Sunday, January 16, 2011
January 16, 2011 - Epiphany + 2
“What are you looking for?”
That's the crucial question, isn't it? “What are you looking for?” Former bishop of the ELCA, H. George Anderson (many of you just know him as Bishop George) once said, “People are hungry for God, yet are settling for spiritual junk food.”
Looking around the world, looking inside myself, I know that's true. We are a people, a society, that is spiritually hungry, but we don't quite know what it is that we are looking for, and so we fill up on lots of stuff that tastes good, but really just has a lot of empty calories. For example, I was a little amused and a little dismayed this week at all the hubbub over the reported changes in the zodiac. If you didn't hear about it, there was some report about how our alignment with the stars has changed over the eons, and so what was once true about which constellation you were born under has shifted – you may not be the same sign you always thought you were. There was all sorts of Internet chatter about this – people who were vehemently declared their identification with their sign – and how they weren't going to change. Who knew our horoscopes gave us such a sense of meaning and definition to our lives?
Of course, that's not the only thing. What are we looking for? Well, if we're not sure, the world will give us 101 answers... We are seeking meaning and purpose, a sense of direction and fulfillment, a feeling of happiness and satisfaction – and the world around us will tell us that we can find these things through our work, through our possessions, through our favorite football teams. We can find it in the clothes we buy, the food we eat, the school we went to or hope to send our kids to someday. Whatever it is we're looking for, we think we might find it in the latest self-help book or what some refer to as the church of Oprah, who now has her own TV network. And after all this, still we resonate with that U2 song. I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For. That liitle voice inside our heads speaks up periodically to say, “Is this all there is?” We want something more, something deeper, something truer.
It's age-old, this quest for more, this longing for a life with meaning and purpose. We see it in today's gospel with Andrew and the disciple who is not named. Clearly, they're looking for something. Apparently they hadn't found what they were looking in their local synagogue, because they had become disciples of John the Baptizer. And yet still, they must have felt that something was lacking, because when John the Baptist gives his testimony, pointing beyond himself to Jesus, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world, they hear what he has to say, & it's bye-bye John, and off to follow Jesus. Who knows what they thought they'd find. Did they just take John at his word? Are they just curious? Happy to go after the latest religious guru who comes on the scene? Whatever the reason, they set out behind Jesus, following him.
And then Jesus turns and sees them there and asks that pivotal question: “What are you looking for?” “Rabbi, where are you staying?” And Jesus simply says, “Come and see.” Come with me to the place where I am. Come and get to know me, not by following at a distance, but by spending time with me. Come and see, not only who I am, but who you can be in & through me. Jesus invites them into a relationship with him, to dive in deep, to become a part of this new thing that God is doing. “Come,” Jesus says, “come find what you are looking for in me.”
There was a movie some years ago – I don't even remember what it was – but the commercial for it always showed this scene where the man says to the woman he's fallen in love with, kind of awkwardly, but you can tell he really means it, he says, “You're everything I never knew I always wanted.” I think maybe the disciples would have understood that – because they didn't exactly know what they were getting into that day, they didn't know where following Jesus would lead them, they may not even have known for sure what they were looking for, but in Jesus, they found it; in him, they found everything they never knew they always wanted. Andrew goes and tells Simon Peter his brother, “We have found the Messiah!” John the baptizer points him out, Jesus invites them, they follow, and their lives are never the same.
Many of us still haven't found what we're looking for, or maybe you have, but we all know someone who's still seeking. Well, Jesus' invitation is an invitation for us too, & for anyone we know who is searching. Come and see. Jesus doesn't promise an automatic fix. His invitation is not to get “ your best life now!” It's an invitation to a relationship, a call to come close, to dive deeper, to get to know him more and more intimately. If what we're looking for is money or fame or the easy comfortable life, if we think that Jesus will be satisfied with just being the icing on the cake, instead of the bread of life who is at the center of who we are, then we'd better look again, because that's not what Jesus is about.
But if you're looking something more, something deeper, something truer; if you're looking for the one who gives meaning and purpose, the one who will call us up out of ourselves to be something more, to find ourselves by giving ourselves away, who will teach us to find true life by losing it, then come and see. You just may find that life in Jesus is everything you never knew you always wanted.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
January 9, 2011 - The Baptism of Our Lord
"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me."
That's what we say; even young children know this rhyme. “Sticks & stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.”
We say them almost as a magical incantation, as though by saying them loud enough, believing in them hard enough, they might come true.
But we know that they're not. We know that all too often, names have the power to hurt, the power to wound, the power to destroy.
Because names are powerful. Names come filled with meaning, layered with expectations. Names have a way of defining us and defining others. And all too often, the names we receive and the names we give are not positive, life-giving, life-affirming names. We all know what it feels like to be called names – and that's never a good thing.
I originally worked on this sermon from that angle – the power of names to hurt us when we are the ones being called names. When we are the ones who walk around with old names that haunt us and hurt us, that make us question who we are and the worth that we have. Names that define us in ways that we would not define ourselves, and yet somehow have power over our thoughts, our actions, our life course. Because the names we are known by are core to our sense of who we are. They say something about us. They give us identity, for good or for ill. And that's certainly one angle, and one thing for us to think about – the names we have been given, the names we call ourselves.
But yesterday's shootings in Arizona at Representative Gifford's “Congress on Your Corner” event, where Congresswoman Gifford's was shot along with several others and 6 people, including a 9 year old girl, died, made me think about it in a different light. Because we are not always the receivers of negative names and labels. We are often the givers. Oh, maybe not face to face, but in our minds, in the ways that we perceive others. The labels we give to them affect how we think about “those people”, whoever those people may be, and how we think about “the other” affects how we treat them, and down the line the story goes. So we may say that names will never hurt us, but we have seen countless times that names have the power to hurt – and not just in yesterday's events – because we don't know exactly what led this young man to mass murder, although I think I can safely say that whether it was related to this tragedy or not, the political dialogue in our country has gotten way out of hand -because we focus not on what we have in common, but on the things that divide us.
But it's not just yesterday's shooting that reminds me that words have the power to hurt. We saw it in the number of suicides that made the news this past fall – the young man from Rutgers who jumped off the George Washington Bridge, the teens around the country driven to kill themselves because they were tormented about their sexual orientation. The bullying that goes on every day in schools around the country against kids who are in some way different. Names have power.
Jesus too was called by many names... not so much the negative names that I've been talking about, but still, names that were filled with meaning, names that were filled with other's expectations for him. Names that had the potential to hurt him by drawing him away from what God had called him to do, because they sought to define him – who he was, what he was meant to be, what he should do. We heard a lot of these names during Advent and Christmas:
Jesus: God saves
Emmanuel: God-with-us
From Isaiah: Wonderful counselor; mighty God, everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Son of David, King of the Jews
Light of the World, Word-made-flesh, Bread of life.
Good Shepherd, Lamb of God, Messiah.
Good names, for the most part, yet weighed down with baggage, with other's preconceived notions of who he was supposed to be. Maybe that's why John the Baptizer has such difficulty when Jesus comes to the Jordan to be baptized by him. Jesus, Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world, come to be washed clean? Comes to enter the waters of sin? No wonder John resists. Jesus' actions this day don't match the names John has for him or how he believes Jesus is to act.
And yet here in the river Jordan, we hear a powerful, life-giving, life-affirming name. There in the river, stepping down into the middle of the muck and mire of the sins of those who were there before him, Jesus takes those sins on himself. He lines himself up with us and stands beside us – and as he does, we hear God speak from heaven - “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
Son. Beloved. That is who Jesus is. Before and alongside any of the other names he has been called, this name is the one that matters most. It is the one that reveals his core identity, the root and source of all he is. This is the name that will empower him and sustain him for all the work that is to come, for his temptations in the wilderness, for the rejection by his people, for his death on a cross. Here he sees the Spirit of God descend, here he hears the very voice of God, naming him, claiming him as God's very own: “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well-pleased.”
And these are the words we hear spoken over us in our own baptism – over and against any of the names that we may be called the rest of our lives. God says to us, “You are my child. You are beloved.” Before and beside any of our other names, we hear the name that matters most: Beloved child of God.
But that name is not just for us, for we are all children of God. We are all beloved by God. I wouldn't go so far as to say that God is always well-pleased with us. Certainly God is not pleased when we call each other the names that divide and separate us, the names that hurt and wound each other. And we here today have another name: Christian. Follower of Christ. We who have this name are called to step into those baptismal waters again and again, repenting of our sin, hearing our names called: Child of God, so that we may learn to see ourselves that way. We are called to stand up and speak out against the other names we use for each other, to learn to see and treat each other as fellow beloved children of God. May we learn to speak names that bring hope, that bring healing, that bring peace. May the names we call each other be grounded in love, God's love for us, and God's love for the world.
Amen.
January 2, 2011 - 2nd Sunday of Christmas
Today was a service of lessons and carols. We let the 7 readings stand for themselves on this day, and don't have a sermon, hence there isn't one here. =)
Friday, January 7, 2011
December 26, 2010 - The First Sunday of Christmas
I sometimes wonder about the people who put the lectionary cycle together. The lectionary is the 3-year schedule of readings that we and many other churches and denominations use each Sunday. I know that a lot of thought and prayer and discussion went into coming up with the order. But today, I have to wonder what they were thinking.
Because today is not the day that we want to hear the kind of story we read about in Matthew's gospel. It's the day after Christmas for crying out loud. The final notes of Silent Night are still echoing in the air. We've just barely finished laying the little Baby Jesus in his place at the center of the nativity scene. But before we can really enjoy the scene and savor the moment, an angel of the Lord is appearing to Joseph in a dream again. Only this time, the angel doesn't say, “Do not be afraid.” No, this time, the angel comes with words of warning: “Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” (Mt. 2:13)
See, on their way from the East to search out the child who had been born king of the Jews, the wise men stopped by Jerusalem to ask for directions. (Maybe that's why they called them wise men? =) ) They went looking for a king in kingly places, in Jerusalem, the city where you would expect a king to be born. And word of this had made it back to Herod, who panicked. Herod was a paranoid, power-hungry man, enraged at the thought that there was another who might take his place. Threatened by one whose birth the very stars announce, Herod tries to find out where exactly this child has been born. He says it's so he can go pay his own respects, but we know his true motive: he seeks this new king so he can destroy him. And when the magi are themselves warned in a dream to avoid Herod on the road home, Herod is infuriated. Not knowing exactly where this one child is, Herod does the next best thing (from his point of view): he sends men to kill all the children 2 and under in and around Bethlehem.
And right then and there, at that moment in the story, our Christmas bubble bursts apart. The joy we felt with family and friends, giving and receiving presents, eating good, special occasion foods – all of the warm feelings, the idea that at this time of year at least we can avoid the hurt and pain and trouble of our lives and the world – they all come crashing down as we hear this story the church has dubbed “The Slaughter of the Innocents.” It's all too easy to imagine that scene, to hear the voices of moms and dad wailing and lamenting, weeping for their children, refusing to be consoled. It makes your heart hurt to think about it.
And it makes you wonder again why the creators of the lectionary decided to put this story on this Sunday, the 1st Sunday after Christmas. It doesn't match up with our Christmas card imagery, it doesn't jive with what we think Christmas is supposed to be all about. We don't want to be reminded of these kinds of tragedies on our special Christmas weekend. We don't want to think about the fact that around the world, even now, even on and around Christmas day, innocent children still die at the hands of the powerful. Please, just let us have our merry little Christmas without the stark reality that children die from poverty, hunger, disease, and abuse, that all too often the voiceless and vulnerable suffer because of the greed and violence of the rich and strong. Wouldn't this story fit better somewhere else in the church year? Or better yet, couldn't we just leave it out all together??
But as hard as this story is to take, as much as it saddens and appalls us, as much as it jars our sensibilities about Christmas, this story and all the ones like it that have taken place throughout time and down through the ages – these stories are at the heart of Christmas. They wouldn't make it on a Christmas greeting card, but it is precisely because the world is so full of sin, of evil, of hurt and pain and tragedy and death that we need Christmas. It is because people all over are hurting and mourning and grieving, because they have reasons to weep and lament and refuse to be consoled, because we are in slavery to our fear of death – our own & others; it's because of our deep needs and our utter inability to find the answers that will solve these problems and save ourselves once and for all that Jesus comes. This story of a bunch of children slain because of a jealous and threatened king is just one symptom, a sign of a world that was broken long before Jesus was born, a world desperately in need of a Savior.
God sees all of these things. God does not stand idly by in the tragedies of life. God is not made of stone – the Hebrews reading reminds us that in Jesus, God takes on flesh and blood and comes down into this world that is still filled with pain and mourning and longing for things that once were and things that will never be. He comes to share our suffering and to bring us hope – because in Jesus, God says a decisive NO to violence and abuse and tragedy. This is not the way God created our world to be, and it is not the way the story will end. That is the witness of scripture to us, that one day this messed up, broken-down, savage world will be restored, that wrongs will be set right & injustice replaced with justice, that he will come to set us free. Over and over in scripture, God comes to the defense of the weak and the lowly, to heal the hurting and heart-broken. Hebrews tells us that Jesus shares our flesh and blood “so that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death... and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by the fear of death.” He comes to help us, not despite the world's problems, but because of them.
And so, even as we cringe away from this gospel story and all the stories like them that we hear every day, we know that these stories do not and will not have the final word. God promises us a better day, the day the book of Revelation tells us about, the day when God himself will be with us & wipe every tear from our eyes, the day when death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things will have passed away. We rejoice in that promise, and cling to the One whose promise is sure, even as we pray, “Come transform our world, Lord Jesus. We need you.”
Amen.
December 24, 2010 - Christmas Eve
I've always been a fan of candles. When I was a kid growing up, my mom had all sorts of sconces with votive candles hanging on the walls. She & I were of differing opinions about what the candles were for – she thought they were mainly for decoration, but I always wanted to light them.
Candles enhance my experience of worship too. Some of you may have picked up on that when you came to last summer's Wednesday night worship or to our Advent Evening Prayer services any year since I've been here. I enjoy their flickering light, their warm glow, their peacefulness. It makes tonight a highlight with all of the extra candles we have and the singing of Silent Night with all of our candles lit. Candles for me can help draw me into the presence of God.
But we come to the readings for tonight, and I am reminded of why candles exist in the first place. The reason we have candles is because of darkness.
The Old Testament reading from Isaiah talks about this darkness – and about people who walked in that darkness, who lived in a land of deep darkness. The people Isaiah was writing to, the people of Judah, knew darkness. They were living in the dark place of fear, as enemy armies came near and threatened to overthrow their king and their nation. They lived with that anxiety, not knowing where to turn as invasion menaced them.
And they're not the only ones in our stories for tonight who knew the darkness of the world. Joseph and Mary faced it too, on their long journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem – forced on this trip near the end of her pregnancy, not by choice, but by the command of Roman rule. The darkness grew as they came to the end of their travel, not knowing where they would stay; The shadows of anxiety and tension deepened as Mary began to feel the first pains of labor.
The shepherds walked in darkness too that night, out there in the fields, watching their flocks. They knew the weight of responsibility, the importance of guarding their animals from thieves and predatory animals. This was their livelihood, their source of income, the way they provided for their family. The darkness of vulnerability, of insecurity, of uncertainty was tangible to them, they could feel it closing in around them that night.
We're no strangers to darkness either. We live in shadowy places, shadowy times ourselves. Perhaps it starts with the literal, physical darkness that pervades this time of year, as we pass through ever-shortening days with less & less sunlight. Despite all of the holiday festivities, this is a time of year people struggle even more with depression. We lay awake in the dark, wondering how we'll pay the bills for all the gifts we have bought, or maybe just the basic necessities – the rent, the heat, & will there be enough left over for enough food? We may struggle with the darkness of divorce or domestic violence or disillusionment.
And the wider world tends to feel like a land of great darkness too, what with the struggles of a recovering economy, and two wars that seem like they may never end, or at least not with the outcome we were hoping for when we went in. Struggles in southern Sudan, tensions between North & South Korea, political battles in our own government for the direction our country will take. There is much bad news in our world, much darkness. It takes its toll on us, it weighs on us. Even grown-ups can be afraid of the dark. And so we come here on this holy night, huddled together, looking for some peace, some comfort, a way to hold back the darkness for a little while longer.
It is into just such situations that Isaiah speaks, bringing words of promise, words of hope: “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness – on them light has shined.” (9:2)
Isaiah isn't just talking about candles. He's not talking about flashlights or light bulbs or even big mega-watt spotlights. He's talking about God's light, the light that comes to us as a gift, freely given; God's light that dawns as a child is born this night. “For unto us a child is born. Unto us, a son is given.” (Try not to sing Handel's Messiah now, I dare you!) The light Isaiah tells us about is the one the angel announces to the shepherds as they work through the darkest hours of the night watch: “Do not be afraid; for see – I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.”
This child born is the one John's gospel speaks of, the one he says is the life that is the light of all people, the light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it! This child, Jesus, the one we celebrate tonight, is the one who comes to break the yoke of our burdens and the bar across our shoulders. He comes to be God-with-us, the Word-made-flesh-and-living-among-us. He comes to light up our darkness.
In Jesus, we see God alive and active and coming to be with us in our world, whatever our circumstances, whatever the darkness that we brought with us into this place tonight. In Jesus we see that God is not far off & distant, but here among us, living with us, sharing all the messy details of our very human lives, because God comes to be with us. This was good news for the shepherds, it was good news for Mary & Joseph, it will be good news for the wise men when they show up – and it is good news for us! As dark as life may sometimes seem, the birth of Jesus reminds us that all hope is not lost, for a great light has dawned – the light of hope and promise and peace, the light of Christ breaking into our world. And it's not just for us, the angel says. It is good news for all the people!
So we sit here tonight, and we bask in the glow of all of these candles – but I want you to know that here in this place, candles are not lit to hold the darkness at bay. No, we light these candles to defy the darkness, because we know that Christ, the light of the world, has come. His light cannot be confined within these church walls. At the end of this service, as we sing Silent Night, we will share the light of the Christ candle... it will be given to you, and you will give it to the person next to you and they will give it to the person next to them, and on & on until this whole room is lit up, aglow with light and love, reminding us of Christ's presence in this place. But it doesn't end here – because the light and love of Christ is meant to be carried out of this church. We, who have met this great light, who have seen a great light shining, are called to be light bearers, taking this light Christ has given us and passing it on to each other whenever we sit in those dark places, and to anyone and everyone who is still living in a land of deep darkness and trembling in fear. Jesus is born. God is with us. This is good news of great joy for all the people. Let's make sure everyone knows!
Amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)