The Greatest Gift of All

John 1:1-14

Christmas Day / December 25, 2011

It seems like this year we’ve been overwhelmed with Christmas specials, each touting the true meaning of Christmas. Most point to family and love as the true meaning of Christmas, completely missing the reason for the season. One of my favorite Christmas specials is still “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” I love it when Charlie Brown, in frustration, asks: “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?” And Linus responds: “Sure Charlie Brown I can tell you what Christmas is all about.” And Linus walks out on stage and begins:

“⁸And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.  ⁹And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. ¹⁰And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. ¹¹For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. ¹²And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. ¹³And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, ¹⁴Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.” (King James Version, Luke 2:8-14.)

Then Linus walks off stage and says, “That’s what Christmas is all about Charlie Brown.” That’s what Christmas is all about.

I love the Christmas story that Linus told from Luke’s gospel, with its angels and pastoral images and poetry. Luke’s gospel also tells the story of the angel Gabriel visiting Mary announcing that she will bear a son and name him Jesus, and Mary sings the beautiful Magnificat in response. Then Mary and Joseph travel to Bethlehem to be registered, and Mary gives birth to her firstborn son in a manger because there was no place for them in the inn. Angels visit the shepherds in the fields announcing the birth of a Savior and the shepherds go to Bethlehem to see the babe. And we hear the angels praising God and saying “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, good will toward all.”

And we look at our creche and see the angel and shepherds and sheep surrounding Mary and Joseph and the baby. Of course, we then add the Christmas story as told in Matthew’s gospel, including the wise men who followed a star, bringing gifts from the East for the king of the Jews. And we add camels to our creche, and a donkey and a cow and sheep for good measure.

And I wonder if we haven’t lost sight of the reason for the season in the midst of shepherds and wise men and angels and animals. As Linus said, Christmas is all about the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in the manger.

Today we read the Christmas story in John’s gospel – a story that is so different from Luke’s and Matthew’s stories. It lacks all the particularity of place and people. We don’t hear about Mary and Joseph or angels and shepherds or wise men following stars. There is no mention of Bethlehem or mangers, no comment about kings and a census. As a matter of fact there are no details of the birth at all.

Instead John’s gospel takes a huge step back and looks at the story on a cosmic level. “In the beginning,” way back when the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” This babe in the manger was present in the beginning. And, in the beginning the Word spoke, saying, “Let there be light.” And there was light. “All things came into being through him and without him not one thing came into being.” This Word is the creative power of God through whom all things were created. And the Word is God.

This same Word “was in the world... yet the world did not know him.” He came to his own people through the Law given at Mount Sinai. He came to his own people through kings and prophets and priests. And the people did not accept him.  The Word spoke powerfully through the written words of Scripture and still the people did not believe. The people did not understand.

So “the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.” The Word who was in the beginning with God – the Word who is God – chose to take on flesh and become human and live among us. The One through whom all things came into being became like us – flesh and bones. The One whose life was the light of all people shone into the darkness of our lives, scattering the darkness through his teachings and his witness. The One who has spoken to us through the Law and prophets took on flesh – revealing the glory of God in Jesus Christ.

Do you hear the incredible confidence in this passage? The absolute assurance that something truly extraordinary happened? God, the one true God, God the Word, became human. God the Son, though he was in the form of God, emptied himself, being born in human likeness so that we might receive grace upon grace. In him the fullness of God dwells, revealing the mystery and the beauty and the power of our faith.

The God we failed to recognize in creation, although all things came into being through him, took on flesh that we might see him.  The God who spoke to us through the Law and prophets, calling us to repent and return to God, came down to reveal the heart of God to us, guiding us to repentance and new life. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”

God chose to come and live among us in the flesh so that we might be saved. And “to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood [or of the flesh]... but of God.” God became human so that we might be like God – children of God, born of God. God became human so that we might have life and have it abundantly.

The story of Christmas in John’s gospel returns our focus to where it should be on this Christmas morning. It isn’t the angels and the shepherds and the wise men who make this day different from any other day. It is the baby lying in the manger – fully human and fully God – who is the greatest gift of all. Thanks be to God for this extraordinary gift!

Impossible? Never!

Luke 1:26-38

Fourth Sunday of Advent / December 18, 2011

There is no manuscript for this sermon, but the angel Gabriel's words to Mary spoke strongly this week: "Nothing will be impossible with God."

Watch the following video clip, shown during worship to see the ways God is at work in the lives of orphans in Zimbabwe. This is the ZOE workgroup we are supporting through our prayers and our giving.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wfxWtW80u4I

Unrestrained Worship

1 Thessalonians 5:16-24

Third Sunday of Advent / December 11, 2011

  

Imagine sitting alone in utter darkness. It is so dark that you cannot even see your hand held up in front of your face.  You’re not sure what has happened.  Was it an earthquake?  Did a bomb go off?  All you know is that it was very bad.  You don’t know how long you have been there – maybe you were hit on the head – maybe you fell asleep.  Anyway, you sense that time has passed.  Silence has descended. The initial shock has settled into the dull reality that things will never be the same.  You know you are alive, but the sheer darkness envelops you, and fear creeps up your spine.  In uncertainty you wonder, what is next?

Suddenly, out of the darkness, you hear a tentative voice: “The Lord be with you.” A moment of stunned silence is followed by a different voice: “And also with you.” You are not alone, after all. A third voice speaks more boldly: “Lift up your hearts!” And several voices respond: “We lift them up to the Lord.” And now you cannot help but shout out: “Let us give thanks to the Lord our God!” And a chorus responds: “It is right to give our thanks and praise!”

And someone continues: “It is right, and a good and joyful thing always and everywhere to give thanks to you, Father almighty, Creator of heaven and earth.”  Yes.  Always and everywhere – even here in this total darkness – even now when we know nothing will ever be the same.  It is right, and good and joyful to give thanks to God.  And the prayer continues spontaneously: “Thank you that I am alive!” “Thank you that we are not alone!” “Thank you for the gift of your Son!”

There is silence as this prayer of thanksgiving comes to a close – a silence that is filled with hope and possibility – so different from the earlier silence.  The darkness no longer feels so dark.  Someone speaks up: “I now understand Isaiah’s words: ‘The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light’ (Isa 9:2).  Even in this darkness we can feel the light.”  Another voice replies: “Yes, it is just like in John’s gospel where John the Baptist has come to testify to the light, ‘the true light, which enlightens everyone’ (John 1:9). Jesus is the light of the world. Isn’t it amazing that we can feel his presence shining on us even now?”

Then someone wonders aloud: “I hope my family is okay.”

A voice speaks up: “You know, I always wondered why we bothered with the Old Testament.  We heard the same stories of the Great Flood and the Exodus from Egypt and the exile to Babylon again and again and I always felt like saying, I know that story! Tell me a new one!  But today I understand why we retell these stories.  God brought Noah and his family through the great flood.  God brought the twelve tribes of Israel through the wilderness to a new land.  God brought those who were scattered and exiled to Babylon and beyond home again to rebuild.  Even though things were never the same again, even though there was much loss and suffering, God was there, God showed up, God did not abandon his children.  It makes sense that we tell and retell those stories so we can remember and be assured that God is with us now and God will see us through this situation as well.”

Someone asks: “Can you tell us the story again?”  And the stories begin – familiar stories heard with new ears – stories of Abraham and Ruth and David – stories of Isaiah and Jonah and Daniel – stories of Jesus and Mary and Peter and Paul – stories of ‘God with us’ throughout the ages.  And as this small community of faith sits in darkness listening to these stories, they know the Holy Spirit is comforting them; they feel the light of Christ; the peace that passes all understanding envelops them, and they are assured that no matter what happens God is with them.

Most of us will never experience this type of complete and total physical darkness, but many of us have walked in a darkness that is perhaps less tangible but no less real.  We have experienced the emotional darkness of grief and pain, and the loneliness that comes with loss.  We have witnessed the chemical darkness of depression or dependency – a dark night of the soul.  We have known the spiritual darkness of Godlessness and the feeling of being abandoned and alone.  And in some cases these types of darkness have threatened to overwhelm us and consume us. 

I have found that it is at times like this that our liturgy is the most powerful.  Words we repeat Sunday after Sunday become words of comfort and hope.  Words that have sometimes sounded like hollow words – words we barely listen to – words that we speak without even thinking about – become written on our hearts and provide an avenue for the Holy Spirit to work.  In that space, the rote prayers we speak each Sunday may be the only prayers we can utter: “Our Father, who art in heaven...”  The Creed may be our cry for help: I believe! Help my unbelief!  Stories that have grown old through repetition take on new life.  Songs and psalms that we didn’t even realize we had memorized sustain us. It is in our darkest moments that the patterns and habits of weekly worship become life-giving and Spirit-filled and enable us to worship again.  These patterns and habits open doors and straighten roads that lead us directly into the arms of God.

Too often people contrast liturgical worship and Spirit-filled worship, thinking that Spirit-filled worship must be unstructured and spontaneous.  Today, this story reminds us that liturgy and scripture can often be the avenues through which the Holy Spirit is able to work.  Of course, how our worship unfolds within that structure speaks to the ways we are attentive to the Spirit’s movement.  The liturgy is meant to be an avenue for the Holy Spirit.  Our worship pattern is designed to facilitate our encounter with God – the God who formed order out of chaos – our God who calls us to walk in the light and live lives overflowing with joy.

On this Third Sunday of Advent we celebrate Gaudete Sunday.  Gaudete means rejoice.  Today, as we prepare for the birth of our Savior we are invited to rejoice.  Paul, in his letter to the Thessalonians puts it this way: “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you” (1 Thess 5:16-18).

Today, as we prepare for the birth of our Savior we also prepare for the day when Christ will come again.  As we live in this in-between time, in this time of uncertainty, Paul tells us that our preparation must be constant and unrestrained – listen to the words he uses: always, without ceasing, in all circumstances.  Our worship of God is not limited to one somber hour on Sunday mornings.  Rather, our worship of God on Sunday mornings prepares us for our worship of God at all times and in all places.  Our communal worship in this sanctuary of the One who is faithful enables us to go out into the world and be faithful and give ourselves for others in the absolute assurance that no matter what life throws at us we are not alone.  God is with us. The words and stories and songs we repeat on Sunday mornings give us the foundation for worshipping God in our work and in our play – for rejoicing and praying and giving thanks again and again, even in the darkest moments of our lives. 

I think that too often we practice our faith in moderation.  We give this hour to God.  We give that percentage of our income to God.  We give a few minutes each morning to devotions.  We give a few minutes each evening to prayer.  And then we forget God and go on about our daily work and play.  But Paul reminds us today to rejoice always and give thanks in all circumstances – all circumstances! For God will bring good out of even the darkest times.  And pray without ceasing.  This doesn’t mean spend twenty-four hours a day on your knees.  Rather, it means “Do not quench the Holy Spirit.”   Keep an open channel to God; be attentive to the ways God is acting and speaking in the world at all times; speak to God often – beyond those times spent in morning devotion and evening prayer.  And don’t despise the words of the prophets but test everything.  Read scripture avidly, hungry to learn more of God and discern how God worked through the prophets and still works today.  Test everything: ask questions, listen for answers, look for God at work in your midst. 

In this way we will grow as faithful disciples of Jesus Christ – ever preparing for that day when there will be a new heaven and a new earth – that day when darkness will be no more and the night will be as bright as the day.  On that day we will see God face to face and fall down on our knees and worship God with unrestrained joy.  And God will wipe every tear from our eyes and death will be no more (Rev 21:4).  

Let me leave you with a story and a song: In the darkness of slavery, men and women continued to boldly worship God.  Often without Bibles or hymnals or even musical instruments, the slaves worshipped the God of Abraham, the God of the Exodus, the God who became incarnate in Jesus Christ. They told the stories of the Bible and they prayed together and they sang songs.  Through repetition these stories and songs became an important source of joy and hope.   There is a song that has been passed on from generation to generation that was sung by the slaves in the fields and is still sung today – it is a song I used to sing regularly with the men in the Durham jail.  The words are simple: “I will trust in the Lord.”  No hymnals, no data projectors, no sheet music, no musical instruments required.  All that is required is a heart that longs to praise our God.  “I will trust in the Lord ‘til I die.”

// I will trust in the Lord,

I will trust in the Lord,

I will trust in the Lord ‘til I die. //

Look at Me!

Mark 1:1-8

Second Sunday of Advent / December 4, 2011

“Look at me!  Look at what I did!” We’ve all heard these words before. Look at me! I can run all the way to the end of the block and back!  Look at me! I can ride my bicycle with no hands! Look at what I did! I made this Christmas ornament! Our children crave our attention and affirmation. And it is important that we praise our kids’ accomplishments. It is important that we build their self-esteem.  We want our children to be confident; we want them to do their best.  And so we rejoice with them: “Yes, I see! That’s beautiful! Wow! You are so talented!  You could be a star some day!”

Of course adults want this kind of affirmation as well.  Look at me! I’m the employee of the month! Look at what I did! My company is growing in the midst of this recession.  Look at me! I clipped coupons and saved $50 on my groceries this week!  Look at me! Look at what I can do!

Today our scripture invites us to look at John the Baptist. He was an odd man who was clothed in camel’s hair and wore a leather belt around his waist. His dreadlocks marked him as a Nazarite and he ate only locusts and wild honey.  People flocked from the whole Judean countryside and all of Jerusalem to the Jordan to look at this man.  And standing in the icy waters of the Jordan, John cried: “Repent! For the kingdom of heaven has come near!” (Matt 3:2).  And people came to John confessing their sins, and John baptized them in the Jordan.

Just think how easy it would have been for John to say, Look at me! As people came to John from all over the countryside, they may have believed him if he had said: Look at me! I have the power to forgive sins.  I have the ability to wash you clean. Look at what I can do!

But instead John proclaimed: “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit” (Mark 1:7-8).  John proclaimed: Don’t look at me, look at Jesus.  Jesus is the Savior, the Messiah, the One who is to come!  Look at Him!

John’s entire life pointed to Jesus.  John’s entire ministry prepared the way for the Lord.  John invited people to repent and turn away from sin and toward God.  He listened to their confession and baptized them. As John pushed their heads under the waters of the Jordan their old selves were washed away with the current, and as they came up out of the water they were made new and their sins were forgiven.  In baptism they were given eyes to see Jesus – to recognize him when he came.  In baptism their lives were reoriented – they became a people who said, “Don’t look at me, look at Jesus!”

On this day, as we prepare to baptize eight people and welcome them into the family of God, we do want to pause and reflect on the many people who have walked alongside these beloved children of God, preparing the way for the Lord: grandparents and Sunday school teachers and friends and neighbors who have pointed to Jesus through their lives and their witness and their stories.  We pause to say Thanks be to God for these people who have brought us to this day.  And Thanks be to God for the people who will walk with us into the future, helping us to lead lives that always point to Jesus.

On this day, as we remember our own baptisms, and as we eagerly prepare for the birth of our Savior, we come to these waters confessing our sins and affirming that God loves us unconditionally.  We come to these waters to be clothed with Christ so that we can go out into the world as people who say, “Don’t look at me, look at Jesus!”

The Hidden God

Isaiah 64:1-9

First Sunday of Advent / November 27, 2011

“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!” These words from Isaiah seem odd on this Sunday after Thanksgiving, when we have enjoyed time with family and friends, feasting on rich food and giving thanks to God for all that God has given us. 

“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!” This cry to God seems out of place on this First Sunday of Advent, as we pull out our Christmas decorations and light the first Advent candle and sing those beautiful songs that we only sing during this season.

And yet, so many of us sat at Thanksgiving feasts keenly aware of those who were missing from our tables – those who were prevented from traveling, those whom we have loved and lost.  So many of us enter into this season of joy and hope masking the despair and loneliness we feel. So many of us gather this morning, genuinely thankful for all that God has given us, and yet we see the incredible brokenness of this world.  We see grief and pain and hunger and poverty and greed and selfishness; we see people crying for justice and leaders who are more concerned about power than justice; we see war and terrorism and people living in fear for their very lives.

It is in this space that we cry: “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!”  Let the mountains tremble at your presence! Pour out fire on brushwood, that we might see your power! Shock your enemies with your mighty deeds that the nations might tremble at your presence!  Show us a sign that You have not turned your back on us.  Show us a sign that You are indeed still in charge!

 

And in the stunned silence that follows our bold cry to God we realize that we are not the first to demand a sign from God – and we will not be the last.  From the Babylonian exile and the destruction of the temple, to the persecution experienced by the early Christians, to the horrors of the Nazi concentration camps, the genocides in Rwanda, and the killing fields of Cambodia people have cried to God for a bold sign: “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!”

Come down and save us, like you saved the Israelites from slavery in Egypt. Raise up a leader for us like Moses – speak to us again through a burning bush. Pour out plagues upon our enemies, turning rivers into blood and darkening the sky. Part the sea so we can escape the horrors of our past on dry land, without slipping or falling. Lead us through the wilderness of our lives revealing yourself to us as a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night – guide us every step of the way. Speak to us from your holy mountain, shake the earth and pour out fire and smoke, that we might see your power.  Lead us to a good land – a land flowing with milk and honey – that we might know your goodness. Come down and save us, like you saved the Israelites from slavery in Egypt.

We boldly cry to God with Isaiah and the people of God throughout the ages.  And yet, God has not chosen to reveal God’s self in the way he did during the Exodus. So with Isaiah and all of people of God we cry: “You have hidden your face from us.”  Although “no eye has seen any God besides you,” you have hidden your face from us.  You have hidden yourself, and we have sinned.  We have become unclean. We have shriveled up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins have swept us away.  You have hidden your face from us and melted us into the hand of our iniquity. In our sin, we have come to experience You as a hidden God. In our brokenness, we feel like you have turned your back on us.

I wonder: What are we asking for when we ask God to tear open the heavens and come down? What kind of a sign are we hoping for?  Could it be that God is hidden from us because we are looking in the wrong direction?  Could it be that God is hidden from us because we are missing the signs?

My dog Dakota has some bird dog in her.  It is not at all unusual for us to be out walking and for her to stop dead in her tracks and lift a paw and point. I often cannot see what she is pointing at, but I have learned that it is worth taking the time to discover the bird hidden in the greenery.  With Dakota’s help I have seen blue herons perched in the top of trees, and owls watching us intently; I’ve seen hawks nesting and pheasants hiding. I’ve been able to observe birds that otherwise would have remained hidden from me because of my dog’s instincts.  I have come to experience this as an extraordinary gift!

In the same way, there’s something magical about taking a child outside on a starry night and pointing out Orion’s belt and the Pleiades and the Big Dipper.  Hidden in the mass of stars that fill the night sky, there are patterns and stories that spark our imaginations.  As we uncover the wonders of the night sky, I’m always struck by the fact that we share in the same joy of discovery experienced by our parents and grandparents before us.  We look up at the same sky the Israelites saw in the wilderness.  We gaze at the same constellations that shone over Bethlehem two thousand years ago, sparking the imaginations of shepherds and astronomers alike with their patterns and stories.

And we realize that hidden does not mean absent.  Hidden does not mean inactive in the world.  The God we experience as hidden is still powerfully present and active in the world – we just have to slow down and pay attention.  The God we experience as hidden can be powerfully revealed to us through others – we just have to listen and watch and learn.  And we realize that perhaps we have been seeking a God who is revealed in power and might, when our God is a God who is so often revealed in beauty and love.

Isaiah seemed to understand this.  After his cry to God to be revealed in power and after his acknowledgment of God’s hiddenness from us, Isaiah affirms: “Yet, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand” (64:8).

In wonder, Isaiah has recognized: O Lord, in spite of everything we have done wrong, you are still hidden in the potter who sits at a wheel with a lump of clay, lovingly forming each one of us between your hands, caressing us into existence; fashioning us in your image, each beautiful, yet unique. You are the potter, melting and molding us, filling us with your loving presence.

In awe, we recognize: O Lord, even in the midst of the blackness of our sin, you are hidden in the painter with a colorful palate in hand who paints boldly on the canvas of our lives, revealing depth and richness through your subtle use of color and brush.  You are able to capture the infinite shades of our lives the same way a painter captures the infinite shades of blue that extend from the horizon to the middle of the sky.  You bring out the texture of our lives the same way an artist brings out the textures of trees and grass.  You paint the wisdom into wrinkled faces and the joy into youthful ones.  Your painter’s eye sees the most intimate and beautiful details of our lives.

And we all recognize: Yet, even now, O Lord, you are our Father.  We are created in your image and you have loved us since before we were born. You have nurtured us and protected us.  Like a good father, you have allowed us to make mistakes in order to learn from them.  In the depth of your love, you have welcomed us home each time we have strayed.  You cry with us, you celebrate with us, you comfort us, you rejoice with us, you forgive us.

I wonder: How do you experience God as hidden? What kind of a sign are you hoping for?  Could it be that God is hidden because you are looking in the wrong direction?  Could it be that God is hidden because you are missing the signs? Could it be that we have failed to see God because we are looking for the mountains to quake and the seas to part instead of looking for a baby in a manger?

Two thousand years ago, God did tear open the heavens and come down.  Although perhaps not quite in the way we expected.  God’s bold sign came in the form of a baby born of a virgin.  Instead of the mountains quaking at the presence of God, the child in Elizabeth’s womb leapt for joy at the presence of the unborn Savior.  Instead of fire raining down in power and might, a star led astronomers who carrying gifts fit for a king to the child born in Bethlehem. Instead of the nations trembling at the presence of the newborn king, the holy family fled in fear to Egypt.

So where do we look for the hidden God to be revealed today?  We need only look to the friend who sits with a person who is grieving, or a mother who kisses a wound and makes it all better.  We need only look to the grandmother who lovingly knits a sweater for her new grandchild, or the teacher who works patiently with a student who is struggling.  We need only look to the hungry person who comes to Loaves and Fishes with open hands and leaves filled with gratitude.  We need only look to the orphans in our ZOE workgroup in Zimbabwe who are flourishing as they come to know Christ and form a strong Christian community. 

We need only look to this Table with an ordinary loaf of bread and a jug of grape juice to see the hidden God revealed through the body and the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ.  So we come to this table confessing our sins and confronting our brokenness.  We come to this table recognizing Emmanuel, God with us, in the breaking of the bread and the sharing of the cup.  We come to this table knowing that God has done and will continue to do awesome deeds that we did not expect or deserve – awesome deeds that reveal the depth of God’s love for each and every one of us. 

Grace Upon Grace

Christ the King Sunday / November 20, 2011

Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24

I find comfort and joy in the Biblical stories of shepherds and sheep.  When I hear a scripture passage like today’s in Ezekiel I imagine pastoral scenes, with sheep grazing on good grass and shepherds sitting idly by.  I recall those portraits in the Sunday School classrooms of my youth of Jesus carrying a lamb – his face tender and full of compassion.  I smile as I remember our children dressed as shepherds for last year’s Christmas Pageant, eager to come see the baby Jesus in the manger.  The 23^rd Psalm rings in my ears: “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.”

Somehow I forget just how hard the life of a shepherd can be.  In a land where there was not much water, Rachel and the other shepherds gathered their sheep each day and drew water from a well for the sheep.  This must have been hard work!  The young lad, David, was not afraid to confront Goliath because he had killed both lions and bears with his own hands while protecting his flock (1 Sam 17:36).  What bravery!  Jael, a shepherdess who lived in tents, fearlessly drove a tent peg through Sisera’s head, killing this enemy in his sleep (Judges 4:21).  Imagine being that strong and fearless.  Shepherding was hard and dangerous work – shepherds had to be courageous and resourceful.  But above all, shepherds had to know and love their sheep. 

Unfortunately, the shepherds of Ezekiel’s time had been anything but courageous and compassionate.  The leaders of the Israelites had been feeding themselves – setting their own needs and desires ahead of the sheep.  King after king had done evil in the sight of the Lord.  As a result, the “sheep were scattered over all the face of the earth, with no one to search or seek for them” (Ezek 34:6).  God’s people had been exiled from Judah and Israel to far flung places like Assyria and Babylon and Egypt.  Like sheep without a shepherd, God’s people felt like they had been abandoned.  We understand the Psalmist’s cry: “How can we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?” (Ps 137:4).  A land so far from home.

Ezekiel was a prophet and priest in this foreign land.  He had been among the first wave of exiles from Judah and had been living in Babylon for twelve years, seeing visions and performing sign acts and calling people to turn back from their evil ways.  A glimmer of hope remained throughout this time because Jerusalem had not fallen into the hands of the enemy.  The city on a hill still belonged to the line of David; Solomon’s temple was still the home of the Lord.  The people had not hit rock bottom; there was still hope.  And then Ezekiel heard the devastating news that Jerusalem had fallen and, as if that wasn’t enough, the temple had been destroyed.  As our hearts sink with theirs at this horrible news, we cry with the Psalmist: “Where is their God?”

Where is the God who promised David, “I will establish the throne of [your] kingdom forever” (2 Sam 7:13)?  Where is the God who said, “I will not take my steadfast love from [you]... Your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever” (v. 15-16)?  Where is the God who made a covenant with the people of Israel?  With the fall of Jerusalem and the destruction of the temple – the very dwelling place of the Lord – it seemed that God had abandoned them completely.

It is into this void – this utter despair – that the Lord now speaks: “For thus says the Lord God: I myself will search for my sheep... I will rescue them from all the places to which they have been scattered on a day of clouds and thick darkness... I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep... I will seek out the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak.”  God will no longer leave the sheep in the hands of selfish and power-hungry and incompetent shepherds.  God makes it very clear that God’s self will be the Good Shepherd and we will be God’s sheep.

Perhaps you are wondering, why sheep?  We are not really like sheep, are we?  We can find our own food and we can bind up our own wounds.  We can clothe ourselves and protect ourselves from predators.  We are not really like sheep who need a shepherd to lead them to clean water and good grazing land.  We are created in God’s image – we have been given care of creation – we can do these things for ourselves.

True.  We can do these things for ourselves, but there is one thing we cannot do for ourselves; we cannot save ourselves.  We are utterly unable to turn back to God on our own.  As the prophet Isaiah said, “All we, like sheep, have gone astray; we have all turned to our own way” (Isa 53:6).  We have turned away from God again and again.  We are utterly depraved, and totally lost without God.  Only God can seek out those who are lost and alone; only God can lead us back to good pastures; only God can bind up the wounds of our sin; only God can strengthen the weakness of our unbelief; only God can lead us beside the still waters of baptism; only God can restore our souls.  And God longs to bring each and every one of his sheep back into the fold.

The Lord says, “I myself will search for my sheep... I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep.”  I, myself, and no one else.  God is taking the initiative to rescue all of God’s sheep.  God is no longer going to rely on other shepherds to do the job – kings and prophets and teachers are simply not able to save the sheep, for they are sheep themselves, utterly unable to save themselves. Threats and prophecies and punishments cannot turn a people back to God – history has shown this repeatedly.  From Adam and Eve, who were exiled from the garden, to Ezekiel and the people of Judah, who have been exiled from their homeland, history has shown that threats and prophecies and punishments and even miracles are not enough to turn a people back to God.  Only God, and God alone, can turn a people back to God.

So God promises to seek out his sheep.  Notice that this search and rescue mission is all inclusive – God rescues the fat sheep along with the lean sheep – God rescues the selfish and thoughtless sheep who trample the pastures and muddy the waters, along with the helpless and weak sheep who have been ravaged and scattered.  God’s grace extends to all people – no matter where they have been scattered – no matter what they have done.  God’s grace – God’s prevenient grace – reaches out to all people, offering salvation and hope.  God’s grace goes out, like a shepherd, and searches everywhere until the lost sheep is found.  And then the shepherd brings the lost sheep home, rejoicing (cf Luke 15). 

We are like sheep, utterly unable to save ourselves.  Like the sheep in today’s gospel lesson, we do not recognize the good in our own actions: “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink?” (Matt 25:37).  If we cannot recognize the good in our own actions, surely our actions cannot save us.  Our works cannot save us if we are not even aware of the times when we are serving our Lord.  We are completely dependent upon God’s grace for salvation.  Like the apostle Paul we often recognize that we are enslaved by sin.  He writes, “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate... I can will what is right, but I cannot do it” (Romans 7:15, 18).  It is only through Jesus Christ that we can be set free from the law of sin and death.  It is only through Jesus Christ that we can be saved and restored to a right relationship with God.

God the Good Shepherd goes out and rescues the lost sheep so that the sheep can be restored to a right relationship with God.  God’s prevenient grace is firmly grounded in God’s deep love for each one of us – God wants us to be healthy and happy.  This search and rescue mission is not about power or sovereignty – God isn’t a king like other kings.  God isn’t trying to manipulate us or force us to change – God is not a dictator.  God is a Good Shepherd who knows how valuable we are. God wants to restore us and heal us and forgive us.  God wants the sheep to know how deeply they are loved.  When we allow God to lead us home we discover that God’s grace is a gift that inspires us and enables us to resist temptation.  God’s grace empowers us to repent and be faithful.

But right relationship with God cannot happen unless we are also restored to right relationship with one another.  Sheep can be pushy and selfish.  Therefore God judges between the fat sheep and the lean sheep, seeking peace for all; God wants all of the sheep to have clean water and good food.  Those who trample the lush grass and muddy the water must be punished.  It is in this judgment that we are able to see the error of our ways and grow in grace. It is in this judgment that we are able to turn toward God, and grow in holiness.  It is God’s justifying and sanctifying grace that helps us to say yes to God – to do the things God wants us to do – to seek God’s will in all things.

We are not there yet, but we are on our way.  On this Sunday that marks the end of the Christian year we look forward to Advent as we prepare once again for the King who was born in Bethlehem; the King who longs to live in our hearts today; the King who will come again at the end of times.  And we look back to the promise the Lord made to Ezekiel: “I will set up over them one shepherd, my servant David, and he shall feed them... and be their shepherd. And I, the Lord, will be their God” (Ezek 34:23-24).  This is Jesus, the Messiah, whose kingdom is established forever and whose steadfast love will never, ever, be taken from us.  Friends, this is most assuredly good news!

Today, as we look back over the Christian year that began last Advent, I ask: Have you truly acknowledged that there is absolutely nothing you can do to save yourself?  Or are you still trying to save yourself or others?  Have you allowed the Good Shepherd to lead you to green pastures and still waters?  Or do you still think you can find your own way?  Have you recognized God’s nudgings and promptings, inviting you to surrender your life completely to God’s will?  Or are you still fighting to control your own life?

In Ezekiel’s time, the destruction of the temple opened the way for God to begin a search and rescue mission; it opened the way for the people to return to God.  Two thousand years ago, the Lamb of God took on the sins of the world on a cross, opening a way for the people everywhere to completely surrender to God. Today we gather at this most Holy Table where Jesus the Good Shepherd feeds us with mercy and love and healing and forgiveness.  Christ invites us to come to this table, even though we have nothing to offer our king but our open hands and our very lives.  And God graciously accepts our gifts, feeding us grace upon grace and inviting us to return once again to the sheepfold of his love and forgiveness. 

Thanks be to God for this amazing gift! 

Saints, Children, and... ?

1 John 3:1-13

All Saints Day / November 6, 2011

There’s something about All Saints Day.  While every Sunday is a little Easter and every Sunday we glimpse eternity, on All Saints Day it feels like heaven and earth are brought so close that they almost touch. On All Saints Day we are drawn out of ordinary time, and for just a brief moment the past and the future and the present are all one.  On All Saints Day we are given a chance to see the world the way God sees it. In this astonishing moment we stand up and praise God: “Holy, holy, holy! Lord God almighty!” We cannot help but give thanks to God for all that God has done, is doing, and promises to do.

Just consider some of the things our God has done: Our God created the heavens and the earth out of nothing. Our God heard our cry and delivered us from slavery. Our God led us through the wilderness to a land flowing with milk and honey. Our God sent us prophets and teachers when we strayed. And when we continued to turn away, our God gave us Jesus Christ. Through Jesus, the Son of God, we have been called children of God.

John writes: “See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are” (1 Jn 3:1).  We are not just called children of God; we are God’s children now.  On this day when heaven and earth almost touch, we are humbled and overwhelmed by this astonishing gift of love. We are God’s children, right here, right now, today.

Turn to your neighbor and tell him or her, “You are a beloved child of God.”

Now turn to your other neighbor and say, “I am a beloved child of God.”

Together, “We are beloved children of God!”

It’s one thing to say this, and another to believe it.  Notice that John writes that we are called children of God, then he clarifies that we are children of God, and then he drives the point home: “Beloved, we are God’s children now.”  John clearly wants to make sure the reader of this letter grasps just how amazing and unconditional God’s love is.  John wants us to embrace God’s love that is so freely given.  John wants us to realize that even in the midst of our sin and brokenness, we are God’s children now.

Many of us struggle to believe that we are God’s children now.  Shouldn’t children of God be more perfect? Better behaved than we are?  Shouldn’t children of God reflect God’s goodness and grace in all they do? Don’t we fall way short of God’s expectations of us?

Furthermore, aren’t we supposed to actually resemble our heavenly Father the way children resemble their parents? How can we resemble God when God is the creator and we are the created? How can we resemble God when God is without sin and we sin and fall away over and over again? We are vulnerable, we are weak, we rely on others – aren’t we unworthy to be called children of God?

And yet, John writes, “see what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are!” Our heavenly Father wants to be a Father to us – to love us and teach us and protect us.  Our Father wants us to rely on Him for all things – placing God first and foremost in our lives. Our Father sent his Son that we might learn from him how to be faithful children of God. Our Father sent his Son that we might know that we are forgiven over and over again as we seek to grow into God’s likeness.

And God continues to send people into the world to show us how to be beloved children of God.  Just consider the saints throughout the ages who have set an example of how to live faithfully as children of God.  There are the saints who have been canonized by the Roman Catholic Church – to date there are over ten thousand named saints – people who have been recognized for their holiness and their love of God. Saints like Saint Peter, the first saint, the rock on which the church is founded – and Saint Patrick, who brought Christianity to the heathens in Ireland – and Saint Francis, the patron saint of animals – and Saint Nicholas, the patron saint of children.  Saints who were not perfect; saints who were human, like you and me; saints who loved God and lived lives that reflected that love. Saints who embraced their identity as children of God.

Then there are the saints who have pushed us to be more faithful by their example.  Folks like John Wesley, the introvert who preached in town squares and gave people a “method” for growing in their discipleship.  Folks like Dorothy Day who worked for peace and social justice in New York City, modeling the importance of hospitality and community.  Folks like Rosa Parks who refused to sit at the back of the bus, and Martin Luther King, Jr., who believed all people – regardless of race or socio-economic status – deserved dignity and equality.  Folks like Mother Teresa who dedicated her life to serving the poor in Calcutta.  Ordinary folks who lived extraordinary lives because of their love of God.

Then there are the saints we have known and loved who have actually shown us the love of God in their lives. Marie Neese, who loved to paint and was an excellent story-teller. Seth Christy, who loved children – all children – unconditionally. Mary Braxton, who sent cards to people exactly when they needed one.  Peggy Dixon, who loved people and was a great cook.  And Jerry and Ben and Tippy and Hattie Mae so many others. Saints – ordinary people – beloved children of God – who have witnessed to the love of God in their lives in so many different ways.  We are truly blessed – we have seen the love the Father has given us through so many saints – ordinary people who truly loved God.

On this day when heaven and earth almost touch – on this day when the past and the future and the present are drawn together – we are called to embrace this truth: We, like the many saints who have gone before us, are beloved children of God.  In all our brokenness, God loves us unconditionally. When we fall down, God promises to pick us up. When we make mistakes, God forgives us. When we doubt, God sends us a saint to remind us of God’s love. We are beloved children of God now. This is not something we have to wait for. Yet, as we embrace this truth we are assured that the best is yet to come.

For “what we will be has not yet been revealed, but when he is revealed we will be like him” (1 Jn 3:2).  When the kingdom of God comes in all its glory we will see God face to face. No wonder John writes in Revelation that they all fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, singing, “Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen!” (Rev 7:11-12).  What we will be has not yet been revealed but when he is revealed we will be like him. Amen!

There is no doubt that children resemble their parents – and we resemble our heavenly Father.  We do so imperfectly now – as Paul writes to the church at Corinth, “For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face” (1 Cor 13:12).  The day will come when we will see God face to face and then – when he has been revealed – then we will be like our heavenly Father who is pure, unbroken, without sin, and utterly faithful.

For today, we live in the promise of this future hope.  We learn from the saints on whose shoulders we stand – we learn from their example.  We embrace the truth that we are beloved children of God today – that God loves us unconditionally and boldly calls us His children, for that is what we are.  And in response we witness to the good news of Jesus Christ in all we do and share the love of God with others.  In response we seek to purify ourselves, anticipating a sure and certain future where we will see God face to face – a future where we will see God as he is and we will be like him.

Beautiful Feet

“I’ll Be A Witness!” (Stewardship Campaign: Service)

John 13:3-15

October 30, 2011

  

A few years ago, a small Methodist church in the eastern part of Mexico felt drawn out of their pews and into the community. As they looked around for the greatest need in their community, they realized there were people in need of God’s love right behind their church.  You see, the railroad ran behind the church. The folks in the church had complained for years about the noise the trains made each Sunday morning as they gathered to worship God – they complained until that day when the Holy Spirit drew them outside and they noticed the stowaways on the train. Weary, hungry stowaways – people traveling from Guatemala or Oaxaca to the United States – in the hopes of finding a better life. This little church was more or less the halfway point in their fifteen hundred mile journey to the land of plenty.

The little church began making bag lunches to toss to the stowaways so they would have something to eat on their long journey. The people on these trains often had nothing but the clothing on their backs and they were appreciative of the food and the prayers. Looking into the eyes of young men away from home for the first time, reaching out to touch terrified women on a journey to be with loved ones who are already in the United States, laughing with children enjoying the adventure of a train ride, the folks in the church saw the face of Christ. They discovered first-hand what it means to love your neighbor.

As God opened their hearts even wider, they discovered that many of the stowaways were wearing cheap flip-flops or had no shoes at all. While they were able to catch a ride on the train through this one section of the country, most would walk a good portion of that fifteen hundred miles.  So they began collecting good walking shoes – closed-toed shoes and sneakers – shoes that brought joy and hope to people who still had such a long way to go.

***

“Emanuel” is a retired Methodist pastor who served churches in Arizona for over thirty years. Now in his late 80’s, he has been working in the desert along the border with Mexico for the past fifteen or twenty years. It’s dangerous work – he can’t help people cross the border because that would land him in jail, but he can try to make their crossing easier. Each day he drives through the desert leaving water in caches where folks on their three-day journey across the desert might take a break.  Each day he picks up dead bodies – those who were unable to make this treacherous journey. And each evening he tends to those who have made it into the United States.

While dehydration and sunburn are common, Emanuel takes care of more sore feet than anything else.  Feet that are covered with raw blisters from ill-fitting shoes, feet that have nasty wounds from the thorns that cover the desert. Often socks have to be cut off because they are practically glued to these sore feet. Sometimes flip-flops have to be peeled away because the hot sand has melted the plastic to the bottom of the person’s foot.

When asked what he thinks of these folks who enter the United States illegally, Emanuel – a third generation Mexican American – visibly sags. After a pause he begins to speak: “What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” (Micah 6:8).  God calls us to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners.  God calls us to bring water to the thirsty, and to bind up sore feet. God does not call us to judge why people would leave their homes and undergo such a dangerous journey.  God just calls us to love.  Each time Emanuel holds a foot in his hand, he knows he holds the foot of a beloved child of God.

***

Jonathan and his family live in Walltown – a poor neighborhood just north of Duke’s campus in Durham. Jonathan was called there by God to serve the poor and to bring hope to a neighborhood fraught with poverty and violence. Jonathan has been there several years - long enough to build relationships and trust with the community, long enough to befriend many of the homeless men who roam the neighborhood.  These homeless men feel comfortable stopping by and talking with Jonathan as he sits on his front porch.

Jonathan has discovered two ways to serve these men: first, he listens as they talk – he listens as they tell their stories; second, he gives them a new pair of socks each time they visit. The men usually pull off their old socks while they sit on the front porch.  The stench is enough to scare anyone away, and yet Jonathan sits and listens and watches as the men delight in putting new socks on. One young man who comes by regularly for new socks lost a brother a few years ago.  His brother’s feet became gangrenous from wearing the same old socks day in and day out – efforts to save his life came too late. The gangrene spread from his feet to his body and killed him. We don’t often think of the homeless wearing the same socks day in and day out. We don’t often think of clean socks as being lifesavers! We don’t often think of serving others in terms of tending to the needs of those with sore, smelly feet.

***

On that night when Jesus gave up his life for us, he gathered with his disciples around the table to share a final meal. During the supper, Jesus got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. He washed feet that had traveled many miles with him over the past three years – feet that had walked all through Galilee, certainly more than once – feet that had traveled across Samaria from Galilee to Judea – feet that walked along the Jordan River – feet that were covered by Judean dust. Feet that were certainly calloused and smelly and sore from all that walking!

And Jesus bent down to wash the disciples’ feet. Jesus washed the feet of Peter who did not understand what Jesus was doing and tried to stop him.  Peter, who would deny him three times later that night. Jesus washed the feet of Judas – the disciple who would betray him only a few hours later. And when Jesus returned to the table he asked: “Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord – and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet” (John 13:12-14).

***

The apostle Paul quotes Isaiah: “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!” (Romans 10:15, Isaiah 52:7). How beautiful are the feet of the hungry and the homeless who show us Jesus. How beautiful are the feet of the lost and the lonely who open our eyes to the work of Holy Spirit.  How beautiful are the feet of the migrants and the missionaries – people of all races and cultures – who make up the body of Christ.  How beautiful are the feet of those who bring us good news.