Was Blind, But Now I See

John 10:1-10

May 15, 2011 / Fourth Sunday of Easter

 

Jesus opened the eyes of a man born blind.  He spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and then spread the mud on the man’s eyes, saying to him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam” (Jn 9:6-7).  We’ve heard the stories of Jesus healing the blind so often that we miss just how radical this miracle is.  There are no stories of those who are blind receiving their sight in the Old Testament.  None!  It is only through Jesus that anyone can say, “I once was blind, but now I see.”  The prophet Isaiah pointed to that day in the future when things would be different – “Then (then!) shall the eyes of the blind be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy” (Isa 35:5-6).  And now that day has come – it has come in Jesus!  Jesus, as the gospel of Luke recounts, has been sent “to bring good news to the poor... release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind” (Luke 4:18).  In Jesus something brand new is happening, and it is leaving the Jewish leaders in a complete uproar. 

It’s as if, in a world where one plus one has always equaled two, one plus one suddenly equals three!  In the 9^th chapter of John’s gospel, the Jewish leaders, stretching for explanations, call Jesus a sinner because he healed the blind man on the Sabbath.  The parents of the man born blind, fearful of being put out of the synagogue, acknowledge that the man is their son but refuse to answer the Pharisee’s questions.  The man who was previously blind is so thankful that he can see that he doesn’t seem particularly upset to be driven out of the synagogue; he is glad when he finds Jesus and can call him Lord.  The predictable world has been replaced by this odd world where the blind can see and the Pharisees are considered to be blind to the truth.  Jesus has upset all notions that blindness is linked to sin and established a new truth – the kingdom of God is breaking in right now, through Jesus.  The evidence is right before your eyes – a man born blind can see!

It is in this place of blindness and new vision that Jesus seemingly changes the subject and starts talking about sheep.  The Pharisees are so caught up with the images of blindness and sin that Jesus chooses to provide a parable and a metaphor in order to help the Pharisees see!  Hear the word of the Lord from John 10, verses 1 through 10:

¹‘Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. ²The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. ³The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. ⁴When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. ⁵They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers.’ ⁶Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them.

7 So again Jesus said to them, ‘Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. ⁸All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them. ⁹I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. ¹⁰The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.

Jesus talks about shepherds and thieves and bandits – familiar topics to those in the Middle East, even today.  A good shepherd names his sheep, he counts every sheep every day, he lays hands on each sheep, checking for wounds and pulling out burrs.  A good shepherd knows his sheep, and his sheep know his voice.  Furthermore, a good shepherd is quite literally the gate for the sheep – once all the sheep are in the sheepfold for the night the good shepherd lays down in front of the gate.  No one enters into the sheepfold through the gate without encountering the shepherd.  A good shepherd lines the walls of the sheepfold with pebbles and branches so that a thief or a bandit will be heard trying to get into the sheepfold.   A good shepherd always looks out for his sheep.

We all recognize that Jesus is the good shepherd.  “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”  We understand that Jesus is the good shepherd who knows all of his sheep, he knows every hair on our heads, he knows when we lie down and when we wake up, he knows our joys and our sorrows.  It makes sense that Jesus is the gate – he protects the sheep, keeping the thieves and bandits out, and even laying his life down for the sheep in order that they – that we! – may have life and have it abundantly.

But what does this have to do with sin and blindness?  What does this have to do with a man born blind who can now see and Pharisees who can see but do not really see?  And why is it that the Pharisees do not understand what Jesus is saying to them when he is speaking about sheep and shepherds and thieves and bandits – topics familiar to everyone?

Jesus is turning the world upside down.  The Pharisees would think that they were the shepherds – after all they are the leaders of the Jews.  They are the ones who know and follow all the laws of Moses.  They are the ones who claim that Jesus is a sinner because he healed the blind man on the Sabbath.  The Pharisees would not even consider the man born blind to be one of the sheep of the sheepfold because his blindness is equated with sin.   He is an outsider, not worthy of the fold.  And yet, here is this parable – this figure of speech.   And this metaphor, where Jesus says, “I am the gate for the sheep.”    This parable leaves the Pharisees as the thieves and bandits and they certainly don’t want to hear that.  This parable invites the man born blind into the sheepfold, and this doesn’t fit with any of their preconceived notions either.

Let me put this in a more modern context.  The man born blind is a bit like a homeless person.  So often there’s this nagging question at the back of our mind about sin – how did the homeless person sin to end up in this situation?  Or perhaps the man born blind is a bit like an unwed mother.  There are always people who will question her behavior.  Too often we blame the individual for systemic problems: We fail to see that homelessness is but one symptom of much larger problems in our society, like greed and consumerism.  We fail to consider the pressures and expectations placed on young people today by our culture.  Too often we are shortsighted when we judge the individual, just as the Pharisees and disciples were when they judged the man born blind.  There are larger forces at work here.  Sin is in the world – powers greater than any one person shape events in ways we do not understand.

Jesus is the light that shines into this darkness.  Jesus gives sight to the man born blind.  Jesus gives hope to the homeless.  Jesus was born to an unwed mother!  Jesus is telling the Pharisees that the man born blind is one of the sheep – as are the homeless and the unwed and the lame and the poor and the imprisoned.  The Pharisees see the sheep of God’s sheepfold as those without blemish; Jesus points out that every sheep has a blemish – all have sinned. 

And the Pharisees are the thieves and bandits who are trying to enter the sheepfold by another way.  They cling to the laws of Moses, to the traditions, to the things they know.  They think God’s vision of a future time when the eyes of the blind will be opened will come by another way.  But there is no other way into the sheepfold except through the gate – except through Jesus.  And this just doesn’t sit right with the Pharisees.

Sometimes we are like the Pharisees.  We cling to images of how the world should be, what the church should look like, traditions of who the sheep should be, policies of how things should be done.  And when we do, even though we can see, we are blind to the truth. 

The truth is that Jesus is the gate to the sheepfold – the head of the church – the way to the Father.  And Jesus invites people we would never notice to be a part of his kingdom.  The man who was born blind.  The woman who suffered from hemorrhages for twelve years.  Zacchaeus the tax collector, who was short, so he climbed a tree to see Jesus.  The Samaritan woman at the well who had five husbands and was now living with a sixth man.  The prodigal son who had squandered all of his inheritance.  Jesus invites all of them, and others, to be a part of his kingdom.

Perhaps, like the Pharisees, we don’t understand – or we don’t want to understand – what Jesus is saying to us about the world.  Or maybe we understand only too well and it scares us.  Jesus looks at all of His sheep and says “I love you.”  He sees the blemishes on all his creatures – he sees humanity’s sinful ways – and says “I am the gate.” He sees the blemishes his children carry and still calls each child by name and invites each one into the sheepfold.  My friends, that is grace.

A couple years ago I spent four days at the Women’s Prison in Raleigh sharing God’s love with the women and guiding them into a deeper relationship with Jesus Christ.  I worked closely with six women.  Two had committed murder; the other four were in prison for various issues surrounding drugs, sex, and abuse.  They were like the man born blind – outcasts in society.   On that weekend they found that Jesus really is the gate – Jesus calls them by name, forgives them, and brings them into the sheepfold.

One of the women’s favorite songs is Amazing Grace sung to a different tune: “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me-e! I once was lost, but now I’m found, was blind, but now I see.” 

On that weekend God showed up and turned the world upside down.  The kingdom of God broke into that prison and women who had been blind could see.  Jesus was the gate to freedom for all these lost sheep, both the prisoners and those coming in from the outside, like me!  And the thieves and bandits were noticeably absent.  And the good news is that by God’s grace this can happen anywhere!  Jesus came that all may have life, and have it abundantly.  Thanks be to God!

Living Liturgy

May 8, 2011 / Third Sunday of Easter

Luke 24:13-35

What do you think of when you hear the word “liturgy”?  Obviously it is a church word.  Perhaps you think of it as a word to describe worship – that church over there is highly liturgical while that other church has no liturgy.  I’ve heard some of you say you like the liturgy at Saxapahaw, and I’ve heard others say we’re too liturgical. I would say any time people gather to worship God their worship is highly liturgical, no matter what the order of worship is.

Often the word liturgy is used to describe the structure of worship.  A highly liturgical service is one that is highly structured, with printed prayers and responses, specified times for standing or kneeling, times when the people sing and times when there is silence.  Generally there is a clear pattern of Word and Table.  On the other hand, we think of non-liturgical worship as more free-flowing – songs are sung, scripture is read, prayers are said, and the preacher shares a message.  Maybe there isn’t even a bulletin! 

Given these distinctions, you might wonder how I can say that any time people gather to worship God their worship is highly liturgical.  I can say this because liturgy means the work of the people.  Let me repeat that: liturgy means the work of the people.  It is the people who gather to pray and sing, to hear God’s word read and proclaimed, and to break bread together.  It is the work of the people – both those in leadership and those who participate – that makes our worship of God worship.  We are not passive observers who come to watch church, but active participants in the liturgy – in the work of praising God.  Whether a worship service is highly structured or not, it is the work of the people – the liturgy that we participate in – that is our best effort to worship God.  And in our worship we encounter the risen Christ.

The story of the walk to Emmaus is one of my favorites.  Two men leave Jerusalem, deeply saddened by the death of Jesus.  As they walk and talk, a third person joins them.  As they continue down the road together the three share the story of Jesus.  When they reach Emmaus, the two invite this third person to stay with them, and in breaking bread together they recognize that this third person is Jesus.  Then, even though it is late, in joy the two race back to Jerusalem to share the good news that Jesus is risen from the dead. 

Consider this: In this Easter story, we witness the liturgy we participate in each Sunday.  See the pattern: First, we walk together, inviting others to join us.  Second, we share the story of Jesus Christ, both from our experience and from scriptures.  Third, we break bread together.  And finally, we go back out into the world to share the good news of the new life we have found in Jesus Christ with others. 

Do you see that as we live into this liturgy we encounter the risen Christ?  Jesus promises to meet us where two or three are gathered.  Jesus is walking with us as we tell the story.  Jesus is profoundly present in the breaking of the bread.  And Jesus goes before us into the world.  Perhaps this is why every Sunday is a little Easter – every Sunday we are given the opportunity to encounter the risen Christ through our liturgy – the work of the people.

Of course, the interesting thing is that the walk to Emmaus doesn’t happen in the temple or a synagogue or a sanctuary.  It happens on the road to Emmaus, a town that is about seven miles from Jerusalem.  Emmaus cannot be found on any map.  There is no evidence that such a town existed at the time of Jesus.  While archeologists and scholars have argued about the location of Emmaus, I love that we don’t know where it is.  This allows us to recognize that Emmaus is the place each one of us is going to today; the place we are searching for as we seek to encounter Jesus.  The road to Emmaus prepared the disciples to actually see the risen Christ. 

The walk to Emmaus doesn’t happen in the temple or a sanctuary because the temple and the sanctuary are not the only places God shows up.  God shows up in all the ordinary places in our lives – as we talk with friends, as we journey with others, as practice hospitality, as we share meals with others.  But too often we fail to recognize God in our very midst.  I think we often fail to recognize that Jesus is walking with us because the liturgy we practice in worship doesn’t translate into the liturgy of our every day lives.  We see what happens in worship as somehow separate from the rest of our lives.

Today I want to invite you to see our liturgy – everything the people do in worship – as preparation for our work in the world.  I invite you to look at this time when we gather together to worship God as a time when we establish habits and patterns that shape every aspect of our lives.  We’d be here a while if I unpacked each part of our liturgy, so let me focus on three habits and patterns: gathering, story telling, and breaking bread.

Gathering.  I suspect many of you think worship begins with our greeting.  I want to shatter that perception.  Our liturgy begins the moment we arrive in the parking lot.  As we say hello to one another, as we hug and ask how the other is doing, we are engaging in worship.  A friend of mine recently went to a church that advertized on their web page that they were welcoming of all people.  She arrived early, participated in worship, and hung around after.  Not one person said hello to her.  Not one!  Our worship begins when we welcome one another, and when we welcome the stranger.  Just think how different the story of the walk to Emmaus would have been if the disciples had ignored or dismissed Jesus when he came up to them on the road.  Our worship begins when we gather, when we greet each other, when we welcome each other.  This points to an important truth – we cannot fully worship alone!

After we gather we tell stories.  Again, some of these stories happen before we ever enter the sanctuary.  We hear about those we love.  We talk about what has happened during the week.  Just as the disciples were talking about the events of that Holy Week so long ago, we tell stories about our families, our community, our work.  And then, in Sunday School we tell stories about Jesus.  And, as we gather in this space, we hear and tell even more stories about God – we sing the stories, we hear the stories read in Scripture, and the preacher tells more stories.  At the heart of our liturgy – the work of all the people – we tell the stories of Jesus Christ, beginning with Moses and all the prophets. 

Following our story telling, we gather at the Lord’s Table.  Our story telling has prepared us – perhaps our hearts are burning within us – and we are hungry for Jesus.  We take the bread and pray together the Great Thanksgiving – a prayer of thanksgiving for all that God has done.  Then we break the bread and give it to one another.  For the disciples at Emmaus, it is in the breaking of the bread that they recognize Jesus in their midst.  Today, we know that Christ has promised to show up each time we break bread together.  For me this is the most awesome part of our liturgy because no matter what else has happened as we have gathered and told stories, in this moment we know Jesus Christ is powerfully present in this piece of bread – the body of Christ, broken for you – and this sip of the fruit of the vine – the blood of Christ, shed for you.

Gathering, story-telling, and breaking bread.  These three practices are at the heart of our worship of God.  They are the central elements of our liturgy – the work of the people – all of the people, young and old, new to the faith or life-long believers, stranger or friend.  And in these three practices we establish patterns and habits that shape every aspect of our lives.  As we go out into the world we gather with other people, in our homes, in our places of work, even at the pub.  And as we gather we tell stories.  Certainly we tell stories of our own lives, but like the disciples who rushed back to Jerusalem, we also tell stories of our encounters with the risen Christ.  We tell the Bible stories to our children.  We tell the stories of our church to our neighbors.  We sing the stories of Jesus, we pray the stories of our God, we live in the story of Christ’s death and resurrection.  And then we gather at our tables and break bread together, inviting strangers to join us, and giving thanks to God for all that God has done.

The liturgy that we participate in as we gather to worship God shapes the liturgy of our every day lives.  This week I want to invite you to be intentional as you gather, tell stories, and break bread together.  Recognize the ways you are living into the liturgy that you have participated in here in worship as you gather in love, as you tell stories that help you to know Christ and make Christ known, and as you break bread, seeking to be a humble servant of Jesus.  I suspect you will discover that the living Christ is walking with you, sharing in your stories – the joyful ones and the painful ones!  I hope you will find that Jesus is at the table with you as you share a meal with others.  I pray you will powerfully encounter our resurrected Lord in all that you do – for he is present, he is risen, he is Lord.  Thanks be to God!

Living in the Middle

May 1, 2011

Joint Worship at St. Matthew's AME Church

Psalm 8; Philippians 2:5-11

Life in the middle.  Have you ever thought about life in the middle?  I think we are called to life in the middle.  Today I’d like to explore with you what life is like in the middle.  Of course this begs the question, in the middle of what?  Or perhaps, the middle of when?  Or even, the middle of who?

I’ve spent this week living in the middle of Psalm 8.  Psalms are poetic and musical, and filled with images.  Images that evoke emotions; images that stimulate our imaginations; images that move us beyond the ordinary.

As I pondered this psalm, I found myself captured by all kinds of images.  I was drawn to the image of wet glue in between two tiles.  When the tiles are pulled apart, the wet glue in the middle is pulled in multiple directions – some stuck to one tile, some stuck to the other.  It’s messy. It’s unpredictable.  Sometimes I think life in the middle is like wet glue.

I also imagined living in the middle as being like a rubber band between two fingers.  The rubber band can be stretched in healthy ways, but can also be stretched to the breaking point!  Perhaps life in the middle is like a rubber band – there are many times of healthy growth, as we stretch our lives in new ways.  But there is also that point where there is too much tension and the rubber band snaps.

As these images kept coming to me, I thought about life in the middle of a trash compactor.  Now that is an uncomfortable place to live!  It is dirty and smelly, and when the compactor gets turned on everything inside gets crushed!  Sometimes life in the middle is like that – oppressive and crushing.

As I reflected on these images, I wondered why these images of living in the middle are largely negative.  Why have I landed in this place of discomfort – this place of great tension – after reflecting on Psalm 8 this week?  After all, it is a beautiful psalm filled with praises to the God of all creation.  And yet, I kept running into the tension in the middle.  Listen for this tension:  When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them? (v. 3-4)

It is hard to imagine the heavens as the psalmist would have seen them – filled with stars, providing light in the midst of deep darkness.  We live in a world were we produce so much light that we obscure most of the heavenly light.  Several years ago I was visiting my family in Arizona.  One night we all piled into a car and drove out to the middle of nowhere to star gaze.  The comet Hale-Bopp filled part of the sky, and the Milky Way truly looked like a band of white across the sky.   There were so many stars I couldn’t pick out the Big Dipper or Orion or Cassiopeia – constellations I can see here on any cloudless night.  There really are no words to describe how small I felt.  This is the sky the psalmist would have gazed at, wondering “what are humans that God notices them?”  Who are we that God cares for us?

Today we have even more amazing images of the heavens sent back to us from the Hubble telescope.  The images of galaxies and nebulas and black holes are astonishingly beautiful.  “When I look to your heavens, the work of your fingers...”  I imagine God’s fingers carefully crafting these astonishing places in our vast universe.  One breathtaking image from Hubble is that of a star nursery – yes, a nursery!  Millions of stars being birthed in the midst of this protective “cloud” – what a wondrous sight!

Then we return to earth and humanity – and we seem so small, so insignificant. What are human beings that you are mindful of them? If we go back to the creation story in Genesis we are reminded that we are dust. “The Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life” (2:7).  Without God’s breath of life, we are dust.  We are nothing.

When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them? (v. 3-4)

And yet... the psalmist goes on: “Yet you have made [humans] a little lower than God, and crowned them with glory and honor.  You have given them dominion over the works of your hands; you have put all things under their feet” (v. 5-6).

These verses pull me straight into the middle – into this place of tension and discomfort where we live.  This place that is between the wonders of God’s astonishing creation, and the memory that we are dust.  This is the place God has placed us – a little lower than God, yet in charge of God’s creation.  Here we are – in the world, yet not of the world.  It is a place of great responsibility; and a place where we so often feel utterly helpless.  We live in the awkwardness of this middle.  And yet, we so often miss this reality.

We read that God has made us just a little lower than God, and we either hear that we are just like God or we hear that we are dust.  We tend to push for the extremes instead of embracing the middle.

At one extreme, humans live as if we are just like God.  We have found incredible ways to create and sustain life, and equally incredible ways to destroy it.  Like God’s stellar nurseries, we feel we’ve tapped into God’s creative power as we do research with stem cells, or build atom bombs – and in many ways we have.  At this extreme we feel certain that, like God, we have got this world under control.

At the other extreme, humans feel caught by situations beyond our control, helpless.  We feel as if God is not at all mindful of us.  Just think of the tornadoes that swept across the south this week, ravaging communities and killing hundreds.  Where is this God who cares for us?  Or consider broken relationships, lost jobs, loved ones who make bad decisions... Who is this God who created the heavens in all their beauty and yet seems absent from the messiness of our lives?  What does it mean that God crowned us with glory and honor when all these bad things happen?

The truth is, we actually live in this middle, between these two extremes.  There are times when we tap into God’s creative power and there are times when we feel utterly helpless.  We feel the tension of living in the middle, and often we rebel against the middle.  And yet God has called us to this middle; God has given us dominion over all of creation. 

I struggle with the language of dominion.  God has given humanity dominion over all the works of God’s hands.  The psalmist links dominion with putting all things under the feet of humans.  This creates a vivid image for me of humans treading and trampling all things, the way a herd of cattle tramples grass – giving no heed to what is being trampled.  Some Christians have interpreted dominion in this way, trampling not just the earth and the animals that roam upon the earth, but other humans as well.  While this is deeply disturbing, I don’t think this has always been done in malice.  It reflects our struggles with understanding what it means to be in the middle.

For example, I think of the way the European conquerors trampled the natives of the New World and the slaves brought over from Africa – believing they were civilizing and Christianizing the New World as they trampled and crushed old customs, and practices, and beliefs.  They didn’t see that this was an extreme understanding of dominion.  Rather they thought that they had God-given solutions – they believed they could create a better world.

As Christians, I think that we have sometimes swung to the other extreme, so afraid of trampling others that we do absolutely nothing.  We are reluctant to share the gospel with others for fear of offending them.  We are unwilling to confront injustice and racism and economic disparity in our communities for a myriad of reasons that often come down to fear.  We are uncertain of how to respond to environmental concerns... It is as if we have forgotten that our God is the God who created the heavens and the earth.  Our God has invited us to be caretakers of all of God’s creation.

God is calling us to a place of great tension and discomfort – a place we should not shy away from – this place in the middle, between the two extremes.  This is a messy place where some people are crushed and others snap under the pressure.  This is an awkward place where we don’t have all the answers.  This is a place of awesome responsibility.

In the middle we remember that God is God and we are not.  We recognize that God has chosen to share God’s power with us, and that this calls us to step gently as we seek to love and nurture and sustain everything God has put under our feet.  In the middle, we feel the tension of longing for power versus wanting to live humbly.  We recognize our daily struggle to trust in God rather than giving in to fear.  We long to know how to live faithfully in this place in the middle between the first creation and the new creation.  Yet sometimes we get so lost in the middle, in the messiness, that we lose sight of where we are.

Let’s step back and regain our perspective.  Look at this beautiful psalm.  It starts and ends with praise!  “O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”  “O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”  Like book ends, reminding us that no matter how challenging life in the middle can be, we are always called to begin and end with praise.  Like a sandwich made with two slices of the bread of life – adding flavor and grace to our lives in the middle.  Like the hands of God – our Lord and Sovereign – holding us and protecting us and loving us as we live in the middle.  

But there’s more good news.  Jesus gets what life in the middle is like.  From the Philippians Christ hymn we affirm that Jesus Christ, “though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, and being born in human likeness” (2:6-7).  He has lived in the middle – fully human and fully God.  Jesus knows what it feels like to stand in the middle between a broken world and the healing/creating power of God. Jesus knows how uncomfortable and messy life can be. It led to death on a cross.

Yet, in Christ’s death we find overwhelming, undeserved forgiveness.  And in Christ’s resurrection we find new life.  And in this Easter season we live as those who have found new life in Jesus and yet still see the brokenness of this world.  Remember, Jesus knows the pain and struggles and challenges and temptations of life in the middle.  He sent his Holy Spirit to give us life and guide us in all truth as we live in the middle.  And when we step back and look, we realize that our Heavenly Father is holding us in his hands and will not let us fall.  So no matter what life throws at us, let us embrace a life that begins and ends with praise! “O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”  In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.