Monday, April 18, 2016

A Watering Place

Our beautiful baptismal font at Cameron Presbyterian Church.
April 17, 2016 - Fourth Sunday of Easter
Psalm 23
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.


Sermon: “A Watering Place”

Psalm 23 is probably the most memorized and beloved passage in all of scripture.  Because of this, we need to shake the cobwebs off of our reading and studying of it, and hear it with fresh ears.  To do this, I’ve made my own rough translation from the original Hebrew.  See if you don’t hear something new or surprising!

Psalm 23 (my rough translation)

Yahweh shepherds me, I shall not be lacking. 
   
He stretches me out in grassy meadows;

he leads me to a watering place near resting waters; 
   
he returns my living being, life, self, person, desire, passion, appetite and emotions to me.
He leads me in right tracks
 for his name’s intent.
Yea though I go through the death-like, shadowed valley,
   
I fear no evil, distress, misery, injury or calamity; 

for you are with me;
   
your rod and your staff, they console me.
You set a table facing those hostile to me.
you anoint my head with oil;
   
my cup is abundant and saturated. 

Surely goodness, happiness and loving kindness shall pursue and chase me 
all the days of my life,
and I shall sit and remain in the house of Yahweh forever.

It’s even more beautiful in the original language, isn’t it? 

We’re not just led by still waters; we’re led to a watering place, where waters and we ourselves rest.  That’s why we baptize Easton today – not because his parents decided upon it, or because his grandparents and other family are connected here – but because God is leading him, before he even needs to understand why, to a watering place.

God doesn’t just restore our soul, in our sometimes-narrow Western idea of the soul.  God returns the appetite to one for whom food holds no joy.  God returns personhood to one who feels worthless.  God returns passion and desire to people who don’t even make eye contact anymore.  God returns emotions to a teenager who feels their emotions are uncontrollable and wild.

When we find ourselves in a death-dark valley of shadows, where every tiny thing seems like a threat, we do not have to fear distress, misery, injury, calamity or any other kind of evil.  This is not because there is nothing to fear, oh goodness, there is an awful lot to fear.  This is because even in that death-dark valley, our Shepherd never, ever, leaves our side.

A table is set for us, with red-checkered napkins and azaleas in the center, and sweet tea to last for days.  But our dinner companions are not who we’d expect.  God intentionally places us facing those who are hostile to us (probably because God knows that eating together might just be the most healing act there is).

Just as we start to get squirmy and uncomfortable at that reconciling table, God anoints us with oil, blessing us with ridiculous extravagance.  It’s hard not to laugh with oil dripping down into your lap! 

The cup of our life is completely saturated with the goodness of God, and just when we think there can’t possibly be any more left, our Shepherd’s loving-kindness chases us.  Not follows, chases, pursues us, every single day of our life.  I love this persistence.  Because you don’t need me to tell you that sometimes kindness and happiness seem like fleeting things. 

Sometimes, tragedy happens, illness happens, violence happens.  But even that does not stop the loving kindness of God.  It doggedly chases us, with the determination of a child playing catch, and does not relent until our load is a little lighter to bear, until the world seems a more joyful place. 

And then, we go to the most joyful place of all, the house of God. Revelation gives us a sneak preview of what that heavenly home will look like.  The most honored guests will be joy, music and worship. Some things will be intentionally left off the guest list: hunger, thirst, scorching heat, tears.  These won’t be invited.  And you know what?  We won’t even miss them.  We will be sheltered by the Lamb who is also the Good Shepherd, and it will be one heaven of a party.

It’s no wonder Psalm 23 sounds like such good news to us.  It’s no wonder it’s our favorite passage.  It’s no wonder we read it today, on this day when we welcome Easton into the family of the Church universal, where all the things that divide us wash away in waters of grace.  Here, we tell Easton and the world that there is a Good Shepherd who cares for him.  We tell him that this Shepherd chooses him first, starting his journey of faith at resting waters, and sustaining him when that journey means facing bullies or going through shadowed valleys of self-doubt. 

We tell him that he will live every moment of his life in God’s care, a care made evident in Christian community, and then he will live every moment of the life to come in the presence of the God who has known him all along.

Of course, Easton won’t be told these things until much later, and he will not understand what happens to him today.  But that doesn’t matter one bit – for we don’t understand our parents’ love as infants, we just know we need it.  And, if we’re really honest with ourselves, we grown-ups don’t understand the gracious love of God, a love that chooses us first, any better now than we did as children.  Some things can’t be explained – they can only be experienced. 

So, let us all bear witness to that experience today, as we gather with Easton and his family at a watering place of resting waters.  And maybe, just maybe, something of our own baptism so very long ago will well up within us, gushing forth, overflowing, as we realize that we belong to a community we did not create, we belong to a God who chose us first, and we belong to a life that will never end. 


Thanks be to God!  Amen.

Monday, April 11, 2016

From Enemy to Brother

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April 10, 2016 - Third Sunday of Easter
Acts 9:1-20
1Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest 2and asked him for letters to the synagogues at Damascus, so that if he found any who belonged to the Way, men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem. 3Now as he was going along and approaching Damascus, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him. 4He fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to him, "Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?" 5He asked, "Who are you, Lord?" The reply came, "I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. 6But get up and enter the city, and you will be told what you are to do."7The men who were traveling with him stood speechless because they heard the voice but saw no one. 8Saul got up from the ground, and though his eyes were open, he could see nothing; so they led him by the hand and brought him into Damascus. 9For three days he was without sight, and neither ate nor drank.
10Now there was a disciple in Damascus named Ananias. The Lord said to him in a vision, "Ananias." He answered, "Here I am, Lord." 11The Lord said to him, "Get up and go to the street called Straight, and at the house of Judas look for a man of Tarsus named Saul. At this moment he is praying, 12and he has seen in a vision a man named Ananias come in and lay his hands on him so that he might regain his sight." 13But Ananias answered, "Lord, I have heard from many about this man, how much evil he has done to your saints in Jerusalem; 14and here he has authority from the chief priests to bind all who invoke your name." 15But the Lord said to him, "Go, for he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel; 16I myself will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name." 17So Ananias went and entered the house. He laid his hands on Saul and said, "Brother Saul, the Lord Jesus, who appeared to you on your way here, has sent me so that you may regain your sight and be filled with the Holy Spirit." 18And immediately something like scales fell from his eyes, and his sight was restored. Then he got up and was baptized, 19and after taking some food, he regained his strength.
For several days he was with the disciples in Damascus, 20and immediately he began to proclaim Jesus in the synagogues, saying, "He is the Son of God."


Sermon: “From Enemy to Brother”

There was once a young woman named Rebecca.  She lived in Jerusalem around the time a particularly well-known rabbi, Jesus, healed and preached in that place.  Rebecca was the sort of person many of us try to be.  She cared for her family selflessly, and always seemed to put others first.  She believed what that rabbi Jesus proclaimed when he said, “love the Lord your God with all your heart and mind and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself,” but more importantly, she lived it.  She was a follower of The Way – that is, The Way of Jesus Christ. 

Because of this, Rebecca’s name made its way onto a list.  This was not a list of people to honor or celebrate.  This was a punishment list, a hit list, one given to the Pharisee Saul by colluding priests who wanted to see the most influential followers of The Way silenced. 

Saul was always the silencer – an expert at middle-of-the-night arrests and abductions, he knew how to make a problem disappear.  Let’s just say he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, and whether he was power drunk or really did think that’s what God wanted from him, he was never sorry.  It wasn’t his fault the world was the way it was – a place with no room for an equalizing dreamer of a Messiah that caused nothing but trouble for the authorities.

Rebecca’s name was on the latest list, and she would’ve been just another rounded-up criminal on that invented rap sheet.  Saul carried her name as he walked that Damascus road, breathing threats and murder, ready to do whatever it took to eliminate these Jesus followers. 

But Jesus had other plans.  He was fed up with Saul’s fear mongering and violence in God’s name.  Jesus was not, and is not, in the business of condemnation.  Jesus is in the salvation business.

And that day, Jesus was busy!  He wanted to do what he does best – save.  Now, if we tell this story as one of a single individual, Saul, blinded by himself and suddenly coming to “personal” faith in Jesus Christ, we have it all wrong. 

This was not a personal salvation story – salvation rarely is, no matter what televangelists tell you.  This salvation was for Saul, yes, but also for Rebecca and all the other saints named on that hit list.  And it was for Ananias, a follower of the The Way who was saved from his fear when he was asked to play a key role in the saving of his enemy. 

Jesus’s redemptive work that day included a little drama for dramatic Saul, flashes of light and blindness to boot, in order to get it into his hardened heart that something was really about to change.  Saul wasn’t told to pray a little prayer and accept Jesus into his heart.  He wasn’t told to make a large donation.  He was told to go to the city, with the help of his travel buddies, and wait. 

At the same time Ananias, one who would surely find his name on one of those hit lists before long, was told to go and find Saul, this muscle of the mighty Pharisees and lay hands on him.

Ananias, no doubt shaking the whole time, did what Jesus wanted him to do.  He laid hands on the one whose hands had hurt so many of his friends.  He prayed.  Most powerfully, he called his enemy, “brother,” something that I think took away that blindness more than anything else.   Saul, who had enslaved many, was freed from his own prison of hatred.  He would become Paul, a faithful follower of The Way in his own right.

But what if Ananias hadn’t played along?  What if he had said to Jesus, “You know, Lord, I appreciate that you want to save this guy, but some people are just too far gone.”  Would Saul have ever regained his sight?  Would he have ever believed Jesus was the Messiah?  Would he have picked up that list with Rebecca’s name on it, and gone back to his old murderous ways?

Thanks be to God, we will never know.  Thanks be to God, Ananias did the ridiculous work of evangelism: no, not “presenting the gospel” like a neatly-wrapped package.  He lived the gospel.  He called his enemy brother, and the scales of blindness that Paul hadn’t even realized were there all his life fell away, and he was baptized into a family like none he had ever known. 

He could finally see that “there is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, no longer male and female; for all of us are one in Christ Jesus.”  He was saved.  And so was Rebecca, and so was Ananias. 

And, if we’re honest, this makes some of us a little nervous.  Because some of us don’t remember what it was to not be saved.  Some of us never had a Damascus Road experience, or at least recognized it as that.  Some of us can’t remember a time we didn’t place trust in Jesus, in varying degrees of faithfulness. 

But our anxiety comes from a misguided reading of this text: a reading that tells us that Saul becoming Paul was a personal, private moment of clarity.  A reading that tells us that Paul never struggled with his violent and us-verses-them predispositions once he became part of The Way.  A reading that tells us that salvation is all about eternal life with Jesus and not about this life, here, now, today.

The heart of this powerful passage is surely salvation: salvation as a radically communal activity, initiated by God, not us.  Rebecca and others on that hit list never even knew they what they were saved from!  But they were saved from the violence of Saul all the same.  And that salvation changed everyone for the better – it changed Ananias’ understanding of Jesus’ reconciling work from a nice story to a profound experience.  It softened Saul’s deep-seeded hatred of the non-conformists (though we know it didn’t eliminate that entirely – he was still human, after all). 

We all need this sort of salvation.  A salvation that we did not earn or orchestrate, but that happens spontaneously and surprisingly, sometimes without us even realizing it until years later. 

A salvation that tears down the dividing walls, the hostility between us, making us one. 

A salvation that makes the scales of blindness, which distort our view of ourselves and the other, fall from our eyes with the help of those we often demonize most. 

A salvation, not just for some heavenly home, but for this war-torn earth in which Jesus decided to make a home. 

Salvation for us happened over 2,000 years ago, in the reconciling work of Jesus.  But it is not a once-off event.  It is a moment-by-moment turning away from the things that blind us from seeing one another – hatred, indifference, busyness, pride, bigotry. 

It is a moment-by-moment turning towards the God who is always ready to forgive and hit the reset button on our life. 

Every single moment is a saving moment.  Every single road is a Damascus Road, whether we recognize it or not.  Every single breath is an opportunity to breathe threats and murder or grace and compassion.  Every single choice determines whether we are the ones on the list with Rebecca, or the ones holding the list, ready to act as God’s misguided enforcer.    

Who will we be – Saul or Paul?  Or perhaps Rebecca or Ananias?  Or better yet, ourselves!  People stopped in our tracks by God’s grace, ready to live as changed followers of The Way, who will change the world.

Glory be to the Creator, and the Son and the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning and ever shall be, world without end, amen. 

Monday, April 4, 2016

Unless I See

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April 3, 2016 - Second Sunday of Easter
John 20:19-31
19When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you." 20After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. 21Jesus said to them again, "Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you." 22When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, "Receive the Holy Spirit. 23If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained."
24But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. 25So the other disciples told him, "We have seen the Lord." But he said to them, "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe."
26A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you." 27Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe." 28Thomas answered him, "My Lord and my God!" 29Jesus said to him, "Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe."
30Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. 31But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

Sermon: “Unless I See”

Sometimes, you have to see something to believe it.  Case in point: my swimming ability (or lack thereof).  I’m a pretty terrible swimmer.  So terrible, in fact, that I was not able to pass the required lifeguard certification to be a counselor at a Presbyterian camp in college.  I tried, really I did, but it just wasn’t happening.  (And let’s be honest – who wants their child in the care of a lifeguard who barely passed their test?)  I failed.  I declared myself the 911-caller in the event of a water emergency.  My parents gave me a fake Olympic medal for swimming.  Bless their hearts.

The reason I’m such a terrible swimmer is because, as a 5-year-old, I did not see proof of what I was told.  You see, I was at beginning swimming lessons and was asked to float on my back.  The instructor kept her arms under me, and promised, promised, that she would not move them.  You can guess what happened.  She didn’t live up to that promise, and just as I relaxed staring up at the fluffy white clouds above, she moved her arms, and under I went. 

When I finally came up, sputtering in what felt like twelve feet of water (but was probably only two), I was livid.  I jumped out of that pool and stood there with my hands on my hips, three feet of solid, hysterical fury: “YOU SAID YOU WOULDN’T MOVE YOUR ARMS!!”  Needless to say, I didn’t actually learn to swim until I was eleven and, even then, I’ve never been anything resembling Michael Phelps.                                            

Lesson learned: people will say anything, especially if they think it’s what you want to hear.  What we do is what matters.  The proof of words is in actions.

Which I why I have respect for Thomas in our resurrection story from John.  Jesus is alive – the women say it, finally the disciples see it and believe it, but Thomas, he’s not there yet.  “Unless I see him for myself, unless I touch his wounds, I won’t believe.” he says. 
Jesus later comes, just for him it seems.  Before Thomas can even ask, Jesus offers, “Touch, see, believe.”  And he does.  Poor Thomas, who’s been immortalized in memory as the “doubter.”  We don’t call him “scientist” Thomas, or “rational” Thomas, or “touchy-feely” Thomas.  We call him “doubter.” But aren’t we just like him?  Don’t we all need proof, to varying degrees? 

Don’t we all need the assurance that words and actions match: that the words that Jesus was risen match the wounds of his resurrected body?  It’s why we look for God in the faces of strangers and friend, in butterflies, in gentle drops of rain.  It’s why we search for God in the stories of those who have searched before us, in the Bible.  (Like our John reading says, But these [signs] are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God…”)  It’s why we pray in the artificial light of a hospital room, or the too-deep darkness of a living room.  We look, we search, we pray, because we need proof.

Proof that Jesus really is alive and at work in this world, that he hasn’t abandoned us to our suffering, fear and despair.  Proof that Easter wasn’t just for him, but also for us, bringing us new life in the most impossible of ways.  Proof that there is more, beyond the shores of this world, in a place of everlasting peace.  Proof that that peaceful place leaks into our weary earth when we need it most, breaking into the ordinary with the eternal. 

“Unless I see,” curious Thomas said.  Jesus might have rebuked him for his need for proof, but Jesus also offered his very self as that proof first.  He said, Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe."  Blessed indeed.  But how many of us believe without seeing anything at all? 

Most of us, myself included, need to see to believe.  Perhaps that’s why our text from John says that Jesus “did many other signs in the presence of his disciples” that didn’t all make it into scripture.  Jesus hoped people would trust in him on faith alone, faith as the assurance of things not seen, but at the exact same time, he accommodated their need for proof. 

So it is with us.  Sometimes, we are blessed with impenetrable faith that comes without signs or wonders.  But more often than not, I think we are tentative Thomases who find ourselves late to the resurrection party, fearing we’ve missed something essential.  Perhaps we’re afraid to experience God in the emotional or charismatic ways others do; perhaps we’re skeptical of the whole “Easter” thing anyway; more likely, we’re just too busy and distracted to dwell on anything too long, especially a God who seems to vanish into mist as soon as we think we have a hold on him or her.

But here’s the good news, the news Thomas had to see and touch to believe: resurrection keeps.  There’s no expiration date, no time limit on experiencing the One who gave death the boot.  Jesus comes to us before we come to him, offering his very self graciously, to help us have faith in him, ourselves and this world.

If we find we need a little proof to go on, wounds to see and touch, it requires the bravery of a doubter, a questioner, like Thomas.  It requires seeing the wounds -- how Jesus is wounded by this world – where people are abused, where people are treated as less than human, where fear and finger-pointing reign.  Where human beings react and retaliate, hurting the innocent again and again and again.  Where we ourselves grieve, and ache and long for beautiful life, in the midst of whatever mess we might find ourselves drowning in. 

Jesus is there, and he is showing us his wounds (which, as it turns out are our wounds, too), so that we will believe, and so that believing, we will do something about it. 

If it weren’t for Thomas, we might ignore the wounds altogether, and just focus on the shiny angels or rolled away stone at the resurrection.  But Thomas brings those wounds into sharp focus – to see, to touch – until we believe that new life is possible, even after death. 
Do you want to believe?  In God, in yourself, in this world?  Be a Thomas.  Ask to see the wounds, and recognize the Risen Lord who, though wounded, lives on, until all are lifted out of terrifying waters and held in the arms of a God who will never, ever, let us go.  Amen.