Category Archives: God with us

Ubi Caritas

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Originally posted at RevGalBlogPals.

            This past Sunday, I read The Sparkle Boxto a group of children. The premise behind this book is that a family notes the things they do to help other people during the Christmas season. They write down their efforts- donating to blankets, funding a well, giving mittens- and put the slips of paper in a sparkly box under the tree. Their deeds are their gift to Jesus on his birthday.
            As I read the story to the kids, who were very engaged, I also explained how we could do this kind of thing, not just at Christmas, but also during any time of the year. Even as I spoke, I watched the reactions of parents. I could see some who were nodded and interested. I could also see those who were skeptical and some who frowned.
            I knew some of the frowners wanted to point out that the man who was sleeping in the park could have made better choices, that food distribution goes to support “welfare queens”, that building wells doesn’t help people change their system or their behavior. We have moved from understanding “charity” not to be associated with caritas (Latin: costliness, esteem, affection), but to be something that is anathema to many, including those who might give and those who might receive.
            We argue about enabling, about worthiness, about “feel-good” measures. We lament and, often, we become resigned to systems and ways of thinking that seem unchangeable. Injustice and a culture of death seem insurmountable. Thus, charity becomes something we all wrestle with, that causes mixed feelings, that is never elevated to the caritas and mutual benefit that is the desire of God- when we are commanded and commended to the care of the poor.
            This week was filled with gushing commentary on Evangelii Gaudium, the urgent letter from Pope Francis to clergy, religious, and all people of faith in the world. Some people could not say enough about the letter, which lifted up the plight of the poor, urged joy in evangelism, and encouraged a posture of reason and rationality among the Church’s faithful. Others howled that the letter encouraged “Marxism” and denounced capitalism.
            Pope Francis never mentions capitalism at all, but instead speaks firmly and forcefully against the way that money has come to possess our minds and habits, rather than being a tool of or for them. The pursuit of money causes people, churches, governments, and nations to trample over what is perceived as weak or weakness. The greater gain triumphs over the greater good.
            In abandoning caritas, we reject the truth of Mary’s Magnificat– that God can, has, and will bring down those who are in high places and lift up the lowly. God’s desire and plan is for those who are hungry to feast and for those who are wealthy to learn what it means to do without. We grow used to hearing arguments about people who “don’t try” or who “game the system”. We feel frustrated by the assumptions we make about the people around us, without knowing their whole story. Exhausted by what seems to be a never-ending need, we start to dial back our efforts- certain that the problem can never be fixed.
            Pope Francis writes:

Realities are more important than ideas[1]

 231. There also exists a constant tension between ideas and realities. Realities simply are, whereas ideas are worked out. There has to be continuous dialogue between the two, lest ideas become detached from realities. It is dangerous to dwell in the realm of words alone, of images and rhetoric. So a third principle comes into play: realities are greater than ideas. This calls for rejecting the various means of masking reality: angelic forms of purity, dictatorships of relativism, empty rhetoric, objectives more ideal than real, brands of ahistorical fundamentalism, ethical systems bereft of kindness, intellectual discourse bereft of wisdom. 

232. Ideas – conceptual elaborations – are at the service of communication, understanding, and praxis. Ideas disconnected from realities give rise to ineffectual forms of idealism and nominalism, capable at most of classifying and defining, but certainly not calling to action. What calls us to action are realities illuminated by reason. Formal nominalism has to give way to harmonious objectivity. Otherwise, the truth is manipulated, cosmetics take the place of real care for our bodies… We have politicians – and even religious leaders – who wonder why people do not understand and follow them, since their proposals are so clear and logical. Perhaps it is because they are stuck in the realm of pure ideas and end up reducing politics or faith to rhetoric. Others have left simplicity behind and have imported a rationality foreign to most people. 

233. Realities are greater than ideas. This principle has to do with incarnation of the word and its being put into practice: “By this you know the Spirit of God: every spirit that confesses that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh is from God” (1 Jn 4:2). The principle of reality, of a word already made flesh and constantly striving to take flesh anew, is essential to evangelization. It helps us to see that the Church’s history is a history of salvation, to be mindful of those saints who inculturated the Gospel in the life of our peoples and to reap the fruits of the Church’s rich bimillennial tradition, without pretending to come up with a system of thought detached from this treasury, as if we wanted to reinvent the Gospel. At the same time, this principle impels us to put the word into practice, to perform works of justice and charity which make that word fruitful. Not to put the word into practice, not to make it reality, is to build on sand, to remain in the realm of pure ideas and to end up in a lifeless and unfruitful self-centredness and gnosticism.

            Dealing with reality is more important that holding onto ideals that never come to fruition. Where have we seen this in practice? Certainly this principle was visible in the work and life of Nelson Mandela. Had he simply held that apartheid was evil and should be ended, without acknowledging the serious work that would be part of tearing down that practice, it might well continue today.
            If Mandela had said, “We need to come together,” but never donned the soccer jersey and strode onto the field during the World Cup in 1995, his ideals would have been nothing more than symbolic. His willingness to put into practice, to live out what he hoped would become true exactly undergirds what Pope Francis is explaining now: a failure to heed realities makes a mockery of truth.
            Certainly Advent is a season of acknowledging reality. We wonder if Jesus is really returning. We are no longer certain that peace can happen in our lifetimes. We despair that anything will be better for our children. We are resigned that our efforts to improve the plight of the poor actually makes any difference.
            The difference between charity and caritasis the difference between the idea and the reality. The idea behind charity, as we have come to say the word today, is improving the situation of our neighbors. The reality of charity is that the improvement is usually short-term and rarely (but sometimes!) systemic.
            The idea behind caritas is a lifting of all boats, a growth in understanding of our neighbors, a genuine sharing of what is deep, essential, and costly. The reality of caritas is that, when lived out, everyone can participate. Every person can give of what is costly to him or herself for the sake of neighbors, for the sake of the world, for the sake of Christ. Caritas is what brings ideas into being new realities. Caritas is what works to end oppression, division, and strife. Caritas is how God brings the kingdom through our hands. Caritasgoes beyond the sparkle box to the manger to where God’s ideals of mercy and grace became the reality of Emmanuel. To again quote Pope Francis, and to channel Nelson Mandela: Caritas… “Not to put the word into practice, not to make it reality, is to build on sand, to remain in the realm of pure ideas and to end up in a lifeless and unfruitful self-centredness and [ignorance of material truths]”.

I AM is Enough (Sermon 9/29)

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Exodus 2:23-25; 3:10-15; 4:10-17
            When I was graduating from college, I accepted a position to be the deputy news director of KNOM radio in Nome, Alaska- (KNOM, Yours for Western Alaska). I took this position over offers in for positions in England and in Boston. At the time, it seemed like God had given me many choices and I got to choose from several great options.
            Moving to Nome led to loving Alaska. Loving Alaska led to meeting and dating Rob. Marrying Rob led to staying in Alaska. Staying in Alaska led to restricting where I was available for call. Restricting meant that I was available to come here. Coming here meant that we learned to live with and love each other. Living with one another means that I was here to do the premarital counseling for Joyce and Bryan, preach at their wedding, pray during their medical emergencies, frustrate Bryan by my softball ineptitude, have the privilege of baptizing their children.
            All of those things, ostensibly, became possible when I said yes to KNOM. Some doors opened and others closed (some temporarily and some permanently). I was thinking about that this week as I looked at the verses we have from Exodus. The Israelites- the descendants of Abraham and Sarah- are in Egypt. When God made promises to Abraham and then, later, to Jacob, the covenant included the flourishing of generations, the strength to be a blessing to others, and the gift of land. God promised people, presence, and place.
            When Exodus begins, the Israelites are not where they are supposed to be. After Joseph’s brothers (Jacob’s sons) sold him into slavery, he eventually became a very successful assistant to the Pharaoh. In a time of famine, Joseph had overseen the storage of enough food to sustain Egypt and their neighbors. Thus, the Israelites were among those who arrived to eat and multiply through Joseph’s resourcefulness (inspired by God).
            Thus, generations after generations were born in Egypt until there arose a Pharaoh who knew not Joseph. This Pharaoh looked at the numerous people who were NOT “his” people and, thus, enslaved them. While I am in no way trying to blame the victims of slavery here, part of the problem is that the Israelites never returned to the place in which God had covenanted to bless them. They grew comfortable in Egypt and didn’t go back to Israel- the land that was their inheritance and insurance.
            So when Moses is in Midian (having fled a murder charge in Egypt), God speaks to him from a flaming bush. Consider the character of God in this story. God doesn’t surround Moses with flames. God doesn’t pin Moses down so he has to listen. The bush burns, but is not consumed. Moses can’t help but get closer to investigate and then God speaks to him. This reveals God’s compelling, but not coercive nature. When considering what God can do and does, it is hard to look away.
            Moses tries to resist. Five times he has a great excuse for why he can’t do what God asks- Moses is a nobody, he’s not eloquent, he doesn’t want to go, he’s afraid, he doesn’t know God’s name. Moses wants a sign, a signal, he can use when he goes to people so they know that he’s really from God. He wants a badge or a number- Moses, God’s Moses, Agent 001.
            Instead, God says, “I am who I am. Tell the people ‘I am has sent me.’” What kind of name is “I am”? God goes on to tell Moses, “You can remind them that I am the God of their ancestor- Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel.” Presumably, the Israelites will recognize God’s call through Moses’ words and respond. They need to get back to where they’re supposed to be- to the place of covenant and blessing. It’s not that God is not with them in Egypt or even that God is not blessing them in Egypt, but the specific promises of God to them involve being back in the land of their ancestors.
            This is the good news for Dottie, and for all of us who are children of God. The font is the place of promise- God’s covenant of welcoming, of redeeming, of presence, people, and promise. The font isn’t the source of these promises- it is the reminder and the refresher.
            When we are baptized, we come into a new life- a life that is united with Jesus’s own death and resurrection. It is in Jesus that God clarified the “I am”. Jesus says, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” “I am the light of the world.” “I am the bread of life and the living water.” “I am the Good Shepherd.” Jesus is God enfleshed. Jesus as the Christ reveals to us the nature of God.
            The God who is revealed in Jesus is love. God is not sometimes loving or usually loving. God is love. This is the love that is. Love that says “I am”. Love, that through baptism, says, “Dottie, I am with you. I am in you. I am wherever you go. I am not letting you go. I am always with you. I am never leaving you alone. I am guiding you.”
            The God who attracts, the God who knows what Moses is capable of, the God who is made known to us in Jesus… this God says, “I am.” And, though we long to have that be a longer sentence… it is still complete in those two words. And “I am” is enough. It is enough to know that God is. It would be enough to know that God had blessed our ancestors. It would be enough to know how God had spoken through prophets. It would be enough to know that God had come among as Jesus. It would be enough to know that God had resurrected once.
            But we do not live in a God who says, “I am done.” God says to Moses, to Dottie, to all the baptized, and to all creation, “I am.” That’s an identity we can’t escape. That’s a bush that burns, but is not consumed. It is a reality that weaves in and out of what we perceive to be our choices (KNOM, Rob, LCOH), but in truth is the guiding hand of the Spirit and the power of God at work in the world, moving us to where we need to be.
            “I am” is enough. It is enough of a name to know, to call upon, and to be claimed by… For because of “I am”, we are.
Amen. 

Notes on Jacob

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(These notes were my “back-up” reflection for Sunday 9/22/13. God delivered a much more intense word in reality. The audio is in this post.)

Genesis 27:1-4, 15-23; 28:10-17
            For me, the stories of Genesis begin to feel “real” when Jacob appears on the scene. I understand Abraham as the “Father-of-many” and father of our faith. I sympathize with Isaac- in the binding, in the grief of the death of his parents, etc. However, Jacob- wrestling within the womb, grasping all he can, wanting more than he can define clearly, and prepared to do anything to get it- Jacob is a truly fleshed-out character, a human being, a person who makes the Scriptures pop and sing. After all, why would this ancestor be included, with his cheating and tricky ways, except that through him, we understand (like many generations before us) that God is no respecter of persons.
            Jacob comes out of the womb clinging to Esau’s heel and spends the rest of his childhood trying to overtake him. An oracle is revealed to his mother, Rebekah, there were two nations in her womb and the younger would overtake the older. Whether this provokes her later actions or gives her an excuse for what she does, Rebekah doesn’t hold back from helping Jacob grab onto what’s not his.
            Of course, Esau doesn’t help. He is very willing to give into his human desires, too. A birthright, his right to inherit all his father’s material property, for a lentil stew- is this the decision of a model older sibling? Of course, we grieve for Esau when he loses out on Isaac’s blessing. This is not a mere “bless you, my child”- but a powerful blessing that conveys with it the covenantal relationship between God and Abraham that will now be passed to Jacob. God’s words brought this into being and Isaac’s words pass it to Jacob. He cannot withdraw these words once spoken.
            Jacob has to flee so that Esau will not kill him. He has both the birthright (his father’s property) and the blessing of an elder son, but he is afraid and alone. He sleeps on a rock- probably terrified for his life for the first time ever. In his exhaustion, he has a vision of heaven and God speaks to him.
            Jacob is granted the one thing he cannot grab for himself- God’s blessing. God shows him a glimpse of heaven and speaks to Jacob of what is to come. Jacob will own the land on which he currently sleeps. He will have many children. God’s own legacy will spread out through Jacob.
            And it does. It is neither Abraham nor Isaac who receive the name “Israel”. It is not Sarah or Rebekah who give birth to the man who will save the Hebrew people from starvation- it is one of the wives of Jacob. The people of Israel are named through Jacob. The 12 tribes of the nation come through Jacob. Much of the identity of what it meant to be an Israelite comes through Jacob- a man who wrestled that blessing from God.
            The story of Jacob tells us that God is in places we do not expect, as Jacob found out when he slept in the desert. More importantly, God is present in people we do not expect and God is using them in ways we do not expect. Additionally, God’s blessing is not something we can grasp for ourselves. No one is keeping it from us and we are not earning it through good behavior. It is God’s to give freely and God does so, through the power of the Living Word.
Amen. 

Lord’s Prayer: First Petition (+ Holy Trinity)

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I wrote this to be read by our congregational president when I was out sick on Holy Trinity Sunday, which also marked the start of our Lord’s Prayer sermon series. 
I am not with you because I am at home, sick. The illness is not a mystery. It is just something that I am waiting to finish. Being sick is a little like a puzzle. With enough information, we can solve the puzzle and, usually, things work out.
Of course, we know situations where people were sick and did not get well in the way we had hoped. Nevertheless, we almost always pursue the solution- the full solution, the answers to all our questions. No stones are left unturned. Questions are answered. Puzzles are solved.
We like solutions. There is hardly anything more aggravating than not being able to fix something or know an answer. In this room, right now, with the human knowledge plus the technological benefit of smart phones- there are many questions that could be answered, many problems that could be solved. Facts and figures and history and science- at our fingertips, in our minds, remembered and recorded.
Yet, there are two mysteries that remain here with us- two things we cannot solve, two puzzles that specifically do not have solutions. We cannot adequately explain the Trinity- the idea of one God with three expressions. And we cannot explain prayer.
Even if I were here in front of you, I could not solve these puzzles for you. And, frankly, Megan would probably rather be sick herself than to have to attempt it. The thing is… these are not problems. They do not need to be solved. The work of faith is learning to live both with God’s expansive nature and with the command to pray.
Oh, we do want to solve these mysteries. There are all kinds of object lessons about the Trinity- a three-note chord, an apple (skin, flesh, and seeds), water (ice, liquid, vapor). Ultimately, though, we cannot explain anything adequately. The faithful thing to do, then, is to stop trying. Stop trying to make sense of the Trinity. Stop trying to adhere to a specific kind of orthodoxy that will make it neat and clean.
Rest in the messiness of a God who is both Parent and Child, both enfleshed and ineffable, both eternal and resurrected, who knows all things and also experiences a thousand years like a day. God is bigger than we can imagine and yet we keep thinking we can solve God- like a Rubic’s cube. If we get all the colors lined up, then God- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit- will make sense, will be solved!
We do the same thing with prayer- except that we worry about getting it right. So much depends, we think, on being able to do it correctly, on solving the prayer problem, that we hardly notice when we’re praying all the time. We focus on the “how” and we forget the “who”.
            Jesus teaches disciples to pray, in Matthew’s gospel, by beginning, “Our Father in heaven, holy is your name.” God’s name is holy because it is the name upon which we can call for all things- for healing, in distress, in joy, for hope, for help. We begin by calling on the name of God because we can ask things of this name (and in this name) that cannot come from anyone or anything else.
            Yet, when people tell me they have a hard time praying, often they are concerned about “getting it wrong”. We want to have all our ducks in a row because, surely, if we pray in the right way, we will receive the thing for which we are asking. And that, right there, is the tough mystery of prayer. The part we want to solve. It is hard accept that a God who has made us, who has lived as one of us, and who sighs with us in prayer is present and at work in all things, even when our experience is bleak and dark.
            If things are not improving (in the way we expect), then God must not be listening (so we think) and if God is not listening (according to us), then we must be doing it wrong (it stands to reason). We are able to do so much, so quickly now and to know so many things… waiting with mystery is hard. What is hard is uncomfortable and what is uncomfortable is to be avoided. No one ever says, “Let’s go to the park with the hard benches! I love how uncomfortable we are there.”
            Part of living in faith, in trusting God, is learning to be consoled by the mystery of God’s relationship to God’s ownself (as Father, Son, and Spirit) and the mystery of God’s relationship to us- as we experience it through prayer- our prayers with words and our prayers with actions. God is bigger than our knowledge, than our imaginations, than our dreams. We cannot solve the mystery of God. That actually is good news. A puzzle has a solution. A riddle has an answer. But God, God is forever- and we live and rest, not through our own doing, in that eternity- even when we do not understand it.
Amen. 

Dressed for Joy (Sermon 12/16)

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Isaiah 61:1-11
How many of you know the adage, “Wear clean underwear, because you never know when you’ll be in an accident”? While I do not want to know how many of you follow that rule, I suspect many of you think about what you wear each day. Am I dressed or ready for the car to break down? Am I dressed or ready if I had to sit for a while and wait? Am I dressed and ready for walking around the store, getting gas, watching a toddler, changing a tire, having lunch with a friend?
This is a question I ask myself all the time. Especially as the number of clothes I have that fit begins to dwindle, I ask myself, “Is this what I want to be wearing for a hospital visit? For an emergency call? For pastoral authority in the office?” Sometimes I’m not dressed, or I don’t feel like I am, for what I need to do.
On Friday, after the initial shock of the news out of Connecticut, I was thinking about opening the church into the evening for prayers. When I decided to do that, I was wearing jeans and a sweater. A fine outfit for sitting in the office and writing a sermon, not what I wanted to be wearing when we were opening the church and I was talking with the people who came in and out all day. “I’m not dressed for this”- I kept thinking. What I really meant was- I’m not ready. I’m not prepared for this.
This is not the first time this has happened. Someone here once told me- it doesn’t matter what you’re wearing, just show up. Good advice, but I know I’m not the only one to whom this happens. How many of you felt overwhelmed this week- either by the season, by events, or by memories? How many of you have had a call during the day or in the night- for which you weren’t dressed, for which you weren’t ready?
Thus, in considering that the third Sunday in Advent is Joy Sunday, I don’t feel dressed for it. If we had colored candles, this would be the pink one (the others being blue or purple). Joy Sunday! And that’s what the task that the prophet Isaiah delivers to Israel and that is also communicated to us, as our task, through Jesus. It is our task to seek joy, to be found by joy, to communicate joy.
Isaiah says the role of the prophet, which is now the mantle that goes over all of Israel and extends to all who live by faith is this: The spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me; he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn; to provide for those who mourn in Zion — to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.  (61:1-3)
Do you feel dressed to do that? To declare the year of the Lord’s favor? To bring good news to the oppressed and to comfort all who mourn? Do you feel ready to proclaim joy?
Joy is not happiness. It is one of the fruits of the Spirit (love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness)- not something we can produce ourselves, but something that God brings forth in us. Joy has the twinge of the fight, of how far it took to get there, it is hard earned and treasured. Joy is the light that shines in the darkness and shines that focused beam, making us aware of how dark things can be. How can we be ready for joy? How can we be ready to proclaim it? How do we dress for this?
The only way to be dressed for joy is to be clothed in Christ.  To be clothed in the experience of weeping at the death of a friend, to know betrayal, to have eaten good-bye meals, to have people turn away from grace, to feel forsaken… and to still taste resurrection, to still hope in return and restoration, to trust in the possibility of peace, to rest in the light of Love. 
The only way to be dressed for joy is to be clothed in Christ, clothing which comes with all of these experiences, the accessories of faith, if you will- the very real experiences of this very real life.  Joy is not the absence of suffering, but the presence of God.
            I cannot tell you why bad things happen. I cannot tell you that we will live to see the good that God will bring from some of the tragedies of our lifetimes. I cannot undo the exile of the Israelites and I cannot redo Friday with a different outcome.
            God is not the “why” of tragedy and devastation. God is the how- the how we get through it. God is the where- consoling to the grieving, receiving the dying, walking with the confused and afraid. God is the who- the One who made all things and loves all creation. God is the when- a mystery to us, but a promise of renewal and bringer of unexpected joy. God is the what- the what we shall wear, the what we shall say, the what we shall turn to.
            When there is no “why”, there is a Holy Who/Where/How/When/What that clothes us in grace, that dresses us in mercy, that accessorizes us with joy. We come as we are to God’s dressing room- the baptismal font, Holy Communion, a conversation with a friend, a time of prayer- and we are draped in Christ.
            What do you wear to do that proclaiming, to be a priest of the Lord, a minister proclaiming God’s favor (as Isaiah says you are)?
            (Make the sign of the cross). You wear the sign of the cross and…
There! You’re dressed for proclamation. You are wearing the promise of the Holy Spirit, the mark of Christ crucified and risen, the symbol of hope for the whole world. You will never be more ready to bear joy. You will not find anything that fits you better. There’s never been a more graceful fit, a closer fit, a more beautiful shape. The cross is the clothing we’ve got… its emptiness, its inability to be the final word, its attempt to stop the Word of Life… it is how God dresses us to go out into the world. The sign of the cross is our clothing for grieving and for rejoicing, for sorrow and for joy. The sign of the cross is our Christmas sweater, our Easter suit, our Epiphany workout clothes, our Pentecost learning outfit, our clothing for waiting, for hoping, for proclaiming.
            It is Advent and we wait. We wait for a great deal, including joy. But we’re dressed for it, when it comes. Saved and clothed in righteousness by Christ’s own faithfulness, we are dressed to heal, to share hope, to be a part of the work of the kingdom. In the midst of tragedy and hope, we are dressed, in the cross, to seek and to be found by joy. Amen.

Advent Lions (Sermon 12/2)

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Daniel 6:6-27
            Talk to me about the war on Christmas. How many of you are having a hard time finding Christmas decorations? How many of your family members have met you in back alleys to exchange cards, hoping to be undetected? Other than the icy roads, who was worried about coming here today? Has anyone been so deluged by Happy Holidays, Happy Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa commercialism that they just felt unable to get a word in edgewise for the Christmas holiday? Anyone?
            It is hard for me to listen to rhetoric about the “war on Christmas” and think about religious persecution around the world that happens today, both to Christians and non-Christians. It’s hard for me to listen to rants about the “war on Christmas” and to read about Daniel at the same time. Here is a story about real persecution and real faith. A story about a young Jewish exile, likely born in Babylon, never having seen Jerusalem… he serves under four kings, the first two of which change his name- not calling him by his Hebrew name Daniel, but by the Greek name- Belteshazzar. Daniel serves at the pleasure of the king and does not hold back from the obviousness of his true devotion to the one God.
            Daniel maintains a strict diet (see Daniel 1), interprets dreams (Daniel 3-5), and finally refuses to cave to pressure from jealous rivals and does not stop worshipping God (Daniel 6). This story is almost intimidating in Daniel’s faithfulness. He has no guarantee that God will prevent the lions from destroying him. God didn’t prevent the exile into Babylon. Daniel’s only comfort is in trusting in God’s faithfulness above all else- above the desertion of exile, above the power of King Darius, above the ferocious nature of the lions.
            When I think of what it means to live faithfully, under those kind of conditions, the much-discussed “war on Christmas” becomes unimpressive indeed. As we enter the season of Advent today, we are called to ponder what are the lions that face us? What is the exile we experience?
            We know that Christmas, the holy day (as opposed to the holiday), is not for another 22 days, beginning the evening of 24 December. Believing that God-with-us, Emmanuel, has already been born into world once, is present with us still, and yet will come again, what are we waiting for? The exile we experience is the space between what we believe is true and what we observe around us.
            We believe in the Prince of Peace and yet we do not see peace. We believe in the Spirit of Consolation and still we see many who are not consoled, grieving, anguished. We believe in the Creator of all that is seen and unseen and yet we see many who struggle- some because of their own decisions, some because of the actions of others. We believe a light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it, yet the darkness still seems very, very deep (and not just because it’s winter in Alaska).
            The lions that slink around us in Advent are both obvious and subtle. There are showy lions of commercialism, decadence, and acquisition. Their roars tempt us to place our hope in things that are shiny and promising now. Then there are the subtle, hungry lions of hopelessness, frustration, depression, and isolation. Their sneak attacks undercut our ability to stand false brightness of the holiday and leave us unprepared for the holy day. The war on Christmas isn’t some outside entity, but a struggle that happens within us and around us to undercut our waiting hope- emphasized this time of year, but lived out every day of the year.
            Our Advent exile- our time apart, waiting in hope- gives us the opportunity to fight off these lions, to dare to be a Daniel and to pray beyond the falseness of their promises. In this season of waiting, we are presented with the chance to exercise our faithfulness, our hope in God, our expectation of holiness, our trust in the promise of Emmanuel, God-with-us. And, like Daniel, our faithfulness only stands in the light- the undimmed light- of the One God who is the gifter, sustainer, and perfecter, who is Faithfulness itself. 

Around the Edges (All Saints Sermon)

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1 Kings 17:1-16
            A famous theologian once said, “You should preach with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other.” That can be tough, because then in one hand I have stories of droughts and floods, wars and struggles between ruling parties, unexpected deaths, people struggling to make ends meet, and people longing for justice… and is that the hand that holds the newspaper or the Bible? Sometimes, it can be hard to tell one from the other without looking carefully and remembering what each one is supposed to do. The newspaper shows us a world that longs for God’s kingdom to come or has forgotten its promise. The Bible reminds us of the promise and shows us God’s actions through history, so that we have a foundation on which to base our hope in and expectation of God’s future actions.
            If the Bible were like other history books, today’s reading would be about Ahab’s reaction to the prophet Elijah. We would have a detailed account of the king’s comings and goings and how other, sycophantic “prophets” would have advised him, and (almost certainly) what Jezebel had to say about the matter. Yet, Israel’s history does not chronicle the kings as much as the people affected by the king and the king’s decisions. Remember that when Israel called for a king, the people were reminded that the Lord was to be their one leader and a king would come with some serious consequences for their national wellbeing.
            Thus, instead of learning more about Ahab, we get a story of Elijah fleeing for his life and a widow with a child, someone who is directly affected by the policies of the king. The first situation that is facing the widow is that she is a widow. Her source of income is gone. Her husband’s family, if still living, hasn’t taken her in to be with them. Her own family, if still living, would not be expected to do so. So she depends on the generosity of others, toward her and toward her son, so that they may live. She may be able to do little tasks in exchange for food or coin to make ends meet, but she certainly lives with very little extra and, consequently, very little participation in societal life.
            The second situation facing the widow (and her neighbors) is the drought. The writer of 1 Kings is careful to point out that the Lord says through Elijah that it will not rain for several years. The significance of this is not that the Lord wants people to suffer in a drought, but that the Lord wants them to remember who makes the rain. The Canaanite god, Baal, was thought to be the giver of rain. If it was dry, Baal was dead. If it rained, he was alive. But Elijah’s prophesy points out that it is the Lord God who is the giver of life. So now we have a situation where people are going to be tightening their belts and have less to give to the widow, whom God has commanded them to remember. We have a prophet who has angered a king who is clearly refusing to acknowledge the Lord as God (and the only God).
            Finally, the widow has a plan for how she and her son will die and here comes a prophet of the Lord, distinguished in some way that lets her know that he’s a holy man, who wants some of her last bits of food. Now, the widow is from the same region (Sidon) as Jezebel, so she is likely to be a worshiper of Baal. Yet she speaks to Elijah with the words he spoke to Ahab, “As the Lord your God lives…” Her circumstances are overwhelming and horrifying. If we were reading to this point in a newspaper article, woman struggling to make ends meet in bad times is confronted by a man who claims to speak for God who tells her to feed him… Who would root for her? Who would blame her if she closed the door on him? Who would say she should absolutely make him some food? Who would say, “The Lord never gives us more than we can handle” and expect her to bake that bread?
            Elijah promises her that she and her son will have enough food, throughout the drought, if she helps him. And so she did. Hooray! Faithful action pays off! It’s a heart-warming page 2 story!
            But not so fast, remember earlier in the story when the ravens feed Elijah? We’re all familiar with ravens- eating out of dumpsters and what’s been hit in the street. Who here would eat meat and bread brought to them by a raven? Even more so, in ancient Israel, ravens are nasty, unclean birds. You don’t eat scavengers, yet they are what God sends to keep Elijah alive. The unexpected birds are how God provides for the prophet.
Similarly, the widow, with all of the circumstances piled against her, should not be expected to provide for a prophet. There are better-favored people to do that, yet God’s provision for her allows her to have an expected role as a sustainer, as a provider, as a person whom God has not forgotten. The God she does not worship has not failed to provide for her and, furthermore, has not forgotten use her to the hope of others and for the hope of creation.
This is what it means to be a saint. It’s not about having great stories written about you or having powerful visions or heroic actions. It’s about faithful action, in spite of what else is happening, and it is about being the hope in God of the people around us. The people whose lives we remember today and the lives that the Spirit is shaping today are exactly this… lives that remember the people around them, lives that are structured by small, unseen remembrances, gifts, and help.
Sometimes we do have more than we can handle on our own. Sometimes life does pile up. It is not merely by our own determination that we survive, but by the help and support of others- who bring us bread, words of hope, silent companionship, refills of oil for our jars. This is what sainthood looks like… un-haloed, but still hallowed, unsung, but still a song, unremarked, but still remarkable.
It is work that happens through family and friends AND through outsiders and rejects (in this story, widows and ravens). This is how the Spirit moves-from all directions, expected and unexpected. This is how God reminds us who is in charge. This is how saints are made, how creation is renewed, and how Christ continues to make resurrection happen out of death in this life.
A famous theologian once said, “You should preach with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other.” In one hand, I have stories of droughts and floods, wars and struggles between ruling parties, unexpected deaths, people struggling to make ends meet, and people longing for justice… and is that the newspaper or the Bible?
In the end, it doesn’t matter. Either way, the Holy Spirit is in these stories, breathing from the edges and from the middle, encouraging people (and sometimes animals) to actions that save and preserve life. It’s not the headline news, but it must be remembered. God is in charge, no matter what else happens, and, with that eternal truth, comes this corollary: the Spirit is still making saints. 

You Know Why They Built That Calf (Sermon 10/7)

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Exodus 32:1-14
            It is said that when Augustine preached, in his role as the Bishop of Hippo, that he preached for two hours or so at the time. Within the length of his sermon, he would have smaller sermons that were directed at different people who might be gathered in the congregation. He would preach to people who were just hearing of the faith. He would preach to the catecumenate, the people preparing for baptism. He would preach to those feeling lost and to those who were a long time in the faith. Everyone sat through all of the sermons, absorbing the lesson aimed at them and the lessons that swirled over them.
I have been thinking about Augustine this week as this text of the Golden Calf turned over in my mind. There are at least six sermons here. All of them do not apply to all of you. I think I can cover three of them and keep my time under two hours.
            The first group to whom I will speak today are those who would consider themselves young in faith, those who still feel raw and uncertain. If you feel a little shaky about your Bible knowledge or confused as to why we do what and when, this is for you. You know why the idols were built.
            The story of the Golden Calf takes place after the Israelites have been freed from Egyptian slavery, after they have seen the violent death of Pharaoh’s army in the Sea of Reeds, after God has led them with a pillar of clouds by day and a pillar of fire by night, after they’ve received food from the heavens, and after the Israelites have been gifted with the Ten Commandments, which begin with “You shall have no other gods before me.”
            The Israelites did not make it to this place on their own, but each step has been an overwhelming confirmation of God’s presence with them and God’s guidance through their leader, Moses. Even though the Israelites know their history, each day is a new experiment in trust. They are totally dependent on God and God’s providence. While the goal of living by faith is their ideal, sometimes it requires too much.
            You may find yourself relating well to the Israelites in this situation, oh people of new faith. It turns out to be harder than expected. The glories of those first days of freedom and revelation are strengthening, but the need for new confirmation each day is tough. It is hard to say that to those around you, those who share your tent, those who sit around the table with you. But you must. The Israelites missed the chance to hold one another up when they grumbled to themselves and then despaired. Sometimes the constant re-telling of the stories of freedom and hope are what keep the flame burning until new wood, experience, confirmation, depth of wisdom in Christ, is added. For you receiving this first sermon, I encourage you to tell your story- share the breath of God that is in you. Let the Spirit be the wind that parts the waters of doubt for you and those around you and lets you pass through on dry land.
            The second sermon is for those of you who have been faithful for years. If you have heard this story as a child and as an adult, if you feel like the facts are familiar, if you are listening and making a to-do list in your head at the same time- this is the sermon portion for you.
            It is you, beloved second group who do much of the work of the church and, yet, are at the greatest risk of imitating the Hebrew people of this story. It is you who know the story so well who may overlook the two reasons the Golden Calf gets built. When the people lament that Moses has been gone too long, they gather around his brother, Aaron, and beg him to help them make an idol.
            If you remember, Aaron was Moses’s spokesman in front of Pharaoh. Aaron knows EXACTLY what has happened between God and the people. And yet, he collects up the jewelry, melts it down, and makes a golden calf- a common shape for worship in the Mesopotamian region. Representing food, milk, clothing, and potential livelihood, as idols go, the calf is not unreasonable. And yet, it is not appropriate for people who have been saved by the God of their ancestors and who are yet covered by the same promises made to those ancestors.
            The people may have made the idol because they needed a concrete image to worship. Perhaps the God of freedom who acted unseen was too much of a strain. Perhaps they were trying to make an image of this God and this is what they came up with. Regardless, Moses is up on the mountain receiving instructions for how to build the tabernacle, a place for God’s Spirit to dwell in the encampment, and down below the people are trying to make a concrete image to worship, from which to seek guidance, to praise for all that has happened to them.
            People of faithful years, this is too easy to do. We live in a world that craves newness and, in newness, concreteness. Our sports teams, our gadgets, our cars, our clothing, our patriotic idealism, our financial worries, our hobbies, our families, our work, our health, our church programs, our history, our future… these all can and do become our idols. They become the images that absorb our concentration, our energy, and our focus. The place where we push the most focus becomes our god. It may not be sparkly and shiny, but we can have it built and receiving the offerings of our time and our talents faster than we expect.
            What is the first thing you think of when you wake up? Is it your baptism in Christ? Is it the taste of communion? Is it the powerful conversation with your neighbor about God’s providence? As you go to sleep, were you praying? Was your prayer, “Lord, how will I get everything done tomorrow?” or “Lord, thank you for today”?
            We look down on the builders of the Golden Calf, but we often forget the idols that crop up around us- idols that demand our attention, our money, and our devotion. Oh, people of years of faith, beware the siren call of new things, of crammed schedules, of political promises and hope anchored in quicksand. Think on what is truth- the gifts of God in Christ, communion, community, and consolation. Dwell on these things and other idols will tarnish and crumble, because they cannot stand.
            Lastly, I will speak to you who have lived faithful lives of many decades. You know why the idols were built. The Israelites, in waiting for Moses’s return, believed that God had grown silent. Despite their earlier experiences, they found themselves without a prophet. They prayed and felt no answer. They wept and felt no consolation. They ate and they drank food from heaven and, yet, they felt empty.
            You, elders in faith, know this feeling. None of us wish to speak of this dark night of the soul, but you know of the words poured forth in grief, in anger, and in frustration that seemed to go unheard, because you have waited for a response that has not yet seemed to come. You feel a kinship with the Israelites, who lift their eyes to the mountain and say, “It is well and good for Moses to talk to the Lord, but what about me? What about what I have to say? What about what I need to hear?” You understand that sometimes idols are made, not because of disobedient nature or confusion, but out of the sheer need to hold onto something- grief, relief, memory, control.
            You, people in this third group, know too well what it is like to proceed through the valley of the shadow and to feel like the sun doesn’t always make down to where you are. And, yet, you have walked. You have walked through the silence, you have waded through the depths, you have remembered Egypt and you have said, “That was nothing.”
            And, in your walking, you have also become prophetic. You read this story and you know God didn’t change the plan. You know that God had no intentions of destroying the people of the promise again. Instead, you look at this Scripture through eyes of wisdom and you see God coaching Moses into his role as prophet. You see God stirring up fear and frustration in Moses until Moses is finally responding with the strength and the nerve that God knows is in him, “These are your people, Lord! The people you led out of slavery! Would you have others say that it was they would die in the wilderness? Would you have their children say that you are God who does not keep promises?”
            With decades of experience, you all see the God pulling Moses along because you’ve been there. You’ve been in the spot of negotiating with God on one side, only to realize you were handed a new and different task. And you’ve done this trick yourself. With your years of experience, you know that other idols crumble, but they remain tempting when it seems God is silent or, conversely, when it seems that all you can hear is God calling you into a new and scary place of relationship and prophetic living.
            People of Hope, whichever group you are in, you know why those idols were built. You have done it yourself and we will do it again. And yet, we know that we have a God who forgives, who relents, who comes among us in Jesus to show us, ultimately, that there is nothing this world can offer that cannot be trumped by what God gives- hope in the face of doubt, strength in the place of insecurity, freedom in the place of enslavement, life where death would have the last word.
            We all long for the concreteness of idols, but our hearts are made by God and long for God. Whichever you find yourself in today, here are words from St. Augustine to God, which could be from any of us: “Thou madest me for thyself and my heart is restless until it finds repose in thee.”
Thou madest me for thyself, and my heart is restless until it finds repose in thee.
No idol offers that kind of repose.
Amen.