Living Texts

Who Is Knocking?

2007-07-29T12:55:00.000-07:00

Luke 11:1-13
9th Sunday of Pentecost

At Hope church a Korean United Methodist congregation gathers every Sunday afternoon, bringing immigrants, professors, students, and others from South Korea from all over northern MN. A few times they invited me to preach to them – Zane often went with me. I was always quite aware that I was the only person in the room who was born in this country. They were a most gracious and polite congregation. Most of the service was in Korean – the hymns and the prayers and scriptures. Then I would stand up to preach, and often they asked me to pray. The last time I was with them I prayed after the sermon and then led them in the Lord’s Prayer.

But there was a moment then, a moment you get in worship sometimes, a little rustling or unsettling, and you realize you have done something wrong, like when Rich and I didn’t know you were supposed to greet one another after the announcements on our first Sunday. I noticed something was wrong and then asked about it.

“Pastor,” the leader replied, “we usually sing the Lord’s Prayer.”
“In Korean?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied.
“By all means, let’s do that,” I said.
And so I sat down and they began to sing, in Korean, Albert Hay Malotte’s Lord’s Prayer. I sang it quietly in English.
It astonished me, sitting there, to hear this song of a prayer that Jesus taught in Aramaic, that had been finalized probably in Greek and then Latin, set to a tune by an American, sung in Korean in Duluth MN. This prayer really finds its way around.

“Lord, teach us to pray,” the disciples asked Jesus, and this was his answer – a little over half of what we now know as the Lord’s Prayer. Jesus addresses God as Father, or Abba, Daddy, and then there are two petitions of praise to God – hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come – and then three petitions for our lives – give us each day our daily bread, forgive us our sings as we forgive those who are indebted to us and don’t bring us to the time of trial. Part of the prayer then is directed to God and part is asking for help for our own lives, that which we need, that which we need to work on, and that which we want to avoid.

It is a solid prayer; it covers a lot of ground. It is known in so many languages, and it is so familiar we can hardly hear it. We print it in the bulletin to make sure our guests know which version we are using – where we stop – or for those who are unfamiliar with it. But if you worship very often you know this prayer really well.

In fact sometimes people say we know this prayer too well. It is rote, we don’t think about it. So these are the words that Jesus gave us so long ago – do they work if they are too familiar? I’ve led this prayer in worship probably more than 700 times so far in my ministry. I think the combined retired clergy in the room have probably led this prayer in worship at least 10,000 times. If you say it every Sunday for 60 years, give or take a few, you’ve said it a couple thousand times.

Lord, teach us to pray.
Of course this isn’t Jesus’ only teaching about prayer. Luke pairs a few teachings together in this text. The next bit, which Will read, is about what we can expect from God in prayer. So someone goes to a friend at midnight, knocks on the door, and asks for bread. Not for himself, of course, but for a guest that has just arrived. The man responds from inside – leave me alone; I’m in bed and my children are asleep and I’m not getting up. Keep pounding on the door, Jesus says, and the man will get up not because you are a friend but just to get you to be quiet.

So is God like Bruce in Bruce Almighty – God gives god-powers to Bruce who becomes overwhelmed by the prayers (in Buffalo, NY only) so he answers them all “Yes.” ? Is that it?

And then another story – if your kid is hungry, will you give them a snake instead of a fish, or a scorpion instead of an egg? Of course not. A parent, most parents, even pretty rotten parents, generally give the child what they need.

These are weird stories about God. So is God a little better than us at our worst?

Lord, teach us how to pray.
And then Jesus tells us to seek, and to knock, and to ask.
But sometimes it seems that when we ask it doesn’t work out. Sometimes it seems that when we seek we don’t find. Sometimes it seems we knock in the middle of the night and nothing happens, we say the Lord’s prayer the 1,000th time and don’t know what it is for.

Lord, teach us how to pray.
Jeladdin Rumi is a Sufi mystic and poet from the Muslim tradition from the 14th century who has gotten quite popular in the last decade. He wrote a poem about a man praying to God all night long, saying, in his tradition, “Allah, Allah.” Someone came along and said, “So, I have heard you calling out, but have you ever gotten any response?”
The man fell silent and went to sleep.
In his dreams he saw a guide who asked why he quit crying out to God.
“Because I never heard anything back.”
“This longing you express is the return message,” the guide said.

The connection is in the longing, in the asking, in the desire, in the repeating, in the knocking on the door all night long. Praying over and over and over gives us a connection, it burns a pathway in our brains and souls to God, it keeps the phone lines open, it increases the bandwidth of the connection. It isn’t about polite conversation, it isn’t about taking turns in responding, it isn’t about waiting quietly for God to say something. It’s about persistence, tenacity, irritating repetition.

Lord, teach us how to pray.
In Jesus’ stories we often know exactly who we are. In this one we are the ones knocking on the door. We are the ones with the inconvenient but well-excused request. We are the ones with the holy purpose, demanding help so we can go ahead doing what God has asked us to do in the first place. But sometimes I think it is helpful if we think about the story a new way, if we switch up the roles a little. What if we are the ones in bed with our families all sleeping, tired from a long day, not wanting to get up, and God is the one knocking on the door of our house, demanding a response, demanding help?

Sometimes we are the ones sleeping, sometimes we are too tired and crabby to hear, but God is always banging on the door, asking us to open it, to keep the connection going, to respond, to keep praying even if we don’t know what the prayer does, or how to pray, or what words to use and what use it all is.

Lord, teach us how to pray.
Teach us how to keep using the Lord’s Prayer so that when we are old and dying and don’t remember much and someone takes our hand and starts saying the prayer our brain remembers it, deep within and we are connected to that person and to prayer again.
Lord, teach us how to pray.
Teach us how to keep praying. Teach us how to set aside our politeness and demand a response from you, to keep praying even though we don’t know what to do or what to say or how to sit or what to do.
Lord, teach us to pray,
and teach us how to be awake when you bang on our door in the middle of the night.
Amen.

Sibling Rivalry

2007-07-29T12:53:00.000-07:00

Luke 10:38-42, 8th Sunday after Pentecost

I know Martha.

I’ve always been concerned, as a follower of Jesus, what I am supposed to do. When I was twelve I was certain I needed to be a missionary to be a good Christian, and I really did not want to do it!

I hung out with the Campus Crusade folks for a few years – the boys were very interesting – and wondered how to be good enough to be a Christian.

Then I went to the Conference United Nations/Washington DC trip, with Clare Karsten and Toby Horst, and I learned that Christians could get involved in peace and justice issues. I wasn’t a great activist but I was hooked.

Then I worked at a camp for inner city children and wondered how I could help those living in poverty.

In my first appointment I wrote the application papers for Habitat for Humanity in Winona County. In my second appointment I started a ministry for urban young adults. In my third appointment I helped settle a family of 14 refugees from Sierra Leone. In my fourth appointment I chaired the board of CHUM, which works for justice for the poor but also provides food, shelter, health care and community for the homeless in Duluth.

I’ve served on many committees in the Minnesota Annual Conference and have gone to General and Jurisdictional Conference.

I know Martha.

But Mary isn’t a stranger to me, either.

Even as a child I would wander off to pray or write poetry. I snuck into the empty sanctuary when I could, I sought out God’s presence.

When I got to Hamline I discovered I loved Biblical studies, and I took every class I could. In seminary I won an award for biblical studies at UTS, mostly because I was interested in a time when most students did not care for it.

I’ve led spirituality retreats at every church I’ve served and I’ve hosted many worship services for my colleagues.

I’ve studied Centering Prayer and wondered how to incorporate more meditation into my life and my Christian teaching.

I know Mary.

I’ve always thought of Mary and Martha as two different people but you know – they both live inside me. And what do you think – they fight. They fight with each other. They argue and they fuss.

“Mary, get up and get in here and help me. There is a world to feed and you are sitting down doing nothing. People are dying. You need to do more than pray.”

“Martha, sit down a minute and think about what you are doing. If you don’t take time to rest and to listen to God, how do you know you are even doing the right thing?”

“Jesus said to offer mercy to your neighbor.”

“Jesus also said I have chosen the better part.”

So they fight. And I get confused. What kind of Christian am I supposed to be? What kind of pastor am I supposed to be? What am I supposed to do?

But I found a way to help them get along.

A few years ago I started a Covenant Discipleship group at Hope because I wanted to help my congregation grow spiritually. What I discovered was that it helped me grow in my understanding of what it means to be Christian. It helped me make peace between my Mary and my Martha.

You see, John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist movement, was all about prayer, study, and time with God. And he was all about changing the world through action. He figured out we needed both of these to grow as followers of Jesus. So our United Methodist Rule of Discipleship is this: “To witness to Jesus Christ in the world, and to follow his teachings through acts of compassion, justice, worship, and devotion under the guidance of the Holy Spirit.”

So every week for the last few years six other women and I got together and shared what we had done in the way of mercy: acts of compassion and justice, and piety: acts of devotion and worship. Some of the women were amazing at devotion; I did better with justice. We all struggled with some of it, and tried to do more of the part that was harder for us.

I started the group because I thought it would help my congregation grow spiritually. Of course I forgot it would do something to me to0, and what I discovered was that my Mary and my Martha didn’t fight so much anymore. I found room for both of them – Martha reporting on compassion and justice and Mary on devotion and worship. Some weeks one did more than the other, but I found more balance between the two.

Isn’t this great? Mary and Martha don’t have to fight. Of course, what about the text today? Doesn’t Jesus say, “Mary has chosen the better part, and it shall not be taken away from her?”

Well, this is one story we need to take into context. Just before this story we have the lawyer asking about eternal life, and the answer is: love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength and with all your mind – I hear acts of piety here – and your neighbor as yourself – acts of mercy, right there. Both are present. Then the rest of the story is about acts of mercy and Jesus’ statement, “Go and do likewise.”

Then after this story of Mary and Martha we learn about prayer. And if you think that is all about piety and not about mercy then we need to look at it more closely.

This text is balanced itself by it’s location in the Gospel. Mary and Martha do not have to fight. There is time for each of them. The key is to listen to Jesus, to what Jesus is saying to you – is he telling you to “go and do likewise” like the lawyer or “she has chosen the better part” to Martha? What is Jesus saying to you right now?

Mercy on the Other Side

2007-07-28T20:39:00.000-07:00

Luke 10:25-37, the story of the Good Samaritan

Last week Zane and Theo and I were biking to a nearby playground and we struck up a conversation with someone across Snelling Avenue. We mentioned living next to this church and the woman said, “Oh, I don’t go to church on the other side of Snelling.”

I’ve lived in St. Paul four times now, always within a mile and a half of Snelling. I didn’t know it was such a great divide! I knew the river was, but not Snelling.
I’m glad the good people of Cleveland Ave had mercy on this side of Snelling and came across!

This is the 4th time I’ve moved to St. Paul but my first in this neighborhood. I’m still figuring things out. I’ve been asked to serve on the MN Conference Urban Task Force. I went to a meeting where several nonprofit leaders and city leaders discussed the issues St. Paul is facing. We all sat with maps in front of us as they spoke, and at one point one of my colleagues leaned over and said, “Your neighborhood is fine.”

It is fine, isn’t it. But hers isn’t. Lots of them aren’t. Trouble isn’t too far away. I’m not sure where the dividing lines are: University, Dale, West 7th? This congregation sits in a beautiful, privileged area. How do we show mercy on the other side of town?

Why do I ask this? Because I am a United Methodist.
Why do I ask this? Because I am a follower of Jesus.

Following Jesus is frustrating business. We’ve got another irritating scripture lesson today. We are so familiar with it perhaps it isn’t too irritating anymore. But we have the lawyer testing Jesus today, searching as an accomplished lawyer – no offense to the multiple lawyers present – for the loophole, the weak spot, in the commandment. He asks, “What must I do to have eternal life?” and Jesus asks him to answer. “Love God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind and your neighbor as yourself.” Seems that there is no wiggle room, expect for the one he found: define “neighbor.” And then we have this story.
You may wonder why I memorize the gospel every week – and I don’t every week, and sometimes I will mess it up, and I’m okay with that. But when I do the work to memorize it I have to pay attention to it, understand why the words are in the order they are, notice the connections between the sentences. And what I noticed this week in this very, very familiar story is what side of the road the three travelers were on.
So the man was beaten, stripped, robbed, left for dead. And three people come by.
The priest happens by, sees him, and passes by – on the other side.
The Levite comes by, sees him, and passes by – on the other side.
The Samaritan traveling on the road comes near – then sees him, was moved with pity – then responds in this cascade of actions:
went to him, bandaged his wounds, poured oil and wine on them, put him on his animal, brought him to an inn, took care of him, paid for his future care, promised to come back. Total, complete, extravagant care.
Are we to believe that the priest and the Levite were terrible people? and the Samaritan a saint? That is an easy way to look at this text, but then what does it mean for us? Are we terrible? Or are we saints? What would we do?
The first step is in seeing and coming near – or seeing and passing by on the other side. Mercy needs proximity, it needs a connection, it needs to be near. At least it works better that way.
If you don’t get close, don’t take a good look, you can kind of talk yourself out of the reality of what was there. “He was probably dead. He was fine. He was sleeping. He was a trap.” And they stayed on the other side.
But drawing near, now, is a different story. Crossing to the other side, coming near – it is harder to ignore the human in front of us, it is harder to shut off the mercy in our hearts.
Putting ourselves in the way of opportunities is the first step in acting with mercy.
So this week and next about 25 of our folks are working just north of I-94 near Dale, building a house for someone they may not have met under other circumstances. Each of those people are taking mercy to the other side of the street
Proximity defines a lot of our relationships. And we can’t take care of everybody. If you try to as your pastor I would have to worry about you. But the gospel keeps pushing our boundaries. Jesus keeps trying to get us to take down our walls, to cross the road. Jesus wants us to take our mercy to the other side.

Because this all ties in with that first commandment. “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind.” There are no walls in that, no boundaries, no roads we won’t cross. The way to learn to love God that completely is to practice on each other, loving, with no boundaries, no walls, no streets we won’t cross. Because that is the way God loves us. And we are invited to enter into that love – and then, as Jesus said to the lawyer, you will live. In the fullness of life.

So we spend our lives not being sinners or saints but trying to do better, trying to expand our heart so we are ready to go to the other side, the side where Jesus waits for us.

God invites us to cross over to the other side of our prejudices, to the other side of our fear, to the other side of our divisions. God invites us to cross over, so we may live.

Flying Coach, No Luggage

2007-07-12T08:45:00.000-07:00

Luke 10:1-16
July 8, 2007

(Sometimes my sermon title comes too far ahead of the sermon and after I struggle with the text for awhile I realize that the sermon will have no relationship to the title. This is happening today.)

During the last week of June Mayflower moves the pastors of the Minnesota Annual Conference. I’ve moved often enough that I know some of the movers – we had the same crew leader this last time as we did four years ago. Now the Conference will pay to move 14,000 pounds for a longer move (it was 13,000 last time.) Last time we were overweight at 14,700 pounds. We’ve added one person to the family since then, so Kelly and I worked hard to get under the new limit. We donated an antique safe to Hope, we filled two dumpsters, took two carloads to Goodwill, and donated things to a neighborhood garage sale. When the moving truck showed up at our new house I ran out and asked, “How much did the truck weigh?”
“15,700 pounds.”

You can see why this text might make me nervous.

This story is part of a long section in Luke where Jesus is teaching about discipleship – what it means to follow him. He is sending out his followers – 70 of them – to the villages nearby where he is planning to go soon. He sends them in pairs with very specific instructions on what to carry, what to do, how to behave, and how to leave. “No purse (which means no money), no bag (which means nothing extra) and no sandals (extra sandals, I think.)”

The directions for what to take seem harsh – why take nothing with you?
Is Jesus encouraging everyone to be an ascetic, with a begging bowl, enjoy nothing, deny yourself?
This doesn’t fit for a guy who was always at dinner parties, eating and drinking, called a glutton by his enemies.

Is Jesus trying to teach his followers that they need to depend upon God and not feel secure with their wordly goods?
Perhaps – there is plenty of that sort of teaching in the Bible.

But Jesus is trying to do something else here, too. The clue is in what he keeps telling his followers to say, if they leave or if they stay: the kingdom of God has come near.

We need to know something about the world these people lived in to understand what is happening. The Israelites were under Roman occupation and living under constant threat of death, violence, and poverty. The people were very poor and had little freedom. So to protect themselves they pulled inward, built walls between themselves and others, and tried to protect what they had.

Jesus sends out his followers with a very specific purpose in mind, one designed to offer a different way to live. The seventy were sent out to develop community with those they encountered, to not only announce the kingdom of God but to make it real among the people, real in the breaking down of walls. So they don’t carry an extra cloak because then they need to ask someone for a bed. They don’t carry food because then they have to find a family who will feed them. They don’t have anything extra because then they have to depend upon someone else. That binds them to those they visit, which is different than being a salesman or a guru with big bucks staying in the big hotel with something fancy to say and sell.

They are to choose a house to enter, offer peace, and, if they are accepted, stay put there. That means that the family that welcomed them, a hospitable family most likely, will become leaders in the movement. They are not to search out the best bed, or the best food, but to stay put until their work is done.

Then, now that they have this relationship, they are to do three things: eat what is set before them, cure the sick, and announce that the kingdom of God has come near.

If they are not welcome, they are not supposed to curse anyone, but to shake the dust off of their feet in the middle of the street and then announce, “The kingdom of God has come near.”

Eating together is first. It is the first thing that happens. Jesus is all about eating. He knows that when you eat together, things can change.

Peter Storey was a Methodist bishop in South Africa who tells a story about one of his pastors who was arrested during apartheid. The man was arrested in the middle of the night and the Bishop went to the prison to visit him. He was not allowed to speak with him about very much, but he made arrangements to serve communion. He invited the guard, the Afrikaner guard, to join them, and he did.

So the Bishop put out a hunk of bread and the cup. He said it is traditional to serve the least of these, so he first served the pastor prisoner. The man ate the bread and drank from the cup. Then, the Bishop said, one serves the stranger, so he then served the guard. He gave him a piece of bread, and then handed him the cup.

Now they didn’t use intinction, and they didn’t have the separate little cups. The guard was in a quandary – if he took the cup he was breaking a lot of taboos. But, the Bishop said, something deep in him responded, and he took the cup and drank.

The prisoner was not set free right away, and the guard was still the guard, but something changed in that encounter. The kingdom of God had come near.

The Kingdom of God is not a place in the future, it is now. It is not somewhere we can’t get to – it is right here. It happens when we see each other for who we really are, when we take down the barriers between us, between us and the world, between us and God.

We eat together, we offer healing, we announce the kingdom of God. We do that in this community, certainly, we eat together, we offer healing to one another in many ways, and we know God is near. How then, does this happen for the world around us? How is the kingdom of God known because we are here, at this address, at this time?

Amen.

What Do These Stones Mean?

2007-07-01T20:16:00.000-07:00

Joshua 4:1-7; 1 Peter 2:4-7
July 1, 2007, Fairmount Avenue Church
Rev. Michelle Hargrave

I come to you from Duluth, where, in the summertime, we take the boys to the lake several times a week. We would watch the bridge go up and down, get a snack of some kind, and then go to the water’s edge and do what all children do: redistribute the rocks. Throwing the rocks into the water seems to be required.

It is so satisfying to pick up a rock. They feel so permanent, so old, so solid. Yet so many of them, and certainly the ones we love the best, are rounded and smooth, worn down from years of wind and waves and ice. This rock is smooth, fits in my hand quite nicely, and has the suggestion of a heart shape.

So I come to you as one who is grounded in what is old – the church, even more in God, yet as one who has been smoothed by life, one with a heart to love you.

~~~

The people of Israel had been wandering in the desert for 40 years, which in the Bible means “a long time.” A whole generation had passed, and this new generation was about to cross into the Promised Land. Moses had died and there was a new leader: Joshua. He was not as great a leader as Moses, but he was appointed by God. To cross into the Promised Land the people needed to get across the Jordan River during the high water time. Joshua told 12 priests carry the ark into the Jordan river, and when their feet rested in the waters the water stopped and stood in a heap. And the people crossed over while the priests held up the ark. (Holding up the ark all that time was another miracle, if you ask me.) After the entire nation crossed the Jordan Joshua had another twelve men, one from each tribe, gather the stone that each priest had stood on, take them out of the river and set them up together as a sign.

And when the children asked, “what do these stones mean?”

the people would tell the story how the stones were a sign that God had been with them and had led them to this new home.

~~~

Stacking stones like that is something deep in us. Cairns of stones are all over the world, signifying one thing or another. Gravestones mark the places we are laid to rest. And our buildings are, in a way, piles of stones and bricks, meant to be permanent signs, permanent places for us.

We choose this text at the merger meeting a few months ago. I asked everyone, “How shall we celebrate this merger?” and people talked about how it has been a journey for everyone involved. The people of Cleveland Avenue have been on this journey for a few years now, trying to determine how best to continue their passion for ministry in St. Paul. You have done a beautiful and graceful job. The journey began to include the people of Fairmount Avenue a few months ago, and it has been a whirlwind process since then. And today we are all one church, strong in tradition but with something new moving among us.

One thing that happens in a merger is the realization that, even though we pile stones and bricks together to make something permanent, God’s spirit is still moving. Cleveland Avenue’s spirit no longer lives in the same stones it once did. That is a painful thing. But God calls us forward, and reminds us that the church is not in a building. And if the people of Fairmount Avenue think the building is a fortress here, remember when the ceiling fell in downstairs? God was shaking the bones of this place a little bit. We will care for this building and it will continue to be a blessing to the community, but these bricks are not just signs of the past; they are a living sign of a living church.

~~~

The early followers of Jesus understood that the stones could no longer hold their history, or their worship, or their hope. They lived in a time when their buildings were being torn down, the temple was destroyed for the last time, and they could not build wonderful buildings to worship in because they had to hide. They also knew, however, that Jesus had been killed, but that new life had arisen out of his death. And in that belief they began to see the new life in themselves. And they talked about not worshipping in stones or near stones but being living stones themselves, living with the undying presence of Christ, living with the Spirit of God, living stones that God could build a church out of.

We have stones for you to take today, stones as a remembrance of this day, when God has brought us all to a new place. These stones have been polished by strong forces but still carry a deep strength. Take one of the stones after communion today,
and when the children ask,
“What do these stones mean?”
“These are a sign that God has been with us on this journey,
What do these stones mean?
God has brought us to a new home.”
What do these stones mean?
God has a dream for us in this place to be living stones!

Amen.

Last Sermon, Hope UMC

2007-06-19T06:29:00.000-07:00

Things I’ve Learned At Hope; Things I’ve Learned About Hope
June 17, 2007

It took me four years to get through seminary. I’ve been here at Hope four years, and I’ve learned more here than I learned in my time in school.

For instance, I know:
that the live load capacity of the flat part of the Hope roof was designed for 50 pounds/square/foot, with a dead weight allowance of 10 psf.

which tiles in the building have non-friable asbestos in them, and what non-friable means.

how long it takes the fire department to get here when we set off the fire alarm.

that I can get here from the parsonage in 3 minutes, depending on the light at Woodland.

how to rescue babies who are stuck in the elevator.

how to reset the organ when it quits four minutes before a funeral.

how to get into the Women’s closet downstairs.

I know who made the cross downstairs, where it came from and who put it on the wall.

what the neighborhood looks like from the top of the roof and how this cross and crown is attached.

what is in that room up there (above the narthex) and how to get there.

which parts of the building the Fire Marshall will allow the nursery school children to be in and how the nursery school gets all the babies out in case of a fire.

when the water will start running into the nursery school in spring and how to vacuum it up.

what time of the day and year the sun comes directly through this rainbow window, and I know who made this window.

I know how to run a charge conference, how a church can sell property, and what they can do with the money from property and what they can’t do.

I know which hospital most of you go to.

and I know the names of the local funeral directors and caretakers at the local cemeteries and where they go to church.

I’ve learned a lot at CHUM too:

how to run a board meeting and what the responsibilities of board members are.

I know what you can do with rhubarb.

I know how to design worship for Jews, Christians, Muslims, Quakers, Lutherans, and the rest of us, and how to plan an event for liberal and conservative Christians together.

I have an idea how to get an event to happen on the Capitol steps.

I know that 7% of the Duluth population are ethnic minorities, but 50% of CHUM’s clients are.

I know what the CDGB, LISC, SMDC, APEX, JRLC, RUAH, BHC, and TRA are and how they are related to CHUM.

I’ve learned about Duluth as well:

I have learned that Polartec can be worn anywhere in Duluth at any time for any occasion, and that you never pack away all your winter clothes. I don’t know a bride who wore Polartec at her wedding but I do know someone who wore a wintergreen jacket at hers.

I’ve learned you do need a 4 wheel drive for the hills in the winter.

I know all the sounds the bridge makes when it goes up and down, and what being “bridged” means.

I know what time the elite runners will arrive at Mile 15 waterstation at Grandma’s Marathon.
I’ve met half the City Councilors, worked with the City Commissioner who isn’t in trouble, and I’ve been hugged by the mayor.

When I was 15 and first thinking about ministry I had no idea I would be learning things like this. But then, I didn’t read the Bible that carefully, then, or maybe it wouldn’t have surprised me: our scripture for today (2 Chronicles 3) includes great details about Solomon’s temple. We have descriptions of the size and make of Noah’s ark, and the details on the ark of covenant. It tells us what fabrics to wear and when and how much we should give to the poor.

These details are important. They make up the fabric of our lives, they support what we do.

That is what I have learned at Hope.
But I have also learned some things about hope in these 4 years:

I have learned that when you take a roof that has a live load capacity of 50 psf and a dead weight limit of 10 psf but the insulation is wet, adding 5 psf, and when the previous roof was installed the former roof wasn’t removed so the dead weight the roof is carrying is actually 24 psf, and it is March and you have 40 psf of wet snow on the roof, you have a problem –
and when you have just cut the budget by 20%, and taken out a $100,000 mortgage for the new elevator, and the roofer tells you it will cost $200,000 to fix the wet, rotting and overloaded roof, and the Fire Marshall tells you to put in an addressable alarm system or else and that system costs $26,000 –
I know that if the people have hope, they will find a way through it, and when they are finding that way through and things are going fine sometimes a check will fall out of an envelope from someone who hasn’t been here in 40 years that will make it all that much easier.

And I have learned that if you take two churches and put them together with their 4 altars and 5 crosses and 6 pianos and 20 file cabinets and 300 opinions
if the people have hope, they can make one church.

I have learned that if you take 7 people who don’t know each other very well and ask them to pray and support one another in their spiritual lives,
if they have hope, they will grow in faith and love one another.

I have learned that if you take a small music program with only one man in it, two women singing tenor, one alto who hits the sopranos (God rest her soul) and a very new choir director,
if the people have hope, the music will sing.

I have learned that if you take a small, out of the way congregation that isn’t very well known in the community
if the people have hope, they will invite someone to teach them how to welcome visitors so they are ready when people come in the door, and then they will buy advertising, and they will keep reaching out into the community to share who they are.

I have learned that if a pastor who is 8 months pregnant who doesn’t know how to do hardly anything practical shows up at the church
if she and the people have hope, they will love each other and together they will set the church on fire, and I don’t mean anything that the addressable alarm system will pick up. I mean on fire with God’s love.
And if she and the people have hope, even when their time together has ended they will still love one another, they will still set the church on fire.

The details matter. The numbers matter. The building matters. The bricks and mortar and the budget matter. They are the structure, the stones that support and surround us.

But if the people of God have hope
they shall be like living stones, living with the love of God in them,
living with the presence of Christ in them, living with the possibility of the Spirit in them
and God will build out of them a living church,
a church called Hope.

Amen.

Caring for our Guests

2007-05-13T13:10:00.000-07:00

John 14
6th Sunday of Easter

I told you last week I was going to Washington DC but something came up so I stayed home. So I was able to go to the CHUM assembly on Thursday night. We saw the Habitat play, written and directed by a young woman named Rachel Ann Johnson. It contains interweaving stories and words from several homeless people in Duluth as well as some of the people who serve them.

At one point one of the men said, “They say home is where the heart is. I don’t know.” At the end of the play he says, “Heart is where the home is.”

I’ve been perplexed by that statement, can’t quite figure it out.

David Tryggestaad stood up to give the benediction and spoke for a bit about the scriptures for this Sunday. All of us clergy were thinking about these words of Jesus, “We will come and make a home in them”, those who love Jesus. David said that this word “home” is the same as when Jesus says, in the same speech, that his father’s house has many rooms and Jesus goes to make a room ready for us there. Jesus, the man without a home, says, right before his death, that he would be home in us.

The NT text for today also is about home, in a way. Paul was an itinerant preacher, moving from one community to another to start churches. He went to Philippi to look for people who would work with him and found women at the river, a place where the women would gather to pray. Lydia was not a Jew but worshipped God, and she listened to him and invited him to her home. Thus began the church that received the letter Paul wrote to the Philippians.
We’ve been thinking, here at Hope, about what it means to be home, to welcome others into this community, to be open to our guests. The leadership a few months ago, when we looked at our vision statement, made two important statements about this: we want to grow – which means we want to share what we have with others; and, we will do this by caring for our guests.

We’ve begun doing this in many ways: Igniting Ministry training, advertising, welcome table, new pew pads, applying for a Welcoming Congregation certificate. We’ve begun to recognize that we can’t take it for granted that people feel welcome here, and we are making a clear statement that we want to welcome people here.

There are several reasons to do this: first, we recognize that we have something wonderful to share here.

Secondly, we recognize that we have something to receive from our guests. I asked Rachel Ann how she felt about the play after working all these stories into this piece of art. She said it was her relationship with those she wrote about, and her relationship with the cast and those who saw the play, that was important. She is very young but already she has realized that when we welcome someone, when we open our hearts to them, we receive something.

Thirdly, there is something about welcoming the other that allows us to receive Jesus. Lydia welcomed Paul and received Christ. Jesus talks about being present when a few of us are together. He spoke time and time again about welcoming the stranger, and today’s text says when we love Jesus and follow his words he makes his home with us.
Now you might think this means we just put Jesus in a little cot in the corner, like a homeless man in the shelter. But you know how Jesus is…he will want a table, so he can host dinner parties. He will want room, so people can visit. Someone will cut a hole in the roof, more than likely. Unsavory sorts will find their way in. Jesus will want a party.

The homeless man was right. Heart is where the home is. At least if Jesus is there.

Caring for One Another

2007-05-07T06:00:00.000-07:00

John 13:31-35
5th Sunday of Easter, May 6, 2007

A woman described driving into an unfamiliar town on a rainy Saturday morning. “I stopped at a red light and noticed some kind of protest happening on the street corner – a group of people wearing sandwich boards with huge lettering. Some signs said, “Stop Abortion,” while others read, “Pro-choice” – both interspersed with harsher messages. These passionately opposing individuals stood amidst one another, laughing and talking and drinking steaming coffee in the cold rain. Nearby, two people wearing opposing signs embraced.”

Think that is impossible? Haven’t been to many church meetings, have you? Church is an amazing place in that here people can disagree, argue even, and still work together and care about one another.

I heard Diana Butler Bass a few months ago; I’m going to Washington DC to hear her again this week. She writes about thriving neighborhood churches and the kinds of things they are doing that are working. She describes one particular church in Cincinnati, the Redeemer Episcopal congregation: “Reverend Bruce Freeman explained, “We may not look terribly diverse, but we’re a 50/50 church.” Half Republican, half Democrat. He shared this with me in October 2004. I had been in Ohio only a few days, but long enough to know that the airwaves were full of political attack ads…Leading the church through the fractious Ohio election – in the racially divided city of Cincinnati – was not easy. Redeemer decided not to ignore the tensions. They offered a multiweek adult education course on religion and politics. Speakers came to the church to discuss controversial issues from a variety of viewpoints. “It was a real challenge,” Bruce confessed, “but people listened to one another and treated each other with respect. We believe that arguing can be productive, and we are committed to conversation and discussion.”

We lost one of our long-time trustees about ten days ago. Lorna was passionate about her work here at the church – I spoke about it at the memorial service on Wednesday. I’ve heard stories from several people about how they argued with her on trustees and especially on the Building Committee, yet I then heard about how much they cared about her. At church we expect these things go hand in hand.

You see, Jesus told us to love one another. This text takes place immediately after Judas walks out of the room. Immediately. And Jesus says, "Love one another." Jesus didn’t say to think like one another, to dress like one another, to agree with one another. He said, “Love one another.” If we love one another we can handle all the rest.

Church is the place where we can be different and be community. We can be different ages, we can be different classes, we can be different races, we can be from different sides of town. We can even be different political parties. But here we know each other, pray for one another, sing together and work together.

Here college students come and get to know people who are not in college. Donna and Susie are regulars around here and they are graduating this next week. They, and Tom, have been part of the Ripples design team and regulars on Sunday mornings. We have several other college students who make Hope their home while they are here.

About three years ago Hope’s leadership came up with a vision statement: experience a new spirit of hope through worship and caring for all generations. We still think this is an important statement – we minister to all generations: college, the seniors, those at the Pines, the young families at UNS, and the mix of all of us. But recently we revisited the vision statement, and we dropped the word generations because we want to be broader now. We want to say, we care about “All.” So for several weeks now I am going to go over the different parts of our revised vision statement.

So now we’ve added: We want to grow. This may mean growing larger as a congregation and it may mean growing spiritually. And then there are five parts to how we want to grow; I will cover one a week for the next several weeks. The first is: We want to grow by caring for one another. We care for one another through prayer: prayer chain, Sunday mornings, our private prayers, the Covenant groups praying for you. We pray for one another and also for the people in our own lives that we care about, that we ask prayers for. We care by visiting one another in crises, by sending cards, by listening on Sunday mornings and at other church events, by calling. We care over coffee and bars in the fellowship hall after church. A lot happens after church. We care by bringing food to the funeral lunches and by serving the funeral lunches. We care by noticing someone needs helps and trying to find it for them.

We do this not because we are all alike, because we all agree all the time, or even because we like each other. We do this because Jesus asked us to. Because this is what it means to be church. Because this is how we experience the new life Jesus holds out to us:

It is hard to use this text just now, to hear Jesus say he is going away, and know that I am going away soon. I am not Jesus, and you are not my disciples. But as your spiritual leader these last four years I can take a cue from Jesus, and say – I do love you, and you have loved me and taught me much about loving one another. I've watched you go from being two churches to being one, caring about one another, loving one another.

(At this point I got a bit emotional and I can't remember how I ended the sermon at all. Then we had communion, which is really the best way to show how we are connected to one another.)

He Is Not Here

2007-04-08T15:54:00.000-07:00

Easter Sunday, Year C
Luke 24:1-12

When Kelly and I went to an art show in Stillwater to see He Qi’s work, and he said, “Why don’t you buy a print?” I knew immediately which one I wanted – He Is Not Here. He Qi has painted many Easter morning paintings, but this one is my favorite, and even though the season was Christmas, I wanted this Easter one.

It’s beautiful, for starters – the lines of the angel and the path leading to the tomb. The dark space here, under the graceful lines, where the empty tomb sits open. The angel, beautiful and graceful but with no expression on her face. The women coming with cloth and spices, not yet knowing.

It’s a powerful moment, this moment before the women know. They are on their way to the tomb, as early as they possibly can come according to Jewish custom. The burial had been hurried on Friday, with only a little time before the sun went down at 6 pm. Now, 6 am on the third day, they are ready to do what must be done.

But they come to the tomb and are surprised. They come expecting death, decay, the body of their beloved Jesus stiff and assuredly dead, the way bodies get after just a few hours of their last breath. Instead they find an empty tomb.

They come and are surprised. Luke says they are perplexed – the same word describing Mary’s reaction to the angel at the beginning of Luke’s story. They are perplexed by the empty tomb. They expected death, and found this empty space instead.

Then in the emptiness they encounter the angels, and they are afraid – angels always have that affect. The angels speak the words: He is not here. He has risen. Remember what he said to you about this?

They can see the tomb is empty – that could mean all sorts of things. They can see the angels before them, hear what the angels are telling them. But for Easter to happen they need one more step – to remember. The angels prompt them – remember what he said, remember when you were in Galilee – but they themselves remember Jesus’ words, how he said he would die and rise again after three days. They must have done the math quickly – three days – today! Can it be? Remember? Remember what he said?

Then, then they can leave the tomb.

So this painting is that moment of Easter before they know the tomb is empty, before they meet the angels, before they remember what Jesus has said. Jesus has risen, the tomb is already empty, the angels are waiting, but at this moment they don’t know. They don’t remember.
You see, we aren’t so different from these women. We know the stories. We have heard what Jesus said. Crucified, died, rose on the third day – it is in our creeds. We have heard the tales, the stories, the words of Jesus himself. But hearing it doesn’t make it real.
There comes a moment in our lives when we are walking into the tomb. It is dark, we have suffered a terrible loss, we feel the world pulled out from under our feet. We are numb with grief, and so we do the only thing we can – we go to do what must be done. We go to see the body, the death we have known, and we go to wrap it up and take care of it the best we can, because there is nothing else we can do. Our marriage is shattered, we have lost a child, our parent has died, we’ve been fired from our job, we don’t know where the next house payment is coming from, our health is gone, we can’t get out of bed in the morning.

Or maybe it isn’t just us, but the world around that seems to be dying – we see children dying in Africa from illness and poverty, we see the violence against the peasants in Colombia, we know there are too many people who don’t have a home living on the streets in our state, we are filled with anguish because of the wars, we wonder what future our people will have, we wonder why God lets all this terrible stuff happen. The world seems like a disaster, and we don’t know what the point is anymore. So we go to the tomb.

We think the tomb is a terrible place, but we are drawn to it, drawn to the place of our destruction, drawn to the location of our world’s disasters. So we go, to sit in the quiet, to tend to what business we have left, to just be there, a dark reminder of what used to be.
But sometimes, sometimes, we go to that place of death, that tomb, that cave in our lives – and we find it empty. There is a space, an empty space there where we expected to find a body. Maybe our anger has gone. Maybe our sorrow has eased. Maybe depression has lifted for a moment. Maybe someone has helped us make a space in our life, some room to consider what might be possible. Maybe we are ready to pray, but not ready for the words yet. Maybe something has shifted in the world, and we understand that the shadows we see must have a light shining nearby.

The empty tomb is not resurrection. But it is a space in which we can hear the shocking words of the angel. And –even more important – it is the space in which we can remember what we heard long ago. In the empty tomb we remember what Jesus said – I will rise again on the third day. We remember – death does not have the last word. We remember – the world does not have the last word. We remember – God is more powerful than all the darkness we can imagine. We remember – nothing can separate us from the love of God. We remember – God’s justice will reign. When we remember, we know resurrection. We remember, we re-member, put together our bodies and souls.

Resurrection has already happened, is already happening,
the tomb is already empty and the angel is waiting for us there.

But when we arrive at the tomb, when we enter that space and remember what we have always known, then we can leave the tomb, leave the space of death.

Then we enter into the resurrection of Jesus.
Then it isn’t a story or history or an old song. Then we become new.
Then it is Easter.

He is not here. He has risen. Remember what he said to you?

Even the Stones

2007-04-01T12:19:00.000-07:00

Palm Sunday
Luke 19:28-40
by Rev. Michelle M. Hargrave

There’s nothing like sitting on a rock.
When you sit or stand on a rock you feel like you are rooted to the center of the earth.
You are on something permanent. You are connected to something much older than you, something that will outlast you, something with longevity in this fleeting world.
They are stable, unchanging; we can count on them.

Thousands of years may pass but stones will tell us about our history.
We read in the Bible from writers that have seen their temple torn down,
and we can go and visit the wall that still remains, the wall of the place that Jesus visited.
The stones hold history, and we can know what kind of world Jesus lived in 2000 years ago,
a world with an opulent temple, powerful religious leaders, and mighty warriors of Rome.
The stones still speak of Jesus’ world. Time seems to stop for the stones.

“Order your disciples to stop,” the Pharisees told Jesus. Be quiet.
Stop this procession, these words. “Even the stones will cry out”, was his response.

See, this is what happened.
On the western side of the city a large procession came into Jerusalem. Pontius Pilate,
coming to Jerusalem for the holy days of Passover, arrived with a cavalry and soldiers
to maintain peace during the festival, when over 200,000 people would fill the city of 40,000. Pilate lived by the sea, but he had to be in Jerusalem for this tense event.
He had to maintain order. Jerusalem was the center of Roman control in the area –
all the debts of the peasants were kept in the temple there,
and people had to pay the Jewish leaders and the Romans taxes at the temple.
It was like Super Bowl, the IRS, and a religious festival all at once.

On the eastern side of the city, coming from Galilee, rode Jesus.
He rode on an unbroken donkey, with or without palms, depending on the version.
It was not the triumphal entry of a king – it was exactly the opposite.
It recalled for the Jews images from Jeremiah and former revolts,
and it spoke against the power of Rome, of the Temple. Jesus was pointing to something else,
something different than was happening on the distant side of the city with power and might.

Understanding what Jesus was pointing to this Palm Sunday, making sense of why Jesus went to Jerusalem this week, discerning why Jesus went to face death at the hands of the Romans, is a question at the heart of our faith. It is the question we wrestle with the most this week. Why? What was Jesus thinking? Why didn’t he stay away? Did he have to go? Was his message right? Was it really that important? Wasn’t his preaching and healing enough? Did he have to die?
Did God want this to happen? Did Jesus know this would happen? Why?

In some ways we aren’t so different from the Pharisees, from Peter and Judas and everyone else. Stop this, Jesus, we don’t want this drama to be played out.
Don’t you know what is going to happen? Make it stop.

But Jesus is insistent. Jesus is persistently faithful.
Jesus has his face set toward Jerusalem, like flint, like stone. This is what he is going to do.

Jesus insists on telling us about the kingdom of God.
Not the kingdom of Pilate or Caesar or the world or Rome. God’s way.
While the government and military of Rome march in one side of the city,
God enters on a small awkward donkey on the other.

It all seems so pointless, so insignificant. But even the stones will cry out, Jesus says.

Can’t stop this. Even the stones will tell of the way of God.

During this week the world made the greatest effort to stop this: the world killed Jesus.
It tried to stop the procession, silence the man, kill the teaching.

But stones, permanent and quiet as they are, have something to say.

You can smell the stones this spring, walking outside – the great stones of granite and agate, the iron, the ancient rocks of this area that have cracked with ice and wind, crashed against each other, shattered into sand and then into the dirt of the ground.
Stones seem permanent but they too decay, and while they seem dead while they are strong it is when they are shattered and ground up that they truly bring life, as dirt that feeds the plants of the earth.

And then there is the stone of the tomb, rolled away, releasing the surprise of life after a long three days…

It seems the rocks are permanent and dead.
It seems the world is stronger than love.
It seems life is fragile and futile.

But in God’s time, in God’s way, even death is life,
even the stones come to life,
even that which seems silent will cry out.

The Dream of Home

2007-03-04T19:21:00.000-08:00

The Dream of Home Genesis 15:1-18
2nd Sunday of Lent Year C, 3.4.07

(I preached this sermon this morning to my congregation at Hope, a little hurried because of communion and many announcements. Many people in this congregation are living a few miles from where they were born. Some have moved there from other places, but not many. Then I preached this sermon to Grace Korean UMC which meets in our building in the afternoon. As I looked out at them I realized I was the only one born in Minnesota, or even the United States. Even my son, Zane, who came with me this afternoon, was born in Colombia and came here as an adopted immigrant. Everyone else was from Korea. Talking about wandering Abraham looking for home for his family and strength for the wilderness became a very different sermon this afternoon.)

When I was nine years old my mother had a scheduled surgery so my sisters and I were sent to Aunt Martha’s for three weeks. She gave each of us a gift; mine was the book “Little House on the Prairie” which, now that I think about it, is a story about a family that was always looking for home.

Aunt Martha didn’t cook like my mother did, and I had trouble eating her food some days. When she said we were having pizza I thought, finally, a dish I will like. I was disappointed to discover she made pizza with zucchini for the crust. But the rice pudding did me in, rice pudding – which I had never heard of before – filled with raisins, which I did not like. She said I had to eat it or I couldn’t watch my favorite TV show that night – “Lost in Space.” I loved Lost in Space, and I worried every week about what Mr. Smith was going to do this time to keep the family from going home to earth. I sat with my pudding at the table, all alone, for an hour before I got it down.

Funny how the stories I had to comfort me when I was away from home were about people trying to get home, trying to find a home.

That is, actually, one of the major story lines in the Bible. From the moment Adam and Eve were thrown out of the garden until Jesus said, “Foxes have holes and the birds of the air have their nests but the Son of Man has no place to rest his head” the theme of home, exile, dreaming of home, runs through our scripture.

That theme really takes root with Abraham. Abraham had a home, in Ur, but God came to him and called him to a new place. Abraham – then called Abram – set out with his family and his great wealth to find this new place. But the story isn’t very straightforward. Like Abraham, the story wanders around. Abraham sees the land, sets up an altar, and leaves. As usually happens in the Bible, there is a trip to Egypt thrown in for extra drama. Then he comes back and has this conversation we hear today, this pivotal conversation with God about the promise of land and heirs, of home and family.

Several things happen in this encounter.
First, God starts off the conversation saying, “Do not be afraid, Abram.” Then God restates the promise, in a way: I am your shield and your reward will be great.

Abraham expresses doubts; he still has no son. God assures him there will be one, and his descendents will be as the stars above him in the desert sky.

Abraham presses further – how will I know this? God asks for an offering. Then Abraham goes to sleep and dreams, the same kind of dreaming sleep Adam was in when Eve was created. Then God reiterates the promise again, along with a premonition of the trouble that lies ahead when the people will be enslaved in Egypt. The promise is stated in the language and form of a covenant, but it is not the kind of promise that means Abraham does something and gets the land in return; it is stated as a gift. Abraham is given the gift of the land, has been given the land. The land is not so much for him as for his descendents. God and Abraham have also entered a covenantal relationship. And we, all of humanity, are blessed by that relationship.

So how does this story speak to us today? Our world is so different, but wars are still being fought over ownership of that one piece of land. What does Abraham’s dream have to tell us about our life today?

Well, in this story the blessing is tied to one piece of land. I don’t think we can look at it that way anymore. We don’t have the room for a bunch of us to look around and say – I own as much as I can see. We are more connected than that, our resources are more connected than that, our climate, we are learning, is more connected than that.

The land is still a gift, but I think the whole of it, all of creation, is the gift; it is a gift to us all, not just to Abraham, and not just to the biggest and wealthiest nations. Abraham’s relationship with God blessed the whole world, and the whole world depends on this connection with God to our home. Can think of the whole earth as God's gift to us -- yet not to us so much as to our heirs? The story has something to tell us here.

I think the foretelling of the wilderness time is important for us too. As a young child I knew, as most of us do at some point or another, what it is like to not be home, to be in the wilderness, to feel unsure and perhaps a little unsafe. We are very at home – most of us have been home for 4 days solid in the snowstorm now – and we even understand this sense of missing home, as home changes. None of our ancestors have been here in this land very long. Around the world – people know what this means. There are about 24 million people in the world who are counted as Internally Displaced Persons – people who are in their home country but forced out of their homes because of violence and war. There are over 3 million refugees who have fled their country due to violence and war. There are an estimated 750,000 homeless persons in the US any given night. Our world knows a lot about what it mean to not be home.

And I think the topic we heard about the other night – global climate change -- presents a new wilderness experience for us, as a entire world. We have some changing, difficult times ahead of us, perhaps, as we try to protect our home our and our ability to live here on this planet.

But the promises to Abraham and the others in scripture also hold, I think: do not be afraid. God will be with us. God will walk this journey with us, God will not abandon us. And in some deeper sense may we learn, as the wandering folks of our biblical stories knew, that God, ultimately, is our home, and all our wandering is really an attempt to get back to the One who created us in the beginning.

Preaching Shadows

2007-02-26T20:28:00.000-08:00

So my sermons are not in order these last few months, and one is missing because I never wrote it down, not even a note. It turned out really well, and I might be able to recreate it, but it was a month ago and I forget my sermons pretty quickly (which you have to do in order to remember the next one. At least that's how it works for me. Tell me Monday, "Good sermon" and I'll struggle to remember what it was about even though I thought about it all the previous week.)

I just have to say I have mixed feelings still about putting my sermons in written form on the internet. Preaching is a particular form of communication and for me writing the sermon is very different from preaching the sermon. The words are approximate to what I said. I don't use notes when I preach. I write an outline down sometime Saturday and never look at it again, usually. Mostly I find that the written word doesn't carry the energy of preaching, at least not these written words. I can write with energy, but sermons get their energy from what happened when I was in a room with the congregation and we all encountered the text together.

Preaching is very communal. The sermon is for a specific situation, a specific congregation, a specific date and time. It is unique to that encounter. I always feel as if the people of the congregation pull the sermon out of me. They add much to the experience and process of preaching.

So these words on this digital media are not the sermon, just a shadow of what I tried to say that particular day.

Living With It

2007-02-26T20:19:00.000-08:00

Sermon: Living With It Luke 9:28-36
Transfiguration Sunday, 2.18.07 Year B

God invites us to climb mountains.

Moses climbed the Mount Sinai to hear the word of the Lord. Today’s lectionary reading is for the second time he went up – you remember from the movie what happened the first time he came down, with the golden calf and all that. He smashed the tablets and did damage control and then had to go back up to get another copy of the commandments. He spent 40 days (which means “a long time.”) It was such a powerful time for him his face glowed for the rest of his life. He had to wear a veil whenever he walked around.

Jesus climbed the mountain with his close friends Peter, James and John, and had this incredible encounter with God we heard about today. Moses and Elijah showed up and talked with Jesus, and the glory of God covered them all and God spoke to them.

We are also invited to that time of deep, intense relationship with God, the mountaintop experience, the time away. We send our kids to camp, to UMYS, we go on retreat, we go on vacation, to concerts, we spend time in prayer or devotion, we go to worship.

Climbing a mountain involves some dedication on our part, time away, stressing our muscles, carrying what we need to the top. We have to be intentional about going to the mountain. It is a beautiful place – the air is thinner, the light shines differently, the beauty is stark.

But we don’t live on the mountain. We have to come back down.

Peter wanted to build some dwelling so they could stay in that beautiful moment with Moses and Elijah and Jesus. He didn’t want to come back down. He knew it wouldn’t be easy.

The transition can be rough. When Moses came down he had to lead the people of Israel, people who couldn’t even look at him anymore. When the disciples came down Jesus invited them to do a healing that they botched. You’d expect after hearing the voice of God they could have pulled it off, but they didn’t. It was a rough re-entry.

They say astronauts have a hard time re-entering civilian life. After being on the moon, flying in space, coming to ground and returning to earth is difficult. One week they are walking in space, the next they are walking the garbage out. Newspapers speculate Astronaut Nowak’s recent trouble is related to the difficulty of that transition.

We know how hard it is to return after vacation, or retreat, or after an incredible celebration like a wedding. We know what it feels like to come home after camp, after a youth trip, after a fabulous worship experience or concert. But we don’t live on the mountain. We have to come down. We have to come home.

And then we have to learn to live with whatever we saw on the mountain.

We have to live with it. We have to incorporate this experience into our lives. We don’t just go back to the way things were because we have been changed. Something happened to us.

And while we can’t stay on the mountain, we can take whatever experience we had with us.

So Moses remembered being in God’s presence, and someone wrote the story down for everyone to know.

When Jesus neared the cross, certainly he remembered those moments in the light and glory. Peter, James and John remembered it too, and someone wrote it down. Surely it was a comfort to them in the days after the crucifixion, and after the resurrection. They carried it with them, that sense of who Jesus was.

Martin Luther King Jr. preached on April 3, 1968 about not knowing if he would see the promised land of racial equality, but he said he had seen the glory of God. He was shot the next day – hopefully he carried his sense of God’s connection with him in those moments. Those who followed him remembered those words, and they mattered to them.

Spiritual teachers tell that in meditation, seeing the glory of God – the light, the glow, however it comes – is not the point. It’s the way we carry the presence of God around with us in the mundane, everyday moments of our lives that matters. Those moments of connection are incredible, and we strive to have those in worship and spiritual growth opportunities in church. But it’s the way we carry that knowledge or that experience, through the rest of our lives that makes a life of faith.

The transfiguration, the mountain, doesn’t reveal anything to us that wasn’t already there. We just see it in a new light. That new seeing is what we need to take with us. God’s glory isn’t a once in a lifetime thing; it is around us every moment. We just don’t see it every moment. To live with it means to remember that God is with us, always, everywhere; that the mountain is never far away.

(For my benediction I sang Sara Thomsen’s song: “May the long time sun shine upon you, all love surround you. May the pure pure light that’s within you guide your way home.”)

God's Eyes

2007-02-26T13:55:00.000-08:00

God’s Eyes Luke 6:17-26, The Beautitudes 6^th Sunday of Epiphany Year C

Preached February 11, 2007 at Hope UMC

As I read the scripture today, close your eyes and picture it in your mind. What does it look like? What do the people look like? How are they responding to what they are hearing?

I see this story from the eyes of a tourist, 21 years old in a cotton skirt on a hot summer day. That’s how old I was when I traveled to Israel, and I have a photo of this location, of the Church of the Beautitudes and me standing on the portico in the sun.

Many Christians see this story as a gentle telling of blessings, people sitting peacefully listening to Jesus tell them they are, despite everything, the blessed of God.

A historian might see the peasants of an occupied country gathered on the hillside to listen to a man they wish would bring revolution. A biblical scholar might see the people longing for healing and wholeness in their lives. A mystic might see the people longing to connect with the Holy.

The people sitting there – what was it like in their eyes? Did they think this man was crazy? Proclaiming the very people no one wanted to be near as blessed? Or were they shocked to be included themselves in that grouping?

How did Jesus see it? In Jesus’ eyes, what were the people in front of him like: these people who likely had enough food for just the next day at any given time, who were on the edge of poverty or right there, who ate grief for breakfast and despair for dinner. What did he see?

In God’s eyes – what was this scene like?

In God’s eyes – what did God see? What did Jesus know of that view? What do we not see that has us still stumbling over these words after so many years? I don’t know about you, but these words are not easy ones. In these descriptions I see scarcity; Jesus describes abundance. I see pain; Jesus declares blessing. I see disappointment and danger; Jesus sees hope. I know my eyesight isn’t so good but what is happening here?

A photo was taken of the Helix Nebula, a dying star near the Aquarius constellation, and posted on the Astronomy Picture of the Day website on May 10, 2003. It looks like an eye, and was quickly dubbed “Eye of God” as it made its way around the internet. You can find it on my blogsite. Funny how we imagine God’s Eye to be far away, so far it takes our most recent and powerful instruments to see it.

But that is how we think of God seeing us. The popular song, “From a Distance,” describes God this way: From a distance God sees us, and God sees us the way we wish we were, in peace and harmony and beauty. Maybe the poor and the hungry and the grieving look blessed from that view, from that perspective somewhere out there in the universe.

Then I could understand how Jesus says, Blessed are the poor.

Except that scripture tells us that God sees us up close too.
God knit us together in our mother’s womb.
God knows the hairs on our heads.
God sees the sparrow fall.
God knows the word before it is on our tongue.
God walks with us, even in darkness. This is no distant God.

In God’s eyes we are as we are, in glaring, embarrassing detail,
and as we were created to be.
In God’s eyes our potential and our past are held together in grace.
In God’s eyes the spark of life deep within us is always visible,
even if the world has done much to put it out.
In God’s eyes those who make us most uneasy are called blessed and
those we most admire are given woe.

I don’t know much about God’s eyes. God see things differently than I do.

But if I’m going to follow this Jesus, I’m going to have to try
to get a new prescription, a new perspective,
a new point of view
because if the beautitudes are real,
I’m gonna have to learn to see the world through new eyes.

Put Out Into the Deep Water

2007-02-26T13:44:00.000-08:00

Luke 5:1-11, 5th Sunday of Epiphany Year C
Preached February 4, 2007 at Hope UMC

Put out into the deep water, and let down your nets for a catch.

Peter had a lot of reasons not to do this: he’d been fishing all night, they’d already fished that spot, fish are always in the shallows, what did a carpenter know about fishing anyway – a lot of reasons to say no. But he did. He put out into the deep water, and let down his nets for a catch.

We avoid deep water. Generally we want to stay in the shallows, where we can see the bottom, where we are in familiar territory. Whatever we do, we don’t want to get in over our heads.

Put out into the deep water, and let down your nets for a catch.

The Bishop spoke to the Confirmation students last week about a very practical program the UMC is involved in: Nothing But Nets. She talked first about the UMC, a little of how it works, and how big it is – 10-11 million people worldwide.

Then she spoke of malaria – it kills 1 million people a year, 3000 people a day, 1 person every 30 seconds. It comes from mosquitoes that bite at night – we know all about mosquitoes here; can you imagine not having screen windows? Children are very susceptible. But a net has been developed, insecticide treated, that can cover a bed of a family of four. $10 buys the net and some training for the family to use it. Rick Reilly of Sports Illustrated has been trying to distribute these nets and when he traveled to Africa he discovered that the UMC was everywhere. So he called the UMC headquarters and asked if we would help distribute these nets. Now there is a partnership between Sports Illustrated, the NBA, and the UMC – with a $3 million challenge grant from the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation – to buy and distribute these nets. They last a few years.

I held my child who was sick in the middle of the night in the ER this week and thought about the mothers losing their children to this disease. For me a thought like that is putting out into the deep, going into the deep part of my fear, the kind of thing that gnaws at me in the middle of the night. But Jesus says, “Put out into the deep water, and let down your nets for a catch.” I’m buying some nets. I’m starting with five.

Put out into the deep water, and let down your nets for a catch.

Another place that is scary to consider is thinking about global warming, or climate change, depending upon your perspective. The news has been dire this week, as more and more people are coming to the belief that something is going on, that we are in trouble. This cold snap isn’t proof of anything; our world is changing quickly.

I’m hearing people of faith of all sorts talking about this more, wondering what we should do. And suddenly the people of Hope are talking about this too. The Trustees are exploring how we might become more green, which means using less energy, which means, among other things, reducing our energy bill. We’ve had a consultant come in who switched out, for free, some light bulbs so more of them are compact fluorescents. Our new boiler is a good thing, and the trustees are looking at what else might help.

And we are going to look at this issue during Lent. The texts during Lent in the Old Testament are about the people’s relationship with the land, a good way for us to consider this topic. Our Wednesday night programs will feature some videos and speakers and worship on the issue.

This isn’t easy, and we haven’t done this sort of thing before. But Jesus says, go into the deep places, and let down your nets. Go into the scary places and see what I will do for you there.

Put out into the deep water, and let down your nets for a catch.

In ancient times the deep water was a symbol of chaos, the evil chaos at the beginning of creation before God began to work. Deep water is a symbol for all that is dark and unknown.

Peter had to put his nets into the deep more than once in his walk with Jesus. This fishing story started it all, but Peter time and again had to face the deep, unknown, scary part of his own heart as he followed Jesus. We see in the Gospel stories how little Peter understood of his own heart, and of death, as he encouraged Jesus to stay on the mountain when Moses and Elijah showed up there in glory, as he professed his faithfulness only to deny Jesus hours later, as he struggled to believe that Jesus was alive again on Sunday morning.

But Peter went into the deeps of his own self. He put out his nets over and over, even in the same places, and he kept following Jesus. He didn’t let his failure of faith stop him in the end; he went on to be one of the greatest leaders of the early church. And the Bible does not paint him that well – we know his faults, his failures. He went into the deep place, even the deep place of failure, and his nets were full to bursting, time and time again.

Put out into the deep water, and let down your nets for a catch.

What deep water is Jesus calling us to?

Our Best Part

2007-02-26T13:41:00.000-08:00

1 Corinthians 12, 3rd Sunday of Epiphany C
preached January 21, 2007 at Hope UMC, Duluth

When I was a youth I asked Mom what my spiritual gift was. I had read this text in 1 Corinthians 12 at church and thought this list was pretty interesting. So I asked her, and she said, “Oh honey, your gift is love.”

“But I don’t want the gift of love,” I said to her. “I want something else.”

“Love is the best gift,” she said. “That’s the one you have.

I have felt bad about this conversation for years. How obnoxious of me, to not choose love.

Well, don’t tell my mother, but I think she was wrong. Recently in our Covenant Discipleship group someone was speaking about how compassion was an easy thing for them and she looked at me and said, “Justice is so clearly your strength, Michelle.” Yup. Compassion isn’t the easiest part for me. Now I’m not saying your pastor isn’t compassionate, because I am, and I do care about you, and I will work towards being more loving my whole life. In fact, we clergy promise to strive to be perfect in love in this life when we are ordained, and I will keep trying.

But it isn’t my best gift. My best gift is vision and leadership. I can see where we can go and how to get there.

So, even though I am terribly nearsighted, in the body of Christ, I am an eye.

I won’t name names here, but you may know who I mean, or know I am thinking of you: let’s consider the parts of the body of Christ known as Hope UMC.

The hearts, and there are more than one of you -- those who love and seek out ways to bring love to those in congregation.

Ears – those who listen to what is happening and hear people’s hurt.

Hands – those who keep the building running, who cook for us, who tend our gardens.

Feet – those who go into the community to carry hope to those around us.

Knees – those who help us bend and turn and be flexible.

Voices – those who sing and give us music.

The right brain –those who give us art and beauty.

The left brain – those who ask questions, solve problems, and teach us.

The lungs – those who to breathe in the spirit for us.

Our facia – those who work to connect us.

The stomach – those who keep supplies coming to all of us and our ministry.

Tear ducts –those who cry our joy and pain.

This body is a wonderful metaphor for the church. But perhaps we have more than one gift. The clergy of the Minnesota Annual Conference have done Discover Your Strengths by the Gallup organization. It tells us our top five strengths, the five body parts we play best.

The metaphor also breaks down when we think of the body as a closed system – because in the church we can have 3 eyes, and 6 arms, or 60; we welcome more people and they don’t have to have an exact gift or fit – we may not know we need what they have and they may not know what it is they will bring

But this is an important metaphor in many ways. Paul asks us, do we boast about our part? Well, tell me, which one part of your body would you like to keep?

Or do we think our part isn’t good enough? Again, tell me, which one part of your body would you like to do without? Even your toenails, humble as they are, are critical to your mobility and comfort.

Or do you think you should really be working on another gift?

I will have to continue to learn about compassion, and my Covenant Discipleship group will teach me, but I think I will be of better service as I embrace what God really made me for. And you – God created each of us with purpose and hope and a dream. Is this a place you can live that out? Is this a place you can offer the gift of your life? Is this a place you can feel you are an essential part of the body of Christ?

And as the body of Christ, working together, what will we do? What is this body’s gift for the community? You have named it hope, we have described it for all generations, and we are still continuing to discover what gift this body has for the world.

May we delight in this body, dance, celebrate, experience and feel the incarnation of Christ that is known as Hope United Methodist Church.

Temptation: Luke 4:1-13

2007-02-25T06:46:00.000-08:00

1st Sunday of Lent, Year C

(There is no church today, but here is the sermon I was going to preach.)

Like last year I decided this season to give up meat for Lent. I’d like to be a vegetarian but it doesn’t work too well with my family, so I figure tithing my diet – 40 days is a little more than 10% of the year – is a decent attempt. So Wednesday morning I got up and my mother-in-law put a plate of the most delicious smelling bacon in front of me and I ate it up. Then I remembered it was Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent, and said, “Oops.”

That is how temptation seems to us – "oops. I didn’t mean to. It was right there in front of me. I couldn’t help it." Temptation seems like a trick to us, a game – we are trying to be “good” but someone or something got in our way. We are trying to follow this narrow path while temptation looms on every side.

Our text this morning is the story of Jesus in the desert facing three temptations. This story should be a help and inspiration to us, right? Except that Jesus seems so perfect, he can’t possibly understand the temptations and difficulties we face. He goes into the desert for awhile, the devil shows up one afternoon and tosses three temptation to him, Jesus responds quickly and accurately with the right scripture quote and “Bingo!” Temptation is all done. He leaves the desert and goes about his ministry untroubled.

Parker Palmer would suggest that it isn’t this way. We are reading his book, The Active Life in Sunday School. He writes,“If we are to experience the story of Jesus in the desert as anything other than a boringly predictable morality play, we must be open to the educative potentials of temptations, to the fact that temptations are not there to be avoided…If the temptation is put before you, and you flunk the test, as Adam and Eve did, it may not be a terminal failure at all. It may be the opening of a great and generative journey into truth.”

Being human means having choice. The story of the apple and serpent with Adam and Eve tries to describe what this means – that our relationship with God involves the possibility of us choosing God or not choosing God. If we can’t choose God, we can’t have a real relationship. If we have the option of not choosing God, we can get into trouble. And we do.

It seems we always have two choices – good and bad. We feel sometimes as if we have someone luring us into the bad choice, and God is sitting quietly watching us in judgment as we try to discover the correct option. If we take the wrong road we are lost forever, it seems.

But I think it’s more than Choice A and Choice B. It’s much more complex. At any given moment we have many, many choices. We choose one. Some doors are now open to us, some doors are now closed. But the way ahead is not closed. Not until we die. Maybe not even then. God is always with us, and God is luring us into the best possible next choice, and then the next. God is right with us, gently trying to suggest to us what choice will be most filled with life and possibility. When we get it right, we experience grace and new life. And a new vista of roads open up before us.

I spoke to someone recently about a colleague of mine who has been brought up on criminal charges. It’s a sad story, and although he hasn’t had a trial yet he’s been tried in the local newspaper. I said, “He’s ruined his life, his whole life.” I worry about him -- he must be seeing a very barren desert in front of him. The woman responded, “No, it is never ruined. There is always hope.”

She’s right. I should have remembered that. I’ve had moments – not like this colleague, although pretty dramatic nonetheless – where I thought I had made a choice that would be the end of me; I thought I had ruined my life. But I finally found the voice of God with me in that place, and I’ve been led, one choice after another, into a wonderful new life. Even when we seem most lost, God offers a way forward, through the desert, into life.

We are looking this Lent at issues of choice, life and temptation in our world – issues of whether we have ruined our lives or if there is hope. We are going to delve this season on Wednesday nights and Sunday mornings into a discussion about Global climate change, global warming. Some are saying it is too late; some are saying there’s no problem; some are saying our choices from here on out are critical. However it plays out, we are not alone.

James Healey in Starting Point puts it well: "Whether we gaze with longing into the garden or with fear and trembling into the desert, of this we can be sure – God walked there first. And when we who have sinned and despoiled the garden are challenged now to face the desert, we do not face it alone. Jesus has gone there before us to struggle with every demon that has ever plagued a human heart. Face the desert we must if we would reach the garden, but Jesus has gone there before us."

Jesus has gone there before us, and walks with us on the way, whether we make good choices or not, whatever it is we are headed to. There is always hope.

Saving the Best...

2007-01-14T18:06:00.000-08:00

John 2:1-11
2nd Sunday after Epiphany Year C

The party was almost over. They ran out of wine, it was all gone. The couple had been married, the feast was eaten, and the wine had given out. It was about time to go home.

But Mary, Jesus mother, thought differently. She brought the matter to Jesus’ attention. He said it wasn’t time for him to do anything yet, but she ignored him and told the servants to do whatever he told them to. Without a retort to his mother Jesus did what she asked. There were six large jars of water sitting around, and they were empty. Jesus told the servants to fill them to the brim with water. Not just near the top, not just almost full, but as full as they could possibly be. Then he said, take a cup out to and give it to the steward.

The servants knew they had just filled that jar with water, but they filled a cup and took it to the chief steward, who drank it and quickly went to the bridegroom. “Wow, most people would have served the good stuff first while people could still tell, but now when we are drunk and can’t even tell you have brought out the best wine.”

About 120 – 180 gallons of fabulous wine. That party was far from over.

I imagine that on Saturday, that Saturday after the Friday Jesus died, the disciples were thinking the party was over. Following Jesus had been incredible; they had seen things they couldn’t have imagined. He had been so incredible, and they all had changed so much in the time with him. He had shown them a glimpse of the holy, of God – right in their midst. It had been so wonderful. But he had died, and it was all over now except the memories they carried of him.
But the next morning the women came back from the tomb with some incredible news – Jesus was not dead but alive. Instead of a body in the tomb they found angels telling them Jesus had risen from the dead. And soon, they discovered, that even though being with Jesus during his ministry on earth was incredible, there was more to come. The Spirit was sent to them, the church was born, they were changed even more, and they knew life in an even more complete way. The party was far from over. It was just starting.

People have said the United Methodist Church is over. I can’t tell you how often I’ve heard people talk about rearranging the chairs on the Titanic as the work of the church right now. Those other churches are getting more members than we are, we are losing members, we aren’t as powerful as we used to be, we aren’t as big as we used to be, the glory days are over, the party is over. I have been guilty of it – when I was ordained I wondered if the church would last another 40 years.

But I’ve been feeling the pull of the future on me lately, wondering if something wonderful might not be waiting for the United Methodist Church. A consultant I’ve worked with, one our congregation has worked with, has been hinting to me he thinks the United Methodist Church has a very particular gift to offer the world right now. And then this week I heard Diana Butler Bass talk about what is happening to the mainline Protestant church. She said the newspapers report frequently about the demise of our denominations, but she thinks something else is happening. She thinks we are not on the Titanic but on a ship being blown to a new land, one without a name, one without a map, and we will find ourselves in a new land but still the Church, ready to speak of God’s presence and hope in the world. The party is not over. Maybe it has just begun.

Once there were two churches who seemed to be near the end of their time. They had served for many decades, one in a downtown neighborhood and then the University community; the other had been a fixture in a neighborhood for generations, the worship home of people from birth til old age. But their buildings were getting difficult, and the congregations were getting smaller, and it seemed maybe the end of the party was coming.

But then they decided to join forces, to leave one building and remodel the other, to tie together their traditions, to rethink the way they worked, to dig deep in themselves to see if there was a place for them in the community, a word they had to offer, a place for them.
And that church is now a strong church. All generations worship there, they give to the community, their building is secure and their finances are strong, they are dreaming of the future, and they do have a word for the community around them, and that word is Hope! The party is not over; in fact, it is just starting.

How’s the party going for you? You been here awhile? You think the wine is getting a little stale and the guests are getting a little tired? Or do you think you haven’t had your time yet? You are waiting for things to get going? Or maybe you are wondering if you are even in the right room – what if you got the invitation wrong and you really are supposed to be somewhere else?
However the party is going for you, there’s one thing I can tell you: God has more than you can imagine, God has something better than you can dream, God still has some good stuff waiting, and God will pour your cup overflowing. Amen.

Huge Silence

2006-12-11T13:40:00.000-08:00

Christ the King Sunday, Year B
November 26, 2006

(Sorry these are out of order!)

Well, the season has started…Thanksgiving, Black Friday. Holiday travel, overeating, sweet food, credit cards, family events, too much shopping. Shopping at ungodly hours. Newspapers that are 75% advertising. By January 2 we will be carrying hundreds of dollars more debt, approximately 2 more pounds around our waistlines, be tired and ready to enter into the dark depths of a quiet winter.

Well, that might be a bit dire. But we just finished political ad campaign season, and now we will be spending 1/12th of our year preparing for Christmas, and I bet I’m not the only person who gets a bit weary with all the hype and business.

As the old joke goes, Jesus is coming, look busy. We don’t have to. We will be.

Isaiah, hundreds of years ago, said to his people, Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy?

But you don’t need another pastor preaching to you about the evils of consumerism and commercialism this season, either from 2500 years ago or today. So let me give you an invitation instead.

I invite you to make space for your spirit this season.
Advent is the time of making ready for Jesus, of making space for the unexpected.
We are terrified of emptiness but we need emptiness so there is a little room.
We fill our homes with clutter but we love the emptiness of the lake and the sky above it.
We need a little space for God. Huston Smith says there is a God shaped space inside each of us, and we often try to fill it with anything we can find. But only God will fit.
How much space did Mary need in her heart, in her life, to welcome the Christ Child?
We need a little room.
So take a walk on the lakewalk
Go out at night and look at the stars.
Come sit in the sanctuary sometime during the week when it is empty.
Clear out one little space inside your house and don’t put any decorations in it except a candle.
Think about what you can let go of this season to make more room inside your heart,
what angers or grievances have grown old, what habits can be released.

I invite you to make time for your spirit this season.
I know most of us have extra parties, church events, tasks that take up time.
But a little time can make a difference in our spiritual lives.
Father Thomas Keating, who teaches Centering Prayer, says that
twenty minutes of meditative prayer can change us deeply.
He’s not interested in how it lowers our blood pressure or slows us down,
but how it heals our spirit, deepens our relationship with God.
Take a little time.

So get up twenty minutes earlier for a month.
Skip something (but not church, of course.)
Go sit in a deershack.
Take the long, prettier way to work and keep the radio off and cell phone off.
Turn off the TV and light a candle and sit quietly before bed.

I invite you to find silence for your spirit this season.
It is in the silence we can hear the angels speaking to us, in the silence we find God is nearer than we thought.
In the silence we discover new ways to think about things, and find new hope.
Silence is a way to remember how alive we are, how God might work in us,
how new life might be possible.
We are a thirsty people, and God knows how to quench our thirst, if we allow it.

Pablo Neruda has a poem, found in your Meditations this week
about the healing that might happen if we were all quiet for a bit…

And now we will count to twelve and we will all keep still.
For once on the face of the earth let’s not speak in any language;
let’s stop for one second, and not move our arms so much.
It would be an exotic moment without rush, without engines,
we would all be together in a sudden strangeness.
Fisherman in the cold sea would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt would look at his hurt hands.
Those who prepare green wars, wars with gas, wars with ire,
victory with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes and walk about with their brothers in the shade,
doing nothing.
What I want should not be confused with total inactivity.
(Life is what it is about; I want no truck with death.)
If we were not so single indeed about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.
Now I’ll count up to twelve, and you keep quiet and I’ll go.

So let’s be quiet, for a few minutes

(we sat in silence as a congregation for 4 minutes after this, in a deep silence only held by a room full of people...)

Welcoming the Messenger

2006-12-11T13:22:00.000-08:00

2nd Sunday of Advent C
Luke 3:1-6

On the far side of the sun a spaceship is traveling on its way to enter the Mercury orbit. On August 3, 2004 NASA launched the Messenger spacecraft which will swing around the Earth, Venus, the sun and to Mercury to study the planet closest to the sun. It has heat shields to protect it from the immense heat, sometimes 840degrees, and is set to send photographs of the entire surface of Mercury, to investigate if there are polar caps of ice on the planet, and to investigate why Mercury is so very dense. Of course, at the heart of this is always the question, how did we get here and how did this world happen?

There is a Messenger in the wilderness.

John the Baptist was also a messenger in the wilderness. Born the surprise child late in life for Elizabeth and Zechariah and supposedly the cousin of Jesus, he led a lonely life in the desert. He dressed in animal skins, he ate only wild food. He knew the desert was a place to meet God, a place without home or security or comfort but a place where the people of Israel had always found God. He returned to the communities around the Jordan river to preach the baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. He did baptisms – not dainty ones like we do, but full body immersion, which signifies the person’s death to the old life and rising to the new. He preached repentance, which means to turn around. He spoke as one who had seen something that is not always seen; heard that which is usually drowned out in our lives. He called to people to turn away from what they were focused on and to turn to God. His word was a preparation for the Word, the one who came after him, Jesus.

We have messengers in the wilderness in our lives, people who live in wild places, who know things we don’t know. There are homeless people in our community who something about the wilderness in the middle of our streets. There are youth who are longing for love who know something of what it means to not be at home. There are people around us who have suffered and have seen things we would not want to see. There are faces that look at us through the photographs in the newspaper and on TV that have something to tell us about our lives. Turn, they say. Turn. When some of the people of our world are not safe, fed, or home, there is cause for our attention. Turn.

Sometimes we are the ones in the wilderness. A serious illness, divorce, loss of a job, a tragedy in our lives, depression, or just the years of wondering what it is all for can put us into the wilderness. And sometimes there we find that we have turned, we have discovered a different view of things, we realize that the landscape needs to be changed, and that God is working in a way we did not expect.

How do we welcome the messenger?

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, another messenger from the wilderness of a WWII concentration camp, invites us as Christians to listen to the messengers in our lives. In his book, Life Together, he writes:

"The first service that one owes to others in community consists in listening to them. Just as love for God begins with listening to His Word, so the beginning of love for the brethren is learning to listen to them. It is God's love for us that He not only gives His Word but also lends us His ear ... Many people are looking for an ear that will listen. They do not find it among Christians because these Christians are talking where they should be listening. But he who can no longer listen to his brother will soon be no longer listening to God either; he will be doing nothing but prattle in the presence of God. This is the beginning of the death of the spiritual life, and, in the end, there is nothing left but spiritual chatter and clerical condescension arrayed in pious words."

In the 1970s NASA couldn’t figure out how to get a spacecraft to orbit Mercury. There was a problem of needing too much fuel to get to the right place. In the 80s they figured out how to use a gravitational assist, and that is how the Messenger is getting into its correct position. It will swing near the Earth, Venus, and Mercury and each time the gravitational pull of the planet will alter the course of the spacecraft a bit, turning it to its correct place.

When we listen to the messengers in the wilderness we let them pull us, we let them turn us. We let ourselves be pulled by the gravity of something larger than we are, and then we are set more accurately on the right course.

The Messenger spacecraft will not survive. It will eventually crash into the fiery surface of Mercury. John the Baptist did not survive his return from the wilderness – Herod had him arrested shortly after these events, and then beheaded. Many of the messengers in the wilderness do not survive their sojourn there – it is a dangerous place. But John’s words still speak to us these thousands of years later. Prepare the way. God is coming. Turn toward God. All flesh shall see the salvation of God.

Welcoming the Lost

2006-12-05T10:38:00.000-08:00

1st Sunday of Advent
Jeremiah 33:14-16
Luke 21

At my last congregation I had been at the church a few months when a member came up to me and said, "I have fourteen family members from Sierra Leone who are coming soon. I need help finding a place for them to stay."

I didn't know what to do, so I took the request to the Mission Committee.
"Oh good," the chair said. "We've been praying for a project."
"Be careful what you pray for!" I said. "You have a project now."

We floundered a bit and then hooked up with the Minnesota Council of Churches Refugee Services Program. They were like angels for us. They told us what to do, how to do it, when to do it, and why.

Six months later we had raised money, rented enough apartment space, filled the homes with furniture, clothing, food, and toiletries I vividly remember a line of little cups and toothbrushes sitting on the bathroom counter, waiting.

A few weeks after the family arrived the Confirmation Class had an event for them, and each family member received a gift. Emmanuel, who was fourteen, received a watch. He was ecstatic. "Why are you so excited about this watch," I asked him.
"Because now I know I will be on time for the bus to go to school."
"You are that excited to go to school?"
"I haven't been to school in two years," he said. "I couldn't go to school in the bush, or in the refugee camps."

I asked the matron of the family once if she missed Africa. "Here I don't hear gunshots," she said. "Here my children are safe."

Being a refugee seems such a foreign experience to us.

It is the experience awaiting the people of both our texts today, the dire, dour texts: Jeremiah’s people were about to be captured and carried off to Babylon. In Luke the Diaspora was just starting as Rome destroyed Jerusalem and Israel. The words seem so violent to us, but I think they sounded different to these people.

We hear stories of refugees today, but still from so far away – people coming from Sierra Leone, Darfur, the Lost Boys of Sudan, the Iraq people flooding into other countries.

But tonight we are showing a movie (Chronicles of Narnia) of English children in WW II, refugees of war sent to the country without their parents so they might be safe.

And, frankly, I don’t think my ancestors came to the US because they were on a luxury tour and decided to stay. They came because they were hungry, they were looking for a safe place to raise their children.

The life of a refugee is not so far back in our memory, really.

And sometimes, just sometimes, we feel like refugees in the midst of our settled lives. We might not feel safe in our homes, or we might not feel we belong. We might feel lost in the middle of people we have always known. There are homeless people in town who have lived here all their lives who had some bad luck or made a series of mistakes and now they are refugees among us. Or we might look at how fast the world is changing and feel like refugees right in our hometown, adrift and without anywhere safe to be.

Jesus came to us as a refugee as well. He was born in a strange town without a home. He traveled as a child to a foreign country as his parents sought safety. He lived as a man with “no place to put his head.”

But Jesus came reminding us that God makes a home with us. Jesus was called Emmanuel, the same name as the boy with the watch, God with us. Homeless or not, Jesus comes to make home with us, to remind us that God is our home, to show us how to be home for one another.

Annie Dillard quoted Meister Eckhart once: "God is at home; we are in the far country. "To welcome the refugee is a little like welcoming the lost part of ourselves, the lost part that is searching for God, for the holy among us, for the One who makes home with us.

Unbinding Lazarus

2006-11-16T11:42:00.000-08:00

All Saints Sunday, Year B
John 11:32-44

Mary and Martha had a brother, Lazarus. The three of them lived together in Bethany, near Jerusalem. They were good friends of Jesus; their home was one of the places he stopped on his travels to stay, to eat, to enjoy their company.

The sisters sent word to Jesus, several villages away, that Lazarus had gotten very sick. Jesus did not leave right away – it seems rather heartless, but I think the writer of John was trying to heighten the story’s drama in the way he told it. I don’t think Jesus was cavalier with his friend’s death or the sister’s grief.

But finally Jesus came to Bethany, after Lazarus had been dead four days. Martha went out on the road to meet Jesus; Mary was home weeping with the people from the community, the mourners who had gathered. Martha and Jesus have a discussion about resurrection -- Martha is thinking of what will one day come, at the end of all things. Jesus has something else in mind.
Mary comes finally and again places herself at Jesus feet – she is always there, in every story, kneeling at Jesus' feet. They took Jesus to the tomb, with a great crowd gathered around to watch.

Jesus asked them to remove the stone from the tomb. Martha, ever practical, says, “But Lord, there will be a smell!” But Jesus asks them to go ahead. Then he cried out in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”

Then here comes Lazarus, bound in the wrappings of death, bandages all around, walking out of the tomb. Jesus said to the crowd around them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”

Lazarus lived; Jesus would die. But Lazarus would die again – I don’t think he is still walking around Jerusalem – and Jesus would live. This story gives us a foretaste, a hint, an inkling of what is to come. Jesus turns everything around. Jesus brings new life, even out of the tomb.

But Jesus didn’t do it alone. The community unbound Lazarus. They took the bandages off so Lazarus could walk, could see, could eat, could move and live.

This is a hard story to hear today – Mary and Martha got to have Lazarus back – we don’t get our loved ones back. Luckily, this story isn’t really about Lazarus. It is about what Jesus did, and does – calling all of us out of the tomb, into new life.

Notice how, when you go to a funeral, you only hear the good stories? Sometimes we don’t even know if we are in the right service. When someone dies we often, in our grief, make them better than they were – we make them saints, in that sense of being perfect. But then we lose them all over again – we lose their memory. They were who they were. We don’t need to make them perfect. God can work on that. Jesus calls them into new life. We unbind them, and ourselves, when we let them be the imperfect, sometimes difficult people we know they were.

We often think we have to be perfect to come to church, too. We have to be saints, or at least fake it, when we come to worship with all these other good people. Well, I’ll tell you a secret – we aren’t perfect. Not even close. But Jesus calls us out of the things that bind us, that hold us back, that tie us to death – and here, in church, we help one another unravel, we help one another remove the bindings. We unbind Lazarus.

We do this when someone goes through cancer treatment. We pray, we cook, we visit, we call, we drive them, we knit afghans and hats. We unbind Lazarus when we give food to the hungry. We unbind Lazarus when we welcome a child who doesn’t know much about hope. We unbind Lazarus when we send money to those who have known tragedy through the UMC. We unbind Lazarus when we welcome the lonely into our midst.

We unbind Lazarus here. As this church focuses on its message of hope, as we learn to welcome people, as we grow in our care and our mission, we unbind Lazarus. We unbind the church from fears of death and learn to move freely, full of joy and life.

It Seems Good...

2006-10-29T20:13:00.000-08:00

Acts 15:22-29

I spoke with a colleague about something recently, something I was thinking of doing. "It seems good to the Holy Spirit and me that you do that," he said.
"You're kidding," I replied.
"No. Isn't that a great phrase? It's in the book of Acts. I just read it the other day."

It's from our story today, Acts 15. This point is early in the church's development and they had a lot of issues to sort out. There was a big question of whether you had to become a Jew before you could become a Christian; lots of Gentiles were starting to convert. The problem was to be a Jew the men had to be circumcised. It was kind of a problem for church growth.

So the disciples had a meeting and decided on the things they would require of new Christians: don't eat meat sacrificed to idols, don't eat/drink blood, don't fornicate. Good enough. They said, "It seems good to the Holy Spirit and us that we do this."

There is a preview of this sort of thing in John 14. Before Jesus died he said to his disciples he would send the spirit to help them interpret his words after he was gone.

My favorite part of Covenant Discipleship group is the spiritual promptings. We go through sharing our acts of compassion, justice, worship and devotion, and then share our spiritual promptings or warnings. We share how God has been working in our lives, how we feel led by God. We can all share guidance about our promptings also.

Spiritual promptings or warnings are what the rest of the world might call premonitions, intuition, coincidence, dreams. It's when you think of someone you haven't seen in years and then they call. It's sending a card and finding out someone really needed it. It's going this way instead of that way and running into someone you needed to talk to.

The other part of learning to listen to God's promptimgs is having a community to check them out with. We need to check out what we think God is saying to us with some trusted people.

I've been on the phone a lot this week with Ian's pastor getting ready for his memorial service. I called his cell phone Tuesday night -- he was in a meeting with my Dad. We talked about what we needed to and then he said, "Your Dad has an idea for the service. Would you talk to him?" He then handed Dad the cell phone. "Here Rusty; it's your daughter."

I said, "Hi Dad. How are you?"
"Well, I've been thinking about the service."
"Yes?"
"Well, you know Ian was a carpenter."
"Yes?"
"I think we should have a 21 nail-gun salute." Dad giggled.
"Uh...Dad, that's a really funny idea, but you know they usually shoot blanks at those salutes. I don't know how we'd do that with nailguns."
"Oh well. I thought it was funny."
I think Dad had been alone a bit too much that day. This is what it means to check things out with your community.

I had a conversation with someone after the service, a guy from my youth group. Our families used to camp together and we spent a lot of time together, and he hardly ever said more than ten words at a time to me. But yesterday he talked my ear off; it was wonderful.

He talked about waht it felt like to walk into the sanctuary again -- with the very tall blonde wood backlit cross up front. He spoke of what it was like to be with all the people from our youth group again, to be with the families we knew then, the Sunday School teachers coming up to say hello, all these people who cared about us and went to all our graduations and weddings. He said all these people were so important to him.

You see, we make promises here in church. We promise in baptism and in membership to listen to one another, to guide one another, to hlep hold one another's spiritual path and to hold one another accountable.

It seems good to the Holy Spirit and I...but check it out with your friends at church too. Amen.

God's Splendor, or Lew's Birds

2006-10-22T10:53:00.000-07:00

Job 38
20th Sunday after Pentecost

(I preached this sermon on our contemporary Fourth Sunday service, and had a file of photos looping on the screen throughout the scripture reading and sermon. All the photos were taken by folks connected to our church and were of the theme, "God's Splendor."

(One other note: I asked Lew's family permission to use his story.)

I've been thinking of Lew. A few months after I came to Hope he came into my office to talk to me about his funeral plans. He was on his second or third round of cancer by that point, and he wanted to have some plans in place. So I got my notepad and pen and got ready to take notes. But instead of discussing Bible readings and hymns he wanted to talk about his birds. "I've got pictures of birds. I'd like to have them projected during my funeral."

See, on a trip to Texas years before, he fell in love with the Sandhill Cranes. He had always loved fishing and camping, but on that trip he fell in love with the Sandhill Cranes migrating across the street from his camper.

Around this time he retired and his wife's alzheimers progressed so she couldn't live at home anymore. Cancer started coming for Lew, and things might have seemed bleak. But he bought a digital camera and took pictures of birds, Sandhill Cranes, Green Jays, and lots and lots of hawks. He had thousands of digital pictures of birds.

Last fall we started talking about the birds again. He hadn't put together a folder of his best pictures yet, and we talked about getting together to get it ready. But the cancer progressed and we didn't get it done. I promised him I would take care of it, and project the birds during his service.

He died the first day of this year. It was a dreary week, no sun at all. I sat in my office for hours with the lights off looking at his bird photos: birds I knew, birds I had heard of, birds I didn't know existed. I began to understand about Lew's birds.

Job also was a guy who had a hard time. He'd lost everything except some insensitive friends and a crabby wife. He kept asking God why this happened to him. God finally showed up and responded with a several chapter-long tirade, a tour through creation.

When we have tough times we can respond in many ways. We can work to shore up ourselves -- therapy, healing work, surrounding ourselves with better friends than Job did. We can put a post-it note on the mirror that says, "You're okay."

Or we can reach out to others: work at the foodshelf, visit someone in the hospital or nursing home. It makes us feel better, not just because of the "they've got it worse than me" thing but because it pulls us out of ourselves.

But we can also just go outside. If we've had a bad night we can look at the stars and things feel different. We can go sit by the lake*, that gorgeous, icy cold, dangerous lake that could kill us as easy as anything, and we feel better. We can try to climb a mountain. We can carry our canoe into the silence of the Boundary Waters. And we feel better, not because we realize how important we are, but because we realize how small we are. We realize how insignificant we really are. And it comforts us.

I think Lew was comforted by his birds because he got lost in their beauty. We can only dream of flying like the hawk. No fashion house in France can compete with the beauty of a simple bird.

Job found comfort too, as he saw the grandeur of creation. It changed things for him.

This is what is so horrifying about nuclear war and global warming. We have our place in creation and we have moved into a situation where we can destroy creation and our idea of our place in it. The grandeur, the distance, the immensity comforts us, but we are messing with all that.

But I have some hope. I think our comfort in creation isn't just about ourselves. It's about how we encounter God there.

I think for Lew he encountered God in the birds. He said they gave him hope, but I think they connected him to God as well. If I had any doubt about that, a bald eagle perched in a tree near his window the day he died. Lew came to God through the birds, and God came to Lew through the birds.

Job found God in his tour of creation too. He said, afterwards, "I had heard of you, but now my eye sees you."

And after that, there just isn't anything to say at all.
Amen.

*Lake Superior

Only One Thing

2006-10-16T15:20:00.000-07:00

Luke 10:37-42

Right around age twelve I started wondering fervently how to follow Jesus. I wondered how I should live as a Christian. I wondered if I should go to Africa or Russia or China to become a missionary. I wondered if I should live in the woods and pray all the time. Then I was exposed to political issues like the nuclear arms race and wondered if I should become an activist. Then I met children who grew up in the poverty of Minneapolis and wondered if I should do inner-city work.

What does it mean to follow Jesus? What is the one thing we are supposed to do as Christians?

Parker Palmer asks some of these questions in his book, The Active Life: A Spirituality of Work, Creativity, and Caring. He is a Quaker, teacher, and activist in Wisconsin, and I think a wise man. He starts the book by saying, “I am not a monk.” No surprise to his friends, but he spent three years in an ecumenical monastic community trying to live a quieter life. He finally left and acknowledged he is not a monk but an activist, and the book is his way of talking about thoughtful action.

How do we follow Jesus? What one thing are we to do? This struggle goes back as far as to those who walked with Jesus. Today we hear about Mary and Martha, that familiar story which pits two sisters against each other, two sides of the Christian life - action and devotion.

We talked about this story last spring at a women's brunch, discussing the two roles in the story and the ways we live them out as women and men in the church. I heard some interesting insights that morning. One woman said, "if everyone just moved into the kitchen then Martha could hear what was going on and participate." Another woman said, “If Mary would help then they could be done sooner and then both could sit at Jesus’ feet!”

What are we supposed to do? How do we follow Jesus? What one thing are we supposed to do?

Martha in the story becomes quite agitated. You can just imagine her frustration -- here I am doing all the cooking and that no-good sister of mine is plopped at Jesus' feet and does she think I don't want to listen to but someone has to cook" and so on. We all know what that feels like.

But Jesus responds to her: “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”

There. We have our answer. Only one thing. Mary has chosen the one thing, which is to sit at Jesus’ feet, to pray, to worship, to seek his presence. That is what it means to follow Jesus. That is why the footprints lead to the altar in here. This is where we are to be.

I’ve been talking about Covenant Discipleship this month, really about the heart of the United Methodist Church. Covenant Discipleship helps the people in the group focus on the basics of being a Christian, on the day to day task of following Jesus. I spoke of Justice with the story of Esther two weeks ago, and last week about compassion. Today we come to the other two parts of the model - devotion and worship. They both involve our relationship with God but break into public and private aspects of it. We pray, read, and have practices that nurture our spirit alone - devotion. We meet together for worship regularly as well, because something different happens when we are together, something we need as well as the private time with God.

But in the United Methodist model all these things have equal weight. They are all interconnected, all depend on one another. There is a balance to the whole thing. That “method” is in there for a reason. They work together. So what’s going on?

According to this story prayer and worship must be the most important, right? They certainly anchor anything we do in the world. Holy men and women say that action and working in the world to help others burns you out and goes wrong if it isn’t rooted in prayer and worship. It’s like trying to run a marathon with no food or water. We need it, regularly, if we are going to walk along with Jesus.

Only one thing, Jesus said. Maybe I should get that cabin in the woods and find a way to stay there. Except…except…

With the Gospels we have to pay attention to the context of our stories. Mary and Martha are having a tussle here, and Jesus tells Martha to relax and leave her alone. But look at where this story is in the book of Luke. Following this story, right in the next verse, the disciples ask Jesus how to pray, and he gives them the Lord’s Prayer. But right before this story, remember the story from last week? The Good Samaritan. That story is immediately before this one. Immediately. So we need to hear this struggle between the sisters in light of those two other stories.

Only one thing. How do we follow Jesus? Let’s look a little earlier in this chapter of Luke - the lawyer comes to ask Jesus, what must I do to inherit eternal life? Jesus said, What is written in the law? What do you read there?

The answer - You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself. And Jesus said, “You have given the right answer. Do this, and you shall live.”

How do we follow Jesus? What one thing is required of us?

Everything. All of it. All we are, all we have, everything about us. That has its own balance, really. Nothing is left out. That’s how we follow Jesus, with everything we are and everything we do, all the time, every minute of the day.
There is need of only one thing. Our whole being.

Acts Of...

2006-10-16T15:06:00.000-07:00

Luke 10:25-37

This last week nine men showed up to paint the house. One of them was appointed to come in to take off windows so they could be painted, and so I was running around, putting the dog in the crate, keeping the cat inside, keeping Theo from helping too much, trying to finish getting ready to leave for the day, and unlocking all the windows in the house. In the midst of all this the window guy was chatting with me.
"So this is a parsonage?"
"Yes."
"What church?"
"Hope UMC."
"So you’re the pastor’s wife?"
"No, I ‘m the pastor."
"You’re the youth pastor?"
"No, I ‘m the pastor."
"You’re one of the pastors?"
"No, I’m the pastor. The only pastor. The whole pastor."
"Wow." Just then the window frame he was working on completely disintegrated and came apart in the hands of the man standing on the ladder outside.
"So what about the Methodists?" he said.

What about the Methodists? I didn’t get to answer his question -- it was a little hectic just then -- but I should have told him to come to church this month. I’m preaching a series of sermons about Covenant Discipleship, but really I’m sharing the heart of of what it means to be a United Methodist. Because Covenant Discipleship is about practicing what it means to be a United Methodist.

There are several parts to Covenant Discipleship: two parts are mercy and devotion, and the two ways you do them are public and private. You end up with four areas: justice, compassion, worship, devotion. They conveniently make a cross. Each week the Covenant group meets to discuss how they are doing in each of these areas in their Christian life.

It's very United Methodist. But the phrase in front of each phrase is the most United Methodist: Acts of.

We do acts of these things. It’s not whether you wrote a dissertation on the proper role of the bread in the communion ceremony, its whether you worship with other people regularly. It’s not whether you memorized the Gospel of Mark, its whether you pray regularly in some way. It’s not whether you read a book about justice issues, it’s whether that book inspired you to write to your senator. It’s not whether you feel compassion for people, it’s whether you DO anything about it.

Take the story of the Good Samaritan. We are supposed to know that he is the mortal enemy of the man lying beaten on the ground. We are supposed to know that the three men who walked on by were community leaders who would be expected to do the right thing. We hear that the Samaritan man “had compassion” for the wounded man. That’s the end of hearing about his interior thoughts. There is no discussion of, “he reminds me of my brother.” “Even though he is my enemy I know I should do this.” “I would want someone to help my son, or brother, or me, if we were lying there.” No, “well, I don’t like this guy but here I go anyway.” Just verbs: he tended the wounds, put the man on his donkey took him to the inn, took care of him, paid the bill.

At Covenant Discipleship the actions are smaller, so far, but they are more about what we do in our daily life than what we feel. If the postal service was worried that email would take over their business the CD group is doing their part - they send cards all the time to people they feel need a touch of compassion. They act compassionately to people at work they are struggling with. They think about how to treat the hassled mother in the grocery line. They hold doors open. They work at behaving compassionately to family even if they are tired.

The feeling part plays a part, of course. I saw Huston Smith a few weeks ago in a room full of Unitarian Universalists, 1 other UM pastor, and he was asked, “What is true and what is false?” He said, “That which enlarges your heart is true. That which leads to love is true.”

The feeling compassionate is important, but action doesn’t have to depend upon it. The feeling should move to enlarge our hearts, but the action also works to move us to love. Studies have shown that marriages that behave in loving ways retain the feeling better than those who don’t practice the daily art of kisses and affection. Acting changes the heart.

My vet remembered I was a minister this week and then he said, “What about those poor Amish children? It makes me so sad.” He expressed the sadness, the compassion we all feel for this horrific situation. Yet how do we ask the next question: what can we do? Maybe nothing, but is that true? Can we send cards and letters? Can we send flowers? Can we pray? That is action.

United Methodists by no means have the corner on compassionate action. This week we should just sit down and watch what the Amish have done and take notes. They have displayed amazing compassion. When Carl Roberts killed several of the girls in the schoolhouse in Lancaster County, the Amish community went to his family and said, “We forgive you.” Many people would say it is too soon to forgive, but this forgiveness is not cheap. It comes from living in a culture that practices non-violence, compassion, and is steeped in God’s love

And then we hear what the girls themselves did. The oldest girl, a 13 year old, Marian Fisher, saw what was happening and asked Roberts to shoot her first, hoping this would save the younger girls somehow. Then her younger sister, 11 year old Barbie, said, “Shoot me next.” Barbie was shot but survived. Marian did not.
That is compassion. Marian and Barbie had hearts large enough to hold all those girls in that room. Their hearts were large enough to care for the others and put themselves aside in the most complete and horrible way possible. The newspaper said, “God really had to be present in that schoolhouse.” I imagine these girls came from generations of practicing what it means to be compassionate.

Our hearts break when we hear these stories. We want to cry. But may our broken hearts lead to enlarged hearts so we can hold more of God’s people in them. May our tears pave a way for a response. And may God give us the wisdom to know what we might do.

She Didn't Have To

2006-10-01T19:58:00.000-07:00

The Book of Esther
17th Sunday of Pentecost B

She didn’t have to.

Esther was relatively safe. She was the queen, and very few people knew she was a Jew. She lived in Persia when the Jewish people were taken from their homeland and enslaved in Persia - hundreds of years after their captivity in Egypt. She was a beautiful young woman and became queen after Ahasuerus dismissed his first wife for being insubordinate. Actually, Esther spent a year having a cosmetic makeover with hundreds of other young women preparing to meet the king and be considered for queen. Esther, who was beautiful and savvy, was chosen. (This is the PG version of the story. Read the book -- it's quite interesting.)

But trouble came when her cousin, who had raised her, Mordecai, offended the wrong Persian official. He refused to bow to Haman, who thought rather a lot of himself, so Haman plotted to hang Mordecai and kill all the Jews for good measure. He got the king, Ahasuerus, to agree to this edict, and a signed statement went out to all the provinces that the Jews would be killed on the 13th day of Adar, a date that was chosen by lots (pur).

Mordecai appealed to Esther, who could speak to the king directly. But she was afraid. If someone entered into the king’s presence without being called, the king could kill them. If the king held out the golden scepter, then they could live. She told Mordecai, through her servant, that she could not do this.

Mordecai responded: perhaps you came to the court for just such a time as this.

Then have everyone, all the Jews, fast for three days, she said.

She didn’t have to. But on the third day she put on her royal robes and went in to the king. When he saw her he held out his scepter to her. “What is your request?” he asked. “Even unto half of my kingdom.”

“Come to a banquet I will hold in your honor,” she said, “with Haman.”

Haman was quite pleased with himself for this invitation. He thought he was very special. And so the king and Haman came to the banquet. And after drinking much wine, the king said, “What is your request? Even up to half my kingdom I will grant it.”

“Come again tomorrow night to another banquet, both of you.” And so they did.

That night, after much drinking, the king again asked Esther her request. She replied, “If I have won your favor, give me my life and the lives of my people. We are going to be destroyed, and no one can compensate such damage to the king.”

The king was outraged! Who would do such a thing? Esther responded, “Haman!”

For some reason the king stepped out of the room for a moment at this point, and Haman was terrified and threw himself on Esther, pleading mercy. When the king walked in again he thought Haman was attacking Esther, so he ordered him killed, hung on the very gallows Haman had built for Mordecai.

And after some difficult legal complications, a decree went out to save the Jews. And to celebrate this event the Jews hold a feast day called Purim.

She didn’t have to. She might have been safe, being quiet. She didn’t have to, but she did. Esther said something.

You know, there is a lot of question about why Esther is in the Bible at all. There is fasting, but no praying. There are Jews, but no God. It doesn’t seem to have a purpose except to explain the feast of Purim.

But the entire Bible holds statements of justice. The entire Bible, Hebrew scripture and New Testament, all tell stories and have words calling us to speak and act out for the lost and forsaken. “Justice” occurs 163 times in the Bible, fifteen times less than the word “hope.” Esther is about justice for a people being destroyed. Esther didn’t have to say anything, but she did.

In our Covenant Discipleship group we talk every week about how to do works of justice. Compassion is so much easier - it can be gentle, quiet, and personal. But justice seems to require more effort. It seems to involve more risk. If we speak up - we aren’t likely to be killed, but it feels a little dicey. People might have ideas about us. We might be written up on some list. It might require some time and money from us. People might argue with us.
We don’t have to.

We don’t have to. We don’t have to speak out against the annihilation of the people of Darfur, we don’t have to talk about the violence against the civilians of Colombia, we don’t have to ask why there are so many homeless children in Minnesota. We don’t have to.

We don’t have to. But perhaps, just perhaps, we have been put in the place we are, the very spot we are, for just such a time as this.

Footprints of Children

2006-09-25T19:23:00.000-07:00

16th Sunday after Pentecost B
Mark 9:30-37

Jesus and his disciples are walking along towards Capernaum, headed toward Jerusalem. They are walking, all of them together -- several people walking along on a road, chatting about things in different little groups. You can imagine how it was, the disciples discussing which one was best.
John, "Jesus likes me the best."
Peter, "But I'm clearly the leader."
Matthew, "I gave up a lucrative career for this. I'm the greatest."
Judas, "You are are men of narrow vision. I'm the one headed to glory."

When they arrive at the house where Jesus is staying in Capernaum, a family's house with children running around, as they settle in to their evening meal, Jesus casually asks them, "What were you discussing as we walked along?"

There is an awkward silence. Then, "Uh, nuthin." "We weren't talking about anything at all, really." "Just chatting, you know."

Jesus picked up one of the children running through the room. "If you want to be great, be like this child. If you welcome this child, you welcome me."

Of course they didn't get it. Just another chapter along two of them, James and John, will ask, "Can we sit at your right and left hand, Jesus?"

They wanted to be with Jesus. They wanted to sit at his right and left hand, to sit at his feet, to be in his presence. They wanted to be part of what was going on with him. They wanted a piece of the action. But they had no idea what the action was.

You see, the places at the right and left hand of Jesus were already taken. They were taken by the two criminals who were executed on either side of him.

The place at his feet was taken - by the outcast woman who anointed his feet before his death, and by the woman who touched his robe when he wasn’t looking so she would be healed, by the poor and sick who came to him asking to be healed.

The place in Jesus presence was taken by children -- powerless, property of their parents, unable to protect themselves.

We also want to be with Jesus. We want to be near him, to be in the inner circle, to be close, to walk in his presence. Yet those places are taken. What do we do?

The places on Jesus right and left are taken by two criminals being executed. But we can care for the criminals. One woman in the congregation is regularly writing to a young man imprisoned for a violent deed, listening to him, praying for him, offering him the care of Jesus.

This may seem impossibly hard - but we could pray for Alfonso Rodriguez, Jr. who was sentenced to death in North Dakota this last week.

The places at Jesus' feet are taken by the poor, the sick, the outcast. But we can care for the poor, those with no voice, those who are sick.
One man in our congregation is developing a project to link businesses with the unemployed clients of CHUM to mentor them into being good workers.
One woman supports the Program for Victims of Sexual Assault.
One woman volunteers at the Foodshelf.
Some women knit chemo caps and take them to the area hospitals.
Many of you work with the sick to bring them comfort and healing.

The place surrounding Jesus was taken by the children, the ones of whom he said, "Welcome them and you welcome me and the one who sent me."

We can welcome the children.

This church building welcomes about 80 children every weekday, for about 60 hours a week. The University Nursery School has been here for over thirty years, but it is important how we feel about them, how we treat them, how we work with them. We want to welcome families and they walk through our door everyday. So sometimes we have to negotiate the use of our classrooms, sometimes they leave a dirty spoon in our sinks, and certainly the children track sand in here and there, and sometimes we leave a mess for them - but we are providing a welcome to children here, and the community knows it. The community may not be sure where Hope United Methodist is, but they know we host the University Nursery School.

And we welcome the children in our worship, in our programs, in our lives. When we welcome them, we are welcoming Jesus.

Want to be with Jesus? Follow the footprints of the condemned, the lost, the sick; follow the footprints of the children. There you will find him.

Footprints in the Shadow

2006-09-18T13:14:00.000-07:00

15th Sunday of Pentecost, Year B
Mark 8:27-38

This week Time Magazine features an article, “Does God Want You to Be Rich?” It is referring to the Prosperity Gospel, which has been around for awhile but is making a comeback in certain, prosperous, very large churches – including a United Methodist church in led by Rev. Kirbyjon Caldwell.

They quote the Bible as much as any of us, and assert that the Bible says God wants us to do well: to have land, to be prosperous. The Gospel does say: “I come that you may have life and have it abundantly.” Although only a small number of Christians say they follow the Prosperity Gospel, 61% of Christians say: “God wants people to be financially prosperous.”

Mother Teresa, on the other hand, says that we are not to strive to “be successful, but to be faithful.” And John Wesley, founder of the United Methodist Church<>, said, “Whenever I get any money I try to get rid of it as soon as possible.”

People have always struggled with this dichotomy – always. What does God want from us? What does Jesus call us to? What kind of life are we to have, what does it mean to follow Jesus? If we follow Jesus, where will our footprints lead?

The Gospel of Mark has three stories that struggle with this tension; today’s story is first. In Mark 8:31-33: Jesus teaches that the Son of Man – Jesus – will suffer and be killed, and then rise again. Peter responds to this by rebuking him. Jesus names this behavior “Satan.”

In Mark 9:30: Jesus tells the disciples not to talk about his being the Messiah, since they don’t seem to understand what it means yet, and again he teaches them about the suffering that is to come, and then he will rise. Then he asks them what they were discussing as they walked to Capernaum, and they did not want to answer, for the were discussing which one of them was the greatest.

Do you see the pattern yet?

Mark 10: 32 begins by telling us that Jesus took them aside and began to teach them again about what will happen to him in Jerusalem, where they are headed – he will be tortured and killed and then rise again. Just after this James and John ask him to place them on his left and right hands in glory.

Do you see the tension there? Jesus speaks of new life that will come after suffering, after death, after what looks like the greatest defeat, and the disciples keep saying no, thinking of their glory. Three times Jesus tells them what he faces, and three times the disciples are caught up in something else.

So when the maid asks Peter in the garden, after Jesus was arrested, if he knew Jesus, he may not have been lying when he said, “No, I do not know this man you are talking about.” He really didn’t know this Jesus who walked directly into suffering and death, not into glory.

In the Gospel of Mark the footprints of Jesus lead relentlessly and directly to the shadow of the cross. What does that mean for us? If we follow this text, the Gospel of Mark, we might discover that when things go wrong in our lives it isn’t that our faith hasn’t been strong enough. We might learn that whatever we go through, Jesus is not afraid to suffer with us. We might come to the conclusion that there is nowhere we can go where God will not go with us – not even death, since we see Jesus walking right up to the shadow of the cross, and then beyond, past the cross, and the tomb, into new life.

Well, there’s the Gospel of Mark. The proponents of the Prosperity Gospel are right, of course – there are a lot of other books in the Bible. So one other possible way to look at it for you today. I heard Huston Smith yesterday morning – one of my favorite professors from college. At the event someone asked him how to tell a true religion from a false one, a true spirituality from a false spirituality, and he said, “You can tell if it is true if it enlarges our hearts. You can tell it is true if it increases our empathy for other people. You can tell it is true if it leads to love.”

Does your Gospel make your heart bigger, or your wallet? And where does your Gospel lead?

Feet of Faith

2006-09-12T19:21:00.000-07:00

James 2:1-17
14th Sunday of Pentecost B
September 10, 2006

You've all heard the story of the "Footprints in the Sand": One night a man had a dream. He dreamed he was walking along the beach with the LORD. Across the sky flashed scenes from his life. For each scene he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand: one belonging to him, and the other to the LORD. When the last scene of his life flashed before him, he looked back at the footprints in the sand. He noticed that many times along the path of his life there was only one set of footprints. He also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times in his life. This really bothered him and he questioned the LORD about it: "LORD, you said that once I decided to follow you, you'd walk with me all the way. But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life, there is only one set of footprints. I don't understand why when I needed you most you would leave me."
The LORD replied: "My son, my precious child, I love you and I would never leave you. During your times of trial and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you."
When we think of our relationship with Christ as a journey, this is often how we picture it: the companionship, the carrying, the support -- but this isn't the only picture of our life with Jesus.

At our new membership class a few weeks ago the group asked what it meant to be a United Methodist. What is different about United Methodists from everyone else? James is one key to the difference. Martin Luther said that the book of James was straw, worthless, and shouldn't be in the Bible, but for John Wesley, who started the Methodist movement, James was the straw for the bricks of a life of faith.

James is a book that emphasizes how we behave as Christians - what we do. We do not earn God’s favor, we do not earn God’s love, but what we do and how we behave matter. I think of it as a way of responding to God’s love, inviting God to move in and work in us. For United Methodists the walk of faith is not so much Christ walking with us but us walking with Christ. We follow. Our journey is to discern what path Jesus has for us, to sort out where God wants us to go. So our footprints are not just those that have Jesus as a companion, but the ones that have Jesus as a guide.

Now James says one way we do that is how we treat people. James tells us two things. The first is don’t favor the rich over the poor. Don’t give them a better seat and make the poor stand in the back. The second is don’t be indifferent to those who need you. James then goes on to say, "what good does it do if you say you have faith and don’t give them what they need?" What you do matters.

I've had this experience. I met a powerful clergywoman once right after I'd dropped out of seminary. I was introduced to her and when she asked me where I was attending school I said I had just dropped out. She turned around and walked away. Another time I served on a committee with a laywoman. I was twenty six and looked really young. She treated me rudely, thinking I was a youth. When I was introduced to her as "Rev" her behavior changed immediately. I knew something about her!

Have you had this experience, or is it just clergy?

It matters how we behave, and it matters at church. If our floor was sand, and we could see distinctly where our own footprints had been after a morning here, what would the pattern of your footprints be? Where would they go? To whom would they go, and where would they lead?

And where would Jesus footprints be in this place?

We talk about how we behave at church because this is the place we practice living as Jesus calls us; this is the place we practice living in the kingdom of God. We practice walking over to someone who needs our concern, we practice offering the care that we can for one another regardless of what we might receive. Then, when we leave, we take that practice with us and our footprints go right out the door.

I'll tell you a story I may have told you before, but it is so good I want to share it again today. (This is Mike Yaconelli's story.)

A man from church agreed to drive the youth to the nursing home for a worship service. The first month he was in the back with his arms folded as the kids were doing their thing up front. All of a sudden, someone was tugging at his arm. He looked down and here was this old man in a wheelchair. He took hold of the old man's hand and the old man held his hand all during the service. The next month that was repeated. The man in the wheelchair came and held the hand of the deacon. The next month, the next month, and the next month. Then the old man wasn't there. The deacon inquired and he was told, "Oh, he's down the hall, right hand side, third door. He's dying. He's unconscious, but if you want to go down and pray over his body that's alright."

The deacon went and there were tubes and wires hanging out all over the place. The deacon took the man's hand and prayed that God would receive the man, that God would bring this man from this life into the next and give him eternal blessings. As soon as he finished the prayer, the old man squeezed the deacon's hand and the deacon knew that he had been heard. He was so moved by this that tears began to run down his cheeks. He stumbled out of the room and as he did so he bumped into a woman. She said, "He's been waiting for you. He said that he didn't want to die until he had the chance to hold the hand of Jesus one more time."

The deacon was amazed at this. He said, "What do you mean?"

She said, "Well, my father would say that once a month Jesus came to this place. ‘He would take my hand and he would hold my hand for a whole hour. I don't want to die until I have the chance to hold the hand of Jesus one more time.'"

We have feet of faith, hands of faith, whole bodies that live out our faith in the world, so we can be the presence of Christ for someone else. It does matter what we do because we offer the presence of Christ to a world that needs the love of Christ, the hope of Christ, the touch of Christ, and we can share it with them. Our life is a pattern of footprints, but it isn't just Jesus walking nicely alongside us -- Jesus is leading us to places we would never have gone ourselves. Amen.

Wash Your Hands!

2006-09-03T13:51:00.000-07:00

13th Sunday after Pentecost
Mark 7, selected verses

I once worked with a pastor who, every Sunday after church before coffee hour reminded me, “Wash your hands! wash your hands!" Think about it -- we clergy touch nearly everybody in church, and then we go eat cookeis. It makes sense to wash our hands inbetween those things, and we had these darling bathrooms in our offices so it was really easy. Every Sunday after church she would remind me, "Wash your hands!" A month or so after I married Kelly I showed up to work with a cold, much like I have today, and she said, "How did you get a cold?" "Well, Kelly is sick; I think I got it from him." "Wash your hands, wash your hands!" she said.

As a clergy person I take washing my hands seriously. I touch almost all of you on a Sunday morning, but I do wash my hands before cookies. If I have a cold I use something to clean them before I touch the bread for communion. At the hospital I wash my hands before and after every single visit. With soap and water. Everytime. I don't want to give you something, especially when you are sick in the hospital.

As we’ve talked about the possibility of avian flu and how we might prepare we’ve discussed germs, washing hands, touching in church. I’ve heard from some who don’t like to shake hands - maybe you always have a cold, have a suppressed immune system, or arthritis. Some folks don't like the shaking hand we do at the beginning of the service. But greeting each other is so important at the beginning of the service, I think; I think it is part of the character of this congregation. I want to keep that part of the service, but I wish we could be more aware of how we touch each other.

But what if Jesus came to church? Would he wash his hands before greeting all of you? Would he wash his hands before coming to communion? What does it mean that his disciples hands were “defiled?” Ick.

In Jesus culture, you’ve heard this, there was a clear line between clean/unclean. Not dirty or washed, but clean or unclean - a designation more than an actual state. People were unclean if they were menstruating, or for several weeks after giving birth, or for a certain period of time after touching a woman is that state, or someone who was dead, or someone who was sick. They had to be purified, and that required water and a certain ritual. The text today says that this tradition was not just washing hands but also ritually washing cups, pots, and kettles. Other texts tell us that even the couches had to be sprinkled with the special water. Then everything was clean. Then the pure could eat in purity.

Of course people who were sick couldn’t become pure, so they couldn’t eat or cook with any of these people. Women had to be separated quite a bit of the time, too. The poor - they certainly didn’t have access to all this cleanness. This was a strict way of separating people. It's called social distancing, and only the rich and the privileged can do it.

We know this doesn’t apply to us today - we don’t have rituals like this at all. We don’t have different standards of purity, clean or unclean, touchable or untouchable. We don’t have people who are separated from us because they can’t wash, or because they might have germs, or because they don’t have enough money to get clean. We don’t refuse people in church who smell, or haven’t had access to a shower. We wouldn't be worried if someone came to communion smelling bad and reached in and grabbed a big hunk of bread. We aren’t like this at all. What could Jesus be saying to us?

Tony Campolo tells a story -- we heard it when he came to town last January -- of a bum walking down the street in Philadelphia, with a McDonalds cup. He was dirty, he hadn't had a shower and laundry like we offer at CHUM, and he had bits of food in his long beard. He was carrying a coffee cup, and as Campolo walked toward him he said, "Here, take a sip of my coffee." Campolo cringed, but he took a small sip and said thank you, then, "Why did you want to share it?" "Because it's so good. It's particularly good, and when you have something particularly good you want to share it!" Campolo thought he was really being set up, and he almost reached for his wallet, but he said, "What do you want from me?" thinking, here goes five bucks. The man spread his arms out wide. "A hug!'

I don’t think Jesus would be opposed to washing your hands so you don’t get sick - he did heal people, after all; he seemed interested in health. I bet Jesus would wash his hands when given the opportunity. But Jesus is talking about the kind of behavior, the things of the heart, that make us not want to hug that man on the street. The rituals of clean and unclean worked to separate people, they built walls around people, they kept people from eating together, they put distance between people. That's what Jesus was against, anything that separates me, especially me as pure and clean and better, from you, especially if "you" are not clean and pure and better. wouldn’t keep people away from the table with ritual. Jesus wouldn’t let illness, dirtiness, or who you recently touched keep you away from his table. Jesus wouldn't let the mess of your life keep you away from his table. Jesus wouldn't let poverty or social standing keep you away from his table.

It isn’t what goes in to you that makes you pure in the eyes of God. It isn’t whether your food is organic, whether your water is bottled, whether you have antibiotic soap and antibacterially clean countertops that will win you acceptance in Jesus’ circle. It isn't how clean your hands are. It is what is in your heart. It is what you say. It is how you act. It is what comes out of you, and the way you connect with the people around you.

Go wash your hands if you want, its okay. But open your hearts. Open them wide. Open them to the people all around you. That's what you need to come to Jesus' table.

Gear Up

2006-08-27T19:32:00.000-07:00

Ephesians 6:13-20
12th Pentecost B

Batman is the most interesting superhero, partly because he doesn’t have superpowers. He has courage, and some well honed skills, but mostly what he has is some great gear. In Batman Begins we see him put his gear together from military equipment the research and development section of Wayne Enterprises put together. He has his modified Nomax suit, painted black, and then the memory fabric to make his wings. It isn’t magic that makes him what he is - it’s the batsuit.

We have wonderful kinds of gear available to us to help us do things we couldn’t normally do. People can now dive into the glaciers of Antarctica because of wetsuits and diving equipment, although it is still terribly cold and very dangerous. People can walk on the moon with the right gear. Environmental suits help in toxic situations.

We everyday people have gear that protects us as we do the things we do: waterproof hiking boots, breathable waterproof jackets, and neoprene gloves to help with northern MN outdoor adventures; SPF lotion for the sun; biking helmets, football pads, rollerblading wristguards, hockey helmets.

Good gear has not always been available to common people, but protective gear has long been available to certain soldiers. The armor that is alluded to in today’s scripture is the Roman armor that the people of the early Church, in the Roman Empire, were very familiar with and probably quite frightened of. The armor consisted of a helmet, a breastplate, a belt, foot coverings. Except for the sword these are all defensive weapons that are mentioned. They are to protect the soldier in his work.

The writer of Ephesians is not telling the people to get armor, and they wouldn’t be able to. He is not saying that the people of the church must have equal weapons or equal defenses to be all right. He is telling the people of Ephesus that there is another whole level of protection that is available to them that is far more important than the armor that they see on the soldiers. He describes this as putting on the armor of the Romans as a way to make his point - that armor isn’t that powerful. There is something that is far more powerful than metal. You have that available to you. This is not a militaristic reading - the violence is undermined and subverted. The writer of Ephesians takes the church to a whole new place.

They are to put on God. They are to put on God in truth, in righteousness, in peace, in faith, in salvation, in the Spirit, in the word. These are not physical weapons but elements of protection. These do not protect the body from swords but protect something much more important - the spirit, the soul. The Christians are urged to put on the presence of God, to put on Christ, one piece at a time, with all the ways they can, to protect that which is most precious, to protect what the Roman soldiers cannot destroy.

We do not have soldiers coming after us this morning, so the text doesn’t have the same punch. But we too have souls to protect; we too have spirits that need to be cared for. We live in a world of fear, and that is a danger to our spirits. We live in a world fraught with meaninglessness, and that is a danger to our being. So we too are invited to put on Christ, to put on the protection of God.

We do this through our spiritual lives, our practices of faith. Bishop Dyck has laid out a practical way we can put on Christ through a spiritual pyramid. She lists activities, practices -- reading the Bible and daily prayer, worship, service, church work, retreats -- that we can participate in that will build up our strength, help us put on Christ.

Here at Hope we have a Covenant Discip leship group and we will be inviting you to join new groups this fall. In Covenant Discipleship we meet weekly to discuss ways in which we put on Christ as we talk about our spiritual practices of acts of compassion, acts of justice, worship and devotion. We support one another and hold one another accountable to the ways we put this stuff on in our daily life, the way we use it.

In Eugene Peterson's The Message he interprets part of this reading of Ephesians this way: “Truth, righteousness, peace, faith, and salvation are more than words.
Learn how to apply them. You’ll need them throughout your life.”

We aren’t superheroes. We don't have superpowers. We aren't soldiers. We don't have super strength. We don’t need to be. We’ve got great gear. We just need to put it on.

Never Obsolete God

2006-08-20T19:32:00.000-07:00

11th Sunday after Pentecost
Psalm 111
From Eugene Peterson's translation of Psalm 111, especially verse 8: "He (God) manufactures truth and justice, all his products are guaranteed to last -- never out of date, never obsolete, rust-proof. All that he makes is honest and true."

I saw the King Tut exhibit last week. The things in the King Tut exhibit have survived for about 3700 years – things he was expected to need for eternity: furniture, jewelry, figurines of slaves, even games. Even some of his body still remains. It’s amazing they survived grave robbers and the excavation and travels, but they probably will survive several hundred years more at this rate.

I grew up in a family that loved antiques – my grandmother was an antique dealer – so I was surrounded by old, useful things that had become special and protected. Grandma had a collection of salts – little crystal containers with tiny spoons that held salt. You spooned out your salt. Salt shakers made them obsolete. I have books over a hundred years old – they don’t smell so good, but I treasure them. I have a buffet for my dining room that was my great-great grandfathers. I never knew him, but I have his furniture. We have an architect’s table from Kelly’s great-great grandfather. I wear jewelry made for women generations ago that I never met. My bedroom set is from Ethel Olson, a woman who lived down the street from me when I was growing up – it is from the 50s. I still have one of the hand-painted lamps that was original to the set.

Most things we have these days aren’t going to last that long. I asked on my blog what things we use that don’t last as long as they used to, and what things we used to use that are now obsolete. Several people wrote about watches – pocket watches; cheap watches; wind-up watches.
Others items that are obsolete: slide rules; manual typewriters; mercury thermometers
spats; sock darners; rotary phones; fountain pens; quill & ink wells; Russia
We might like to create something that will last forever, we might want to make a mark – but we can’t even make something that will last very long, in the scheme of things. Even the oldest rocks on the earth will eventually break up and become sand and dust. Eventually the sun will blow up and the earth will die, if an asteroid doesn’t hit us first. This is not a permanent situation here. There is nothing eternal about this earth. Our home is not forever and ever. The thing we have created that will probably last the longest is the radioactive waste from nuclear energy – some isotopes will be radioactive longer than 100,000 years. Even King Tut’s things won’t make it that long.

The King Tut exhibit said several times that one thing Tutankhamen desired was eternal life, immortality. The people of that culture did an awful lot – awful, and lot – to ensure the best eternal life they could. The exhibit said several times that Tut is now immortal as he comes to life when we speak his name.

We want to live forever. We want to make an impact that will last forever. We want the things we have loved to last into eternity. But really, taking the long view, what will last forever? This species, that species, our names and histories, our art, our work, this piece of land, the earth, the sun – all will, one day, be gone.

But God – God will not wear out. God will not succumb to the slow decay or the violent blast. God will not slip away into nothingness. God does not become obsolete as fashions change. God holds the foundations of time itself, and God holds us. So even if our names will not last past the end of the earth, in God’s mind and heart we will last, we will continue, in some way.

I kind of miss having household things that I know will last my lifetime. I’m a little sorry about the planned obsolescence of things. But I don’t need to be anxious about my legacy, or that people must remember me so I can be immortal, or that I need to be buried with things that will preserve me for thousands of years – the God I know is never obsolete.

So we should take care of the things we have and buy, we should be wise about what we do with our stuff, and we should care for our legacy and most especially our children well. But the real difference we make is when we love one another, when we work for justice, when we open our hearts to others -- then we are participating in eternity, then we are part of God's work, then we truly escape the bounds of time.

My Bad

2006-08-06T14:37:00.000-07:00

9th Sunday of Pentecost
Psalm 51:1-17

When we were kids and my sisters and I fought usually Missy was the instigator and eventually Mom would intervene and then tell Missy to apologize. Missy would refuse, and then Mom would say, "Apologize." Then she’d cross her arms and spit out,“Sorry.” Then Mom would say, “Say it like you mean it.”

I heard Paul Slansky on MPR a few weeks ago. He and Arleen Slorkin wrote a book called My Bad, a book about public apologies. They follow the trend in our culture of public apologies being less about saying, “Sorry” and more like, “If you were offended by what I did then I apologize.” It is a conditional apology meant to put the weight of the issue back on the person offended. "If you are wimpy and sensitive enough to be upset by what I did them I apologize." Takes the steam out of an apology, doesn't it? You can be offended twice, this way. He also has a blog listing recent apologies, most currently Mel Gibson’s after he was arrested for drunk driving.

The radio program also talked about the finer details of apologies. First, we want the person to feel bad. We want remorse, we want pain, we want guilt. Unfortunately, we can’t control how someone feels. We can go by what they do as we make judgments, or by how well they seem to have heard us, but we can’t make someone feel different.

Secondly, we want assurance that the person won’t do the offending thing again. An apology loses its value if, say, someone apologizes for stepping on your foot and then they turn around and stomp on it again. We want a change in behavior accompanying the apology.

When we are apologizing to God, however, it’s a little different. We see this in the Psalm today. This one is historically understood as the Psalm David wrote after being caught in his affair with Bathsheba and the killing of her husband Uriah. It's heading in the Bible reads, “A Psalm of David, when the prophet Nathan came to him, after he had gone in to Bathsheba."

When apologizing to God, asking forgiveness, confessing our sin, it sort of does matter how we feel, since unlike other people God can tell. The language of the Psalm shows us this -- "my sin is ever before you" and "you are justified in your sentence...indeed, I was born guilty." We might say this apology is overdone these days, but we get the full expression of David's guilt and the weight of his actions as he asks God for help and mercy in the midst of the trauma of it.

In the Christian tradition we apologize and ask for forgiveness as a matter of course, to make right anything we might have messed up. Traditionally worship has included a prayer of confession every Sunday, just to cover that part. I'm not the only clergy that doesn't include a specific prayer of confession every week, but I include it especially on Communion Sunday, to help prepare us for Communion, although you can come to the table and ask to be changed here. God can work on you in Communion too. But we do ask forgiveness every week anyway, everytime we pray the Lord’s Prayer: "forgive me my trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." Forgiveness and mercy, every week, every day we pray Jesus' prayer.

But just like with apologies from the people in our lives, changing behavior is an important part of apologizing to God. We don't just say, "Give me a clean slate so I can mess up again." David asks God to “create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me.” He is taking his heart and offering it to God, saying, “Change it. Change me. Transform me. Make be better.”

The hardest part, really, is the asking to change. The newspaper (can't find it online yet) had an article this morning asking if, when people are drunk and do despicable things, is it really them or the alcohol speaking. Evidence says its them - their inhibitions were down but what they say was in them. What they said came out of their mouth -- like Jesus said, "It's not what you put in your mouth that defiles you but what comes out of it." So when we pray, "Create in me a clean heart" we are not asking for better control of what we say, better management of how we present ourselves to the world. We are asking for a change in what is on our minds and in our hearts. We are asking for the stuff inside us to be changed. We aren’t asking for a heart transplant, really, a different heart than the one we’ve always had but instead to be shaped so we have the heart God meant us to have, so we have the heart God dreamed us to have.

And finally David asks God to stay with him, not to abandon him, even as he faces the consequences of his behavior. "Take not your holy Spirit from me, and cast me not away from your presence." In the mess he has to face, even after his apology, David needs God with him. As he works to be changed, he needs God with him.

So we can say, “My bad,” or we can say “My heart, change it” but in the end we must say, “My God, stay with me through this.”

Living Stories Part Two

2006-07-30T13:45:00.000-07:00

John 6:24-35

I have a friend I’ve known my whole life. When we were children he developed cancer and received treatment for it. But he was over-radiated, which led to all sort of things. In high school he had to wear a back brace. A few years ago he started having heart trouble because the radiation had damaged his heart muscle. He then got married, but the marriage lasted only a few months. A few months ago they discovered cancer, again probably damage from the radiation. He is home in hospice care now.

I have a friend I’ve known my whole life. He was born into a loving and faith-filled family, the child of missionaries. He’s always been aware of the issues of justice and has always known how rich his life is. He played tennis in high school, was active in his youth group, and went to college where he developed many life long friendships. He became a teacher and loved mentoring students. He became active in caring for immigrants in his community. He is dying now, but he is surrounded by his family and friends and his faith community. He says he is blessed, he’s had a good life.

Same man. Same friend. The same story told in different ways.

The story of Jesus is one that is told in many different ways. Each Gospel presents his life with different details, different emphases. I mentioned a few weeks ago about what Matthew Mark and Luke are like - they are the most similar. The Gospel of John, though, has a different emphasis. It is quite different - doesn’t follow the same pattern of the others at all. John is the only Gospel in our Bible to say that Jesus is divine. That is a surprise - but Matthew, Mark and Luke don’t say it. They call Jesus Son of God, which is like how we say Child of God. John, however, is clear about Jesus identity - I am the Way, I am the Bread of Life, I am the Living Water.

Actually, there are several Gospels that the early church had that aren’t included in our Bible. The Gospel of Mary (Magdalene), The Gospel of Peter, The Gospel of Philip, The Gospel of Judas, and the Gospel of Thomas are some. Instead of being Lutheran or Catholic churches sometimes identified themselves as being followers of Thomas, or of Paul, or of John. We can see hints of this in some verses, and some competition between the different leaders.

This was during a very traumatic time for the church. The Christians were hunted and killed, martyred, for a long time. The movement grew anyway, but it was a dangerous time. One leader, Ireneaus, wanted to bring unity to the church - a common desire in times of crisis - and he was concerned about churches following different Gospels. So he put together the “fourfold Gospel,” the four we have today. Competition was especially strong between the Gospel of John and the Gospel of Thomas, so Ireneaus ordered all other Gospels destroyed, especially the Gospel of Thomas. And most of them were, except a group of errant priests took their holy texts and put them in a jar and buried them in the Egyptian desert at Nag Hammadi where they were found just a few decades ago.

I find this all very interesting. It raises some questions, too. One guy decided how many Gospels we should have hundreds of years later? Committees later approved the four Gospels, but that doesn’t make me feel too much better. Did he pick the right ones? Doesn’t this sound kind of political? Why is John so different? What did he know that the other writers didn’t? Do we have the picture of Jesus we need to have in our texts? What does this do to our faith?

I have a few thoughts about this. The church has lived with these Gospels for centuries. We have been shaped by them, by the way they work together as much as by what they are alone. Most of us can hardly tell which Gospel is which, they are all of one piece in some ways. And there’s Paul’s letters, and the other letters too, which fill out our scripture about Jesus. Jesus promised - in the Gospel of John, of course -- that the Spirit would come to us and help us in our interpretation of things. That is some comfort.

I was a Jurisdictional delegate twice, where I went to elect Bishops for the United Methodist Church. One of the elder clergy said to us early on, “You will be shocked by how political this process is. But don’t fool yourself: God works in politics too.”

Back to my friend. I visited him a few weeks ago and he told me how blessed he felt in his life. "I'm so blessed," he said. I've thought about this since then, and I think the reason he can say this must be because of his faith. He has read his story through the lens of the Jesus story. Because his story is seen in the context of Jesus’ story, his own story is changed. He has grown up knowing that God is present in suffering, that in Christ there is new life, and that death is not the end of things. Reading his story through the Christ story he can say, in spite of everything, "I am blessed."

However this book got put together, it works in incredible ways. The brilliance of Ireneaus’ plan is to have four Gospels, four different Gospels that each give us a different picture of Jesus. The Jesus we know is not the Jesus of just one book, but of many. The Jesus we know is made up of all the Gospels running together, and Paul too, and of the space between them. The story of Jesus is a living story, and when the story of our lives encounters it our own story is changed, rewritten, retold into a story of blessing, of walking with God, and of new life. Amen.

Here are some additional readings that I included in our Weekly Meditations this week:

The implicit connection between the feeding of the five thousand and the exodus story is made explicit in John. In his discourse, John explicitly refers to Israel’s ancestors being fed with many in the wilderness. But John’s point is not simply similarity to the exodus; he also emphasizes contrast. While Jesus “gives life to the world” as “the bread of life,” the manna of the exodus did not give life: “Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died.” What Moses gave them was not the true bread from heaven. But Jesus is “the true bread” and “the living bread,” and “whoever eats of this bread will live forever.”

Thus in John the point is not really that Jesus now feeds people in the wilderness as God did in the exodus story. The point, rather, is that Jesus provides that which was not provided in the time of the exodus: living bread. - Marcus Borg, Reading the Bible Again for the First Time

“(The Gospel of John’s) Jesus does not offer ethical and apolcalyptic teachings as he does in Mark, Matthew and Luke; he delivers no “sermon on the mount,” no parables teaching how to act, no predictions of the end of time. Instead, in John’s gospel - and only in this gospel - Jesus continually proclaims his divine identity, speaking in what New Testament scholars call the “I am” sayings: “I am the way; I am the truth; I am the light; I am the vine; I am the water of life” - all metaphors for the divine source that alone fulfills our deepest needs. What John’s Jesus does require of his disciples is that they believe: “You believe in God; believe also in me.” …
The spiritual life received in baptism requires supernatural nourishment; so, John’s Jesus declares, “unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day, for my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink.” Jesus offers access to eternal life, shared when those who believe join together to participate in the sacred meal of bread and wine that celebrates Jesus’ death and resurrection. - Elaine Pagels, Beyond Belief

A Kid's Lunch

2006-07-23T14:26:00.000-07:00

John 6:1-14
July 23, 2006
(We had worship outdoors today, and passed out baskets of smoked fish and pieces of bread during the scripture reading and sermon. We had some leftover.)

There are many kinds of miracle stories in the Gospels - healings, walking on water, turningn water into wine, and the feeding of the 5,000. This is the only miracle story to be found in all four Gospels - some details vary a bit, but this story appears in all 4.

This version is a bit more detailed - in Matthew, Mark and Luke the disciples say, “How are we going to feed everyone?” Jesus says, go find what you have. Then we have John, where Jesus asks Philip how they are going to feed everyone, to test him. (Notice all through the book of John Jesus says things but the writer reminds you that Jesus knew what was going on and only said things to heighten the drama.) The disciples all come up with the same amount of food - 5 loaves and 2 fish. In John, however, they are from a boy, a lad. They are described as barley loaves, buns, really, and of a poor person -- the poor ate barley and the rich could afford wheat.

Then, with these meager resources, Jesus blesses the food and gives it to them -- sounds like communion, doesn't it? -- and feeds 5000 men, plus those who were with them. And they were full; they were satisfied. And there were leftovers.

We know from many of the miracle stories that Jesus doesn’t work in a vacuum. When Jesus went home (in Mark) he could work no healings because the people there didn't believe in him. He doesn’t, or can't, heal people who have no faith at all. The person themselves, a friend, someone has to believe for the healings to work. Jesus needed raw material to work miracles -- water, faith, a kid's lunch will do.

We have a Covenant Discipleship group at church that meets weekly to offer support and accountability as we try to live out a covenant we made last year. One of the most difficult parts of our Covenant group’s daily practice is to pray for forgiveness for our part of those who starve each day. It is so hard to live with that daily reminder when we are surrounded by good food, and are worried about eating too much food, or just the right kind of food. We all worry, at some level, about the hungry of the world, especially children. We pray, “Lord, feed the hungry of our world.” We pray, “Lord, bless our food, and help the hungry of the world.”

But Jesus needs some raw material to work with. Jesus needs a starter loaf, a crop, a mustard seed’s worth of something. I’m reading a book about hunger by Don Messer, Bob Dole and George McGovern - Ending Hunger Now. It suggests three actions by the Christian to help the world hunger situation: make a commitment to become personally involved; link that personal involvement to your spiritual life by, perhaps, prayer and fasting; and then participate in one of the faith based organizations working to end hunger. Like our work with CHUM, or Heifer Project, UMCOR, or Advance Specials. In other words, do something about it. Give Jesus a little raw material to work with.
We pray, "Jesus, feed the children."
Jesus says, "What have you got? Bring it to me."

I've been at Hope for three years now. It’s been delightful to watch this church gain strength and stability the last few years. That first year was hard -- when I returned from maternity leave we cut the budget, began a building project, found out we had a unbudgeted roof to fix and a new fire alarm system to put in. I wondered how we would gain financial stability. But we have. We have done all right. The congregation gave, a kids lunch at a time.
And when we have ministry that needs to be done, pretty much someone steps up to do it. We could use an extra Sunday School teacher or two right now, but pretty much we have gotten what we've needed. You've given a bit of yourselves to the church.

We say, "Jesus, we’d like the miracle of having our financial problems solved, we’d like the miracle of having a thriving church."
Jesus says, "What do you have? Bring it to me."

We long for miracles in our own lives as well. We long for peace, for love, for security, for health. We long for safety for our children. We long for meaning in our lives. We long for a reason to get up, we long for a community where we can belong.
We pray, "Jesus, make us whole. Jesus, fill us."
And Jesus says, “What do you have among you? Bring it here to me.”

Living Stories

2006-07-16T13:12:00.000-07:00

July 16, 2006
Mark 11:27-33

I tried not to major in Religion when I went to college. I knew I wanted to go to seminary, but I thought I would major in English and leave the religion for later. But I took a class my first semester, and then another, and soon I had a religion major. I took several classes from one professor: Tim Polk. Two were Biblical Studies classes - Old Testament and then Gospels. I sat next to Andrew from the Two Harbors church in both those classes; he is pastor of Simpson UMC today. In the Gospels class, several weeks in we looked at each other and said, “Well, we’ve looked at the Gospel of Mark. When do you suppose we are going to get to the other three?” A few weeks after that we said, “Do you suppose we are going to get through all four Gospels or just two?” A few weeks after that we said, “Well, looks like it’s the Gospel of Mark.” Professor Polk should have named the class, “My Favorite Gospel.”

He has a point: Mark is interesting. It is the first Gospel, the earliest one we have. It is the shortest - there is no story of Jesus birth or childhood, and not much about Easter even. It is very focused: sixteen chapters, from when Jesus started ministry to when the tomb was found empty.
Mark is also the basis for Luke and Matthew. Matthew, Mark and Luke are called the “Synpoptic” Gospels because they are so similar, it is like seeing them together. Look at the story for today: the three versions in all three Gospels are nearly identical. That’s because Matthew and Luke, writing ten or fifteen years later than Mark, had a copy of the Gospel of Mark with them when they wrote their own Gospels. So Matthew and Luke follow Mark’s storyline, the progression of Jesus work from the inauguration of his ministry until Easter morning.

Matthew and Luke, interestingly, also used another text when they wrote their books, “Q”, from the German word “Quell” or Source. Take Matthew and Luke and lay them side by side. Subtract Mark, subtract everything else that is different, and you have Q, the sayings of Jesus. (Think sermon on the mount, the light under the bushel basket, the parables.)

But still, Matthew and Luke are different from one another. Matthew is shaped to remind the reader of the Hebrew Scripture - five sections, a sermon on the Mount, Joseph leading the people into and out of Egypt - Jesus is a new Moses in this book. It is also more spiritual: blessed are the poor in spirit. When you pray, go pray in secret.

And Luke - he is more a social gospel, the favorite in places like CHUM - blessed are the poor, Mary’s magnificat with its song about the poor being raised up.
They are so similar, yet so different. Which one is right? Which one is most accurate? Which one tells us really who was at the tomb, who was at the cross, where was Jesus born?

The chief priests, scribes and elders asked Jesus where he got his authority. They shared some bantering, and then Jesus told them, Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things.

As I studied the Bible in college and seminary I grew to love it more and more, but I had more and more questions too. Like which Gospel was right, which one was best, what did Jesus really do and say. Who wrote these Gospels, and who picked these four? Why four? Why these?
I’m grateful to be in a tradition that supports questions. John Wesley said, “Work out your salvation in fear and trembling.” This is a rich and complex statement, but I’ve always understood it to mean partly that I need to take responsibility for what I believe, and think about it, and struggle with it, and ask questions.
And I’m grateful that we have more than one Gospel. If we had one we would be tempted to say, “This is exactly what happened.” But we can’t say that because they don’t always agree. There are too many discrepancies to simply say, “This is the way it was.” With four Gospels - we haven’t even talked about John yet, that’s in a few weeks - we have possibilities, questions, intriguing spaces between the details.
So for years my faith life was like Jacob wrestling with the angels, only I was wrestling with questions. Who are you, Jesus?

The chief priests, scribes and elders asked Jesus where he got his authority. Jesus told them, Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things.

Eventually my spiritual life took a turn, and I did more than wrestle. I began to pray differently, and instead of questions and a shopping list I came to God in silence. I started listening more. And a surprising thing happened as my faith life grew richer - I still had questions, I didn’t have many answers, but the urgency of them changed. Jesus became real to me. Jesus walked off the pages of the books and into my heart. Jesus, the living Jesus whom the disciples knew in a new way after Easter, doesn’t abandon us to dusty old words, but brings them to life.

If these books were history books, we’d be in trouble. If these books were scientific or sociological or even theological books, we’d be in trouble. If these books were biographies, we’d be in trouble. But they aren’t - they are Gospels, Good News, living stories. We read them in our devotions, we read them with prayer, we read them in worship, we hear them preached, we read our own lives in their light and shadows..

The chief priests, scribes and elders asked Jesus where he got his authority. Jesus told them, Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things.

They are living stories, and the living presence of Christ enters into us as we engage these stories. Jesus authority comes from his presence in our heart; he needs no other. Amen.

Readings for this sermon:
Again they came to Jerusalem. As he was walking in the temple, the chief priests, the scribes, and the elders came to him and said, "By what authority are you doing these things? Who gave you this authority to do them?" Jesus said to them, "I will ask you one question; answer me, and I will tell you by what authority I do these things. Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin? Answer me." They argued with one another, "If we say, 'From heaven,' he will say, 'Why then did you not believe him?' But shall we say, 'Of human origin'?"--they were afraid of the crowd, for all regarded John as truly a prophet. So they answered Jesus, "We do not know." And Jesus said to them, "Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things." -- Mark 11:27-33 (NRSV)

When he entered the temple, the chief priests and the elders of the people came to him as he was teaching, and said, "By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?" Jesus said to them, "I will also ask you one question; if you tell me the answer, then I will also tell you by what authority I do these things. Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin?" And they argued with one another, "If we say, 'From heaven,' he will say to us, 'Why then did you not believe him?' But if we say, 'Of human origin,' we are afraid of the crowd; for all regard John as a prophet." So they answered Jesus, "We do not know." And he said to them, "Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things. -- Matthew 21:23-27 (NRSV)

One day, as he was teaching the people in the temple and telling the good news, the chief priests and the scribes came with the elders and said to him, "Tell us, by what authority are you doing these things? Who is it who gave you this authority?" He answered them, "I will also ask you a question, and you tell me: Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin?" They discussed it with one another, saying, "If we say, 'From heaven,' he will say, 'Why did you not believe him?' But if we say, 'Of human origin,' all the people will stone us; for they are convinced that John was a prophet." So they answered that they did not know where it came from. Then Jesus said to them, "Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things." -- Luke 20:1-8 (NRSV)

(Matthew, Mark and Luke) are known as “the synoptics” because they are similar enough to be seen together (as the root of the word “synoptic” suggests). The reason for their similarity: they have written sources in common. Matthew and Luke both used the gospel of Mark, incorporating most of Mark’s material as well as his narrative structure of the public activity of Jesus…Matthew and Luke also used an early collection of Jesus’ teachings known as “Q.” - Marcus J. Borg, Reading the Bible Again for the First Time

Who Knows?

2006-07-09T13:59:00.000-07:00

July 9, 2006
5th Sunday of Pentecost B
Mark 6:1-13

I read this story early this week:
One day an old Chinese farmer’s horse escaped into the ills and when all the farmers neighbors sympathized with the old man over his bad luck, the farmer replied, Bad luck? Who knows? A week later the horse returned with a herd of wild horses from the hills and this time the neighbors congratulated the farmer on his good luck. His reply was, Good luck? Bad luck? Who knows? Then, when the farmers son was attempting to tame one of the wild horses, he fell off its back and broke his leg. Everyone thought this very bad luck. Not the farmer, whose only reaction was, Bad luck? Good luck? Who knows? Some weeks later the army marched into the village and conscripted every able-bodied youth they found there. When they saw the farmers son with his broken leg they let him off. Now was that good luck? Bad luck? Who knows?

What I like about this story is that the man stood back a little before deciding what was what. He seemed to know there might be a bigger picture than the one he could currently see. He knew he maybe didn’t have all the information he needed.
This Chinese farmer has been sitting beside me this week as I've read the texts for today, sitting next to me, prodding me with his peculiar wisdom. In today’s story Jesus goes to his home town, enters the synagogue and begins to speak. At first the people are proud of him - doesn't he sound smart? But then their comments quickly shift and they try to put him in his place - isn’t this the carpenter (tekton, which actually means builder, and might mean stone worker), isn’t he Mary’s son? (this is actually a bit of an insult, and he is pointedly not called Joseph's son. In fact, Joseph is not mentioned anywhere in Mark.) In other words, isn’t he getting above his raising spouting off like this? They are so negative he can’t do anything there, although just before this he healed people if they touched his clothes.

We know about this dynamic - we are proud of our children and proud of what they do, although we certainly know what it is they should do. Small towns, communities, neighborhoods, extended families get uncomfortable if the children come home too smart, too different - are they suggesting something is wrong with the way we live our lives? If only that Chinese farmer had been there to say, "Carpenter, prophet, Who knows?" But he wasn't there that day.

Fresh off this experience Jesus sends out his twelve, carrying almost nothing, to teach and heal in various communities. He gives them explicit instructions about how to find a house and stay there, and also about how to leave if necessary. These instructions about shaking the dust off their feet are harsher than we naturally think: it is a sharp sign against them, some say a curse. And when they find places of faith, great things happen, and the disciples are able to heal.

My clergy group discussed this at length this week: do we as Jesus followers’ shake the dust off our feet when our sharing of the message isn’t received? Do we judge others? Is this an easy excuse for us if we don’t want to try anything new, or if people don’t come to our church? (Just shake the dust off. Don’t worry about them.) There is a sense of letting go here, of offering healing and teaching knowing that we cannot control the outcome. We are responsible for being obedient, but the results are God’s. We leave the results to God. Good or bad, who knows? Something larger is at work here than we ourselves.

This Chinese farmer has been bugging me this week, his careful “who knows?” It isn’t a Minnesotan “whatever” but a thoughtful response that suggests that maybe we shouldn’t be so smug about everything. Thinking about him, reading these stories, has pushed me to yet another way of looking at these stories?

Are we sure we know who we are in these two stories? Clergy always think of themselves as the messengers sent out by Jesus, the ones speaking in the synagogue. Is that how you hear them too? Are we the followers of Jesus, the ones full of faith who know so well what Jesus can really do?

Or might we be the folks in the synagogue who think they know this Jesus, who've known him their whole lives, who think they know just what he has to offer, and who aren’t going to be told something new about what God is doing?

Might we be the folks in those towns who don’t welcome the disciples, those new messengers, who have the dust shaken off at us, who think this new way of understanding God is not right, the way we grew up is just fine, thank you very much?

Can we be so sure we know which part we play in these stories? Who knows?

God knows. And we trust that God works in all of it - in what we offer, in what we hear, in how we meet Jesus, in how we offer healing or shut our doors. God’s work never comes to the point where we can say - well; that’s it. It’s all done. That’s over. No. It is always: Who knows? God knows. Amen.

Distractions on the Way

2006-07-02T10:42:00.000-07:00

July 2, 2006
4th Sunday of Pentecost B
Mark 5:21-43

A priest was walking down a nice neighborhood of old homes on his way to making a pastoral call on an elderly woman who was planning to make a gift to the parish. It was a beautiful day, and as he walked along he saw a young boy on the top of the steps of a house jumping up and down trying to ring the doorbell. He was in a bit of a hurry, but he stopped and went up the steps, put his hand on the boys shoulder and leaned over to ring the doorbell. “Now son,” he said, smiling, “what happens next?” The little boy, looking surprised, said, “We run like hell.”
The priest got distracted on his way somewhere else.

If you want to be successful you know you are supposed to remove distractions from your path. Clear your desk, don’t check email all day long, turn off the phone. Don’t wander into side topics, don’t let people draw away your energy. Keep focused. No distractions.

Yet I suspect there is something interesting about this idea, distraction, the thing that happens on the way to somewhere else. I asked on my blog if people knew of movies where people were on their way to one place and ended up in another. The new Superman, Elizabethtown, Garden State, Walk in the Clouds…there are quite a few stories involving distractions: the hero is going about his or her life and something happens to distract them from their plan, their path: and then everything is different. It seems to be part of making a good story -- someone thinks they are going one way, then something happens to interrupt them.They got distracted.

So did Jesus. He was on his way to heal Jairus’ daughter when this other woman, who had been sick for twelve years, grabbed his cloak. He stopped to see who it was; his disciples urged him on. Delaying would not help the little girl; they were in a hurry. Who touched me, he said. How could you possibly tell, look at this crowd, the disciples replied. But Jesus stopped, and the woman came forward and told him the whole truth, and he spoke to her gently. “Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”

But it was too late - while Jesus spoke the woman, saying she would live, others came to tell them Jairus’ daughter had died. It’s not the only time Jesus was too late to heal someone while they were still alive…But Jesus went on, and came to the girl, who was twelve years old, and with a word he raised her. Jesus got distracted, yes. But in the end, two daughters were healed.

Sometimes, God works in the distractions.

In fact, sometimes, for those of us who aren’t Jesus, it seems God prefers to work through the distractions. Maybe we don’t get it right the first time, and we need that knock on the head, the detour, the unforeseen path.
Like Moses, who was distracted while herding sheep on the mountain.
Like the people of Israel, who got distracted in the wilderness.
Like Jonah, who was trying to go the other direction. He got distracted by a whale.
Like Peter, who got distracted from his fishing.
Like Paul, on the road to Damascus. He was going to persecute the Jews. He met Jesus. He got distracted.
Sometimes God works in the distractions.

As a young pastor I was told to watch for the distractions, for they were holy. I was told that, hard as I was working on my to-do list, and important as that was - the one who came in my door to interrupt me just might Christ at the door.

We forget that every daughter is a child of God, every son. We forget that every moment is a gift from God. We forget that the presence of Christ is deep within each person we meet. We forget that in the end, it isn’t just where we got to but who we touched along the way. We forget, but God remembers. And God will find a way to remind us. So we get distracted, and then we find ourselves in the right place at the right time after all, just where God meant us to be.

(Painting is by Corinne Vonaesch, Femme touchant Jésus, 2001)

Got Peace?

2006-06-25T11:59:00.000-07:00

6.25.06
3rd Sunday of Pentecost Year B
Mark 4:35-41

I’ve been overseas two times in my life. I’d like to go to Ireland, or France sometime, but I always go to places that are experiencing a lot of violence. I was in Israel the summer of 1986 for one month; everyone my age had a machine gun and was wearing green. There were barbed wire fences everywhere, and the F-150s practiced exercises overhead while we worked on the archaeological dig.

I went to Colombia the spring of 2000 - soldiers were everywhere with machine guns -- the grocery store, the mall, the streets where we stayed.

It was so nice to come home to St. Paul where people don’t wear guns out in the open. We live in a land of peace. Except all though those conflicts are still happening, and we still send soldiers and money to fund peacekeeping efforts and wars around the world. And even if it isn’t on my doorstep, violence anywhere in the world affects me. Affects us.

Got peace?

Jesus said, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

Like I said, it is nice to come home to Minnesota. To walk the streets and not see guns, to live in relative safety. Especially in Duluth.

And yet, even here violence happens…a man in West Duluth was beaten to death walking home a few weeks ago. Homeless people are beaten, innocent children are shot, and violence happens inside people’s houses that we never hear of.

Got peace?
Jesus said, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

But we can draw the circle tighter, and look at just our lives. That is safer. We have more control that way. We can choose where to live, who to talk to, where to work. We can take care of ourselves and then we’ll be safe. We’ll have peace.

Except tragedies come into our lives. Our loved ones die, we get cancer, someone’s using drugs or alcohol too much, we get depression, we lose our job.

Got peace?
Jesus said, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

Drawing the circle closer doesn’t work, drawing it wider doesn’t work. We have to go higher, and deeper, to find real peace.

Look at Jesus in today's story. Jesus was in the boat, sleeping, during a storm, with the disciples getting more and more frantic, and then they wake him up. "Teacher, don't you care that we are perishing?" "Jesus, you saved all those other people; are you going to let us die out here?" "Jesus, how can you sleep through this? We're going to drown?" Then he stands up and says (holding out his hand, we imagine), "Peace. Be still." He didn’t actually say, “Peace, be still,” though. He said, “Silence! Be muzzled." In ancient times people thought the water held terrible demons; we know the demons of water here in Northern Minnesota. Jesus was stilling the demons. And the water was still.

Jesus had peace, and it had nothing to do with the weather. In fact, it had nothing to do with Jesus situation at all. Jesus did not live in a peaceful world. His country was under military occupation. He did not live in a peaceful community. John the Baptist had his head cut off. Jesus did not live a peaceful life - Jesus was brutally murdered on the cross.

Yet the night before he died John tells us he said, “Jesus said, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

Jesus knew another peace that has nothing to do with circumstances, nothing to do with health or wealth or safety or comfort. Jesus knew another peace, the peace that God gives, that peace that runs like an current underneath everything, that moves in the air we breathe, that lives in our bones. It is the peace of God, and it is always there for us, if only we can get still enough to find it. Amen.

I always really end my sermons at the benediction. So here is the blessing to go with this sermon:
I say that it doesn't matter what the circumstances of the world are. What I really mean is that we can connect to God's peace that is deeper than anything the world knows, and then we can go into the world to offer that peace to the world, to our communities, to our families. Go in peace. Amen.