June 16, 2013
Luke 7:36-8:3
36One of the Pharisees asked Jesus to eat with him, and he went into the Pharisee's house and took his place at the table. 37And a woman in the city, who was a sinner, having learned that he was eating in the Pharisee's house, brought an alabaster jar of ointment. 38She stood behind him at his feet, weeping, and began to bathe his feet with her tears and to dry them with her hair. Then she continued kissing his feet and anointing them with the ointment. 39Now when the Pharisee who had invited him saw it, he said to himself, "If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him-that she is a sinner." 40Jesus spoke up and said to him, "Simon, I have something to say to you." "Teacher," he replied, "Speak." 41"A certain creditor had two debtors; one owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. 42When they could not pay, he canceled the debts for both of them. Now which of them will love him more?" 43Simon answered, "I suppose the one for whom he canceled the greater debt." And Jesus said to him, "You have judged rightly." 44Then turning toward the woman, he said to Simon, "Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has bathed my feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. 45You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet. 46You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. 47Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little." 48Then he said to her, "Your sins are forgiven." 49But those who were at the table with him began to say among themselves, "Who is this who even forgives sins?" 50And he said to the woman, "Your faith has saved you; go in peace."
1Soon afterwards he went on through cities and villages, proclaiming and bringing the good news of the kingdom of God. The twelve were with him, 2as well as some women who had been cured of evil spirits and infirmities: Mary, called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out, 3and Joanna, the wife of Herod's steward Chuza, and Susanna, and many others, who provided for them out of their resources.


Sermon:

I had a plan, you know, for this sermon.  It was going to be a good ‘un.  I generally map out preaching texts, sermon titles, themes and hymns a month or so in advance, so Mary and I can coordinate music to craft consistent and meaningful worship for y’all.  I decided that two of this morning’s scripture readings fit together nicely: you’ve just heard them.  Paul in his usual intense manner describes the importance of justification through faith in Jesus Christ, and not works of the law.  Luke makes it more plain in his telling of the woman who interrupted Simon’s little dinner party to wash Jesus’ feet and anoint him with costly perfume.  Jesus calls Simon out for his obsession with the law and failure to show the faith the so-called “sinful” woman expressed. 
Oh yes, y’all, it would have been a powerful exposition on how Christ came and fulfilled the law, extending the covenantal love of God from the people of Israel to all of us, through grace.  That would have been my sermon…in fact I spent several hours writing that particular sermon this week.  But when I re-read it, it felt at best, forced, and at worst, false.

You see, it’s been a tough week.  A cousin whom I was very close to had a horrific surfing accident in Texas that left him completely paralyzed, relying on machines to breathe, and only able to communicate via blinking his eyes, and he died.  His partner had just made it through chemotherapy and they were surfing to celebrate her recovery.  He was 58 years old.  His name was Tommy, and he had the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. 

And at the same time, our beloved Bob Crigler was nearing the end of this life, and the beginning of eternal life, where crying and death, chemotherapy and cancer do not exist.  The night Bob passed away, I received a call from my mother that my cousin’s brother Lee had just suddenly died as well.  Like I said, it’s been a week.
 
Perhaps you would prefer a pastor who doesn’t venture into this uncomfortable personal territory.  Perhaps I would, too!

It would in many ways, after a week like this one, be a nice diversion to go forward with the theologically deep sermon on grace and law.  And I have to say, it was very tempting to just not mention the sadness I’ve felt this week.  Because that is easier, isn’t it?  To read scripture as an escape from our pain rather than letting it open us up to that grief, and find God’s healing there? 

Isn’t it easier make this text academic and rich, while at the same time keeping it at arms length so that we don’t become too uncomfortable or displaced by it?  But if we are to grow in this journey of faith, we have to take the harder road: the one of bringing our sadness and pain, our grief and worry to this text, desperate for a hint of hope like a wanderer in the desert desperate for water.

And so, I allowed the hollow place in my soul to begin a conversation with our gospel reading this morning.  Do you know what I realized, perhaps for the first time after reading this text hundreds of times in my life?

That wild woman, that sinful woman who gatecrashed a civilized dinner party and created quite a scene bathing Jesus’ feet, washed those dusty feet of our Savior with her tears.  Not with profound, theologically appropriate prayers.  Not with a forced smile or artificial laughter, but with her tears.  We’re not told why she was crying.  Many have said it’s because she knew that crucifixion awaited Jesus and mourned for him.

But this week, I don’t think so.  I think that desperate woman was like any of us, and so she carried around all of her carefully concealed, pent-up grief, her sadness at being labeled by her mistakes, her guilt from not being who she knew she could be. 

And when she finally, finally, reached the feet of her Lord, bearing that terribly heavy load, all she could do was weep.  All she could do was unload that emptiness at the feet of the one who seemed to really see her when no one else did.  The one who seemed to really be able to save her.  And Jesus did.  He rebuked Simon for judging her emotional outburst and said, “Her sins, which were many, have been forgiven, hence she has shown great love.”  And then he turned to her and said, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”  Her faith saved her: not the stoic, right-answer kind of faith of Simon, but the messy, emotional, uncomfortable, inconvenient faith found in tears.  Having left it all at the feet of her Savior, peace was no longer an impossibility.  It was a promise. 

My cousin, knowing that he would never be able to breathe again on his own, was able to leave this life for his promised peace on his own terms.  When my parents shared with him how much we all cared for him, he slowly, blinking one-letter-at-a-time replied.  Here is what he said, his last words to us:  love matters most of all.

Bob expressed this to me as well in his final days.  I told him Billie was there and he could tell her he loved her.  In true Bob wit and charm, he replied, “I tell Billie I love her every single day.” 

Why is it that we have to come to the end of this life to see and believe that simple truth, that love matters most of all?  Why is it we so often go through our days like Simon: so concerned about the table being set correctly and the house (and our lives) being spick-and-span that we miss our Savior inviting us to come, sit at his feet, and weep, or talk, or laugh, or do whatever it is our souls are most desperate for?

Life is too short, too precious, to waste with obsessing over the letter of the law as if our own piety will buy us salvation.  Friends, we are already saved!  It’s done!  Christ did that for us.  What would our lives be like if we really believed this? 

I know, we say we are saved through Christ all the time, but I’m not talking about reciting a prayer or accepting Jesus.  I’m talking about knowing, in the core of our being, in those moments of loss and grief, of blue eyes we will not see again this side of heaven, that Jesus is already bringing the salvation we need; not just to make it to eternal life, but to make it through this day, and the day after that, and the day after that.

What is salvation if not the undeserved outpouring of God’s grace on us?  What is our faith if not a recklessly loving response to that grace?  And what does any of it matter if we don’t hold onto it when we feel most lost or sad, or if we don’t hold it for others when they feel most alone? 

Love matters most of all.  It turns out, my cousin Tommy preached in that painfully-pronounced sentence what this grace and law stuff is all about: love.  Christ made the law of God complete in his love, and through grace we are all grafted into that everlasting covenant of love.  My cousins, Bob, Mark’s father, you, me, all of us. 

You (and I) need to know that, in Christ, our forgiveness and salvation is complete.  So we can stop wasting this precious life trying to one-up others with law-without-love holiness, or prove to ourselves and God why we deserve salvation.  It’s done, we are saved.  Now what will we do with that salvation?  Will we lord it over others like Simon scoffing in the corner at the sins of an unwelcome guest?  Or will we come to the One who has done the saving, and pour out all that we are in grateful love, until through tears and honesty, that Savior calls us to rise, and speaks those promised words, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

Love matters most of all.   Thanks be to the God who teaches us this again and again, to the Savior who welcomes us to lay down our burdens at his feet, and to the Spirit who binds us together in an eternal family that death can’t even begin to defeat.  Amen.