Hi everyone! This is my last sermon before I embark on my three-month sabbatical. I will be keeping a sabbatical blog, and encourage you to follow along with me. You can find it at:

www.korysabbatical09.wordpress.com

SCRIPTURE – Exodus 20:8-11

“Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the LORD your God. On it you shall not do any work, neither you, nor your son or daughter, nor your manservant or maidservant, nor your animals, nor the alien within your gates.For in six days the LORD made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but he rested on the seventh day. Therefore the LORD blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy.

Genesis 12:1-9

The LORD had said to Abram, “Leave your country, your people and your father’s household and go to the land I will show you. ”I will make you into a great nation and I will bless you; I will make your name great, and you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse; and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you.”

So Abram left, as the LORD had told him; and Lot went with him. Abram was seventy-five years old when he set out from Haran. He took his wife Sarai, his nephew Lot, all the possessions they had accumulated and the people they had acquired in Haran, and they set out for the land of Canaan, and they arrived there. Abram traveled through the land as far as the site of the great tree of Moreh at Shechem. At that time the Canaanites were in the land. The LORD appeared to Abram and said, “To your offspring I will give this land.” So he built an altar there to the LORD, who had appeared to him. From there he went on toward the hills east of Bethel and pitched his tent, with Bethel on the west and Ai on the east. There he built an altar to the LORD and called on the name of the LORD. Then Abram set out and continued toward the Negev.

SERMON
Honoring the Sabbath
Exodus 20:8-11; Gen. 12:1-9
May 31, 2009

Well, here we are. It’s May 31. You know, we’ve been talking about and planning this sabbatical for so long that I never actually expected it to happen. It’s always been something “out there” or “coming up,” but today we stand on the cusp of this new chapter in our relationship and in the life of the church.

I’ve learned through this process that a sabbatical is not a familiar concept to a lot of people. There’s something that seems a bit strange about giving someone three months off from work with pay. I don’t mind it so much but I could see where, in this workaholic world, it could seem foreign. Believe me, I feel the weight of responsibility and level of trust that such a thing conveys, and I don’t have the words to express my gratitude to you. The Sabbatical Planning Team and I have tried to provide some education and context to help the congregation understand exactly what a sabbatical is and how it is to be used.

So what is it? What are these next three months? I’ve most often heard it called a “vacation,” which I admit makes me cringe a bit. Our American understanding of vacation is going someplace warm and sunny, lounging around a pool sipping drinks with little plastic umbrellas. As Michael pointed out in his May newsletter article, vacation comes from the Latin root which means “to be empty, free or at leisure,” which means vacations are times to be free from obligations and to be at leisure (as opposed to “be at work”).

Based on that definition, I most certainly won’t be on vacation. Yes, I will be free from the day-to-day, week-to-week demands of ministry, but I am committed to doing other things like reading, writing and attending conferences, that will keep me connected to my vocation and God’s calling. In some sense I will still be working on my sabbatical, including as Michael said, “doing the work of resting,” but I will be working with a different focus and at a different pace than when I am in the office. My promise to you and to God is that I am committed to being a better minister when I come back.

Another way to speak of time away is what our friends in England call a “holiday.” To go on holiday is to take a break, to get away from the daily routines of life. I like this term because it derives from the two words “holy day.” Something that’s holy is something sacred, something set apart by God. I certainly hope my sabbatical time is filled with holiness, a time set apart by God. But I don’t do a good British accent so I can’t go around all summer saying “I’m on holiday.” That just won’t work and could get me arrested.

The term that best describes what’s happening this summer is a “sabbatical,” and it fits so well because of its biblical origin. The word obviously comes from the word “Sabbath,” which is what was addressed in our first reading today. One of the 10 Commandments God gave to Moses on Mt. Sinai was to remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. Just as God did the work of rest on the seventh day of creation, so the Israelites and all of their workers were to do the work of rest every seven days. The purpose of the Sabbath was to honor God’s creation, to rest up from the week before, and to rejuvenate for the week ahead. Similarly, I am plan on honoring God, resting up from the eight years that have come before, and rejuvenate for whatever lies ahead. I continue to be blessed by working with this congregation, but I am also ready, albeit it three years late, to step away and allow my spirit to refill for continuing to do God’s work. I am looking forward to doing the work of resting.

But Sabbath is about more than just rest. It’s also about worship. The idea behind the Sabbath was to take time you would normally commit to work and instead commit it to God. On my sabbatical one of the things I’m most looking forward to doing is worshipping God, unencumbered by the responsibilities of my work. I can’t wait to remember what it feels like to sit in a pew for an entire service. I plan on visiting a number of other churches and doing some in-depth Bible reading as ways of worshipping God, neither of which I get to do very often while I’m working.
I’ve put a number of other activities and events into my sabbatical plan. I did that for a couple of reasons. First, I want the congregation to benefit from my sabbatical, and I don’t mean not having to listen to me preach for three months, although there may be some benefits there, as well. The work that I will be doing on sabbatical is not just the work of rest, but the work of renewal. That includes stepping back from the daily obligations to look at the bigger picture of who we are as a church by focusing more closely on our mission statement. The conferences I’ll be attending, the books I’ll be reading and the things I’ll be writing will hopefully have a direct impact on this church as we continue to explore who God has called us to be. I want my sabbatical to be purposeful rest that benefits you as well as me.

Another reason I put together a detailed sabbatical plan is because I like to know what’s coming. If this is more than a vacation or a holiday, then I need to prove it, I need to justify –most importantly to myself – why I’m taking a sabbatical. I’ve always agreed with Jean-Paul Sartre, who gave us the action-oriented “To do is to be.” But others side with the more laid-back Socrates, who said “To be is to do.” And the smartest people side with Frank Sinatra, who said “Do be do be do.” We spent all our lives doing and not nearly enough time just being. Sabbath is a time to just be in God’s presence, to be still and know that God is God, and we are not.

The reading from Genesis today is an important reminder to me and to all of us that while we may think we know where the road ahead leads us, in reality we are not in control of the future. I like to think I know what’s best, that I know exactly what’s going to happen, but I think that just makes God laugh when I say that. So while I’m tempted to point to my sabbatical plan and tell you I’ve dotted all the I’s and crossed all the T’s for my sabbatical, there’s another part of me that’s excited – and more than a little anxious – about what God has planned.

That’s why the Abram story is such a wonderful commentary on my sabbatical. God comes to Abram and tells him to drop what he’s doing. “Leave your country, your people and your father’s household and go to the land I will show you.” In other words, Abram is taking a sabbatical, whether he wants to or not! And all he knows about this upcoming time is what God has promised him: God will lead the way and God will bless Abram along the journey.

Externally, I know where I’ll be going and what I’ll be doing on my sabbatical. But internally, I have no idea what’s going to happen. I’ve never done this before. I’ve always been driven by my work, and now I’m stepping back to let God do the driving. I don’t like being in the passenger seat, especially when it’s my life we’re talking about, but I believe that’s one of the many lessons God has in store for me. So I am preparing for my journey. Is it scary? Yeah, a bit. But it’s also incredibly thrilling.

I’m not the only one that God is calling on a journey. This congregation is also being called to follow God this summer to some unknown destination. Michael and the Sabbatical Planning Team have put together a wonderful plan that will allow the congregation to explore along more deeply along with me the mission statement of the church. As you ponder together what it means to welcome, to equip and to share, I believe that God will be leading you into new territories, opening up new vistas, putting before you new understandings of what it means to be a community, to be Christians, to be a church. I know it’s summer, I know life is busy, but don’t miss out on what God has planned for you.

And there’s one promise we all can claim as we move into sabbatical time: We will be blessed by God. God tells Abram, “I will make you into a great nation and I will bless you.” Whatever God has in store for us this summer, we can believe that God will be walking with us and that we will be blessed through it. When we come back together in September we won’t be the same. I will be a different person, changed by my time away, and I trust you will be different as well, if you are willing to participate in this sabbatical time of rest and renewal.

While I’m gone, I also trust that you are in good hands. You are in Michael’s hands. Michael is an incredibly competent, compassionate young man with wisdom beyond his years. He will be an excellent leader for you this summer. You are in Nelson’s hands, hands that have touched the heart of this congregation so lovingly for many, many years. And you are in God’s hands. That is the safest place to be.

This morning, as I prepare to take my leave and follow God’s call, I hope you know you will continue to be in my thoughts and in my prayers this summer, and I hope I am in yours, as well. While you will be out of sight and out of contact, you will not be out of my mind or my heart. The promise that we have been given through Jesus Christ is that we are all connected together as believers, regardless of where we are. When I worship these next three months, although it may be in a different building or in a different town, we will still be praying and singing to the same God, one body united together through Jesus Christ. So I want to give you something to help you remember that (at this point in the sermon, small wooden crosses were handed out to each person). Please keep these crosses close to you this summer. Each time you see it or touch it, say a prayer for me on my sabbatical. Say a prayer for this congregation and for its leaders. And say a prayer of thanksgiving to God for giving us this time. Each time I see this cross, I will remember the holiness of my time away and it doing so I pray I will honor you and honor God.

 Hi everyone! I hope you have a good Memorial Day weekend. For those who will be traveling, I pray God’s safety and protection for you. Be blessed!

SCRIPTURE – Acts 1:1-11

In my former book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus began to do and to teach until the day he was taken up to heaven, after giving instructions through the Holy Spirit to the apostles he had chosen. After his suffering, he showed himself to these men and gave many convincing proofs that he was alive. He appeared to them over a period of forty days and spoke about the kingdom of God. On one occasion, while he was eating with them, he gave them this command: “Do not leave Jerusalem, but wait for the gift my Father promised, which you have heard me speak about. For John baptized with water, but in a few days you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.” So when they met together, they asked him, “Lord, are you at this time going to restore the kingdom to Israel?” He said to them: “It is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority. 8But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

After he said this, he was taken up before their very eyes, and a cloud hid him from their sight. They were looking intently up into the sky as he was going, when suddenly two men dressed in white stood beside them. “Men of Galilee,” they said, “why do you stand here looking into the sky? This same Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven.”

SERMON
Rise Up!
Acts 1:1-11
May 24, 2009

Did you know that today is one of the most important Sundays in the church? In fact, you could argue that what this Sunday represents is almost as important as some of the other Christian holidays. Culturally, it doesn’t have the commercial appeal of Christmas or the heart-overflowing joy of Easter, but in the grand scheme of God’s work in this world, what we observe on this Sunday is just as important. This is Ascension Sunday.

Ascension Sunday falls six weeks after Easter and one week before Pentecost, which is next week. As we prepare for that story about the outpouring of God’s Spirit on the Disciples, we have to first finish up the loose ends in Jesus’ story, namely that fact that he’s been resurrected and is walking around making appearances. Now what? Is he just going to keep doing this forever? Two thousand years after the first Easter would Jesus still be walking the earth, popping up here and there? “Honey, set an extra plate, I invited Resurrected Jesus over for dinner tonight.” Of course not! So we have this story at the beginning of Acts about Jesus’ ascension, which sets the stage for the disciples to take up the torch and continue God’s work.

I think I know why we don’t really celebrate Ascension Sunday. We don’t put up Ascension trees or prepare for a big Ascension dinner with all the fixin’s. That’s because what is acknowledged on Ascension Sunday is that fact that Jesus left us, it’s the day the present Lord became absent. Who wants to celebrate being left behind? Do we really need a day commemorating Christ’s absence from us? We get too many reminders of that on regular days, that God doesn’t always feel as close to us as we would like.

And yet, celebrating the Lord’s absence is just one of the many paradoxes about Christianity. A paradox is defined as “a statement or proposition that seems self-contradictory or absurd but in reality expresses a possible truth.” That pretty much sums up our entire belief system. Think how absurd this gathering must look to outsiders. We come together week after week with no intention of doing anything productive. The main guy puts on a dress, we sit and face a huge instrument of torture, we close our eyes and talk as if there’s someone there. We declare things we cannot prove to a God we cannot see. And then we drink coffee and eat sweets. Does that sound a bit absurd?

But remember the other part of the definition of paradox: “…but in reality expresses a possible truth.” A possible truth. Can we say a definitive truth? Not definitively. Do we really know that we know that we know what we believe is true? No more so than I can show you a picture of what the wind looks like or describe what freedom feels like. But I believe what I know about God is true, and one of the reasons I believe that is because of what happens on Ascension Sunday.

As you may know, Acts is actually the second part of a two-part book, both written by Luke to his friend Theophilus. In the first book, the gospel of Luke, the author sets out to write an “orderly account” of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. But the story doesn’t end there. You can’t stop at the end of Luke. That would be like stopping the story after Cinderella lost her slipper or after E.T’s gray little body is found in that creek bed. There’s more to the story. To fully grasp the story Luke is telling, you have to read Acts.

What Acts does, particularly these first 11 verses, is it completes Jesus’ story and fulfills God’s promises. It reminds us that what God begins, God completes. What God promises, God fulfills. This episode brings closure to the story of the Incarnation, the Word made flesh, and prepares the way for the fulfilling of the next promise. Jesus says in John’s gospel, “If you love me you will obey what I command. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another counselor to be with you forever – the Spirit of truth.” That’s what happens on Pentecost, which is what we celebrate next Sunday. The Resurrection, the Ascension, Pentecost – these are all evidence that God does what God promises, and as I said last week, it is in that truth that we put our hope as believers.

So where does that leave those of us who are left behind? In a sense, every since the Ascension we’ve been looking up, waiting for a glimpse of God, waiting for Jesus to return and set things right. We’re living in what theologian Karl Barth called “the significant pause,” the time in between Jesus’ first and second coming, the time where we wait with expectant hope for God to do what God has promised. As one preacher said, the disciples are now “on the clock.”

It would be a lot easier if Jesus were still here, wouldn’t it? I can’t even imagine how the disciples felt, watching their leader leave them. Who wouldn’t be gazing up after that? I imagine they probably would have stood there for days, necks craned, eyes toward the heavens, hoping that Jesus would float back down and say, “Just kidding! Let’s go get some fish.” Now what?

Now what, indeed. I’ve heard that question asked many times. Now what? The person I thought would always be around is no longer around. Now what? That security I thought I would always have is gone. Now what? The child I thought would always need me is off on their own. Now what?

Leigh and I are experiencing that. It’s hard to believe, but on Wednesday of this last week, our youngest daughter graduated. Granted, it was from preschool, but that doesn’t make the reality of it any less painful. She even got a little diploma. And her preschool teacher said to all of us parents what we know in our hearts to be true: “Life is a series of little letting-gos.” Parents certainly know that. But so do kids. Just watch any child’s reaction when the balloon they thought was tied securely to their wrist slips free, ascending into the clouds. Now what?

God heard the disciples’ hearts crying out that question, because God provides an answer in the form of two men dressed in white, who offer a gentle reproof: “Men of Galilee, why do you stand here looking into the sky?” In other words, “Don’t just stand there; do something!” Jesus spent three years doing ministry among these disciples, teaching them and listening to them and forgiving them and empowering them. He has been preparing them for this moment, when the reins of this fledgling religious group would be handed over to them. It’s time to stop looking up and start looking around. As I heard one pastor say it, “Don’t look for Jesus in the heights; look for him in the depths.” The depths of human life, the deep, dark places in the world, that’s where the disciples will now find him.

So as we sit here this morning, experiencing our Sunday worship, I wonder if we are guilty of the same neck-craning as the disciples. Are we sitting here looking up, waiting for a glimpse of Jesus, putting God’s work on hold until we get some sort of confirmation that this paradox of Christianity is more than just a possible truth? Are we hoping to experience a presence that would make sense of the feelings of absence, a definitive, incontrovertible truth to counteract the absurdity of life?

It could be. And that’s OK. I believe all of us go through times when that’s all we have to offer, simple to be here. But the reality of life is that there will be times when Christ feels absent, when we live in the “significant pause” between Christ’s presence here on earth. And if we only spend our time looking up, I think we’ve lost the plot. We don’t have the benefit of three years of teaching from Jesus, but we have something else. We have this church. We have God’s word. We have the bread and the cup. We have each other. This is our training ground, where we can hear about and practice grace and forgiveness and loving each other, so that we can take those things into the world. But if the extent of our faith – our scripture reading, our praying, our working for justice and equality, our reaching into the depths of the world – if all of that starts and ends here, we’re just looking up.

I believe we are called to come here and look up so that we can go out there and look around. We come here each week to listen and to sing and to taste, to be reminded of who we are and who we’re called to be so we can go out and live that call. We come here to pray so we can go out there and witness. There’s nothing wrong with looking up, with seeking God’s face and awaiting with hope Christ’s return. But if we only look up, if we don’t then live out what we believe is true, we’re missing the presence of Christ in our midst.

Remember I said that this is a two-part story, Luke and Acts? That’s not entirely true. It’s really a three-part story. There’s Luke and Acts…and us. We are now on the clock, called to take the work that Jesus began and continue it, no matter now imperfectly. The answer to “now what” is the church, reaching out to comfort the afflicted, to be a companion to the lonely, to confront evil, to speak a word of truth. I like what pastor Barbara Brown Taylor says about this story. She says, “It’s almost as if he had not ascended but exploded, so that all of the holiness that was once concentrated in him alone flew everywhere, so that the seeds of heaven were sown over the fields of the earth.” Each one of us can do that, taking the work of Christ and multiplying it exponentially.

I think I have a better understanding of why Ascension Sunday is no really given a lot of attention. In this sermon alone, I’ve compared Jesus to a Disney princess, an extraterrestrial, and a balloon. There just aren’t any good Ascension metaphors. “Jesus, I need a picture. I need a comparison. I need a reminder down here on earth of what you are like so I can tell others about you.” (Look around) Oh, yeah. I see Jesus now. He’s right here. Now what? Don’t just sit there; do something.

It’s a beautiful day here in Chicagoland – finally! I’ve never preached on this interesting story before. I hope this sermon helps in your desire to understand the Bible. Be blessed!

SCRIPTURE – Acts 8:216-40

Now an angel of the Lord said to Philip, “Go south to the road—the desert road—that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza.” So he started out, and on his way he met an Ethiopian eunuch, an important official in charge of all the treasury of Candace, queen of the Ethiopians. This man had gone to Jerusalem to worship, and on his way home was sitting in his chariot reading the book of Isaiah the prophet. The Spirit told Philip, “Go to that chariot and stay near it.” Then Phillip ran up to the chariot and heard the man reading Isaiah the prophet. “Do you understand what you are reading?” Philip asked. “How can I,” he said, “unless someone explains it to me?” So he invited Philip to come up and sit with him.

 The eunuch was reading this passage of Scripture: ”He was led like a sheep to the slaughter, and as a lamb before the shearer is silent, so he did not open his mouth. In his humiliation he was deprived of justice. Who can speak of his descendants? For his life was taken from the earth.” The eunuch asked Philip, “Tell me, please, who is the prophet talking about, himself or someone else?” Then Philip began with that very passage of Scripture and told him the good news about Jesus.

As they traveled along the road, they came to some water and the eunuch said, “Look, here is water. Why shouldn’t I be baptized?” And he gave orders to stop the chariot. Then both Philip and the eunuch went down into the water and Philip baptized him. When they came up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord suddenly took Philip away, and the eunuch did not see him again, but went on his way rejoicing. Philip, however, appeared at Azotus and traveled about, preaching the gospel in all the towns until he reached Caesarea.

SERMON

Understanding the Word
Acts 8:26-40
May 3, 2009

I remember the first time I questioned whether I was good enough to be a minister. I was at a conference right after I graduated from seminary. I was surrounded by colleagues who were much more talented than me, listening to speakers who were much more faithful than me, telling me to do things in ministry that I would never have the wisdom or courage to do. Have you ever felt that way? Have you ever thought that at any moment, someone may throw open the church door, point a finger in your direction, and say, “What are YOU doing here? Don’t you know this place is only for people who have it all figured out?”

So that night, I decided to read a book I thought might help me. It was the book of Acts. Acts tells the story of the birth of the church. It’s our story, really. It’s about how the disciples, a group of rag-tag scaredy cats who thought they weren’t good enough, and probably weren’t, are transformed into a movement that spreads the good news of Jesus Christ into an unbelieving world. It’s about how God’s Spirit is poured out on them in tongues of flame on the day of Pentecost, and even Peter, the guy who denied knowing Jesus three times, becomes ignited to share God’s word. Acts is also about the peculiar ways God works in our lives, and I think this is where I most connected with Acts that night at the conference. The story of Phillip and the Ethiopian was especially helpful to me because it reminded me of some basic but very important tenets of being a person seeking to follow Christ.

In my time of doubting whether I was good enough to be a Christian, the first thing this story told me was that God believes in us enough to call us to the strangest of places. We don’t know what Phillip was doing before the angel of the Lord spoke to him. We find out later in Acts that Phillip had four daughters, so he was probably waiting in line for the bathroom or fretting over the latest boyfriend. We don’t know what he was doing, but we do know what he was called to do. Drop what you’re doing and go take a walk on a desert road at high noon.

You just never know what God is going to call you to do, do you? Abraham is minding his own business and gets called to move. Moses is tending his sheep and gets called to Egypt. The disciples are busy casting their nets in the sea when Jesus says, “Follow me.” I was working as a youth minister and preparing to start a doctoral degree when this idea of seminary popped up. You never know when God is going to call you or where God is going to put you.

I’ve been called to some pretty strange places with some very interesting people. Lincolnshire, Illinois, comes to mind. I’ve also been called to some scary places. Hospital rooms. Funeral homes. Talk about desert roads, paths that lead through the wilderness. Have you ever been called to go somewhere you didn’t want to go? Maybe to a doctor’s office. To the beside of a friend or family member. Even to church, where you have been called to serve and you’re just not sure if you’re good enough for the job.

I wonder how Phillip felt when he got this call. “Me? There? Now?” But we don’t hear any grumbling or complaining. Phillip is called by God and goes, and on the way meets this Ethiopian eunuch, an official in the court of the Queen. You just never know who God is going to put in your path, do you? This Ethiopian has a serious problem, and Phillip is just the man to help him with it. This is another part of the story that was comforting to me that night at the ministry conference. I had read a lot of things in the Bible that made sense, but I had read a whole lot more in there that I didn’t understand. And now I was being called to be the one who stands up on Sunday morning and explains it to other people? Me? There? Now?

When I was in high school a Christian friend of mine gave me my first Bible. This is it. It has a gray cover, my name embossed on the front. The day she gave it to me, I decided I was going to read it. It’s the King James version, which is of course the original language of the Bible. Everybody should read the Bible at least once, right? So that night I propped up a few pillows, got a tall glass of water and set to work. Things started out well. Genesis is a firecracker of a book, lots of sex and violence and other stuff that, as a teenager, held my attention. Exodus was pretty cool, some good special effects with the plagues and Moses parting the sea. I made it about halfway through Exodus. And then came these strange laws and obscure instructions. The Ten Commandments were OK, although at the time I questioned that “honor thy father and mother” part. But then I got to things like, “All fowls that creep, going upon all four, shall be an abomination unto you. Yet these may ye eat of every flying creeping thing that goeth upon all four, which have legs above their feet, to leap withal upon the earth. Even these of them ye may eat; the locust after his kind, and the bald locust after his kind, and the beetle after his kind, and the grasshopper after his kind. But all other flying creeping things, which have four feet, shall be an abomination unto you.” I remember thinking two things: “Who eats bald locusts?” and then “I wonder what’s on TV.” That was the end of my first attempt to read the Bible.

What I learned from that experience, and what the Ethiopian confirms for us, is that sometimes the Bible is hard to understand. If it were easy to understand, we’d all know exactly what to believe, wouldn’t we? The reason we have all these denominations is that one person reads the Bible and says, “It obviously means this” and another person reads it and says, “I beg to differ, I think it means this” and then the first person says, “No it doesn’t, you idiot” and before you know it fingers are being pointed and punches are being thrown and then I have to step in between Michael and Nelson to separate them.

The Bible is not easy to understand and trying to understand it can make us feel like we’re not good enough. If the Bible is meant to be a lamp to our feet and a light to our path, as Psalm 119 says, then at times it can be illuminating, but at other times it’s blinding. Sometimes scripture is like a rock in your shoe, irritating you until you decide to give it some attention. During my first failed reading attempt I didn’t even make it to the prophets, and that’s probably a good thing, because they would have scared me half to death. The verses the Ethiopian quotes in this passage are from Isaiah, who talks about slaughtered sheep and sheared lambs and humiliation and deprivation. The eunuch was confused. I would be, too. And when the Bible confuses us, we have two choices.

We can do what I did when I first tried to read the Bible. We can give up. We can say, “This is too hard! I don’t get it. I wonder what’s on TV.” And that’s an understandable response. But here’s the danger with that approach. If we don’t figure out for ourselves what the Bible says, then we have to rely on someone else to do it for us. If you surrender your own desire to understand, then the only way you’ll gain knowledge is through someone else’s lens of interpretation, and there are a lot of voices out there who are more than happy to tell you what you should believe. Turn on just about any news program or talk radio show and folks will be glad to tell you what God really thinks about our president or immigrants or human sexuality or global warming. Do we really want to let someone else decide for us what to believe?

The other option is to do what the Ethiopian did. He read, and when he didn’t understand, he asked questions. He didn’t say to Phillip, “Just tell me what to believe.” He said, “Help me understand what this means.” He consulted a knowledgeable source who gave him the tools to interpret the Bible for himself. He didn’t give up, but stuck with the scripture, even when he didn’t understand it, until God shed some light on the meaning of it. I believe the Ethiopian was one of the spiritual forefathers of our denomination, the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). I say that because one of our principles of identity is that we hold the centrality of scripture, recognizing that each person has the freedom – and the responsibility – to study God’s Word within the community of the church. We believe scripture speaks to each one of us, but it may say one thing to you and another thing to me, depending on our life experiences and current struggles and questions. I’ll never stand up here and tell you what to believe, because I believe you have a brain and would like to determine that for yourself.

In order to do that, the Ethiopian had to move beyond a surface reading by consulting Phillip. We have those same types of resources available to us today. You may not have Phillip walking around, but you have pastors and teachers who are willing to sit down with you and help you ask your questions. I don’t know if you’ve heard of this Gutenberg guy, but his printing press is pretty cool. Because of that, we also have resources like study bibles, bible dictionaries and commentaries which can help us delve into the Word of God and go beyond the sometimes perplexing surface. I believe a good study bible is the best tool we can have as Christians. If you need a recommendation for one, just ask me.

It’s important to note what might happen if you dare to read the Bible for yourself. After Phillip shares the Good News of Jesus with the Ethiopian, the Ethiopian is moved to respond by asking to be baptized. That’s the thing about God’s word. If you are truly paying attention, you can’t just hear it or read it and then not react. If the Bible puts a rock in our shoe, we have to do something about it. My friend David Shirey says not all scripture calls for the same response. Sometimes it calls for thanksgiving or apology, praise or sacrifice, a change of mind or a change of heart, moving us to say or do something or to stop saying or doing something. The Bible calls for all kinds of different responses, but it always calls for a response.

For me, initially, that response was, “Huh?” Then it became, “Me? Here? Now?” And after spending time with scripture, seeking to understand it, asking questions, allowing myself to be confused and convicted, encouraged and uplifted, my response has become, “Here I am, Lord. Here I am.” You’ve heard the Word. What’s your response?

Happy Easter, everyone!

SCRIPTURE – Matthew 27:57-28:15
As evening approached, there came a rich man from Arimathea, named Joseph, who had himself become a disciple of Jesus. Going to Pilate, he asked for Jesus’ body, and Pilate ordered that it be given to him. Joseph took the body, wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and placed it in his own new tomb that he had cut out of the rock. He rolled a big stone in front of the entrance to the tomb and went away. Mary Magdalene and the other Mary were sitting there opposite the tomb.

The next day, the one after Preparation Day, the chief priests and the Pharisees went to Pilate. “Sir,” they said, “we remember that while he was still alive that deceiver said, ‘After three days I will rise again.’ So give the order for the tomb to be made secure until the third day. Otherwise, his disciples may come and steal the body and tell the people that he has been raised from the dead. This last deception will be worse than the first.” “Take a guard,” Pilate answered. “Go, make the tomb as secure as you know how.” So they went and made the tomb secure by putting a seal on the stone and posting the guard.

After the Sabbath, at dawn on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to look at the tomb. There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow. 4The guards were so afraid of him that they shook and became like dead men.

The angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples: ‘He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him.’ Now I have told you.” So the women hurried away from the tomb, afraid yet filled with joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them. “Greetings,” he said. They came to him, clasped his feet and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid. Go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.”

While the women were on their way, some of the guards went into the city and reported to the chief priests everything that had happened. When the chief priests had met with the elders and devised a plan, they gave the soldiers a large sum of money, telling them, “You are to say, ‘His disciples came during the night and stole him away while we were asleep.’ If this report gets to the governor, we will satisfy him and keep you out of trouble.” So the soldiers took the money and did as they were instructed. And this story has been widely circulated among the Jews to this very day.

SERMON
Matthew 27:57-28:15
April 12, 2009

I’ve decided that Easter Sunday is both the easiest and hardest day on which to preach. It’s easy to preach on Easter because, well, it’s Easter! Frankly, it’s hard to mess this one up. And even if I do mess it up, it’s Easter! It’s a day of forgiveness and new life and resurrection. I tell you, not even a bad sermon can squelch the joy of this day, but I’m going to try not to test that theory today.

This is also a hard day to preach. Not just because most of you are probably already thinking about Easter dinner, although that might be true. I understand the purpose of preaching to be about education and inspiration. But this is Easter, and there’s nothing I have to say that can educate you about the mystery of the Resurrection, and no words I offer that can even come close to the inspiration of “He is risen!” What do you preach on Easter that can top that?

Martin Luther said, “Our Lord has written the promise of the resurrection, not in books alone, but in every leaf in springtime.” Creation does such a better job of educating and inspiring. When the weather starts to warm up, the flowers bloom, the trees bud, the birds sing, whose spirit isn’t lifted up? The resurrection of creation each spring is its own sermon that far exceeds anything a preacher has to say on Easter Sunday. But this is my job, my calling, and so here I am, trying to find words to say to you about something that is indescribably joyous and altogether incredible.

As a former journalist, my first instinct is to explain what happened on Easter morning. I love digging into a biblical writings and studying the historical context in which it was written, the culture of ancient times, the meaning behind the author’s intent. In most cases, the Bible is wonderfully rich source of study. I like taking a “let’s get to the bottom of this” approach to the Bible passages.

But in this story, there’s not much we can explain. In fact, even the people who experienced it couldn’t explain it. The women are scared out of their wits. The disciples are flabbergasted. And the religious leaders are so stunned they concoct a half-cooked cover-up to try and make sense of a rolled-away stone and an empty tomb. They give the soldiers some hush money and tell them to say, “His disciples came during the night and stole him away while we were asleep.” The religious leaders figure this blatant lie will be enough to fool the local governor, which shows that Roman politicians and Illinois politicians might have had a lot in common. The disciples are responsible for this hoax, the resurrection didn’t really happen, and Jesus stays dead, where it’s a lot easier to keep him under control.

Of course this story is ridiculous and full of holes. Let’s cross-examine, shall we? First of all, if this stone was so big, wouldn’t the guards hear the disciples rolling it away? For the soldiers, the penalty for falling asleep while on duty was death. Would they dare risk their lives, and would they all fall asleep at once? And if they were asleep, how do they know the disciples stole the body? These disciples, who didn’t have the guts to attend the crucifixion, now are supposed to have had the courage to steal a body from a well-guarded tomb? For me it’s easier to believe in the Easter Bunny than it is to believe this conspiracy theory.

But I don’t blame the religious leaders for trying. After all, their faith and their way of living were at stake. If the only explanation for what happened on Easter morning is that Jesus really was resurrected, that means they have some serious crow-eating to do. They’ve spent the last few years hounding Jesus, trying to discredit him, attempting to trip him up with trick questions, and finally resorting to false allegations and violence to get him out of the way. If it turns out that this guy Jesus really was who he said he was and the Jewish religious leaders backed the wrong horse, somebody is in trouble. So they do what they can to keep Jesus dead, because that can be explained.

What a contrast between the chief priests and the women at the tomb. When the women see the empty tomb and encounter the resurrected Jesus, they don’t pull out their reporter’s notepad and start asking questions. “So, Jesus, how do you feel? Was dark it in there? Are you rested?” No, they fall at his feet in worship. Yet when the priests hear what’s happened, they try to make sense of it, and that desire for an explanation becomes a stumbling block to their belief.

Wanting an explanation is human nature. It would seem that if there’s Someone greater in charge of all of this, then life must somehow make sense. If we can explain the resurrection, then we can explain everything about life. But life doesn’t make sense. I don’t see how anyone could read the Bible or the Easter story and come away thinking it paints a picture of a world that makes sense. Nothing about Jesus’ life makes sense. The virgin birth, the healing stories, multiplying the loaves and fish, his patience and forgiveness, his willingness to die on the cross. None of that makes sense. It’s not supposed to. If we can’t explain his life and his death, then we certainly can’t explain his resurrection.

I know it would be so much easier to believe if we had concrete evidence to explain what happened on Easter. But the reality is that if we need tangible proof of the Resurrection in order for our faith to be meaningful, we don’t have much to work with. None of the four gospels describe the resurrection. Matthew, Mark, Luke, John – none of them tell us what happened when Jesus was resurrected. All we are told is the after-effects: the empty tomb, the angel, the frightened women, the appearances of a risen Christ. It’s like a Looney Tunes cartoon where Bugs Bunny is staring down the barrel of Elmer Fudd’s gun. One moment Bugs is there, and the next moment he’s gone, with only a few puffs of smoke and squiggly lines where he used to be. We didn’t see him actually leave; we only see the after-effects.

In fact, the only evidence that we DO have is the empty tomb, the ultimate after-effect. Some would say that’s the basis for some faulty logic. We are trying to prove the existence of something by saying what’s not there. We believe if the tomb is empty, then Christ must be risen. And yet for 2000 years, starting with the chief priests, people have been trying to draw some other conclusion that makes sense, that doesn’t require them to let go of logic and reason and just believe. But we can’t escape the fact that the tomb is empty. He’s not in there.

Sitting here this morning, we are again confronted with the after-effects of resurrection and like the chief priests, we are given a choice. To believe or not to believe. To accept or to try and explain it away. I believe that to embrace and worship a living Christ, like the women did when he appeared to them, we have to live in light of the resurrection’s real impact on our lives and our faith. If Christ is still dead in this story 2000 years ago, then Christ is still dead today.

But I believe the resurrection not only was real back then, but it is real today, and that reality compels us to live our lives with a resurrection perspective. Nothing in our lives can help us make sense of the resurrection; instead, it is the resurrection that can help us make sense of our lives. Sometime life is so brutal, so unfair, that it ONLY makes sense when seen through the resurrection. Whether it’s dealing with our aging parents, the loss of our job, or a battle with illness, the empty tomb puts all our sorrow into perspective when we know that because Jesus lives, we can face tomorrow. The promises of the resurrection are real and they belong to us when we give up our attempts to understand and simply worship.

The concern with not believing the resurrection happened the first time is that we then don’t believe it can happen again. We have no expectation of resurrection. If you don’t believe in the resurrection, what are you expecting today, this most holy of days? Are we expecting – yawn – another Easter? Or are we expecting resurrection? Are we expecting something important to come back to life – our dreams, our hopes, our strength to endure challenges, our broken relationships? A resurrected Savior is one that can bring dead things back to life – dead ends, dead opportunities, even a dead faith.

We can stay rooted in the past, fretting over the historical validity of the resurrection. We can stay rooted in our own past, fretting over things we’ve done, beating ourselves or others up for past sins. But Matthew’s account makes one thing very clear without a doubt: Jesus is not back there.

Author John Purdy said, “God is not in the past, shut up in the tomb of our sins, our youthful indiscretions, our wasted opportunities, our shattered hopes and dreams. God is ahead of us – in our future, out there freeing us from our past, easing the pain, feeding the hungry, making for peace, washing the feet, raising the dead. God is gone ahead of us and he is out there waiting for us to get moving.”

Do you want proof that Jesus rose from the dead? OK, I’ve got proof. Look around. You are the evidence of the resurrection. You are the after-effects. You are the proof that Christ is risen and alive and at work in this world. When you live with a resurrection perspective, when you allow the strength of Christ to be your strength and the love of Christ to be your love, when you endure and persevere and overcome through your faith in Christ, you become proof of his vibrant power, you testify to his living grace. When you expect resurrection in your life, your life becomes a testimony that shouts, “He is risen!”

The tomb is empty. Christ has risen. He’s calling us forward as witnesses to his resurrection. Are we just going to sit here? Or are we going to get moving?

Happy day, everyone! I continue my sermon series on prayer by looking at Jesus’ time of prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane. It’s not an easy passage, but I believe it can be instructive for us. Jesus doesn’t not act like how I would want him to act in this situation, but therein lies the place of learning for me. I hope it’s meaningful for you, as well.

SCRIPTURE – Matthew 26:36-46

 Then Jesus went with his disciples to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to them, “Sit here while I go over there and pray.” He took Peter and the two sons of Zebedee along with him, and he began to be sorrowful and troubled. Then he said to them, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.” Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.” Then he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. “Could you men not keep watch with me for one hour?” he asked Peter. “Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the body is weak.” 

He went away a second time and prayed, “My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done.” When he came back, he again found them sleeping, because their eyes were heavy. So he left them and went away once more and prayed the third time, saying the same thing. Then he returned to the disciples and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and resting? Look, the hour is near, and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise, let us go! Here comes my betrayer!”

SERMON
What to Pray When You Don’t Know What to Pray
Matthew 26:36-46
March 22, 2009

I would imagine any religious tour of the Holy Land would include a visit to the Garden of Gethsemane. I’ve never been there but I’ve seen pictures, and it looks beautiful. It’s a peaceful little garden among a grove of ancient olive trees, looking back at the eastern wall of Jerusalem. I’m sure it’s meaningful place to visit.

But there are other Gethsemanes in the world and these places aren’t so picturesque. My guess is we’ve all been to at least one of them. They are the places where no one wants to be, places of agony and of fear, places where times are so traumatic you don’t even know what to pray. As we continue our sermon series on prayer this morning, we’re going to look at Jesus’ time of prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane.

This event in Matthew occurs right after the Last Supper in the Upper Room and right before Jesus’ arrest. It’s not an easy passage to deal with. William Barclay said it’s a passage we must approach on our knees. Jesus knows what’s coming, he knows God’s plan, and he wants to take time to pray to prepare himself for it. He brings along three of his most trusted disciples, hoping that they will provide strength and support for him as he prepares for his final hours. It’s good to have friends and family around us during times like these.

This passage is a bit unnerving and could shake our faith a bit. The picture of Jesus here is not one of a confident Messiah, turning over tables and casting our demons. This is not Jesus the heroic action figure. He doesn’t say, “I’ll be back!” He says, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death.” He wants his friends close by. This is Jesus at his most human.

And can you blame him? No one wants to die at 33, especially in such a brutal way as crucifixion. Jesus realizes that this is it. Gethsemane is that place in life where you realize you are out of options. No amount of bargaining can save you. You are on your knees. You are afraid to go forward and you can’t go back. Things are bad, but something worse might be on its way.

Gethsemane for me was a hospital bed in Columbus, Ind., where I waited to hear a doctor’s diagnosis. I knew I couldn’t go back, but I really didn’t want to go forward, either. Hospital rooms often turn into Gethsemanes. As do funeral homes and tension-filled family rooms. And the boss’ office. And a courtroom. There are other Gethsemanes in the world and life changes forever there. Something dies. Something is never the same.

So what do you pray during those times? What do you pray when you don’t know what you want to happen? Sure, it would be great if God would swoop down and miraculously cure us or rescue us from our own bad decisions. But if we know in our hearts that we have to move forward and we don’t know what lies ahead, what do we pray?

Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane is both surprising and instructive. First, it’s interesting to note that Jesus’ natural response to the crisis is prayer. He already had developed a relationship with God, so during his darkest hour, he turns to God almost as an involuntary action. On one of our mission trips, a youth fell and hurt her tailbone. While we waited for an ambulance, the host minister gathered us around the girl and said, “C’mon, let’s be about doing what we’re supposed to do.” And we prayed for her. In Gethsemane, we are often rendered so helpless, so immobile, that the only thing we can do is pray. Prayer is a necessity because otherwise life would feel intolerable.

If you didn’t know this story, what would you expect Jesus to say in his prayer? How would you expect the Messiah to pray at this moment? “Dear God, I’m ready, let’s get this thing moving.” “Dear God, I trust that everything’s going to be OK, so bring on the Romans.” I would probably expect Jesus to exude a quiet confidence in the face of death.

Instead, we get this: “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me.” What? Jesus can’t say that! He’s Jesus! And yet, this statement is full of the last thing you would expect from the Messiah – fear. Jesus is afraid. He doesn’t want to go through with what lies ahead. He knows what is to come, and if it’s all the same to God, Jesus would rather take a pass. Jesus knows what it is like to struggle when he prayed.

Fear is an incredibly strong motivator in our lives. It can either drive us to do things we shouldn’t, or keep us from doing things we should. Jesus had the prescient knowledge to know exactly what was coming, but often times our fear is driven more by what we don’t know. When the future is uncertain, we often fill in the blanks in our own mind with worst-case scenarios.

My grandmother used to live in California, and one summer when I was about eight I went to visit her. Now, I was a bit apprehensive about the visit because I knew that California was the home of Bigfoot, and I had an intense fear of Bigfoot. Forget that Bigfoot lived in Northern California and my grandmother lived in Los Angeles. I was sure that if Bigfoot knew I was in the state, he would track me down.

One day my grandmother went outside for a minute, and I was left in her mobile home by myself. Mobile homes tend to creak and groan a bit, and every time I heard a noise I pictured those big hairy paws reaching out to grab me. I ended up running outside and waiting in the middle of the street for my grandmother to come back. If Bigfoot was going to get me, I wanted witnesses.

Fear of what could lie ahead is a powerful force in our lives and even Jesus wasn’t immune to it. It may sound odd, but that’s comforting to me. When Jesus is facing his ultimate test, he doesn’t do so with supreme confidence. He’s scared. “Father, if it’s possible, don’t make me go through this.” If our Savior was scared, then he knows what I feel like when I am in my own Gethsemane.

Jesus’ prayer doesn’t end there. He goes on to say, “Yet not as I will, but as you will.” Ah, there’s that “will” word again. Remember in the Lord’s prayer? “THY will be done.” Prayer is not about bending God to our wills. It is about inviting God’s will into our lives – even if God’s will doesn’t match our will.

That’s hard. I always want God’s will to match mine. When I pray for someone to be healed, I want that to be God’s will. When I pray for something good to happen to me or someone I love, I want that to be God’s will. Are those bad things to pray for? I’m not praying for God to hurt anyone or dump a load of money on me or break a natural law. I simply want what I think is best.

Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane illustrates a crucial concept about how we are to pray during such times. Even in his fear and struggle, Jesus models for us how to accept what we can’t understand, how to trust in God’s presence even when it feels like God is absent. When we pray as Jesus prays here, we might not see how God is working or understand how God will bring good out of a situation, but by praying we are affirming that we believe God is present and working, so we relinquish our own rights and pray that God’s will be done.

It’s fitting that the Garden of Gethsemane is an olive tree grove. In fact, the name probably means “olive press.” Olives would be picked and pressed and the oil then used for a variety of purposes, including in anointing. A person was anointed with oil as a way of signifying God’s presence with them, as a way of consecrating them for God’s work. In fact, the term “Messiah” literally means “the anointed one.”

So maybe our Gethsemanes are not only places of struggle, places of pain, but also places of anointing. Maybe our Gethsemanes are not only places of darkness and death, but places of resurrection and new life. My time in a hospital bed gave me a new understanding of the power of prayer and opened up opportunities for me to minister to others. Maybe our Gethsemanes are places were God anoints us, consecrates us, calls us to be faithful. In our Gethsemane prayers, we kneel before God to receive anointing so we can then stand up and face our challenges.

One thing is for sure: there’s no running away from our fears. The paths of our lives lead us through Gethsemane, not around it. We all will spend time in the garden, driven to our knees by our struggles and our despair. And we may feel like our prayers are not being heard or answered. Realize that even Jesus heard “no” as an answer to his prayer. The cup was not taken from him. God did not save him from his future. But that doesn’t mean Jesus didn’t pray hard enough or that he wasn’t faithful enough. Sometimes there are things in life that we simply cannot understand.

So we walk into our Gethsemane times in life, knowing we can’t go back, afraid to go forward. But we do not face those fears alone. We are accompanied by the one who spent time in the real Gethsemane, with a soul overwhelmed with sorrow. Jesus is with us during those times. And as we pray for God’s will to be done, we are reminded that on the other side of Gethsemane, resurrection awaits. It may not be exactly what we want, it may not be our will, but we trust that it is God’s will, and that God will be with us. When we’re in those dark times, we need to be about doing what we’re supposed to do. “Lord, please take this cup from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.”

Hi everyone! We continue our sermon series on prayer by looking at the prayer Jesus taught his disciples. Do we say it so often that we forget it’s meaning? I hope this sermon helps.

SCRIPTURE – Matthew 6:5-15

 ”And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.

 ”This, then, is how you should pray:
   ” ‘Our Father in heaven,
   hallowed be your name, 
 your kingdom come,
   your will be done
      on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us today our daily bread. 
 Forgive us our debts,
      as we also have forgiven our debtors. 
 And lead us not into temptation,
   but deliver us from the evil one.’ For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.

SERMON
Talking to God sermon series
#3 – How Jesus Taught Us to Pray
Matthew 6:5-15
March 15, 2009

It’s interesting that we call this “The Lord’s Prayer” because it really isn’t the Lord’s prayer. It’s the disciples’ prayer. In Matthew, Jesus teaches the prayer as part of his Sermon on the Mount. In Luke he teaches it in direct response to the disciples’ request, “Lord, teach us to pray.” What he offers is what we have come to know as the Lord’s Prayer.

As we continue our sermon series on prayer, I believe we have to work hard to approach this passage with an open mind. For most of us this prayer is so familiar that we might miss what’s going on here. We all know this prayer. We’ve said it a zillion times. In fact, the Lord’s Prayer is the second most frequently spoken prayer in the world, right behind, “Dear Lord, please don’t tell me I locked my keys in the car.” The danger with such a familiar prayer like the Lord’s Prayer is that it can become rote and lose its flavor. When you’ve said it so much, do you even know what you’re saying?

Just the fact that Jesus gives us this prayer in the context of a teaching moment makes an interesting point: We have to be taught to pray. In the public speaking class I teach, I talk about how everyone assumes they know how to listen well. If you have two ears, you can listen. But actually, good listening is a skill that must be learned. Prayer is the same way. Praying takes learning and practice. Jesus gives a couple examples of not praying well – praying to be heard by others or praying lengthy prayers with the hopes of boring God into answering just so we’ll shut up. That’s not the point of prayer, Jesus says.

Instead, said Jesus, there’s another way to pray. There are several things we can learn from this prayer that are applicable to our own prayer life. If you want to be better at praying, this is a good place to start. First, did you notice how it doesn’t start? It doesn’t start by asking for stuff. Jesus doesn’t encourage us to lay out a shopping list of needs. Interestingly, asking is a part of this prayer, but not until we give God the proper praise and acknowledgment. No matter how urgent our request, it is only when God is given God’s proper place that all other things fall into their places.

The prayer starts with an interesting paradox that I think defines a lot about our faith. The statement “our Father” connotes a special kind of intimacy without being too chummy. It conveys a parental closeness with a healthy sense of reverence. But it’s followed up with “in heaven.” So right away we are encouraged to acknowledge God’s intimate closeness and God’s majestic Otherness, covering the totality of who God is for us. God is both our Parent and the ruler of the Cosmos.

And God’s name should be hallowed. To hallow something is to treat it as sacred. “Hallowed” is like “haloed.” It’s a way of giving God honor: “Your name is holy.” It’s another way of saying that the One to whom we pray is greater than we could ever imagine. We speak a lot of names during the day, but we should speak God’s name differently.

Growing up, I knew I was in trouble when I got called by my first and middle name: “Kory Thomas!” In fact, I still say that to myself when I mess up. Often we can tell simply by the tone of voice if someone is mad at us or happy with us or adoring us. I hear it from my girls all the time (say “Daddy” several different ways). But we are to speak God’s name differently. We are to speak God’s name in a way that conveys the holiness and reverence it deserves.

Next comes the first request of the prayer, but it’s not a personal request. Jesus says, “Your kingdom come. Your will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.” This is not some pie-in-the-sky request. First and foremost, before we ask anything for ourselves, we must acknowledge that it is God’s will that must be done. In Jesus’ days it was believed that God’s kingdom was indeed coming soon, that God would come to earth and restore peace and harmony. People wanted that to happen more than they wanted anything else: “Your kingdom come.”

I think how we say this line says something about what we believe. I always thought you said it with the emphasis on the nouns of the sentence: “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done.” But I learned from a very wise person that the emphasis probably belongs on the pronouns instead: “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done.” There are a lot of kingdoms in the world competing for prominence and a lot of wills jostling to be done (our own included!). By shifting the cadence in how we say this line, we are committing to our role of putting God’s kingdom and God’s will first in our lives.

Only after praising God, revering God’s name and lifting up the priority of God’s will does Jesus offer the first personal petition: “Give us this day our daily bread.” Notice again the pronouns. You will not find “I, me, mine” in this prayer. It’s all “we, us, ours.” Through this prayer we are knitted together with other believers into one community under God’s love and power. Our prayers are meant to seek God’s goodness for everyone, not just for ourselves. Prayers that seek blessings at the expense of others go against the teaching here. If we pray harm on someone else, if we pray to be lifted up at someone else’s expense, we’re not praying the Lord’s prayer.

This line about bread alludes to the Israelites’ time wandering in the wilderness, when God provided manna for them each day. Each morning, when they woke up and came out of their tents, there was bread on the ground. They were only to gather enough for that day; if they took more, it would go bad. That’s almost a foreign concept to us today, isn’t it? Taking only what we need to survive each day. I continue to be astounded at the size of the portions restaurants serve. I ordered a salad the other day and the bowl was so big I sat in the middle of it to eat. It’s almost obscene how much food we have at our disposal, and how much of it gets disposed. There’s an imbalance in this world. There are those who have way too much to eat, and those who don’t have nearly enough. This line in the prayer promises that we will take each day only what we need to sustain us, allowing others the chance to do the same.

But this line is about more than just nutritional sustenance. When Jesus is being tempted by Satan in the desert, Jesus tells him, “Man does not live by bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.” This line acknowledges that, just like we need to eat every day, we need contact with God every day. That relationship is as essential as the food we eat. We can’t store it all up on Sunday and then not talk to God for six days. We need daily feeding and contact as a way of recognizing our dependence on God’s abiding presence in our lives. Our daily bread, our daily sustenance, is our relationship and connection with God. If we are not nurturing that, we are starving ourselves.

Next comes the line that gives a lot of people fits: “Forgive us our debts” – that part is OK – “as we also have forgiven our debtors.” Oh dear. That part doesn’t go down so smoothly. As you know, in this church we use “debts.” Other churches use “sins” and the Catholic church uses “trespasses.” It’s like the little boy who was reciting the Lord ’s Prayer and said, “And forgive us our trash baskets, as we forgive those who put trash in our baskets.”

That’s actually a pretty good way to describe it. People DO put trash in our baskets, don’t they? And we’re often tempted to put trash right back into their baskets! Imagine if each time we said something against someone else, we were putting trash in their baskets. That might make me think twice about what I say and do. But – to extend the metaphor well beyond its usefulness – God has emptied the trash we’ve put in God’s basket. God has forgiven us of our debts, our sins, our trespasses. And because of that gift of grace, we are compelled to extend the same to others.

This isn’t a causal relationship here. We don’t forgive others in order to be forgiven. We forgive others as proof that we have received forgiveness. We can’t open our hands to receive God’s pardon if our fists are still closed against others. Forgiveness begets forgiveness, including the forgiving of ourselves.

The last line of Matthew’s version of the Lord’s Prayer is, “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the Evil One.” This has always puzzled some folks. Why would God lead us into temptation? Isn’t that Satan’s job? But a more accurate translation is, “And do not lead us into a time of testing.” There is actually a biblical history of God testing people: he did it with Abraham, he did it with Job. Jesus is simply telling the disciples to ask for God’s protection at all times against the Evil One who is constantly trying to weaken our defenses and erode our resolve. We can’t live this life alone. We need God with us.

That’s the prayer Jesus offers as a model for how we are to approach God. I think it makes some pretty amazing claims about our prayers. It tells me that we don’t pray to inform God of something God doesn’t already know or to try and change God’s mind. We don’t pray to try and bend God’s will to ours. Prayer is the submission of the creature to the Creator. Prayer is aligning ourselves in trust and acknowledging our need. When we pray, it is we who are changed as we express our dependence on God’s goodness and mercy. We are confessing that we believe in a God who listens to us.

Jesus offers this prayer, not as a command, but as an invitation. We are invited to be in conversation with the One whose name is holy but who loves us like a parent. We are invited to participate in the ushering in of God’s kingdom here on earth, just like it is in heaven. We are invited to be in relationship with the One who provides for our needs and offers us forgiveness. We are invited to find shelter with the One who protects us from the evils of the world and who is with us when we face difficult times. Even when we say a prayer we’ve said a thousand times, we are to say it as if we really believe what we’re saying, that we really do want God’s kingdom to come and God’s will to be done. And we take comfort in the fact that our prayers are effective, not because of how much we say or how eloquently we say it, but because we pray to a God who loves us and hears us.

Hello everyone! This is our second sermon in the series about prayer called “Talking to God.” I would love to hear your thoughts!

SCRIPTURE – Luke 18:9-14
 To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everybody else, Jesus told this parable: “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood up and prayed about himself: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other men—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’ “But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’ “I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.”

SERMON
Sermon Series: Talking to God
The Dos and Don’ts of Prayer
March 8, 2009

Today, we continue our sermon series about the nuts and bolts of prayer. As you may remember, last week we talked about why we pray, and I made the point that there really is no wrong way to pray. While we can never pray the perfect prayer, because of the Spirit’s interceding on our behalf, we can never pray a not-good-enough prayer.

I believe that is true, but I also think there is more to be said about how we pray. While the scope of what constitutes an effective prayer is huge, there are limits. We can’t just bow our heads and close our eyes and say anything we want and have it count as a prayer. Prayer is meant to be sacred speech, something we would feel comfortable saying to God. Not all prayers meet that criteria.

Here’s an example, and you’ll be glad to know that for the first time in weeks I’m not going to quote a movie. I’m going to quote a TV show. On the show “30 Rock,” Alec Baldwin plays a smarmy TV executive named Jack Donaghy. Jack is dating Elisa, played by Selma Hayek, and for Valentine’s Day he had made reservations at Plunder, a very posh and exclusive restaurant. But Elisa, being a good Catholic, insists they go to church first. Jack knows this could make them late to Plunder, but when Selma Hayek asks you to go to church with her, you don’t argue.

While in church, just as the priest is about to begin the Lord’s prayer, Jack calls his personal assistant Jonathan to let him know that he and Elisa aren’t going to make it to the restaurant on time. Instead of using his cell phone during church, which would be reason for eternal damnation, Jack tries to pass off his conversation with Jonathan as a conversation with God. He says this into his phone:

“Our Jonathan, who art in the office, hallowed be my reservation. If you are able, hold my table, at Plunder as we will not be there by seven. Have them delay our heavenly dessert, and forgive us our lateness as we forgive those who cause lateness against us.” I don’t pretend to know how God thinks, but I’m not sure that prayer made it all the way up to Heaven. That scene highlights an issue I think we run into a lot with prayer. It’s not so much a problem of what we pray but the motivation behind our prayers. The “30 Rock” story is the modern equivalent of what we hear in our scripture passage this morning about the Pharisee and the tax collector.

On the surface, Luke’s hearers would have automatically known the good guy and the bad guy in our story.  When Luke says, “Two men went up to the temple to pray, a Pharisee and a tax collector,” his audience probably thought, “Oh yeah, I know who’s going to be the punchline of this story.”The Pharisee was a religious leader, a faithful servant who went above and beyond his religious duties. And the tax collector was a scoundrel, a traitor who collected money from his own people to give to the Romans.

So imagine the surprise of Luke’s audience when it’s the tax collector who went home justified before God. Why is the bad guy made into a hero? Why is the good guy demonized? And what does this tell us about the dos and don’ts of our own prayers?

The Pharisee did a lot of things right in this story, but I believe his biggest mistake was not anything he said, but why he said it. There’s a big difference between praying for yourself and praying selfishly. I’ve had people say to me, “I just don’t feel comfortable praying for myself. There’s so many other people who need prayers more than I do.” Yes, that’s probably true. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong to pray for ourselves. I believe that’s an important part of a vibrant prayer life. What we have to check within ourselves is the motivations behind what we pray for.

First of all, it helps to understand that prayer is a privilege. Before Jesus came along, the main relational connection between Jews and their God was through the temple priests. If you wanted to pray or needed to ask forgiveness, you did so by presenting yourself to the temple priests and offering a sacrifice. You couldn’t call the CEO directly; you had to go through customer service.

But because of Jesus’ sacrifice, that intermediate step was rendered unnecessary. When Christ died on the cross, the gospels say the temple curtain was torn in half. That curtain represented the separation between the people and God. So through Jesus, that separation no longer existed. Through Jesus, we are given a direct line to the top. We don’t have to talk to customer service, we don’t have to sit on hold and listen to Muzak or angels playing their harps. Prayer is our direct connection to the power of God.

Therefore, it is to be used wisely and reverently. We’re talking to God! That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t share with God things we consider trivial or insignificant. Instead, I believe God likes to hear about the details of our lives. God rejoices in every aspect of our relationship. But because we’re talking to God, we need to pray in a Godly way, which the Pharisee didn’t do. He prayed loudly and proudly. Luke says he “stood up and prayed about himself.” Notice, he didn’t pray for himself but about himself. If you’re such a good person, chances are God already knows that. And if you feel it’s necessary to recite your resume to God, chances are your prayer agenda has very little to do with God and a whole lot to do with you. If we fill too much of our prayers with ourselves, we don’t leave any room for God.

Prayer is not an entitlement and it’s not to be taken for granted. We don’t have the right to pray and we shouldn’t pray like we deserve the answer we want. Prayer is a privilege and the appropriate attitude to adopt when approaching prayer is not the pride of the Pharisee, but the humility of the tax collector. He doesn’t recite his resume, because it’s not impressive. He doesn’t compare himself to others, because he’d lose that battle. He simply stands off at a distance, a sign of reverence, and asks for God’s mercy.

That’s a much different approach to prayer than the Pharisee. The Pharisee’s prayer emphasized separation and division: “Thank you that I’m not like them.” An effective prayer doesn’t point to ourselves – look how great I am, God! – or to others – thanks that I’m not like him, God. An effective prayer points to God and God’s power and mercy.

My guess is not too many of us are in camp with the Pharisee. His issue is one of arrogance in prayer and I don’t know that we always feel spiritual or devout enough to take that same stance. But I do believe we may suffer from another form of arrogance when it comes to prayer, and it was to do with how we react when God responds.

Here’s an example. A man was driving around a shopping mall parking lot looking for a space. It was Saturday, so the mall was packed and the lot was full. The man was in a big hurry so he prayed, “Dear God, please let there be a parking space close to the door so I can get a move on.” As soon as he finished saying “Amen” he saw a car backing out of a spot right up front near the doors. Happily he said, “Dear God. Never mind. One just opened up.”

This man’s error was not one of arrogance but of acknowledgement. The only beneficiary of his prayer was himself, which is inherently selfish. And he probably thought he landed this first-rate parking space because of his patience and good timing, forgetting that his prayer to God may have had something to do with it.

Now, let me state right now that I don’t believe God answers prayers about parking spaces. I think one of the don’ts of prayer is to not give God credit or blame for things that should rest on our shoulders. Often times we pray for God to alter reality when we’re the ones who created the situation in the first place. Here’s another example of misplaced responsibility. One Christmas my aunt gave our daughter Sydney a gift she had really been wanting. When Sydney told her how much she wanted this present, my aunt exclaimed, “Praise the Lord! God let me right to that toy in the store.” And I wanted to say, “Couldn’t God have led you to a flat-screen TV?” Yes, I believe God is with us and watches out for us and protects and guides us. And yes, I believe all good things come from God. But when we start giving God all the credit for the good decisions we make, we also open up the door to making God the scapegoat for all the bad decisions we make.

We have been given the gift of prayer, not ask for what we want, but to ask for what God wants. We’ll talk about this more in the next couple weeks. The ultimate goal of any of our prayers should be for God’s will to be done. I often close my prayers by saying, “In Jesus’ name.” That’s not just a formulaic involuntary saying. When we pray, we are challenged to make sure that whatever we are saying can be said in the name of our Lord. Can we ask for healing in Jesus’ name? Of course. Can we giving thanks for our lives in Jesus’ name? Sure. That’s praying for ourselves. Can we ask for an open parking space in Jesus’ name or for a flat-screen TV in Jesus’ name? To me, that’s a misuse of the privilege. That’s praying selfishly.

An effective prayer points to God by acknowledging God’s healing power or giving thanks to God for God’s work in our lives. In fact, how we come to prayer should be equivalent to how we should come to worship: humble, reverent, expectant, hopeful. Did you come here hopeful today? Did you come expecting that God was going to meet you here? Or is this just another worship, like our prayers are just another prayer? We don’t come to prayer or worship with an attitude of, “OK, what can you do for me?” “Exalt me, God, because I’m so great.” “Find me that perfect parking space.” We come to worship and to prayer with the expectation that God is present and active, regardless of the outcome. In our prayers, if we come as ourselves, not trying to be someone bigger or better or more faithful than we actually are, we leave room for God to be God. Pray with humility, pray with confidence, pray with hope. And then leave room and trust that God is at work.

Hi everyone! This week we had a representative in worship from the Week of Compassion, our denominational disaster relief organization. This week and next are designated for collecting offerings for the Week of Compassion. I thought this scripture was a natural tie-in to the work Week of Compassion does. May we all do the same!

SCRIPTURE – Mark 1:40-45

A man with leprosy came to him and begged him on his knees, “If you are willing, you can make me clean.” Filled with compassion, Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. “I am willing,” he said. “Be clean!” Immediately the leprosy left him and he was cured. Jesus sent him away at once with a strong warning: “See that you don’t tell this to anyone. But go, show yourself to the priest and offer the sacrifices that Moses commanded for your cleansing, as a testimony to them.” Instead he went out and began to talk freely, spreading the news. As a result, Jesus could no longer enter a town openly but stayed outside in lonely places. Yet the people still came to him from everywhere.

SERMON
Touching the Untouchable
Mark 1:40-45
February 15, 2009

It’s hard to get bored reading Mark’s gospel. Not only is it the shortest of the four, but it is also the most fast-paced one. Mark hits the ground running in the first chapter with Jesus’ baptism and the action doesn’t stop until the disciples are peering into the empty tomb. In the movie version Jesus would be played by Jackie Chan or Matt Damon, but there would be fewer car chases.

With all this activity going on, the question to ask is: Why did Mark choose to include this story? We know that Jesus did a lot of healing in his ministry. There are 13 healing miracles mentioned in Mark’s 16 chapters. He raised people from the dead, restored sight to the blind, made the lame walk. In fact, just a few verses prior to our story, Mark writes, “That evening after sunset the people brought to Jesus as the sick and demon-possessed. The whole town gathered at the door and Jesus healed many who had various diseases.” If that’s true, if Jesus is as busy as Mark says he is, why single out this story? Is there something special here we’re supposed to see?

One of my favorite movies of all time is “The Untouchables.” In fact, only a few months ago I was in Union Station downtown and walked past the staircase where they filmed the famous baby carriage scene. I was tempted to find a stroller and push it down the stairs to see if I could recapture the moment, but I couldn’t find any babies will to participate.

In case you aren’t familiar with the film, Kevin Costner plays Elliott Ness who goes on a crusade against the evil Al Capone, played by Robert DeNiro. Because Ness was so successful at thwarting Capone’s mob business and avoided several assassination attempts, he and his gang were called “The Untouchables,” people who were larger than life, who seemed to be above the natural pecking order. The not only upheld the law, they were the law. You don’t mess with “The Untouchables.”

Jesus is the Elliott Ness of our story today, a one-man crusade against evil. In the span of the first 45 verses of Mark Jesus calls his supporting cast of disciples to help him, rebukes a demon, heals Simon’s mother-in-law, cures a whole crowd, preaches in Galilee, and then cleanses our leper, managing to mix in some downtime for prayer. Those who saw Jesus in action must have thought he was larger than life, that he was above the natural pecking order they knew, that he was the law. You don’t mess with Jesus.

But there’s another untouchable in this story. And he in no way bears a resemblance to Jesus or Elliott Ness or any other hero. The unnamed leper is untouchable for a completely different reason. We aren’t sure what the actual disease is that this man suffers from, but we do know it was physically excruciating and a social death sentence.

If it was actual leprosy, the man could have had any number of symptoms. It begins with fatigue and pain in the joints. Then discolored patches appear on the skin. On those patches, little nodules form, turning pink, and then brown. The skin thickens, and the nodules gather in folds on the cheeks, nose, lips and forehead. The face changes drastically in appearance. The nodules continue to grow; they then ulcerate, omitting a foul discharge. The hair starts to fall out; the eyes become staring; the voice becomes hoarse and the breath wheezes because of ulcerations on the vocal chords. The hands and feet also ulcerate. Slowly and painfully, the sufferer becomes a mass of ulcerated growths.

The physical devastation of leprosy was tragic, but a leper’s suffering didn’t end there. Because leprosy was highly contagious, some people threw rocks at lepers to keep them at a distance. The leper had to announce his approach with the cry of “Unclean, unclean!” so people would know he was coming. The leper was warning people to not come in contact with him, to stay away. The best way to deal with a leper was to not have to deal with a leper. You don’t mess with the untouchables.

But notice in our passage, we don’t hear the leper’s cry. His arrival is unannounced, unexpected. He ignores the laws he is commanded to obey, not keeping his distance, not announcing his approach. He simply strides right up to Jesus, falls to his knees, and says what he knows to be true. “If you choose…you can make me clean.” This repulsive creature dares to break the law in order to gain an audience with Jesus.

So there we have it. A meeting of the untouchables. Clean and unclean. Holy and unholy. Sacred and profane. Divinity and humanity. All Jesus has to do is to walk away, to not risk his own health and reputation by acknowledging this hopeless case. After all, the leper gave him a choice, not an order, not a command. “If you choose…”

Verse 41 tells us Jesus looked upon this many with compassion or pity, but a more accurate translation of the Greek is that he looked at him with anger. Jesus doesn’t get angry often, so when he does we better take notice. He’s not angry at the leper for breaking the rules or interrupting his day. Jesus is angry because this isn’t how it is supposed to be. This isn’t way God intended people to live.

So he does something about it. Back then, if you touched a leper, you were considered as unclean as the leper was, and were treated the same way. If you reached out to them, you became one of them. By touching this man, Jesus was in effect putting himself alongside the leper, taking on the same humiliation and limitations the law placed on the leper. Jesus was willing to risk his own health, his own status, even his own life, for this man. And what happens when the divine in Jesus touches the humanity in the leper? Healing happens.

And it’s not just a physical healing. The leper wanted more than a change in skin texture. He wanted to be made whole, to be restored in society, to be welcomed back into the world as a human being, not an untouchable. Even though he still must undergo the ritual purification, which Jesus instructs him to do, Christ has taken his brokenness, his physical and spiritual incompleteness, and made him whole.

Let me look around here. No, I don’t see any lepers with us this morning. No ulcerating skin, no nodules with foul discharges, some loss of hair, but I’ll write that off as natural. Physically, we all look to be leprosy-free.

Of course looks can be deceiving. What looks on the outside like a disfigured, disgusting leper could really be a decent human being looking for a chance to be whole. And what looks on the outside like a normal, healthy person could be someone suffering from emotional or spiritual leprosy. We all have those discolored patches, the ones that omit a foulness that seeps into and infects the rest of our lives. There’s something in our life that keeps us from being whole before God. There’s someplace where we are incomplete. Broken relationships, hasty judgments about people, addictions, infidelities, pride, hatred, racism – all these things make us unclean, and we all suffer. Part of being human is admitting that we are less than perfect and that we need healing.

And that’s what we have been offered. Through his death and resurrection, through the gift of bread and cup, through the gathering of this body, Christ has reached out his hand to us and offered a healing touch. When Christ’s divinity meets our humanity, healing begins again. Regardless of the afflictions and the seriousness of the symptoms, each week at the table we are told over and over again, “I choose. Be made clean!”

The irony here is that the leper is made clean by a touch, when such a thing is usually thought to spread uncleanliness. At the church I served in seminary, when the time came for communion, people didn’t pass bread trays. They passed the bread. The picked up the loaf, tore off a piece and handed the loaf to the next person. So the cold germs from the person in the first row were shared with everyone else in their section. I don’t think that’s what is meant by “spreading the gospel.”

Reaching out makes us vulnerable. It puts us at risk. Jesus could have walked right by this person, ignored this need, not put his own freedom at risk. The man simply could have stayed sick. You don’t mess with the untouchables. And yet when Jesus looks at him, he gets angry at what he sees. And he does something about it.

There are endless examples in this world that this is not how it is supposed to be. Hunger. Loneliness. Disease. Organizations like the Week of Compassion are reaching out, trying to do something about it. But in order to bring healing, we have to get involved. We can’t just walk by and ignore the need while people go on being sick. If restoration is going to happen, it will come through us, the hands and feet of Jesus, the one who came to earth to dwell among us, bringing us hope and love and healing. Pastor Will Willimon says, “Jesus got what we got so that we may get what he has.” We’ve got it. What are we going to do with it? Do we not risk getting our hands dirty and just walk on by? That’s safer, you know. Cleaner. More convenient. Or do we reach out our hand, touch the untouchable, dare to make a difference in the life of someone this world has discarded. We’ve got what Jesus has given us – love, forgiveness, compassion, the resources to help. So what are we going to do with it?

I should probably preach more from Isaiah because he has such amazing things to say. After the sermon in our later service we sang “On Eagle’s Wings” and several people commented afterward that it’s one of their favorite hymns. Have a great week!

SCRIPTURE – Isaiah 40:21-31
Do you not know? Have you not heard? Has it not been told you from the beginning? Have you not understood since the earth was founded? He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth, and its people are like grasshoppers. He stretches out the heavens like a canopy, and spreads them out like a tent to live in. He brings princes to naught and reduces the rulers of this world to nothing. No sooner are they planted, no sooner are they sown, no sooner do they take root in the ground, than he blows on them and they wither, and a whirlwind sweeps them away like chaff.

“To whom will you compare me? Or who is my equal?” says the Holy One. Lift your eyes and look to the heavens: Who created all these? He who brings out the starry host one by one, and calls them each by name. Because of his great power and mighty strength, not one of them is missing. Why do you say, O Jacob, and complain, O Israel, “My way is hidden from the LORD; my cause is disregarded by my God”? Do you not know? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

SERMON
Lifted Up
Isaiah 40:21-31
Kory Wilcoxson

Did you see the movie “Signs?” It stars Mel Gibson as a priest who lost his wife in a car accident and then lost his faith, as well. He and his three kids live on a farm, and one morning a crop circle appears in his fields, which we learn were caused by alien spacecraft. As Gibson contemplates what this could mean, he has this fascinating conversation with his oldest son about fate and uncertainty. I want to share with you a rather long quote from Gibson’s character and I want you think about it in terms of how you make sense of the good and bad things that happen your life. When something good or bad happens, how do you explain it? Gibson says:

People break down into two groups. When they experience something lucky, group number one sees it as more than luck, more than coincidence. They see it as a sign, evidence, that there is someone up there, watching out for them. Group number two sees it as just pure luck. Just a happy turn of chance. I’m sure the people in group number two are looking at those fourteen lights in a very suspicious way. For them, the situation is a fifty-fifty. Could be bad, could be good. But deep down, they feel that whatever happens, they’re on their own. And that fills them with fear. Yeah, there are those people. But there’s a whole lot of people in group number one. When they see those fourteen lights, they’re looking at a miracle. And deep down, they feel that whatever’s going to happen, there will be someone there to help them. And that fills them with hope. See what you have to ask yourself is what kind of person are you? Are you the kind that sees signs, that sees miracles? Or do you believe that people just get lucky? Or, look at the question this way: Is it possible that there are no coincidences?

Talk about a great question! It’s one I believe we all wrestle with at some point in our lives. Why do things happen the way they do? Is this part of God’s plan or just luck? You know, the Greeks believed in the Fates, women who sat at their spinning wheels in heaven, each spinning a person’s life thread, and when the thread broke, the person died. Can we chalk up the circumstances in our lives, the good and the bad, to things like fate or luck or coincidence? Or is there something more?

I believe Isaiah in our passage today Isaiah was helping the Israelites think through this very question. At the time of Isaiah’s prophecy, the Israelites were aliens. Not the outer space kind, but the exiled kind. Babylon had invaded Israel, ransacked the nation, and taken its people as prisoners back to Israel, where they remained for a generation. So the people to whom Isaiah was speaking had only known captivity their whole lives, the despair of yearning for a homeland you’ve never known. Psalm 137 says: By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion. There on the poplars we hung our harps, for there our captors asked us for songs, our tormentors demanded songs of joy; they said, “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!” How can we sing the songs of the LORD while in a foreign land?

Sometimes it feels like we are living in a foreign land, doesn’t it? Sure, we’re still residents of the good old US of A, but things are changing so fast around us that sometimes I barely even recognize it. At our youth Super Bowl party I was watching some of the boys play a video game and I realized for the first time in my life I had no idea what was going on in the game. I grew up with video games and now they are so sophisticated they’ve passed me by. What happened to Pacman?

Seriously, our life changes in ways we least expect or can predict. Technology blows past us, our bodies begin to fail us, our trusted institutions begin to falter, and all of a sudden we’re trying to sing a song in the foreign land of a hospital room or a funeral home or a loan office. What happened to our comfortable home land? How did we get here?

And more importantly, where is God? Isaiah warns the captive Israelites against mouthing complaints like, “My way is hidden from the Lord; my cause is disregarded by my God.” In other words, “Hello? God, remember me? You may not have noticed, but things aren’t so great here. This wasn’t what I signed up for. Hello? Anyone there?”

Isaiah’s words today are a reminder to the Israelites and to us that someone is there. He says, “Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is an everlasting God.” Or as The Message translates it, “God doesn’t come and go. God lasts.” Through the capriciousness of life, through the good and bad events, through the so-called coincidences and twists of fate, God lasts.

To help the Israelites remember this, Isaiah gives them some of God’s resume. “He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth. He stretches out the heavens like a canopy.” This would have been a big deal to the Israelites, because in the land of Babylon where they were living, the celestial bodies were worshipped. The stars weren’t just glowing balls of hydrogen; they were gods. But the Israelite God points to the stars and says, “See those things you worship? I put those there.”

In fact, if you read this text the wrong way, God could come across as a bit arrogant. At one point God seems to challenge the Israelites by saying, “To whom will you compare me? Or who is my equal?” Well, when you put it that way, I guess no one is. It reminds of me Ron Burgundy in “Anchorman” when he says, “I don’t know how to put this, but I’m kind of a big deal. People know me.” That will be the last time I compare God with Ron Burgundy!

I don’t think arrogance is what God is going for here. To be honest, considering the Israelites’ current plight, they may not be too impressed with God. They may take up his challenge and say, “Well, since we’ve been in captivity for a few decades, I would say Nebuchadnezzar, the Babylonian ruler, is your equal. Or maybe Marduk, the Babylonian deity, is your equal. At least they are around. Where are you?”
But I don’t hear God’s statement as a “make my day” challenge. I hear it as an invitation. “Give it a try. Engage in dialogue. Do some soul-searching. Get to know me and see if you kind find someone as equal in compassion, in mercy, in love.” Nebuchadnezzar and Marduk and cancer and addiction and life come and go, but God lasts. Don’t let your present circumstances make you think that God cannot see you. You may be far from home, you may be in a place you don’t want to be, but God is present with you. And if we are willing, God can help us run and not grow weary and walk and not grow faint.

But in order to soar on wings of eagles, we have to realize our need to be lifted up. The paradox of faith is that to be strong, we must be weak. To soar we must stumble. When our last resource is tapped, then we are ready to rely on God’s resources. To be saved, we must see our need for a savior. The more we try to be stubbornly self-reliant, the more we give in to the persistent human temptation to believe we are God’s equal, that we know better, the less we are able to see God at work in and around us.

Isaiah doesn’t provide easy answers here. He’s not trying to solve the Israelites’ problems with three points and a poem. He’s not into solutions; he’s into experience. He’s encouraging the Israelites to embrace the mystery of God as something bigger and grander than we can ever comprehend, and to let that mystery provide the wind for the sails in our souls or provide the melody for their hearts that would encourage them sing a song of joy in a foreign land.

I can’t blame the Israelites for being less than model believers. Can you relate to where they were? They were far from home, physically and spiritually, and their old religion wasn’t working. The answers didn’t cut it anymore. God did not seem present. Doubts crept in. Their faith had serious holes in it. They felt like they were sinking.

But look at the stars! Look at the earth! Look at your friends and family! Look at your church! Look at your house! Look at your car! Look at your blessings! Where did those things come from? Was that just coincidence? Dumb luck? Or is it evidence, a sign, of someone greater at work?
Remember that first group of people Mel Gibson described? “Deep down, they feel that whatever’s going to happen, there will be someone there to help them. And that fills them with hope. What you have to ask yourself is what kind of person are you? Are you the kind that sees signs, that sees miracles? Or do you believe that people just get lucky?” When I think about my life, when I look at you, when I stop a minute to take a deep breath, I know what I believe.

Happy Monday, everyone! I hope you all have a fantastic week. I had fun studying this scripture and contrasting knowledge with love. It was a bit self-condemning since I have a few letters after my name, but I hope it comes across as more “pro-love” than “anti-knowledge.” Let me know what you think!

SCRIPTURE – I Corinthians 8:1-13

Now about food sacrificed to idols: We know that we all possess knowledge.Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up. The man who thinks he knows something does not yet know as he ought to know. But the man who loves God is known by God. So then, about eating food sacrificed to idols: We know that an idol is nothing at all in the world and that there is no God but one. For even if there are so-called gods, whether in heaven or on earth (as indeed there are many “gods” and many “lords”), yet for us there is but one God, the Father, from whom all things came and for whom we live; and there is but one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom all things came and through whom we live.

 But not everyone knows this. Some people are still so accustomed to idols that when they eat such food they think of it as having been sacrificed to an idol, and since their conscience is weak, it is defiled. But food does not bring us near to God; we are no worse if we do not eat, and no better if we do. Be careful, however, that the exercise of your freedom does not become a stumbling block to the weak. For if anyone with a weak conscience sees you who have this knowledge eating in an idol’s temple, won’t he be emboldened to eat what has been sacrificed to idols? So this weak brother, for whom Christ died, is destroyed by your knowledge. When you sin against your brothers in this way and wound their weak conscience, you sin against Christ. Therefore, if what I eat causes my brother to fall into sin, I will never eat meat again, so that I will not cause him to fall.

SERMON
Knowing and Loving
I Corinthians 8:1-13
Feb. 1, 2009

I read a fascinating book recently called “The Know-It-All.” The author, A. J. Jacobs, set out to read the entire Encyclopedia Britannica, all 33,000 pages of it. He read it from a-ak – an ancient East Asian music form – to Zywiec – a town in south-central Poland – and wrote about the experience. The subtitle of the book was “One man’s humble quest to become the smartest person in the world.” I don’t know if he achieved that objective, but I’m sure he’s a lot smarter than when he started out.

And that’s a good thing, right? Becoming smarter is a commendable goal for us. In fact, much of our lives are spent doing just this – trying to get smarter. Why else would we send our kids to school for 12 years, then off to college for another four or five or six? The more degrees you have, the more letters you have after your name, the more you are rewarded. Knowledge is power. We revere intelligent people and make fun of not-so-intelligent people. A smart person is “in the know” or looks at someone “knowingly.” Knowledge is a good thing.

If you read this passage from Paul in I Corinthians too quickly, you might think Paul is running an anti-Mensa campaign. “Knowledge puffs up,” Paul says. Or as the Living Bible translates it, “Beig a know-it-all makes us feel important.” Paul says the person who thinks they know something doesn’t really know what they think they know. In other words, the more you think you know, the less you actually know about what you should know. What do you think about that? Should you know or not know? You know what I think? I don’t know.

Paul is not arguing here against being intelligent. He’s not condemning the kind of knowledge one gets from reading the Encyclopedia Britannica or watching “Jeopardy.” Instead, he’s condemning knowledge that makes the knower feel superior or arrogant, which was an issue in the church in Corinth. That church was an affluent congregation made up of some of the Corinthian upper class. When Paul started the church, he preached about the freedom that belief in Christ brought the believer, and some of the Corinthians were taking that to an extreme. They acted as if they were free to do whatever they wanted without considering the consequences for others, especially those who weren’t as intelligent or sophisticated as they were. They were basically practicing spiritual elitism.

The presenting problem here was eating meat that had been sacrificed to idols. Now, I know our world today presents us with a lot of moral dilemmas. Do I fudge a bit on my taxes? Is it OK to lie to my boss? How many chocolate chip cookies can I eat before I am considered a glutton? But I’m guess that you don’t sit around all day wondering if that Whopper you just ordered was originally a sacrifice to Zeus or Thor. Eating idol meat probably doesn’t make our top 100 list of spiritual dilemmas, so this passage may appear irrelevant to us.

But it’s not. There is truth for us in this passage, just as there is truth for us in every passage in the Bible. You may be tempted at times to discard a part of the Bible because it doesn’t seem to have anything salient to say. To that I would answer, “Come to Bible study!” We’ve been studying Deuteronomy, which could at first glance be considered insignificant to our Christian faith. But there is truth in there, just as there is truth in this passage from Paul. Nothing in the Bible is irrelevant. Some of it just needs more interpretation and contextualization than others.

Here’s the deal with idol meat. Worshippers were required to sacrifice the best animals to their gods, which means the choicest cuts of beef started out as sacrifices. Some of that meat was burned on the altar, some was eaten in a temple feast, and the rest was sold to local butchers in the marketplace. If you bought a leg of lamb or rib roast, that meat could have started out as an offering to a pagan God.

For mature Christians, this wasn’t a problem. They knew the others gods didn’t exist, so the source of the meat didn’t matter. But many fledgling Christians grew up with pagan religions and still strongly associated meat with idolatry. For the mature Christians – those “in the know” – this was a non-issue. But for the spiritually weak, eating this meat was akin to committing a sin.

We have our own forms of this controversy today. We don’t deal with issues related to idol meat, but we do have religious conflicts around things like whether Christians should drink alcohol, dance, gamble, cuss, watch R-rated movies, read “Harry Potter” books, celebrate Halloween, and so on. And we don’t have the benefit of Paul writing us a letter saying, “You can read ‘Harry Potter,’ but you must not watch reruns of ‘Bewitched.” So we Christians are left to work these issues out for ourselves, and in case you didn’t notice, we don’t always do this peacefully or come to the same conclusions.

So what Paul tells us here is that when there is disagreement over a non-essential issue, love trumps knowledge. Eating idol meat or watching “Die Hard” or doing the Macarena isn’t a matter of life or death for our faith. Through Christ, we have been freed from legalism and oppressive restrictions. But just because we know it’s OK to do certain things doesn’t mean we should do them. Love trumps knowledge.

When Sydney was a toddler we loved to take her to play miniature golf. She always won, because her technique was to hit the ball once, then pick it up and drop in the hole. She got a hole-in-one every time, and each time she did this Leigh and I would clap and make a big to-do over it. Now, being the competitive, law-abiding person I am, I could have scolded Sydney and told her the correct way to play miniature golf. I could have given her a two-stroke penalty for illegally moving her golf ball when the “lift-clean-and-place” rule wasn’t in effect. I could have had the teenager working the counter throw her off the course for cheating. And I would have been right.

But love trumps knowledge. When we are faced with a conflict over a spiritual or social issue, a wonderful guiding question to ask ourselves is, “In this situation, is it better to be right or to be compassionate?” In our efforts to show how much we know and provide what we believe to be the “correct” way of thinking, we may inadvertently become a stumbling block to someone else in their faith journey. I’ve heard well-meaning Christians bludgeon their opponents with arguments about why true believers speak in tongues or why real churches don’t let woman serve in leadership. And I walk away thinking, “No wonder non-Christians don’t like us!” There’s nothing loving about trying to show everyone how “in the know” you are at someone else’s expense.

I don’t think many of us have to worry about that. If you’re like me, you’re much more aware of all that you don’t know instead of all you do know. Even so, Paul has a word here for us, because even as we seek to learn more about Jesus Christ and our faith and the Bible – which is something we should never stop doing – what truly matters is not what we know, but that we are known. In other words, I would rather be known by God through an intimate, personal relationship, than to be the smartest person in the world.

This has implications for how we live our lives and live out our faith. If we define ourselves by what we know, we run the risk of using knowledge as a benchmark for how we evaluate others. And in this affluent, highly intelligent area, we may be tempted to think that our knowledge gives us an advantage over people who don’t have what we have. We may be tempted to use our knowledge to focus on what separates us.

But if we use love as our benchmark, then we are more likely to focus on our similarities instead of our differences. Puffed-up knowledge tells me I’m superior to people in certain neighborhoods or ethnicities or socioeconomic classes. But love tells me that I am a child of God, and they are a child of God, and that we are all apart of God’s good creation. We are all in the same boat, and we’re not going to get anywhere if I try to show that I can row faster than everyone else. We’ll just end up going around in circles.

The truth is no one has a monopoly on the truth. No one truly knows. Some people may think they do, but Paul says that just shows how much they don’t know. Later in I Corinthians, speaking about his earthly life, Paul says, “Now I know in part.” But when he meets Christ face to face, he says, “Then, I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” We will do well if we strive to be fully known.

People don’t need more knowledge. But they do need more love. So many people around us are stumbling through life. They don’t need their theological doctrines corrected. They need a hand. They may not look like us, they may not live where we live, they may think differently than us, they may not be as far along on their spiritual journey as us. But there is so much more that connects us than divides us. Love trumps knowledge. I may not know much, but I know that.