Better than Ruby Slippers

Ps 85

7-15-12

For some reason, I don’t often preach on the psalms, but this one grabbed my attention.  “Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet; righteousness and peace will kiss each other.” Those are it’s gentle, beautiful words this morning. They’re kind of a preacher’s dream come true-- they’re all the things we pray for as a congregation-- words that go hand and hand with “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done.”  We all long for the day when God will do those things in our midst--when all communities everywhere will be governed by four powerful words.  What great words for a hot summer morning, when we just need to feel some fresh air.  

All of us have heard the expression, “Be careful what you wish for-- because you just might get it!” Fabled character King Midas wanted to have everything he touched turn to gold-- only it didn’t turn out to be such a blessing once he got it. Rumplestiltskin wanted to be powerful, only it wasn’t nearly as much fun when he got it.  Pinoccio wanted to be a real boy, but that came with quite a bit of responsibility. 

And the exiles, who the Psalmist speaks on behalf of, wanted more than anything to return home. They wanted to eat their own food and celebrate their own holidays and adhere to their own customs.  We hear them wail out in various places in the scriptures, not the least of which is in Psalm 37 when they ask the pointed question-- how can we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land? 

But we gather that now they have returned home-- it must’ve been lovely and they must’ve been so excited.  Only things weren’t as they remembered them.  Imagine what it would be like to return home if you were in a war torn country--nothing would of course be the same.  This is what the exiles were experiencing.   We hear in the beginning verses that Israel remembers how well God has taken care of them in the past-- that God has forgiven their sins, that God has changed their circumstances for the better.  And at least once, God must’ve set his burning anger aside.  But there seems to be a “Gosh, that was nice Lord... and I don’t mean to whine, but um... what have you done for us lately.  In fact, this “home” looks an awful lot like exile.  They are filled with yearning.  Not for many of the things we long for, but something that is even more basic than that-- they want more than anything to feel like they are loved by God.   “Has God stopped loving us altogether?”, they must’ve wondered. 

Yet, God has made a promise. “You will be my people and I will be your God.”  That’s a covenant-- and covenants are not easily forgotten.   You can bet the exiles remembered it.  But their question was, “Has God forgotten it?”  They didn’t have proof that God remembered.  All they had was a promise. 

That’s all Amos had when he was surrounded by huge injustice and boldly proclaimed that justice would roll down like mighty waters.  It’s all Micah had when he imagined that there was coming a day when people would beat their swords into plowshares.  Isaiah only had a promise when he whispered “Comfort” to those who were badly heartbroken.  And the truth is, that’s all we have when we gather here to say a last goodbye to a loved one and hear the words, “Because I live, you also will live.” Sometimes all we get is a promise. 

Here we have a Psalmist who boldly proclaims a promise.  But to do that with any integrity or credibility, the Psalmist had to speak a word which held in tension the way things are with the way God is still shaping it to be.  The Psalmist has a neat trick-- and if I had to call it something, I guess I’d call it Remembering Forward.  He remembers the ways that God has held the people and uses it as a basis of hope for what future days will look like.  He is not putting on a show to raise morale.  No, he is genuinely confident about the character of God based on who God has shown himself to be.  And God has consistently shown himself to be a God of steadfast love. 

The Psalmist dares to speak a word of hope based only on a promise.  He speaks of a day when the community shall be fully restored.  And he says that the people who are standing around waiting for God to put on his happy face again and fix things actually have some work to do.  They will have a part on their own restoration.  They have the opportunity make a way for the shalom and wholeness they are so desperately seeking.  Sometimes all we get is a promise.  But sometimes we get a promise and a path. 

Huh, it was a lot easier to hear these wonderful words this morning when it sounded like something God was going to do in our midst. 

  The words the Psalmist uses to describe the restoration also describe God.  But they also describe a community who wants to hope. Apparently those three big things: restoration, hope, and God are pretty well tied to each other. You can’t have any one of those things without the other two.  As the Psalmist sees it, Hope and Restoration, are gifts from God, brought about through four key elements: Covenant Love, Faithfulness, Righteousness, and Peace. 

Perhaps what he is describing is an active hope, as opposed to a passive kind that we so tenuously cling to.  A passive hope believes that God will handle it whenever and however God gets around to it.  It’s a “what to we do in the meantime” kind of waiting.  But an active hope remembers that God has already given each of us and this community gifts that are useful in making us the people we were created to be.   We deny that God has been at work in us and among us and through us when we sit back just waiting on the Lord to handle something.  Sometimes God just fixes things.  And sometimes, God gives us the opportunity to be joyful partners in our hope. 

We dare to hope in God’s future, because we know that it is so much bigger than what we can see around us-- because quite frankly, what we see is a mess.   But God has made a promise to us and God keeps promises.  Perhaps, though, God invites us to participate in the promise by urging us on to four elements that govern our lives together: Covenant Love, Faithfulness, Righteousness and Peace.

In the Wizard of Oz, Dorothy was homesick.  And so she clicked her ruby slippers together and said, “There’s no place like home! There’s no place like home! There’s no place like home!” And somehow, it took her back to her hearts home.   Sadly, we weren’t  given ruby slippers on the day of our birth.   We spend our days longing for God to make all things right in the world, so that we get to see the “home” we’ve imagined for so long. We dream about the days when we can see for ourselves what it means to be children of the covenant “I will be your God and you will be my people!”

The psalmist says to us, and those who long for a better future, “The day is coming when you shall see a new kingdom.  The day is coming in you, and through you, and for you. And the Lord your God has invited you into the joyful partnering of bringing that promise home.”  

We’ve got a promise.  We’ve got a path.  And that is more powerful than ruby slippers any day. 

Hungry and Filled

7.22.12

Proper 11B

Mark 6:30-34; 53-56

I bet that most of you grew up having meals together as a family.  That’s just the way things were.  Perhaps you even instilled that value in your children.  Come six o’clock (or whatever the time was), it was dinner time, and that meant setting everything else aside and spending time with the family.  Maybe that was a time for children to talk about their school day.  Maybe it was a time for Mom and Dad to catch up on the day’s events.  It was definitely a time to make sure all bodies were well fed.  But of course, it was more than that.  It was a time to connect together, a time when the soul was fed. Many of you grew up in a time when mealtime was about much more than convenience-- a time when going to McDonalds was a rare treat.

Certainly though, as Bob Dylan sang, “The times, they are a’ changin’.” No longer  do families regularly gather for meals.  If they do, it’s only for a hurried few minutes between frantic activities. Corporate folks each lunch at their desks, if they eat lunch at all. Kids grab poptarts on their way out the door to school.  Even full-grown adults who ought to know better, simply grab a cup of coffee and call it breakfast--which I say as someone who actually does that several times a week.  Researchers tell us that this trend is in large part to blame for the obesity epidemic that we are facing.  But I’d bet something else too.  I’d bet it’s also part of the reason there is so much dissatisfaction with life.  People are just too busy to enjoy it.   It doesn’t sound like this new trend of busyness is all its cracked up to be. 

Maybe, though, it’s not as new as we think it is.  I’ve read this passage countless times, and never have I noticed the verse that says, “For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat.” 

My first thought was “What in the world were they so busy doing?”   I was having a pretty hard time imagining that they were as busy as any of us.   We just seem to have more “stuff” to do.  Even those of you that are “retired” tell me that you are busier now than you ever have been in your life.  What could the disciples possibly have been doing that could compete with taking trips and watching grandkids sports activities and volunteering? 

But somehow they were just this busy.  If they thought being a disciple was going to be mostly a social club-- as if they were just going to hang out with Jesus and recline at his feet, it seems they were quite mistaken.  And you can imagine that to keep going at such a pace would be completely draining.  Certainly, they were quickly becoming candidates for disciple burnout.

Now, there is something interesting happening in the story.  We hear that “Many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them.”  These people are like music fans-- they learned where Jesus was going to be touring next, and rushed out there, camping out for days before Jesus got there, just so they could have the best chance of getting close to Jesus.  Somehow, they didn’t get the memo that Jesus wasn’t a rockstar. 

I feel sorry for them because they don’t get Jesus--they’re just groupies.  They want to be a part of a movement.  They want to be seen, as much as they want to see.  But the truth is, maybe my heart should be breaking for them because there is something much more important about them that they model for us.  They are desperate for Jesus.  They want a relationship.  They want healing.  They want a savior.  They would do whatever it took to be close to Jesus.    And maybe this is a little bit different from what we know-- it’s been generations since people were pouring into the church trying to find Jesus.  I’ve never preached at a place where people were fighting to get to the front pews so that they could listen closely for the sounds of Christ. And only once in my life has someone ever grabbed my hand and demanded that I tell them about Jesus. 

The crowd was hungry. The disciples were hungry.  But what about us? Do we have that same hunger? 

Maybe the problem isn’t that we are not as hungry as these people were.  The problem is that we don’t know we are as hungry as they were.  

The people who were rushing around, trying to grab onto whatever they could that was part of Jesus-- those people knew they were hungry.  They knew that Jesus had something that they wanted, something that they couldn’t find anywhere else, and they were going to do whatever it took to get it.  They knew that their hunger was great.

But what about us? We have much that “feeds” us.  We look to each other for companionship.  We look to the media for entertainment.  We have jobs or grandkids that fill the void of being needed.  We volunteer so as to give something back.  It feels like our lives are very full indeed.  But something is “off”-- there’s a hunger that we can never quite satisfy, a thirst that doesn’t lesson no matter what we drink. 

Oh, we are hungry alright, but sometimes it’s hard to recognize the hunger pangs. 

Have you ever gotten so involved in a project or in work or in whatever else that you just plumb forgot to eat?  You were so focused on what you were doing that you didn’t notice you were hungry?  Donovan did that just yesterday-- he left a little before 8 to do his radio show, and didn’t come home until after six...and hadn’t eaten at all.  Now I know that his body tried several times to tell him that he was hungry, but he was too busy to notice.  But once he stopped working, he suddenly realized that he was really, really hungry.  

Maybe we are just as hungry as those early church folks that wanted just a little piece of Jesus, but are so busy and filled with so much that we don’t recognize our severe hunger.  

And how does Jesus respond to those people, and to us?  With compassion.  By recognizing that they are “sheep without a shepherd.”   A shepherd, after all, keeps the sheep safe...even from themselves.  A shepherd set a schedule for the day-- ordering when it was time to move from here to there, when it was time to stay put, when it was time to eat and drink.  

We’ve willingly put ourselves under the governance of the shepherd.  We practice goodness and kindness.  We try to love our neighbor as ourselves.  But still, we are like the tired disciples, because the world, not the shepherd sets our schedules.  All the disciples were doing was trying to grow the church, and meet the demands of the church that had already grown.  And instead of saying “Good job, disciples-- you’ve given your all to the kingdom” he says something else.  He invites them to “Come away and rest.” He invites them to come to a place where he can tend to them.

One of the Ten Commandments is to rest regularly-- and that would have been great news to a slave.  However, so much of our slavery is self imposed that we have no idea how to start for that to be good news. We’re slaves to money, to the notion of more, to the idea of being and having and doing.   And Jesus still invites, “come away by yourselves and rest.”

Maybe the invitation isn’t telling us to take a vacation or even telling us to take a nap (though maybe the invitation includes those things.) Maybe it’s to unbind ourselves from all that holds us captive-- all the things that keep us from realizing that our hunger is for Christ.  Maybe it’s an invitation to delight in the simple green pastures where Christ wants to lead us.  Maybe it’s an invitation for us to say for ourselves, “You are my shepherd.  I shall not run around like a crazy person.  I shall not fill my life so full that I can’t notice I’m hungry for you.  And I shall not hunger for the things that don’t satisfy.” 

And maybe that’s a commitment we have to make for ourselves.  Over and over.  Everyday.  Several times a day.  

YOU are my shepherd.

You ARE my shepherd.

You are MY shepherd.

You are my SHEPHERD. 

You make me lie down in green pastures.  I shall not want. 

This is a story about hungry people that are fed.  It’s a story about ill people who are made well.  It’s a story about us. 

It’s a glorious invitation to a glorious life.  It’s the best news to the people who are hungering for more than what the world can offer. 

Starving, Storming and Saving

John 6:1-21 (for July 29, 2012) 

Some intitial thoughts...

Now there's a jam-packed text.  

People are hungry-- they want food, but they want more than food.  They want Jesus.  Verse 2 says,  "A large crowd kept following him, because they saw the signs that he was doing for the sick."  They recognize something special about Jesus-- and event if they aren't sure what it is-- they want to be a part of it.  Jesus is healing folks, and maybe they want to be healed to.  (Interestingly enough, this same idea of people wanting healing showed up in last's weeks lectionary selection from Mark.)  Somehow there is a connection to being hungry and needing healing.

John's telling of the feeding is interesting.  Here, Jesus is the one asking "Where are we going to buy bread to feed these people." In the other gospels, the disciples are the ones panicking that people are hungry. 

Jesus impresses the people-- and they want to make him their king.  But as Jesus does, he goes all introvert on them and withdraws.  And the disciples go on without him-- which also is a parallel to last week's lesson from Mark.  Suddenly a storm comes up, the disciples are terrified, and Jesus goes walking across the lake to get to them.

Three words sum up the passage-- and maybe, more largely, our lives as Christians:  Starving (We need something and hope Jesus can whip it right up)  Storming (Storms loom over us and we panic) and Saving (no matter the crisis, Jesus stands with us-- our problems matter.) 

As I think about preaching this passage, I think those three words are important.  But I'm also fairly intrigued by how these words partner up with the words from Mark 6:30-24, 53-56.  What are the lectionary folks getting at here?  What are Mark and John saying about Jesus and our need for healing? 

The Road to Recovery

I've preached almost every Sunday for almost four years.  And I've gotten in quite a groove-- or maybe rut is a better term.  Someone once told me that a pastor's week is pretty much Sunday. Monday. Sunday.  And it feels that way.  Some weeks, the only reason I am able to spew out any words is because I know that Sunday is coming whether I'm ready or not.  But at some point, I've gotten overly processed.  Sermon writing has become more mechanical than I ever imagined it could be, and less joy-filled that I ever believed possible.  For most of my pastorate, preaching and planning worship was by far my favorite part of the job.

Where has that joy and love and passion gone? I think my process is too streamlined-- as if I'm about efficency. When did writing a sermon become a question of "How quickly can I write it?".  It isn't.  And I'm beginning the process of saying no to offerly efficient sermons.  I want to dwadle.  I want to daydream.  I want to listen longer than a few hours.

I want better for myself as a pastor-- I want to preach out of an overflow of thought and prayer and life. I want better for my people too.  If I'm not passionate, how can I expect that anyone will be moved?

So this is my the start on my road to recovery.  It's my place to sit with the text for as long as it takes.

Strong in the Broken Place

7.8.12

2 Corinthians 12:2-10

Proper 9

Someone once made the comment to me that “you can tell how much fun someone had as a kid by how many broken bones they have.”  I guess I had a pretty tame childhood-- because despite having several fairly nasty bike wrecks and rollerblading accidents and ice skating accidents and car accidents-- I’ve never had any broken bones. But people that apparently had more fun growing up than I did tell me all sorts of stories about the bones they have broken. I knew a man that dropped a very large filing cabinet on his toe on the day that East Tennessee’s biggest blizzard ever rolled into town-- without fail, the man could predict when it was going to snow.  Other people will tell me that old injuries will start acting up when the weather is changing.  But one of the most fascinating things I’ve ever heard about broken bones is that sometimes they fuse themselves together in a way that is much stronger than it was to begin with.

Now, that makes no sense at all to me-- because I know that if I drop a vase, and it shatters-- even if I can get it all back together, that it won’t be nearly as strong as it was.  The slightest movement will likely cause it to break again.  And forget it being watertight ever again. But some bones, not all, have the potential to heal in a way that is the strongest ever.  Earnest Hemingway said “Life breaks all of us, but some of us are strong in the broken places.” 

That seems to be what Paul is saying-- but what a strange tactic Paul employs!  He says, “On behalf of myself, I will not boast, except of my weaknesses.” That would be like me standing here and telling you everything that was wrong with me.  Well, for starters, I’m not a very good secretary-- I always catch the errors in the bulletin after they’ve been printed.  And some days, I feel like I don’t have much to say.  Oh, and I definitely don’t sing very well.  I could go on, but if I don’t stop, you might invite me to take a permanent vacation.  You might realize that you could do better than a thirty year old--maybe someone with several degrees and loads of experience. Or maybe someone that always had a warm apple pie ready at the manse, just in case anyone stopped by.  To tell you about all my weaknesses sure doesn’t inspire confidence in me as a leader. 

But Paul has a big battle to fight-- because these “super apostles” were running around selling a bigger, more dramatic Jesus.  Their conversion stories were always amped up.  They had these huge visions of God speaking directly to them.  And many, they knew how to package Jesus up in a way that made everyone want to hop on the next donkey toward the church. There’s an episode of a PBS show where a local priest of a small Church of England church is forced by his superior to invite another pastor in to share worship space for a time.  The first Vicar is very traditional, but the invited Vicar is a very contemporary pastor.  He wears jeans and shows up with a crew to bring his white leather sofas for the worship service. The superior guy who orchestrates all this starts comparing the small church pastor to the second mega-church guy and says, in essence, “You need to be like him.  Your church is barely making it.  You need more people, and to do that, you need to get a cappucino machine.” 

Ok, the scene was pretty funny.  But ouch. Do we need a cappucino machine to entice people into coming to church? Does Jesus need to be made more exciting and dramatic so people will like him? Obviously this is a caricature intended to make us laugh, but maybe it’s only funny because we worry that there is a small amount of truth to it. 

I don’t know of any church that takes it to such a level as the scene I just described, but maybe we do similar things.  Every small membership church worries that it isn’t enough to attract people to come.  “You have to have kids to get kids” is a frequent mantra. Or maybe we worry that we don’t have enough programs to attract young families.  We don’t say it outloud, but sometimes the secret fear of our hearts is that folks will go to other places-- places with contemporary music, places with full sunday school classes, places with a mother’s day out program, places that just have more to offer than we do. Sometimes, without meaning to, we sort of apologize about the size of our church to those that we invite to come-- it’s like if we can warn them on the front end, they won’t be disappointed when they come.  It’s not that we think Jesus could use some beefing up, but maybe worry that the church could use some. Whether it’s obvious to any of us or not, we’re just as anxious about super-apostles as Paul was. 

But imagine with me for a second-- what if this church was everything that we collectively wanted it to be?  What if we did indeed have Sunday School classes that were so full that we were scrambling to find more space? What if we had a huge youth group?  What if we had a huge pipe organ and a full choir? What if we had a coffee bar outside our sanctuary, so that people could grab a frappacino on the way in? What if you had a preacher that made everyone feel so good that the pews were packed out every Sunday?  Gosh, all of that would be lovely.  And it would be an awful lot of fun to tell people about all those wonderful things.

Here’s the funny thing though-- at least as I’ve noticed it from over-hearing all sorts of conversations over the years. Those things become the focal point.  Those things become the church’s identity.  And when people invite others to that church, those are the things that get said. I can’t tell you how many conversations I’ve heard like that where Christ is never mentioned at all.   It is heartbreaking! When I was in college I volunteered at one of the biggest Presbyterian churches in Knoxville, and when my class schedule permitted, I’d go hang out with some of the youth wherever they were hanging out. And more than once, I’d heard this kid or that invite his or her friends to church-- which was great, but here’s what they’d say.  “You have to come.  We have a gym where we play basketball and other games every week, and the youthroom has a pool table and fooseball. Every year we go on a ski trip.  And there are some smokin hot girls.”  Oh, the church had a lot to offer alright. But they had so much to offer, that at some point, they quit offering Christ.

Perhaps, this is what Paul was talking about when he said he had a thorn in the flesh that kept him from being too elated.  We don’t know what Paul’s thorn in the flesh was, but whatever it was, it kept him from thinking more highly of himself than he ought. He knew that the only reason he had anything at all useful to offer the world was because of Christ living through him.  He himself had nothing to boast about.

And it’s only then that Christ’s words could be powerful.  “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness. So I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.  Therefore, I am content with weakness... for whenever I am weak, then I am strong.”  

Think about it this way-- people that are swimming along happily don’t ever call out for someone to come save them.  It’s only once they realize they are swept up in a current that is bigger than they can handle that they cry out for help.  People that float along merrily merrily don’t think they need a savior, but people that realize they don’t have the strength to keep treading water alone are grateful for any help that comes their way.   Christ’s grace keeps us from drowning in the world, but we’re only grateful for the help once we realize we need it.  We don’t boast that we pulled ourselves out of a mighty current, we loudly proclaim that God’s hand rescued us.  That’s the strong power of Christ at work when we are weakest. 

Not only is Christ’s grace sufficient, it changes who we are.  There’s a popular Christian song out that says this,

 “When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary;

When troubles come and my heart burdened be;

Then, I am still and wait here in the silence,

Until you come and sit awhile with me.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;

You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;

I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;

You raise me up... To more than I can be.”

The point isn’t that we’ve been raised up-- as if we’ve somehow magically ascended to some lovely place.  The point is that Christ, while we were still weak, raises us up, not that we may boast of our own strength, but that we may boast of Christ’s strength.

Christ’s grace is sufficient for us.  We, too, are strong in the broken places.