Text: Mark 5:1-20

Day: 2011-12 Narrative Lectionary

Date: January 22, 2012

Take one look at my office here at the church and you will discover that I am not the neatest person in the world.  Some offices look immaculate, almost like they’re never used.  The desk is clear of clutter.  The pens and pencils are all back in their little jars.  Everything is back in its rightful place.

…That is just NOT the way I work.  I admit, it’s the way that I WISH I did things.  I actually like clean offices.  But for me – no, no – I’m a mess-maker.  My office looks like someone threw in a bomb and once everything settled, I just went back to work.

It’s not nearly so bad at home.  Not because I’m cleaner there, but because at home I live with Eryn.  Eryn is one of those neat people.  She is the one who ensures that the house stays in good looking order, so my mess-making is limited there.  It is limited, in fact, to what we have endearingly called “my pile.”  This monstrosity sits at the end of our kitchen table and it is the place where I can stash anything I wish.

What’s in my pile, you ask?  Well, as of this morning, it contains a plastic bag full of items given to us by someone that I have to either put away or give away; two packs of batteries (which are supposed to come to the church!); a library book that I want to read; a BACKPACKER magazine; two more library books that may be overdue; a letter from Johnson & Johnson (a stock that I own) dated in November that probably asks for my proxy vote on some issues that I don’t really care about; and an envelope from Trinity Lutheran Seminary (I put it there to remind me to talk to Eryn about sending some money their way).

This pile, in other words, has become a place where things go when I just am too lazy to deal with it right away, or when I just don’t know what to do about it, or when I intend to act on it but – because it’s in my pile – I often forget about it until after the fact.  My pile is a place where stuff goes to be forgotten.

Every once in a while I get the urge to tackle this localized mess within our beautiful house, but more often than not my own pile scares me.  After a while, I forget what’s in there and I don’t really want to dig into it to find out.

So, it occurs to me that this is kind of what the townspeople did in our Gospel reading this morning.  But they didn’t do it with stuff – overdue library books, unopened letters and the like.  No, no…they did it with a PERSON: namely, the demoniac that we hear about it today’s reading.

To set the scene, Jesus and his disciples were coming from the other side of the sea of Galilee.  They had just been in Capernaum and the surrounding area, where Jesus had been cryptically teaching about the Kingdom of God using all sorts of strange parables and stories.  So after enduring a sudden, strong storm on the sea, Jesus and the disciples finally reach the shore.  But before they could do anything, before they could go anywhere, this man – this demoniac – just shows up.

Who is he?  Well, we get the sense that he may have been a normal citizen at one point.  But then he became possessed by a demon and – at that point – the townspeople tried to deal with him and couldn’t.  The text says: “no one could restrain him any more, even with a chain; for he had often been restrained with shackles and chains, but the chains he wrenched apart, and the shackles he broke in pieces; and no one had the strength to subdue him.”  And without the means or the will to try and deal with this man any longer, it seems that they took him far away – far beyond the city walls – to a place they rarely visit…the graveyard.  And there they chain him up and leave him, hoping against hope that they might be able to get rid of this pesky problem with the old “out-of-sight-out-of-mind-trick.”

Let me stop there for a moment and just say that I know that we all have things that we put aside, for many different reasons.  We are scared of what they might bring up.  We don’t want to finish something that we are particularly enjoying.  Or we are just lazy.  So, we all have things that we have chained up, and we hope to never have to deal with them again.  These things include our troubled pasts…perhaps our own struggles with alcohol, drugs, or some other addiction have been chained up out there, not really dealt with and – therefore – not really “gone;” just dormant.

Failed relationships…yeah, they’re out there, too.  These include – among other things – our relationships that have gone awry with family and friends, now simply put aside so that we don’t have to think about them anymore.

There’s all kinds of stuff out there, chained up so that we can try our best to ignore it.  Those promises that you made that have never been kept.  They’re out there.  Those words that you said to your father when you were 16 and never apologized for.  They’re out there.   Stewardship sermons!  They’re out there, too!  There’s all kinds of stuff in these “graveyards”…these places of death that we hope might have some influence on these less-than-savory issues.  (Political candidates, incidentally, inevitably have to endure other people going through their graveyards and digging up all the stuff they’ve thrown aside.  That’s one of the prices I guess they have to expect to pay!)  The point is: these graveyards are full of the stuff we would rather just forget.  But what would happen if someone were to gain access to all of that stuff?  And what if that someone were Jesus?

Well, in our Gospel story today, I suppose that’s exactly what happens.  This contact-starved demoniac runs up to meet Jesus, and – at once – Jesus recognizes what has happened to this man.  Somehow Jesus already knows about the demon; about this man’s unwilling imprisonment among the tombs; he seems to already know everything.  And so what does he do?  Jesus doesn’t ignore the man.  He doesn’t keep him in chains.  He doesn’t walk away and say “He’s someone else’s problem.”  No.  Instead, he just deals with it.

And – in fact – we will see Jesus do this over and over again throughout Mark’s Gospel.  One of the reasons this Gospel seems to go so fast is because Jesus doesn’t waste any time doing things that need to be done.  He just deals with them.  So, you’re demon-possessed?  Okay, well…be healed!  You’re a tax-collector?  Okay, well…follow me, and I’ll show you a new way of life free of cheating!  You’re a notorious sinner?  Okay, well…come, eat this bread, drink this cup and be transformed!  You’re a self-righteous person?  Okay, well…listen to what I have to say and let your mind be renewed!  There isn’t a person in the gospel – not a sinner, not a Pharisee, not even Judas the Betrayer – not one person in the gospel stories that Jesus doesn’t just deal with right away.  There are no piles left behind.  Only disciples.  There are no loose ends.  Only followers.

So what are you hiding?  What would you rather not face?  What have you been ignoring and burying for years on end?  Are you willing to let Jesus see it, encounter it, and know it?  True, it may hurt…it may cost a lot…but you can be assured that it will be dealt with by none other than Jesus himself.

No fuss…No muss!

Amen.

Text:           Mark 4:1-34

Day:           2011-12 Narrative Lectionary

Date:          January 15, 2012

You can almost imagine the setup to this little scene in our Gospel reading this morning.  “What is the kingdom of God like?” they ask Jesus.

He could say some pat little answer about angels and streets of gold and whatnot…but he doesn’t.

He could explain with some deep theological jargon about the eschatological impacts of God’s impending reign and how proleptically we are able to experience it here and now…but he doesn’t.

No, instead he answers this question with something unexpected: a story.  SEVERAL stories, in fact.  And to us (and presumably to the people of Jesus’ day) we’re left wondering what kind of answer that really is.  I mean, did YOU think that these parables answered the question?  I didn’t.  Neither did the disciples, apparently!  So, what gives?

David Lose, a Professor at Luther Seminary, helpfully outlines the importance of story as a helpful answer to a question in a book entitled “Making Sense of Scripture.”  (I have it, if anyone wants to borrow it.)  In the book, he invites us to imagine that we’re on a first date.  “How do you get to know the person you’re dating better?” he asks.  You ask questions, is the obvious response.  But he challenges that answer by asking another: Do you ask “fact” questions?  Do you ask for facts about themselves?  Age, what they do for a living, what their favorite color is, how much they weigh?  (Maybe not that one!)  The answer, of course, is that you do some of that, sure; but for the most part you want the other person to talk about themselves.  In other words, in answer to the question “Who are you?” you are looking for a story.  That will tell you more about that person than any “fact” you might get out of them.  You’ll learn all about their family history, like-dislikes, pet-peeves, what makes them happy or sad, and even – by listening to their accent – where they come from ethnically or socio-economically!  And none of that comes from factual questions.  It all comes from stories.

David Lose says “There’s a kind of narrative truth about who we are and what we believe that’s at least as important as the facts we share.  But you can’t prove this kind of truth.  [Instead], over time you can experience the truth of [this narrative]…The point is, [that facts] aren’t the only kind of truths that matter to us.”  Sometimes narrative truths are more telling…

I get this.  It makes sense to me.  If I were holding Lydia, say, and a stranger came up and asked me who she was, I could easily say “She’s my daughter.”  But that hardly gets at who she is.  It doesn’t go into her adoption story, or the tumultuous and heart-wrenching six weeks of the paternity case we went through, or the relinquishment and reuniting that we endured, or her goofy personality, or love for books and dogs, or her uncanny ability to growl like a lion from time to time.  If you want to know about Lydia, I mean really know her, I’ll have to tell you a story.

The same thing happens for us Lutherans.  I don’t know about you, but when people ask about my profession – what I do for a living – I’m always a little reluctant to say that I’m a pastor.  It brings about either a lot of unwanted attention or special treatment.  But when I do respond by saying that I’m a Lutheran pastor, I’m always a little more wary of the second question that inevitably comes next: What’s a Lutheran?

Have you ever been asked that before?  How would you respond?  A “reformed Catholic?”  “Catholic lite?”  “Someone who follows the teachings of Martin Luther?  All of those may work depending on with whom you are speaking, but none of them really answers the question.  If you want to know what a Lutheran is, you’re gonna have to listen to a story.

And so it was apparently for Jesus.  When he wanted to teach people about the Kingdom of God.  He did so in a story.  He gathers the huge crowd around him and notices that the group is so large he has to get out on a boat so that everyone has room to hear him on the beach.  And once he steadies himself, he clears his through and he begins.  “Ahem…The Kingdom of God,” he says, “is like the story of a extravagant farmer who sows seed everywhere – in rocky soil, in thorns, along a path, and in healthy soil.  Most of it dies, but some of it grows and it results in a huge crop!”  At that point, I imagine a dramatic pause as Jesus scans the crowd, looking for even the slightest sign of comprehension.  Not seeing any, he continues, “The Kingdom of God is like a light that is brought out from under a bushel basket so that it can illumine the whole world.  [Pause...]  The Kingdom of God is like a surprise crop that springs up overnight.  [Pause...]  The Kingdom of God is almost as undetectable as a mustard seed, yet when it is full grown it can’t be missed.”

The scene is set up in such a way that we might imagine that Jesus could go on and on giving examples and stories and parables about the Kingdom of God.  And, indeed, in other places he does just that.  The Kingdom of God is like a city on a hill.  It’s like yeast in a batch of dough.  It’s like this…  It’s like that…  Over and over and over again…story after story.

It might make us feel a bit uncomfortable, I suppose, to never get a direct answer.  It certainly makes the original disciples uncomfortable – and according to our Gospel lesson this morning – Jesus tried his best to make things as plain as possible for them, and they still didn’t get it!  But maybe “getting it” from Jesus’ point of view isn’t just assenting to a bunch of facts.  Maybe “getting it” from Jesus’ point of view isn’t about codifying it by writing it down in black and white.  Maybe “getting it” – from Jesus’ point of view – is…well, maybe it’s kind of like taking the Kingdom of God out on a first date.  It’s about spending time with it and letting the stories open and reveal a truth that facts alone cannot tell.

That way, when we’re asked about it ourselves, we might be able to better respond in ways that help it to make sense to us and our modern-day context.

What is the Kingdom of God like?  Well, for you desert-dwellers: it’s like a drop of rain in a scorching, dry desert that makes the plants come to life.  For you computer-geeks: It’s like a computer code of 0′s and 1′s so that one little change will affect the whole computer program.  For you quilters: It’s like a small, purple square in the middle of a white quilt that – when washed – bleeds and transforms the entire quilt into a fine shade of blue.

“Is that true?” people may ask.  “Well,” you may respond, “that’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it.”

Amen.

Text:           2 Kings 22:1-20; 23:1-3

Day:           2011-12 Narrative Lectionary (Josiah)

Date:          November 27, 2011

Most of you know that I grew up in Detroit, Michigan.  I spent my whole childhood there.  There are some advantages to living in one place for such a long time: you know where things are; you don’t get lost very often; and you get a real sense of ‘home.’  Well, after 17 years, Detroit had become MY city.  I knew all the shortcuts.  I knew all the ways to get around when there was traffic on the desired route.  I knew all the places to watch out for police trying to snatch speeders.  I knew it all like…well…like it was the place where I had lived for years and years.  Detroit was MY city.  Well, actually, the suburb of Troy was MY city.  Okay, well, to be honest, it was only a little tiny section of Troy…but you get the point.  After spending my whole life in this little patch of the world, I grew up to know it inside and out.

Then I left.  It came time for college, and – therefore – I only visited this, MY city, every few months.  And then the visits became more and more sparse.  Then I got married and moved to seminary, but still the visits to my childhood home were somewhat few and far between.  And then, finally, we landed here in Albuquerque – a place that has since become a new ‘home.’  Since we’ve been here we’ve only been back to the Midwest once and we made sure to visit the family in the Detroit area during the trip.  But – I’ll tell you – it was weird.  The streets were all the same, but I didn’t really know them anymore.  I knew the Interstates, of course, and even a few of the names and orientation of the major thoroughfares; but I didn’t remember the Exit to get off at to most easily access my aunt’s house.  I didn’t remember the shortcuts, or the escape routes, or the police speed traps.  Nothing.  And yet – on the other hand – it still felt like it should be ‘home.’  In other words, I knew that I should have known this place, but I didn’t know it anymore!  It was a weird feeling.

Have you ever felt a similar way about the Bible?  You know: that knowing-that-you-should-know-it-but-you-don’t-really-know-it kind of feeling?  Yeah…I’ve felt that way, too.  Many – even most – of us in this room grew up with this book.  The stories were read to us by our parents, grandparents, or godparents.  We learned about the great stories of Noah and David and Jesus in Sunday school and Vacation Bible School programs.  We heard the readings on Sunday mornings and tried to stay awake during the pastor’s sermons to learn about these different characters and stories.  And all of this taken together made this book – this Bible – OUR book.  The stories found between these covers were OUR stories.

But then…we left it.  Who knows why.  Perhaps it was new-found freedom in college – like what I found – that tempted us away from this book.  Or perhaps it was a life-changing event – a death, a birth, a marriage, a divorce – that prompted you to put this book aside.  Who knows…in any case, most of us at one time or another have put this book away.  Left to gather dust on our shelves or on our coffee tables.

And what’s the result?  Well, I think it’s to be expected that when we go back to the Bible, when we read these stories, we might feel like we’re in a “foreign familiar” place.  We know the major stories, and we might even know the general direction of the plot, but by and large this book has become something different to us.  We have lost touch with this most basic tool of faith and life.  Many American Christians (and – dare I admit – American LUTHERANS) don’t know this stuff anymore beyond a very cursory knowledge of ONE of the creation stories, and a vague idea about the whole story of Adam and Eve; we know the fact that Noah was involved in the flood story but we don’t know the lesson we’re supposed to get out of it anymore; we know the idea of the Exodus and the 10 commandments more because of movies than because of Scripture; and the same could be said for the Gospels.  We know the stories, but they don’t FORM us, they don’t IDENTIFY us, they don’t DEFINE us and NURTURE us anymore.  We don’t remember all the little intricacies anymore.  We don’t remember the detours from the main story.  We just don’t remember.  And yet – in spite of all of that – this book feels like ‘home.’

Weird, huh?

So, today we read this story about Josiah and finding the book of the law.  And after reading this story, I guess I got to wondering, how many of you honestly have heard this story before?  How many of you remembered it?  How many of you thought to yourself, “OH, YEAH!  We get to hear about Josiah and the re-discovery of the book of the Law today!  That’s my favorite!”?  Maybe more to the point: How many of you knew that this was even part of OUR STORY?  My guess is not many.

Well, you know what…you’re not alone.  (In fact, I didn’t know anything about this story until seminary myself.)  But it just goes to prove the point of the story.  Because here in this story about Josiah, we hear about how the people of Israel – even Israel’s KING – had forgotten…forgotten their story.

You see, these Israelites had grown up with these stories, too.  They heard about the six days of creation; they had heard about the flood; they had heard about Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and Joseph; they had heard about the Exodus (maybe they even heard about that a little too much!); and they heard about the giving of the law to Moses on Mt. Sinai.  Yes, yes…they had heard all of it.  But – you see – some people didn’t really care about it anymore.  Kings – it seems – especially didn’t want to hear this stuff.  Why?  Well, I suppose because it would make them behave, it would demand that they remain ethical, it would challenge their power…and, as you might guess, Kings didn’t really want to hear about that stuff.  So, Manasseh – a notoriously bad king of Israel – literally hid the book of the law so that he could go about his life and shady business without the guilt.  And once that book went away, it was quickly forgotten.  The kings and the people just went about life however they saw fit.

Until Josiah came.  And in an unlikely twist of events, one of his servants stumbled upon this dusty ol’ book.  And when the servant brought it to the king and read it to him, I imagine that the king’s ears started to tingle.  These stories, these laws, these words from the LORD must have sounded familiar, but foreign.  He knew that he should know this stuff, but for some reason he didn’t know it anymore.  But he knew it was important…so he read it to the whole people of God.  And their faces betrayed the fact that they, too, knew that they should know this, but they didn’t know it anymore.  But as a result of these words, once they had heard them and remembered them, they made a new covenant to follow the LORD with all their heart, mind, soul and strength.  In a sense, they had returned ‘home’…and they KNEW it.

This week marks the first week of Advent for us.  Advent is a short, four-week season of the church year that precedes Christmas.  To be clear, although we do sing Christmas songs and carols here at Messiah already, it is NOT YET CHRISTMAS.  It is Advent – a Latin word that literally means “coming to.”  It is a season of the church when we both look backward to the past as the LORD CAME TO the world in the baby Jesus; AND we look forward to the future as Jesus COMES TO the world again.  But this story made me wonder whether we should add a new dimension to Advent this year.  Namely, perhaps WE need to COME BACK TO these stories, this book, this Bible again.  Perhaps we need to COME BACK to this, our home.  Perhaps we need to COME BACK TO these stories that we know we should know, and get to know them one more time.  Perhaps this year, we need to take Advent a little more seriously…

So, here’s your challenge this Advent season: go back and reclaim this book, this Bible, as YOURS.  Declare these stories to be YOUR stories.  And perhaps you can start by simply taking that Bible off of your bookshelf at home and placing on your dinner table.  Read a story – ANY story – before you eat.  Talk about what you read with your kids or grandkids…let them experience these stories for themselves.  Dare to crack the spine on that decorative, gold-leaf Bible that has been sitting on your coffee table for years and take a peek inside.  Bring those Bibles to church with you to read as we read.  Bring a pen and write notes in the margins!  Underline important phrases or favorite verses.  Come back.  Come back to your Bible…and re-know what you already know.

Welcome to Week One of YOUR Advent.

Text:           Deuteronomy 5:1-22; 6:4-9

Day:           2011-12 Narrative Lectionary, Week 5 (Law)

Date:          October 9, 2011

It’s a miracle, I’ll have you know, that I have anything to say here this morning.  Not because our texts have nothing important to say, but because this week I found myself torn between several competing allegiances.  It started right away on Monday morning – as is usual – with a Bible study with a good friend back in Ohio.  But in an effort to finally finish our study on the Book of Acts (which has been going on for about a year now) we decided to push through the last chapter.  Although this time of Bible study was wonderful, this was just the first of many appointments that filled my time this week.

Soon I found myself inundated with numerous tasks and appointments that the week thrust upon me:  I had a few visits to make to people who needed time to talk.  I was the host for a weekly text study with local pastor’s…after which I spent a great deal of time talking with them about upcoming events, congregational concerns, bishop election, etc., etc.  I had to prepare and deliver an overly-ambitious Bible study on not one, but TWO of Paul’s letters – both of which were longwinded (which Paul tends to be), confusing (which Paul tends to be), and chockfull of huge theological concepts that needed to be explained (which is common for Paul, too).  Of course, I had the requisite phone calls and emails to be made and returned.  I spent an inordinate amount of time this week trying to arrange some transportation details for our Spiritual Growth Retreat for next Summer.  I finally got some of the last details down for a bid on our proposed Audio-Visual System.  OH, and – of course – I wanted to play and spend good quality time with my beautiful daughter and wife.  I wanted to take care of myself physically by playing racquetball with some good friends.  I had to spend time shivering this week to stay warm.  And on Thursday, finally, I found a window of opportunity to sit down for a while and write a sermon.

And so it was for three whole hours on Thursday afternoon, I spent sitting in front of my computer, staring at a blank page on my computer screen, hoping against hope for some divine inspiration…that never seemed to come.  Because, of course, during those three hours my mind was going crazy!  I was still thinking about all kinds of things: what to do for dinner; how to pay for a dental cleaning for our dog, Bella; NEXT week’s Bible study; spiritual care of our members; preparing for our classes to bring in NEW members starting next week; how to turn on the heat in the church because it was going to be quite cold this weekend, but then – inevitably – it will get warmer.  My mind could not be stopped!  For three hours, I sat still while my mind raced…and the sermon never happened.

So, this morning I tried yet again to channel the Holy Spirit.  But I was confounded yet again.  My mind kept thinking about all kinds of different things.  And when I did successfully think about this sermon, the one question that kept coming up was: How in the world are you going to preach a ten minute sermon on the Ten Commandments?  It’s impossible!  So, I gave up and went to take a shower fretting about what I would say to you this morning.

And – as usual – the bathroom proved yet again to be the one, reliable location of divine communication.  Unexpectedly, while I was sudsing my hair, I was struck by the power behind the words of what is called the Great Shema – a simple confessional statement found in Deuteronomy 6:4 – “Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone.”

It was brilliant!  And it was just the word that I needed…for me especially…but the more I thought about it, it is probably just the word that you might need, too.  Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone.

Every word in this little phrase seems to have been meant for me today.  Especially, perhaps, the first one: “Hear.”  It is a Hebrew word that I think can loosely be translated “LISTEN UP!”  It’s like God shaking me on the shoulders trying desperately to get my undivided attention.  Then, of course, the phrase “The Lord is God, the Lord alone.”  That is, of all the other distractions, none of them are really God.  None of them can give you life.  None of them are ultimately as important as the Lord, and the Lord alone.

Maybe I’m wrong, but I think for people who live in a world full of distractions, God’s voice inevitably gets lost in the competition for attention.  We always have other things on our minds or dayplanners that seem to take priority over God at any given moment.  So, I’m curious: what was it this last week that took up your time, your attention, away from God this week?  (Allow time for response.)

Like I said, inevitably all of these things – both those that you just mentioned and others – distract us.  And more than that, these other things try to take on the role of God in any given moment.  It’s a condition of humanity, I suppose.  Kind of like a disease.  But it’s nothing new.

For instance, the Israelites in our Old Testament reading this morning certainly had a lot on their minds.  There they were, all gathered together at the base of Mount Horeb.  They had just been wandering through the Middle Eastern desert for 40 years!  And now they are on the cusp of entering the Promised Land and – finally – some rest!  But I imagine they were immensely busy!  Manna collecting every morning.  Quail hunting and collecting every evening.  Trying to stay “clean” and properly prepared for worship of God at all times.  Following all 630-something commandments that God has just given to them through Moses.  Oh, and spending time with their families and children.  Oh, and preparing themselves to enter into the Promised Land at long last.  Oh, and generally trying to survive in the open wilderness of the Middle East.  It’s no wonder that they are a bit distracted from the basic stuff that God was trying to tell them.

And so, today, God keeps trying to get their attention.  The first word that we get this morning, then, is that all-important word: Hear.  Listen up!  God tries to break through the din and at that point he repeats the 10 commandments.  He has already given these same commandments 40 years earlier, right at the beginning of their wilderness journey.  Now, God gives them a second time – the basic building blocks of a healthy society – perhaps because God knows that once they get into the Promised Land, the temptations and distractions to listen to other “gods” will increase even more.

So God lays these commandments out one more time.  This is how you stay in proper relationship to God: You respect me, my name, and you spend time with me at least once a week.  And this is how you stay in proper relationship with each other: You honor one another, you don’t kill each other, you don’t steal from each other, you don’t lie about each other, you do whatever you can to protect each other’s stuff.

But then, almost immediately, you can imagine the Israelites starting to distract themselves yet again.  In the blink of an eye, they start debating with one another how exactly these commandments ought to be followed.  They start fretting about what might happen if they DON’T follow them.  The distractions just come right back.  So God says it again: Hear.  LISTEN UP!

And that’s when we get the Great Shema: Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone.  In other words, other things will inevitably distract you, but only one thing will bring any satisfaction or relief or life: that is the Lord.

Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone.  The Jewish people still today memorize this verse and say it twice daily – once right when they wake up in the morning, and once right before they go to bed at night.  I think it serves to bring us back to our rightful place.  In the midst of a world of distractions, it brings us back to the Lord.  In the morning, we put the Lord front and center.  At night, we put away all of the things that distracted us that day, and we put the Lord front and center.

You know, maybe it would do us some good to put it into practice ourselves of saying it a few times.  Morning, night, when we’re most distracted, when we need a little reminder.  And, of course, we should make it personal.

Hear, O Tim: the Lord is your God, the Lord alone.  Listen up, O ________: the Lord is your God, the Lord alone.  Listen, ________…the Lord, is your God, the Lord alone.

Listen…

Listen…

Listen…

The Lord is our God, the Lord alone.

Text:           Exodus 1:6-22; 15:20-16:8

Day:           2011-12 Narrative Lectionary (Exodus)

Date:          October 2, 2011

Over the past four years I have stood here in front of you and – almost every week – I get up and begin my sermon by telling some story about my past.  Anything and everything from what happened just that morning to my earliest memories have been fair game.  And from these stories you have undoubtedly learned a lot about me: I am from Michigan (GO BLUE!); I am an only child; I am a procrastinator at heart; I am pretty good at cooking, and I am pretty horrifically terrible at taking care of plants.  Of course, there’s much more that can be added to that list, but today I plan to add yet another: I came to terms this week with the fact that I’m an amateur technology junkie.

It all came to a head this week when I was ogling the new iPad from Apple.  I marveled as I looked at its sleek design and its impressive performance.  To me, this computer not only was fast, but it seemed smart…like it knew what I wanted it to do even before I could tell it do it!  It was incredible.  And immediately and without warning I found myself boldly breaking the Tenth Commandment (not the coveting my neighbor’s donkey part, but just coveting in general any of my neighbors who happened to own one of these iPads).

What snapped me out of this covetous impulse was a comment from a man standing not five feet away from me talking to what looked like his daughter.  “Can you believe that this tiny thing is a whole computer!” he said.  “They used to be huge…and slow…even just ten years ago!”

He was right, of course.  Computers used to take up entire rooms.  Many of you probably remember those.  Being me, I hearken back to the 1990′s, when our family computer was big and bulky and had a total of 256 Megabytes of RAM.  Today, my PHONE has more memory than that!  And one of those iPads…it has up to 65,000 times more memory than that!  Technology has continued to best itself, so that now any computer-related item you buy is outdated as soon as you hear the “Ka-Ching” of the cash register.

And once that thought crossed my mind…well, that’s when I came to terms with the fact that I’m a technology junkie.  Because I have to admit that I’m the kind of guy who loves to buy these things…and then a month later, I’ll find myself longing for whatever “new” thing has come out.  Only then do I realize all of the flaws with the marvelous piece of technology I bought.  Only then do I start to see exactly what MY computer is missing.  Only then do I long for what I think might be better.  Although what I have is perfectly good, although it is exactly what I need, and it has proven to be wonderfully reliable in times of need…I want something more.  Us Techno-Junkies are finicky people.

But – comfortingly – I know that I’m not the only one like this.  We all have our finicky moments – whether it’s in regard to technology or cars or food or men or women or hairstyles or school or job…or pretty much anything really.  You see, this is part and parcel of what it is to be human: we always want something more, something better, something we think is better than what we have.  And not only that, but we want that something else NOW.

Admit it or not, but we certainly do live in a Culture of Convenience…and we love it.  The Culture of Convenience, after all, has given us such wonders as fast food and McDonalds; disposable plates that are fancy enough to use at dinner parties; Six-Minute Ab workout videos; Satellite Cable with 1600 channels; and – of course – new technologies that allow us to be connected via phone, video and internet anywhere in the world.

What do all of these things have in common?

None of them are good enough.  Eventually, they will all be found to be lacking something.

Our Old Testament reading today shows that this is nothing new.  The Exodus story – of which we heard only the very beginning and very end – is one of the greatest and most re-told stories of the Bible.  Prophets, Kings, Jesus and even Paul use the Exodus event over and over again to showcase how God works and what God is capable of doing.

The story portrays God as the antithesis to Pharaoh, the King of Egypt.  Whereas Pharaoh desires to kill this nation by drowning all of their newborn sons in water, God delivers them as they walk through the Red Sea.  Whereas Pharaoh levies hard manual labor against them, God lifts their burdens by liberating them from their taskmasters.  Whereas Pharaoh stubbornly refuses to let these people leave, God appoints an equally stubborn prophet in Moses to keep coming back with the Divine Request to “Let My People Go!”
The story, of course, culminates in the scene where they pass through the Red Sea and Pharaoh and all his army is drowned.  Immediately thereafter we get a short song from Miriam praising God for all he has done.  And they set out from there for a long, 40-year trek through the wilderness.  We get the sense that they have gone no more than a few hours into this journey when the complaining begins.  First, it’s water.  Then, it’s food.  Then, it’s a supposed lack in leadership.  Then, it’s water again.  Then, it’s food again.  Hardly a chapter goes by without SOME kind of complaint levied against God and a remark that it would have been better if they had just stayed in Egypt.  At least there they knew that they had what they needed at their fingertips…even though it was like a living hell.

So, I ask you, what else is the story of the Exodus but a tale of a finicky people who find themselves oppressed and in need of rescue only to complain that the God who rescued them isn’t convenient enough?

But, of course, that’s only one side of the Exodus story.  It’s the side that we all understand, the side that we all can relate to, because it’s exactly what we would have done in that situation.  We are those whiners in the Book of Exodus.

The other side of the story, though, is God’s side of the story.  And what does this story tell us about God?  Well, that God is powerful.  That God is intimately concerned for God’s people.  That God hates injustice and oppression.  That God is the author of salvation.  Yes…all of that is true.  But I think the Exodus story really strikes the point home that God is committed to God’s people.

I find it remarkable that the waters of the Red Sea have barely calmed before the Israelites start complaining and wishing they had all of the comforts and conveniences of home…and yet God does not abandon them.

I find it incredible that the sweet water that God provided to them to drink has barely dried on their lips before they start complaining that God must not care about them because they don’t have food right here, right now…and yet God does not trade them in for other, less-demanding people.

I find it incredible that they complain later on about how God hasn’t provided a proper leader to them as they are munching on the manna that God gave them to eat just that morning…and yet God doesn’t stop providing for them as he always had.

Throughout the whole long saga of the Exodus, the people complain about the lack of conveniences, and God…well, God continues in his commitment to the people.  Not a commitment to make their lives easier, or less stressful, or anything like that…rather, just a commitment to be their God and for them to continue being God’s people…no matter what.

That’s one promise that flows like a long thread, through the Old Testament and into the New; through the early church and through the fabric of time to meet us here in this Sanctuary this morning.  A promise to continue to be God for us…no matter what.  A promise to continue this relationship even when we think we know what’s best for ourselves.  A promise that’s centered on commitment, not convenience.

What is the benefit of such a thing?  It’s not flashy, or shiny…this promise doesn’t come with a bunch of bells and whistles…it doesn’t allow us to add on our own conditions or restrictions…this promise of God is really nothing more than words.

But this promise cannot be surpassed or outmatched or exceeded or overdone…by anything…ever!

To a culture that is continually in the search for something better, this might be hard to swallow…that this commitment of God to us is the best thing we could ever desire or hope for.  And I suppose that this is why most of the Bible is composed of stories AFTER the Exodus, where God’s commitment to God’s people is shown in all its splendor.  The rest of the Bible is commentary, so to speak, on this one event…simply because it is so incredible, so unbelievable, we apparently need 64 more books to convince us that it’s true.

God is committed to you.  God is committed to YOU!  May you take those words to heart this week as you set off on your own journeys into the wilderness that is the Culture of Convenience.  God is committed to you.  May those words act as a reminder to you of the undying love that God has for you no matter what.  God is committed to you.  May we all be given the strength in faith to return the favor to God.

Amen.

Text: Genesis 18 and 21

Day: 2011-12 Narrative Lectionary, Week 2 (Abraham and Sarah)

Date: September 18, 2011

I think I’ve mentioned once before how I grew to hate group work in grade school.  It seemed to be some cruel and unusual punishment to stick a bunch of teenagers – all of whom want to express their individuality – together in a small space and make them try to, first, agree on a common topic; second, to actually do the work together; and third, to produce something coherent and intelligible.

But, for me, the real problem with group work was that you had to believe the promises kept by other people.  It all came down to trusting your partners to do what they say they will do…and, quite frankly, even by the time I was in fifth grade I had learned to be suspicious of promises made by other people.  Because – let’s face it – most people (not you, and not me, but most people) eventually renege on a promise made, and it throws everything else into disarray.  So I learned to hate group work in school because it linked my grade and the quality of the project with the skills and incompetencies of my other group members.

It didn’t help, of course, that most of the time groups were chosen in advance by the teacher.  We didn’t necessarily get to work with our friends…the people we knew best.  It was a crap shoot for every project.  And inevitably, when the teacher began grouping kids together, people would either smile with relief upon hearing their co-workers names or grimace with pain.  Because – of course – no one wanted to end up with THAT kid.  You know who I’m talking about.  The slacker.  The lump.  The one kid who would promise to do something and would never ever follow through.  Do you remember that kid?  This was the one who – given their track record – you knew was not reliable, but you were put in a position where you had to at least PRETEND to believe them when they promised to do something.  Hearing those words “I promise” come out of their mouths were almost enough to make you laugh.  Because what kind of promise is harder to believe than a promise that has been repeatedly not kept? What kind of promise-maker is harder to believe than one who has continually not kept a promise?

Yeah…I hated group work.

But this whole ‘group work’ conundrum, incidentally, is precisely what leads up to today’s reading from Genesis.  It’s the good ol’ story of Abraham and Sarah.  But we only get a tiny fraction of the story in our reading.  In order to understand it better you need to hear what happens BEFORE.  Only then will you understand how this odd group composed of God, Abraham and Sarah actually worked.

It began with God.  (Of course, it always seems to start with God…what an ego!)  God makes an initial promise to a 75-year-old man named Abram — whose wife, Sarai, we are told “was barren; she had no child”. God made a three-fold promise to Abram: 1) he would have a land; 2) he would become a “great nation” (that is, have many descendants); and 3) he would be blessed to be a blessing: “in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed”.  That’s all fine and good…but notice that without the birth of a child, neither of the other two promises really matter. But the years went by. Sarai and Abraham had no child. And they grew old…well…oldER.
Sometime later, God spoke to Abram again in order to renew the promise. God took Abram outside on a starry night and declared, “Look up and count the stars, if you are able to count them. . . . So shall your descendants be”.  Again, that’s great…but you can’t have a sky-full of descendants when you don’t have even one child. And Sarai and Abram had no child. And they grew older still.
Eventually, Sarai got tired of waiting for the promised child. She tried to circumvent God altogether, and she suggested that Abram try to have a child with her slave, Hagar.  Finally, then, Abram got his child — a son named Ishmael. Abraham was 86.  But this left Sarai out of the promise! She was supposed to be part of the covenant, too, right? God wasn’t done with them yet.
Soon thereafter, God appeared again to Abram to repeat the promise yet another time.  God changed Abram’s name to Abraham, “for I have made you the ancestor of a multitude of nations”.  And God made it clear that Sarai was part of the covenant, too: “Sarah shall be her name. I will bless her, and moreover I will give you a son by HER”.
Abraham’s reaction was two-fold. First, he fell on his face and laughed. Second, he asked God not to keep this particular promise. His son by Hagar was enough for him: “O that Ishmael might live in your sight” was Abraham’s prayer.

Then we get to our reading for today, when three visitors come to Abraham and Sarah.  They repeat the promise yet again.  Note it is not a new promise.  It’s the same one.  The one they’ve been hearing now for years and years.  “Sarah will have a child,” they said.  And now Sarah – who eavesdrops on this conversation – cannot help but laugh at the absurdity of these words.  Oddly, in this story of Abraham and Sarah, God was the group member who could not be trusted.  God was the one who kept making a promise that was never fulfilled.  Over and over in this story, then, we get the picture of Abraham and Sarah laughing at God’s words “I promise.”

But then, can we blame them?  You and I know full well how difficult promises are to believe.  In many cases today we hear them and let them run off our backs…perhaps to protect ourselves from pain when they don’t come true.  Because promises of all kinds are made and broken every day.  An addict promises not to use ever again, only to find themselves back at the bar later that night.  A married couple is torn apart by one spouse breaking their wedding vows – or promises – by having an affair.  A politician…well…I don’t even need to give an example for that!  Even here in the church, you and I have seen people come and make promises before God and you – the church – in their baptism…promises to come to worship, to share in the Lord’s Supper, to proclaim the good news in word and deed…but after they are dunked in that font they never darken the door of a church again.

Promises, promises…we have learned to be suspicious of them.

And so it was with Abraham and Sarah, too.  When God makes that promise again for the fourth time, Abraham and Sarah can barely keep from rolling on the floor with laughter.  Which brings us to the second scene in this week’s reading, in which the fulfillment of the whole series of promises comes about.  Finally, the child Isaac is born — the child whose very name means Laughter.  When God renewed the promise to Abraham in chapter 17, the old man laughed. When God renewed the promise yet again in chapter 18, the old woman laughed, too. So when the child was born, God had the last laugh. The child was named laughter and Sarah said, “God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me”.

Strange that for such a long, twisted story of seeming unfaithfulness – both on the part of God, Abraham and Sarah – that this group eventually becomes one of the strongest examples of faithfulness in the Bible.  For generations people have pointed to Abraham and Sarah as a model of what it means to trust God.  Even Paul, in his letter to the Romans, can hardly suppress his enthusiasm for Abraham’s example of righteousness.  But I think maybe more than just a story about Abraham and Sarah’s faithfulness, this is a story that helps us to know what it’s like to work in a group together with God.  Namely, that God continually makes promises – even if he doesn’t keep them by our deadlines.  But eventually they WILL be fulfilled.  Does that mean that working with God will always be easy or a joy?  Maybe not…but being part of God’s group is well worth it.

I promise!

I do apologize for the lack of recent posts.  This month I have been trying my hand at preaching without notes, and I’ve found it to be more helpful not to write out a manuscript and speak extemporaneously than to try and memorize something.

New posts will be coming soon.

Peace,

Pastor Tim

Text:           Matthew 14:13-21

Day:           Proper 13A

Date:          July 31, 2011

To my little fifth grade self, there was no other word for what saw than magical.  I was watching the Athens High School Symphony Orchestra at our Year-End Concert and I was just dumbstruck by how awesome they sounded.  The concert happened every year and it featured every orchestra in our high school cluster – from me and my fellow puny 5th graders screeching out some horrendous version of “Mary Had a Little Lamb” all the way up to the High School Symphony Orchestra.  Thankfully, the order for the night was to have each group perform in grade order, so our fifth grade group was able to perform first and get it over with.  Then, after we did sufficient damage to the audience’s eardrums, they sent out the better players.  Of course, this meant that I got to put my stuff away and sit with my parents in the darkened audience seats and watch and listen to the others perform.

The Middle School orchestra was good.  They played a few more songs than we did, and a little bit longer, too.  But it wasn’t anything special.  Then the High School Concert Orchestra played – strings only, no woodwinds or brass or percussion or anything.  They were better still.  But still they seemed to lack that “Wow-Factor.”  But, boy, did we get it with the Symphony Orchestra.

As the orchestra took the stage, I was already struck by how large it was.  It seemed to fill up the whole stage and spill into the wings.  They rolled out the big bass drum, chimes, xylophones, and cymbals.  A few woodwinds tooted their way through some scales.  A blaring trumpet quickly rehearsed a difficult section of melody.  The bassoon oom-pahed in the background.  All the while the violins, violas, cellos and string basses plucked, shimmied and squealed with anticipation.  Then, seemingly without a word, everyone stopped.  The concertmaster took the stage and began tuning.  Slowly the whole room filled with the delightful sounds of many instruments straining to find that perfect pitch.  After a polite applause for the conductor’s entrance, the orchestra waited for the baton to twitch.  And without hesitation, they played a powerful first chord that seemed to shake the very foundation of the auditorium.  They were playing a selection of songs from the Phantom of the Opera, one of my favorites – and I couldn’t believe my ears.  It gives me goose bumps still to think of it.  It was miraculous.

I left that concert already dreaming of what it would be like to be part of such a magical orchestra.  And so I spent the next seven years of my life doing whatever I needed to do to get there: practicing, learning and practicing and learning some more.  But here’s what I found out: once I was there, once I was part of that group, it didn’t seem quite so miraculous anymore.  It was beautiful, don’t get me wrong, and I still felt honored to be a part of it!  It just seemed…easy…normal…and ordinary.

It all makes me wonder whether the same thing happened with the disciples, or even with the Jesus Groupies in the crowds that followed him.  Certainly there must have been people who had seen Jesus at one point and were so enamored with what they saw, they did whatever they could to follow him.  And after a while, I imagine that some of the stuff Jesus said or did just became…well…routine.  Now they were part of it – part of the Jesus Movement – and that changed their perspective.

I only mention this because that seems to be what happens in today’s Gospel reading.  All of the Gospels share this story of the Feeding of the 5,000; but Matthew seems to have his own little take on it.  John spends a great deal of time focusing on the identity of Jesus as the Bread of Life.  Matthew doesn’t.  Mark seems to dwell on the disciples and their responses to this event as evidence of their lack of faith.  Matthew doesn’t.  And Luke seems to highlight the timid, but real concern of the disciples for the well-being of the crowd.  Matthew doesn’t.  Nope.  Instead, Matthew does his own thing in this story.  And what Matthew seems to do is make this extraordinary event rather mundane, ordinary and normal.

Note that nowhere does the word ‘miracle’ occur in today’s reading.  Rather, it is told as an event – not unlike most of the other stories in Matthew’s Gospel.  It just happens, and Matthew reports it as nothing out-of-the-ordinary.

Note also that the crowd doesn’t react to the feeding in any special way.  They don’t shout “hooray!”  They don’t marvel at the abundance of food.  They don’t do much of anything but take what is given to them and eat and leave.  To them, this does not appear to be much of anything out-of-the-ordinary.

And the disciples: they, too, seem to go about business as usual.  They voice their concerns, sure.  They wonder how such a small amount of food could possibly feed so many, yeah.  But notice that they never respond or react to what Jesus does.  They simply bring him the goods, Jesus multiplies them, and they distribute the food to the people.  At the end, when they are cleaning up and take up twelve baskets full of leftovers, you might expect some sort of a comment like, “Wow, Jesus!  How did you do that?” or “Can you believe what just happened, James?” or “Did you all notice that we’re collecting more than we started with, Peter?” or “Hey, Look!  Table nine left me a tip!”  No…all we get is that they picked up the pieces.  Period.  Nothing more.

Strange, isn’t it, that Matthew wouldn’t really make this story something spectacular?  That he wouldn’t comment on how anyone reacted, or what anyone said as a result of this spectacular feeding?  This week, I often found myself wondering about that.  For Matthew and Matthew’s characters, this event just seemed to be another day in the life of these people.  It was nothing special.  It was ordinary.

But maybe this is one aspect of what Matthew was implying: for those who were close to Jesus, for those who followed him day in and day out, the miraculous WAS ordinary.  Not that miracles weren’t beautiful and special and something to be treasured, but they were nothing to be marveled at as though they were supernatural.  Rather, they were simply something that could and would happen in the presence of Jesus.

Now, I know, I know…there are those of you – perhaps many of you – who are now wondering what it means if YOU still understand miracles to be something super-special?  Does that mean that you’re not part of Jesus’ crowd, that you’re not a Jesus Groupie?  Surely not.  For I would be willing to bet that you already understand some miracles to be rather ordinary.

In baptism, for instance, we use ordinary water.  It comes right out of the tap in the kitchen.  It’s the same water that we drink at social events and the like.  But in the act of baptism, surely something miraculous happens when God comes down and joins us in that water.  Surely you can understand how some people see baptism as something miraculous.  But we who are close to Jesus act as though it were something quite ordinary.

Or how about Communion.  It’s bread…stuff that you might mop up your soup with at a fancy dinner.  And it’s wine…maybe not the brand you would choose to drink normally, but it’s still just wine that can be purchased at any ol’ store.  But in the act of communion, surely something miraculous happens when Christ comes down and becomes truly present in, with and under these simple elements.  Surely you can understand how some people see communion as something miraculous.  But we who are close to Jesus act as though it’s quite ordinary.

Now, I suspect that many of you – like me – still find it hard to understand how feeding five thousand people with a few loaves of bread and a couple of fish is anything BUT a miracle.  Well, I’m not certain, but maybe we’re still looking at that event through our youthful eyes of faith.  From our seats, hearing about this event – using the eyes of our imagination to watch how beautifully orchestrated the whole scenario must have been – well, that’s enough to make us long to be a part of it.  And it might just be that we have to spend a lifetime with Jesus, practicing and learning from him, and practicing and learning from him some more, to see something so miraculous as ordinary.  Not that it will diminish the beauty and awe and joy that miracles bring about, but that we might come to realize that these miracles are things that can and do happen often in the presence of Jesus.

In the meantime, I pray that we might be given the motivation and perseverance to continue practicing and learning from Jesus so that we might bind ourselves ever closer to him.  I pray that – as a result – we might be able to see the beauty and awe and joy of the miracles happening around us as something to be treasured.  But I also pray that we might grow in faith so that we might see and appreciate what Jesus’ Groupies seem to have known that day all those years ago: that for those close to Jesus, the miraculous IS ordinary.

May it be so.  Amen.

Text:           Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

Day:           Proper 10A / Fourth Sunday after Pentecost

Date:          July 10, 2011

Earlier this week, I was taking an evening walk with Lydia and our dogs around our neighborhood.  It was just about 7:00 and the heat of the day was just beginning to subside.  Still, it must have been about 90 degrees with not even a whisper of wind.  Accordingly, then, all of the children that we came across on our little jaunt were outside doing whatever they could to expend energy while trying to stay cool: Jumping around and over a sprinkler and giggling excitedly when the cold water touched their hot skin; Spraying one another with a hose; playing tag with a kiddie pool serving as Home Base.  It was fun to watch.

When I first arrived in town almost four years ago, I remember that Kris Jaffa told me that just as I got sick of the Spring Winds here in Albuquerque, July would come and I would find myself praying for even a slight breeze!  She was definitely right.  This week, I prayed and prayed and prayed for some relief from the heat…and it wasn’t really even that bad.  The air just felt so incredibly stagnant.

So, as I was praying for wind this week and watching our neighborhood kids trying to beat the heat, I was reminded of a silly game I used to play when I was young.  It was a game that I often played with my neighbor friends in Michigan during the summer, when temperatures would soar and the humidity would be so oppressive you felt like you were living in a steam room.  Desperate for some relief, we stand outside in their front yard and look up into the hazy blue sky and yell as loud as our little voices would yell: “WILD WIND, BLOW!!!!!!!”  Then, we would stand there and wait expectantly for the wind to ‘listen’.  Occasionally, there would be a slight breeze and we would cheer enthusiastically because we were certain that we had just made it happen.  But soon the cool breeze subsided.  Desperate for more – and because we were eager to prove our mastery over the elements – we felt compelled to try again.  “WILD WIND, BLOW!!!!!”  We would wait.  Nothing.  So we would do it again.  “WILD WIND, BLOW!!!!!!”  We would wait.  A little breeze…and we would cheer.  This went on for several minutes before getting bored.

It was a stupid, stupid game…and, percentage-wise, the wind blew less than we commanded it, which would make you wonder why we kept it up.  I suppose it had to do with hope.  If our little voices could command the wind even once out of every four tries, it was worth it.

So, perhaps it is for the same reason that Jesus tells the parable that we heard in today’s Gospel reading.  It is a story about a man who comes across as doing something absolutely foolish, and yet he does it anyway.  He goes out with a bag full of seeds.  But he doesn’t discernibly and discreetly scatter them.  He doesn’t take his time and dig little holes and plant them carefully.  He doesn’t even bother to walk into the middle of a well-tilled field.  We get the sense, rather, that he just goes out into his neighborhood and starts throwing these valuable seeds everywhere and anywhere.  The result is quite obvious.  I mean, think of what would happen if you tried sowing seeds in your neighborhood: most of the seed would end up lying in places where there was little or no hope for its survival – on sidewalks, or among xeriscaped rock-yards, or among some thorny native landscape.  Only a tiny bit – maybe one out of every four seeds – would up in good soil.

So we hear this parable that Jesus tells and I think our reaction is supposed to be something like “How foolish can you get, farmer?!?”  You all know that I am just about as good at killing plants as anyone, and even Iknow that most of that seed would never grow!

Our reading continues with Jesus explaining this unusual parable to his disciples, but – I’ve gotta say – it doesn’t do a lot to help our initial reaction.  He points out that the whole parable is an allegory.  The “seed” represents the word of the kingdom.  The “sower” then is Jesus – the one who is proclaiming this word.  Unfortunately, it just makes the sower – that is, Jesus – seem a bit dim.  It makes his ministry seem senseless.  If three out of four people are not going to grow as a result of his “sowing,” then why do it at all?

Truth be told, much of our work, our ministry, can come across as equally senseless.  Why give $2 in bus fare to the man who comes to the church saying that his car broke down and he needs to get downtown as soon as possible otherwise he’ll be late to start his new job…especially when it is very possible that he might just use that money to buy some booze at the store down the street.  That money meant for ministry can be seen as wasted.

Why fill backpacks with school supplies for children whose families are struggling to make ends meet?  It doesn’t do anything to ease their burden.  That ministry can be seen as frivolous.

Why tell the person who is struggling with depression that Jesus’ love is brighter than even our darkest days?  Those are just words.  That ministry of proclamation can be seen as senseless.

Or more to the point for today, why baptize anyone thinking that it will change their life forever?  After all, it’s just water.  This ministry of sacraments can be seen as deceptive.

I’m sorry to say, but most everything that we do as disciples of Jesus – as the church – can be seen as a waste of time and effort.  Why do it in the first place?  If only a few people will see or hear what we’re doing and respond appropriately, what’s the point?

Well, if we are to get anything out of this parable for today, I suppose it comes from thinking about that foolish farmer.  If that farmer is supposed to represent Jesus, and Jesus goes around spreading the word about the kingdom of God in word and deed knowing that three out of every four people he meets will not hear, understand and grow from it…then that tells me something about Jesus’ persistence and his sense of hope.  He didn’t go around choosing the “ripe” people to preach to.  He preached extravagantly, to anyone who had ears to listen…most of the time, it didn’t make a lasting impression in people’s lives, but occasionally it did.  And that made it all worth it.

He didn’t go around looking for “good soil” people to heal.  He healed extravagantly, to anyone who came to him for help…most of the time, it might not have changed anything but their outward appearance, but occasionally it did.  And that made it all worth it.

He didn’t go around looking for the “fruitful” people to forgive.  He pronounced forgiveness extravagantly, whether they wanted to hear it or not.  Most of the time his forgiveness fell on deaf ears, but occasionally someone took it to heart.  And that made it all worth it.

So this parable might represent Jesus as a Foolish Farmer…but it also represents Jesus as a Hopeful Harvester.  In the end, I think we are supposed to see Jesus as one who sows love and grace and mercy and forgiveness and hope indiscriminately, lavishly, generously, anywhere and everywhere with the hope of a successful harvest…realizing that sometimes nothing will come of it…but sometimes it will!  And that makes it all worth it.

And as disciples of this Jesus, perhaps we can understand our ministry in a similar manner.  Perhaps we, too, are meant to take risks in our ministry and sow the word of God far and wide.  Who knows what will happen as a result.  Perhaps that $2 given to the man for bus fare allowed him to get to work on time, and he praised God for our meager ministry.  Perhaps the money saved on school supplies for the child receiving that backpack allowed the family to spend their money on food for another week, and they praised God for our meager ministry.  Perhaps the one struggling with depression finally felt a glimmer of hope as a result of a friendly conversation, and she praised God for that meager ministry.  Perhaps the one being baptized really did find their lives changed as a result of this sacrament, and God was praised for this meager ministry.

Or perhaps none of that happened as a result of our meager ministry.

Regardless of the results, the point seems to be that as Followers of Jesus we are encouraged to keep on trying, to keep on sowing, to keep on doing ministry in spite of all the odds in the hopes of a bountiful harvest.

We have no shortage of seeds to sow.  There’s no need to be stingy.  Rather, Jesus calls us to follow his lead and begin casting this message of grace and mercy and love out into the world indiscriminately, lavishly, generously and with all our might.  Our actions are bound to transform the world somehow…even if it is by one little seed at a time.  So, let’s get sowing.

Amen.

Text:           Romans 6:12-23

Day:           Proper 8A

Date:          June 25, 2011

Just last week I found a new book to read for pleasure.  I don’t know if I can quite express what a big deal this is.  It takes me a long, long time to find a book that meets my requirements: it generally has to be non-fiction or, if it is fiction, it has to be very life-like; it has to be about something to which I can relate; it has to be written well; and it has to be humorous – not slap-stick, not constant laugh-out-loud funny, but witty, ironic and even sarcastic.  Not many books actually fit this criteria, as you might well imagine.  So it happens often that I go to the library, find five or six books that might pass muster with me, only to find that none of them fit the bill.  In fact, I would guess that I only read maybe four or five books in the course of a year that I actually enjoy.

So, again, it is with great joy and pomp and circumstance that I announce that I have found a book that meets my approval that I have started reading for pleasure.  It’s called Punching In, by Alex Frankel.  It’s not a big book, but the idea of the book drew me in.  The author decided to put himself throughout a year-long experiment during which he would apply and work as a “front-line employee” (cashier, stockperson, deliveryman, etc.) for a select few successful companies in America who have a high rate of employee satisfaction.  His goal was to find out something of their ‘secret.’  What makes them so successful?  And – maybe more importantly – what makes them so well-liked?

At the beginning of the book, he outlines some of the general characteristics of these companies.  The jobs they offer are not all that spectacular, and – more often than not – they are quite menial.  Making and pouring coffee at Starbucks; delivering boxes with UPS; sorting and folding clothes at the GAP.  Anybody can do this stuff, the author notes.  Anybody.  Pick a person off the street and they would do just fine.  But, the author also notes in the next breath, that the companies that are the best at these menial tasks know that not just anybody should do these things.  “So,” the author notes, “these companies somehow have to take these ‘anybodies’ off the street and make them their own ‘somebodies.’”

That sentence stopped me in my tracks.  These companies who are so successful at what they do have found that in order for their employees to be loyal and dedicated, they must first give them a new identity: they must change these people from “anybodies” into “somebodies.”  The people who work at these companies KNOW and FEEL like they are a special, select group of people simply because they work for this company cared enough about them that they gave them something more than a job – they gave them a new purpose, a new identity.

It occurs to me that this is not all that bad of a way to think about the church and us as disciples.  In fact, I would argue that companies have modeled their practices on this age-old church practice that began even back in the time of St. Paul.

Paul, you see, was very familiar with the world of ‘anybodies.’  That was his mission field.  Jesus did not call him to go to the Jewish population – those who already understood themselves to be special, God’s own people; rather, Paul was called to preach to the Gentiles, the outsiders, the “anybodies” of the ancient world.  To be sure, most of the world was composed of these “anybodies.”  Paul’s work, it could be said then, was to transform this world of anybodies into a church of somebodies.

Paul followed this job description to the ‘T’.  He was so good at it in fact that he was known as one of the premier missionaries and church planters of all time.  That does not mean, however, that his churches were all perfect.  The people who composed these various congregations had their problems, too.  Our Second Reading today highlights one of the persistent problems in Rome…and it was a problem that Paul took very seriously: the people didn’t fully understand what it meant to be a Somebody.

I’m not sure that the reading we heard today would have helped any of us through this issue.  Paul tends to be pretty wordy and he often uses lofty language, so much so that his message gets confused in the process.  So, let me pare down this reading today for you all in a few succinct Pastor Tim sentences: You, Romans, were once a bunch of Anybodies floating around in the world, following whatever desires you once had.  In fact, you were enslaved to whatever pleasured you the most.  But now, having come through the waters of baptism, you are have become a Somebody.  And not just ANY Somebody, but GOD’S Somebody.  So, now you are servants – slaves even – of God.  But every day you have to choose: will you remain a Special Somebody or will you go back to your life as an Anonymous Anybody.  What’s it gonna be?

The choice seems simple enough, and Paul certainly leads these Romans to see how absurd the question even is.  Of course we would choose to be God’s Special Somebody!  But the fact is that we often don’t…instead, we succumb to the desire to follow almost anything else BUT God, and in so doing we enslave ourselves to Sin.  Because, at its most basic, this is the definition of Sin: turning away from God to look for life, pleasure and satisfaction from anything else BUT God.

And we’re good at this, I should say.  We’re good at finding things to try and take God’s place.  We are good at getting lured and trapped by Sin, as we often state boldly in our Confession & Forgiveness Liturgy: “We confess that we are in bondage to Sin.”  And that Sin takes many forms, depending on whatever gives us the most pleasure or whatever we desire most.  It could be money.  It could be work.  It could be acceptance.  It could be popularity.  It could even be as innocent as coffee in the morning.  The point is, Sin – in one form or another – is always beckoning us, pleading with us, luring us to abandon our identity as Special Somebodies and go back to the old, pre-baptism self and be an Anonymous Anybody.

So, that’s why Paul tries so hard in today’s reading to plead with the Romans to recognize this power dynamic between being Slaves to Sin or being Slaves to God.  AND he tries ever so hard to make them recognize that this is a choice that they must make, every moment of every day.  Sin is always around the corner, tempting you to follow its empty promises, Paul says; but now that you have come through the waters of baptism, now that you have been claimed by God through water and the word, you have become God’s Special Somebody.  Your Baptism has done more than just make you a good person; your Baptism has ushered you into this new community, your Baptism is the visual sign of God bestowing upon you a new identity, your Baptism has made it possible for you to be a servant or slave of God.

And that’s why we have our Baptismal Font right in the middle of the main doorway to our sanctuary.  You can’t avoid it.  You can’t miss it.  It confronts you every time you enter this place.  And it is there as a visual reminder of a palpable promise: that God has cared enough about you to give you a new, precious identity.  Through these waters, in other words, you have been brought from the life of an Anonymous Anybody to the eternal life of God’s Special Somebody.

THAT…my fellow Somebodies…is a promise, a purpose, an identity that no other person, company or institution can give.  THAT…my fellow Somebodies…is what makes church communities so special.  You are no longer anybody, you are God’s Special Somebody.

Thanks be to God!

Amen.