Sunday, January 31, 2016

A Tale of Two Healings

Image Source
Preached at the Presbytery of Coastal Carolina Revitalization Retreat
January 28, 2015

Matthew 15:21-28
Jesus left Gennesaret and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon.
Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.”  But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.”  He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”  But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.”  He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”  Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.

Sermon: 
Her name was Meriah.  My daughter, I mean.  You never hear her name in your story, or mine, for that matter.  I don’t really care that you remember me, because that story never was about me.  It was all about Meriah.

She’d been acting strange for weeks.  Some said it was just a pre-teenage phase of aggression.  But a mother knows better.  I knew something was really, really wrong.  And I knew I had to do something, anything, to get help. 

So, when I heard that a famous healer was going to be near Tyre, I went to be the first to greet him.  Yes, I knew he was a Jewish healer, and as a Canaanite woman, we were enemies.  I guess you might not know that conflict: I’ll give you a brief run-down.  My people descended of course from a great man in your scriptures – Noah.  Well, Noah’s grandson, Ham, to be exact.  It’s no secret those sons didn’t leave the ark the best of buddies.  There was deep conflict, even then.  Joshua later conquered our land, calling us “pagans,” and many of our people were pushed north, into Phoenecia.  We were Israel’s enemies.  And they were ours.  But when your daughter is sick, you’ll do desperate things.  Even ask your enemies for help.

So, I went up to this Jewish healer Jesus and tried to be as respectful as possible, knowing my very skin showed the differences between us.  I swallowed all of the pride of my ancestors and even called him, “Lord, Son of David,” asking for his mercy. 

He pretended he didn’t even hear me.

I would not give up.  His disciples became angry, and told their Rabbi to send me away. 

He responded by saying that he was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.  The message was clear: he didn’t have time to heal the likes of me, or my daughter.
Still, I would not give up.

“Lord,” I said again, in my most respectful tone, “help me.”

The third insult stung more than being ignored, or told I wasn’t the focus of his ministry.  He looked me right in the eye, clearly exhausted and frustrated and said, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

He called me a dog, a derogatory racial slur not unlike other words you’ve probably heard (and I pray never uttered).  Angry tears sprang to my eyes, but I still would not back down.  I had nothing to lose, except my daughter, and I would not lose her.

“Yes, Lord,” I began, again using that respectful word.  I continued, “Yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”

This time, it was his eyes that became teary.  He sort of shook his head at himself and replied, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.”  He no longer called me dog; he called me woman.  And he healed Meriah.  My little girl was okay. 

But love her as I do, grateful as I am, I don’t believe that was the only healing that happened that day.  I think I healed Jesus that day.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, me, heal Jesus?  Your messiah was perfect, how could he need healing?  Your messiah was sinless, how could he need forgiving? 
Yes, he was perfect, but the social, cultural and religious apartheid he was raised in was very, very broken and in need of healing.

Yes, he was sinless, but the deeply divided context of his ministry was rife with the sins of racism, hatred and indifference, that needed forgiving. 

You see, even Jesus, the Divine One, Son of David, Lord of All, was caught up in a system he could not save himself from, or perhaps he chose not to save himself from.  Because, like most isms of this world that still exist, he couldn’t even see it, even when it was right in front of him, blocking his path, begging for help.

Jesus needed to be healed from that apartheid system he was raised in.  And he couldn’t do that by reading important books, or by writing important papers or by preaching powerful sermons.  He could only do that by looking me – one he considered so completely “other” that he didn’t even see me as human at first – in the eye.  He could only do that by recognizing value in me, faith in me, and I in him.

I wish I could say that this sort of entrenched hatred and fear is something that only existed once upon a time in the pages of your holy text, in my story.  You know that’s not true.  You know that children are still raised in broken systems of racism and religious intolerance.  You know that places of faith are not immune to such systems, but sometimes even play a role in perpetuating such division.  You see, we are all of us demon-possessed, just as Meriah was.  That demon is named fear.

And the only way to cast out that demon is to come face-to-face with Jesus.  But I should warn you – my healing of Jesus that day changed him.  He became even more fixated on breaking down barriers, on eating with outcasts and sinners and tax collectors, on making the religious folk uncomfortable.  He became associated with the other.  And then, on that cross, he became the “other,” crucified by a state that could not comprehend his sort of reconciling sacrifice. 

So, if you want to come face-to-face with Jesus, there’s a good chance he looks like whomever you label as “other.”  There’s a good chance he looks like someone you might ignore the first time, or laugh at with friends, or even outright insult.  But, like me that day, desperate for my daughter to be healed, Jesus doesn’t give up.  He will keep coming back, in the form of one you think so very different from you, until you look him in the eye, really in the eye, and recognize faith within him.  Faith in you.   Faith in this broken, possessed world. 

One day, when she was older, I told my daughter Meriah what had happened to her.  I told her that she had been made well by a man who was also God, by an enemy who was also a friend, and that if such a thing could happen, anything was possible. 


Amen.

One, But Not the Same

January 31, 2015
1 Corinthians 12:12-31

12 For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. 13 For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—Jews or Greeks, slaves or free—and we were all made to drink of one Spirit.
14 Indeed, the body does not consist of one member but of many. 15 If the foot would say, “Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,” that would not make it any less a part of the body. 16 And if the ear would say, “Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body,” that would not make it any less a part of the body. 17 If the whole body were an eye, where would the hearing be? If the whole body were hearing, where would the sense of smell be? 18 But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as God chose. 19 If all were a single member, where would the body be? 20 As it is, there are many members, yet one body. 21 The eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need of you,” nor again the head to the feet, “I have no need of you.” 22 On the contrary, the members of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, 23 and those members of the body that we think less honorable we clothe with greater honor, and our less respectable members are treated with greater respect; 24 whereas our more respectable members do not need this. But God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member, 25 that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another. 26 If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.
27 Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it. 28 And God has appointed in the church first apostles, second prophets, third teachers; then deeds of power, then gifts of healing, forms of assistance, forms of leadership, various kinds of tongues. 29 Are all apostles? Are all prophets? Are all teachers? Do all work miracles? 30 Do all possess gifts of healing? Do all speak in tongues? Do all interpret? 31 But strive for the greater gifts. And I will show you a still more excellent way.

Sermon: 

A man went to his doctor, complaining of pain.
"You have to help me," he cried. "I hurt all over!"
"What do you mean, all over?" asked the doctor,
"Try to be a little more specific."
The man touched his right knee with his index finger and yelled,
"Ow, that hurts."
Then he touched his left cheek and again yelled,
"Ouch! That hurts too."
Then he touched his right earlobe,
"Ow, even THAT hurts," he bellowed, bursting into tears.
The doctor checked him thoroughly and announced her diagnosis:
"You have a broken finger.”

When something is wrong with our bodies, we know it. 

But what about when something is wrong with the body of Christ?  Do we recognize that as easily?  Today’s reading from 1 Corinthians shows us what the body of Christ looks like when it’s a beacon of health:

There’s not a diet of kale, but rather this body is filled with the life-giving Spirit of God.

All of the various parts of the body work in unity with no one saying, “I have no need of you.”

Everyone is honored, especially those who might be forgotten.

 This body suffers together, and rejoices together.

You probably know what the body of Christ looks like when it’s not a picture of healthiness.  I’d imagine you’ve seen that at some point:

Instead of being filled with the Spirit of peace, people are filled with a spirit of competition and power.

Unity is discarded for rightness, and “I have no need of you” is proclaimed in painful ways, through gossip, judging one another, and those dreaded parking lot conversations.

A select few are honored, and seek to point out the flaws in everyone else.

The whole body suffers, which sounds like 1 Corinthians, but they do not suffer together.  They suffer because of each other, not with each other.

And rejoicing?  The only rejoicing is when someone gets the power they want.

It is a sad picture, isn’t it?

The disease of division afflicts so many churches, and the church universal, as we are divided by theologies, economies, politics, race and gender.  What is the prescription then, for a healthy body of Christ?  1 Corinthians 12 is a good start.
As I read this text, I am struck by all the differences described within that body.
Feet are not ears.
Ears are not eyes.
Eyes are not noses.
Noses are not hands.
Hands are not heads.
Or put another way later in the text:
Apostles are not prophets.
Prophets are not teachers.
Teachers are not miracle workers (well, that one is debatable, isn’t it??)
Healers are not the same as people who speak in tongues or interpreters.

To quote that great prophet of our time, Bono, “We’re one, but we’re not the same.”

We are not the same.  So much of our sickness in the body of Christ centers around a need to make ourselves the same, when we’re not supposed to be.

We assume we do not belong to one another unless we agree on everything from the color of the carpet to our interpretation of scripture. 

But this text doesn’t say the body of Christ was made to drink of one ideology, one theology, one political position, or one way of seeing the world.  It says we were made to drink (whether we want to or not) of one Spirit.  If the Spirit makes us one, then it’s possible to appreciate that we are not the same.

We are not meant to see God and scripture in the exact same way; we need the push and pull of different viewpoints to grow in our faith, otherwise church is just an exercise in validating one another over and over again, a spiritual pat on the back and nothing else. 

We are not meant to all serve God and our neighbor in the exact same way; we need the vision and passion of different approaches and callings to move beyond our comfort zone to mission we might never have dreamed of. 

We are not meant to form alliances within the church of those who most remind us of ourselves; we are meant to seek to honor those who are most unlike ourselves. 

When we see difference, not as a threat to the church, but as the gift of God it is, we can fully serve in this body, not as anyone else, but in our own unique way.  Today, we ordain and install those who have answered God’s call to be leaders of this body.  They each bring different experiences, different faith journeys, different gifts and skills.  They will be a blessing to this body, not because they conform to how we like things to be done, but because they bring new energy and imagination to our ministry together.  I want to encourage you Cathy, Bruce and Julie, and the rest of our session, Dawn, Dean, Andrey, Terry and Randall, to serve this body in your own particular way, never forgetting the gift of the Spirit that makes us one when we’re not the same.

And I want to encourage all of us to look beyond this particular body to the larger body of Christ in the world and ask a difficult question: how has the sickness of division inflicted our relationship with that body?  How have we assumed uniformity of thought is what makes us one, instead of the unity of the Spirit in all our diversities?  When you are tempted to speak ill of another Christian because they practice their faith differently than you do, or care about different issues than you do, remember:  “God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as God chose.”

As Presbyterians, those last three words are everything: as God chose.  You might be in church today because your parents brought you every Sunday.  You might be here because, though you left for many years, you decided to come back.  You might be here because it makes you feel less guilty about the rest of your week!  Whatever your reasons, it was not your doing. 

You did not choose to be a part of this body of Christ, God chose to call you to it.  Therefore, you cannot choose to disconnect from this body.  Sure, you can decide not to be here.  But God will always choose you for covenant community, again and again, calling you home.

Thanks be to the God who designed faith to be a communal journey, to the Spirit who makes us one when we’re not the same, and to the Son who uses us as his hands and feet (and knees and elbows) in this world, amen.

Sunday, January 17, 2016

The Real Miracle

The Marriage at Cana by Paulo Veronese.  Whom do you focus on in the painting?
January 17, 2015
John 2:1-11
1On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. 2Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. 3When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, "They have no wine." 4And Jesus said to her, "Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come" 5His mother said to the servants, "Do whatever he tells you." 6Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. 7Jesus said to them, "Fill the jars with water." And they filled them up to the brim. 8He said to them, "Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward." So they took it. 9When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom 10and said to him, "Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now." 11Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.

Sermon: “The Real Miracle”

“Seen, but not heard,” pretty well describes my life.  You see, at a young age, I was sold by my poor family who couldn’t provide for me.  I no longer belonged to them or myself.  I was a slave, serving a wealthy family in Cana.  I think I maybe spoke two words that entire first year.  Eventually, another slave girl in the household befriended me.  We would snatch moments of conversation (and – I’ll be honest – catch up on the gossip of the household), but most of the time, we were to just stand there by our wealthy owners, in case they needed anything.  Think Downton Abbey with zero pay and no fancy china!

Eventually, the years started to merge into a haze of work and, all of a sudden, I saw a young woman looking back at me in the mirror.  The only bright spots in my mundane life were special occasions: visits by honored guests, feast days and weddings.  There’s one wedding in particular I’ll never forget.

That wedding looked like it would be a disaster.  The worst thing that could happen in a wedding celebration had occurred (no, not the bride running away): we were out of wine!  A wedding celebration without wine was like a camel without a hump; we had to do something.  Several of the other slaves went searching in the stores for any drops of vino remaining, while the steward just smiled with a plastic, forced grin, trying to keep calm as he watered down glasses (and hoped no one would notice).

It just so happened that I was hovering in the background (seen but not heard, remember?) when a very surprising conversation occurred.  A guest named Mary figured out what was going on.  I had a feeling few things got past her.  Anyway, she turned to her son, a bearded, scraggly fellow with other bearded, scraggly fellows around him, and said, “They have no wine.”  The weird thing is, it didn’t come across as a complaint.  It sounded like a request, like she expected him to do something about it.  He responded like a teenager who didn’t want to go to school, “Woman, what concern is that to you and me?  My time has not yet come.”  She ignored this little outburst, and instead walked over to me (at which point, I pretended I hadn’t been eavesdropping).  “Do whatever he tells you,” she said. 

I suppose Mary knew that mothers nearly always get their way.  True enough, Jesus walked up to me a few minutes later.  He seemed torn – almost like he knew that the action he was about to do would change how people saw him forever.  He gestured to the purification jars and told us to fill them with water.  It was a big job – these jars were huge.  But, as was usual for us, we did as we were asked.

We filled those jars and brought them to him.  I wish I could say there was an “abracadabra” or a flash of light, but there wasn’t.  He simply said, “Draw some out and give it to the steward.”  When we did, we were shocked!  You know the story I’m sure: it had turned into rich, fine wine.

The steward was dumbfounded, but we knew what had happened.  In your book it says, “the steward did not know where the wine had come from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew).”  I wonder if you’ve ever noticed that before?  I’d imagine not.  You’ve probably focused on Jesus in the story, or on Mary, or on the wine itself. 

We servants are still seen but not heard.  I’m not trying to make you feel guilty for ignoring us.  I just don’t want you to miss something really significant: Jesus’ first miracle wasn’t initially witnessed by our wealthy owner, the bridegroom or the steward.  It was witnessed by us.  And not just witnessed by us…we helped make that miracle happen.  No servants, no water; no water, no wine.

Jesus, the Word made flesh, performed the first of his signs using us.  He chose to involve us – the lowest of the low – in that joyful, abundant offering at that celebration of love.  I think he still does.  He still performs signs and wonders in this world, but so often it happens through people that society is too busy keeping in their place.  People who are seen but not heard. 

People like the homeless veteran asking for change, who still prays every day.

People like the single mom working three jobs so her kids can have the education she never had.

People like the young boy who has to do his homework in a home without heat, but still does it.

People like the teenager struggling with crippling depression and anxiety, who feels she can’t admit it to anyone, and yet supports her friends wholeheartedly.

People like the unemployed middle-aged man who, though he was raised to hate people who didn’t have his same skin color, chose a path of love instead, and taught his children that path. 

People like the old woman, tucked away and forgotten in a nursing home, who finds reasons to be grateful for life every single day.

Do you want to see the miraculous things Jesus of Nazareth is doing?  Then go to the people who are seen but not heard.  Go and listen to them.  Go, not to solve their problems or use your influence to better their lives, but to recognize their value as human beings, and watch the barriers between you fall away.

Nothing against that tasty wine, but I don’t think the real miracle at that wedding was fancy booze.  I think the miracle was that Jesus made us slaves a part of God’s astonishing work on earth. 

I wish I could say my life became better after that; truth be told, it didn’t.  I worked my entire life for that family, with little thanks, no pay and shabby living conditions. 

But on my worst days, days when I longed to see my mother’s face again and wondered what my siblings looked like grown up, I remembered that, once upon a time, God came to a wedding and worked a miracle, and I was a part of it. 

Amen.



Sunday, January 10, 2016

Who and Whose We Are


January 10, 2015
Isaiah 43:1-7
1But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob,
he who formed you, O Israel:
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.
2When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.
3For I am the LORD your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.
I give Egypt as your ransom,
Ethiopia and Seba in exchange for you.
4Because you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you,
I give people in return for you,
nations in exchange for your life.
5Do not fear, for I am with you;
I will bring your offspring from the east,
and from the west I will gather you;
6I will say to the north, "Give them up,"
and to the south, "Do not withhold;
bring my sons from far away
and my daughters from the end of the earth —
7everyone who is called by my name,
whom I created for my glory,
whom I formed and made."
Sermon:  “Who and Whose We Are”

As many of you know, I celebrated my birthday last week.  I wanted two things to be a part of that celebration: first (and most importantly): a delicious dinner.  Second, was something a bit more atypical.  I wanted to watch the movie Blood Diamond.  You might not know that I nearly always eschew romantic comedies in favor of action-oriented movies.  And I am especially drawn to stories of people overcoming conflict, as peacemaking is somehow part of my identity. 

That being said, Blood Diamond is one of my favorite movies.  That’s not to say it’s easy to watch – it isn’t.  It is terribly violent.  But this violence is not sensationalized for the benefit of greater ticket sales.  It is telling the story of a bitter civil war in Sierra Leone in the late 90’s, and the ways diamonds were used to buy weapons for that war.  The story centers around two characters: the first is a man named Solomon Vandy, played by Djimon Hounsou, whose son was stolen and forced to become a child soldier for the Revolutionary United Front (RUF), and who himself was forced to work in the diamond mines.  The second is a diamond smuggler named Danny Archer, played by Leonardo DiCaprio. 

We’re going to leave Leo on the Titanic for now, and focus instead on the story of Solomon and his son, Dia.  Dia’s tale is one hundreds of thousands of boys still live in war-torn areas of Africa, especially in Uganda, the Central African Republic, the Congo and South Sudan.  Dia is 12 years old, a good student and a kind child.  But he is stolen away, abused, drugged and brainwashed until he becomes a violent killer.  Solomon, his father, is stolen away as well, and forced to work a diamond mine, where he finds and hides a massive pink diamond.  While the smuggler Archer is desperate to find that diamond, Solomon is more desperate to find his son.  Miraculously he does, and then they find the diamond.  The scene does not go as expected.  I didn’t make you any popcorn, but watch what happened.



Amazing, isn’t it?  There is only one way that Dia can be saved and redeemed from the horrors he experienced and inflicted.  He has to be told who he really is.  Solomon’s words sound so much like our reading from Isaiah to me:

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. 
I have called you by name, you are mine.
Dia, What are you doing? Dia! Look at me, look at me. are Dia Vendy, of the proud Mende tribe. You are a good boy who loves soccer and school. Your mother loves you so much. She waits by the fire making plantains, and red palm oil stew with your sister N'Yanda and the new baby. The cows wait for you. And Babu, the wild dog who minds no one but you.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through the fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.
I know they made you do bad things, but you are not a bad boy.
For I am the Lord your God.
You are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you.
I am your father who loves you.
I give people in return for you, nations in exchange for your life.
Do not fear, for I am with you;
…bring my sons from far away and my daughters from the end of the earth.
And you will come home with me and be my son again.

Earlier in the movie, the smuggler Archer asks a heart-breaking question: Sometimes I wonder: Will God ever forgive us for what we've done to each other?”  His answer is even more heart-breaking, “Then I look around and I realize... God left this place a long time ago.”

I think the answer to Archer’s question is yes.  The God who ransomed exiles, described by Kathleen O’Connor as, “a people on the precipice of extinction under Babylonian dominance, a people whose future is in grave doubt and whose God seems to have abandoned them…,” this God is always about the business of rescuing and forgiving.  There are times we human beings feel that God has abandoned us.  If Jesus cried out on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” we’re allowed to pray that bitter prayer from time to time.

We may not have experienced what it is to be taken from our families and forced to fight a battle that is not ours, but we’ve all been forced to live a life that’s not ours at times.  Perhaps that was trying to live up to impossible standards of perfection put on us by our families.  Perhaps that was trying to pretend we have it all together when we felt we were barely hanging on.  Perhaps that was trying to conform to the expectations of a job or relationship, no matter how unreasonable those expectations were.  Maybe you’re in that sort of place now.  Maybe your child or grandchild or friend is in that place.  It’s a desperately exhausting and lonely place to be. 

But even in those places – especially in those places – God does not abandon us.

God has not left us to our own devices, no matter what horrible things we’ve done to one another.  God – like the character of Solomon in Blood Diamond – will never stop searching for us (whether we want to be found or not). 

And when God finds us – as God always will – we will be told who we really are.   

We are not created by our careers or families or bank accounts or opinions.
We are created by God.
We are not alone in the overwhelming waters of life, and we are not alone when we feel we’re walking through the fires of conflict, illness, depression or sorrow.
God is with us, not because we deserve it, but because that’s simply who God is.
We are not forgotten, abandoned or ignored.
We are precious in God’s sight, and God loves us.

Fear and hatred are powerful motivators in changing a life – they are what turn children into soldiers.  Many churches use fear and hatred to get people to change.

But fear and hatred will never be as good at changing a life as love is.  If we really know how beloved by God we are – and not just “us” but also whomever we consider to be “them” – the only bounds to the good we can do in the world are our own imaginations.  Anything is possible – even peace in Sierra Leone; even peace in our embattled souls. 

Do you really believe God loves you?  I urge you to pause before you say yes.  Because believing that to be true demands much of us – it means we cannot hate and hurt without repentance.  It means we believe that, with that love, comes the potential within us for great good, and so we do not waste one moment of this precious life with pettiness and selfishness, with revenge and retaliation. 

Do you really believe God loves you?  If so, what will you do with that kind of love?  Amen.