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Even though this is Inauguration Day, I’m still learning about how to get caught up on blogging. So this is really my riff on the sermon from Sunday, two days later. Anyway, Inauguration Day is going to take a day to process, so you can check in tomorrow.
Of all the civil holidays on our calendar, it’s particularly appropriate that Christian churches celebrate the birthday of Martin Luther King, Jr. King is the only Christian minister who is honored with holiday by our government, and he’s honored for his ministry. King’s life and his social activism was formed by his faith in God. In 1954, before the Civil Rights movement, before the Montgomery bus boycott, when King was just an up-and-coming young preacher, he preached a sermon that included these words:
I'm here to say to you this morning that some things are right and some things are wrong. Eternally so, absolutely so. It's wrong to hate. It always has been wrong and it always will be wrong…no matter if everybody is doing the contrary. Some things in this universe are absolute. The God of the universe has made it so. And so long as adopt this relative attitude toward right and wrong, we're revolting against the very laws of God himself.
That conviction was the basis for King’s work. His belief in equality, in love, in justice, was rooted in his belief in God—God who had established laws of right and wrong that bound all humanity, whether they believed it or not. He confronted human lies with God’s truth through his words, but even more through his actions. King brought about change by forcing the violence, hatred, and lawlessness that had built segregation out of the shadows. He forced the sheriffs to use their clubs in the daylight, and the Klansmen to make their speeches on national television—and when the true nature of segregation was displayed in the open, millions of white Americans were shamed into changing it. All that truth caused trouble, but the truth always does. Jesus was very clear about that, and told his followers that commitment to the truth would always cause trouble:
Count yourself blessed every time someone cuts you down or throws you out, every time someone smears or blackens your name to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and that that person is uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens—skip like a lamb, if you like!—for even though they don't like it, I do…and all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company; my preachers and witnesses have always been treated like this. (Luke 6:22-23, The Message)
So if you’re witnessing to Jesus, you’ll get in trouble. And if you’re not getting in trouble, then you’re not witnessing to Jesus. That’s a tough message to hear, because none of us like to get in trouble. But a life of trouble is exactly what we’re called to live, if we’re serious about being followers of Jesus. Of course, that applies to me as much as you...and I hope you'll have a chance to hear about some of the trouble I get into in the months ahead.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
Text for the week: Luke 10:1-11
After this the Lord appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. He said to them, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this house!’ And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you. Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’ But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, ‘Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near.’
Sermon Riff: Everybody Wants to Go to Heaven, but Nobody Wants to Die
I don't write out my sermons, so I can't post them in a blog. And anyway, I often spend a day or so thinking about what I should have said. So instead of posting a weekly sermon, here's a "sermon riff," a posting that's based on the sermon and the sermon text.
This week I was talking about change. We're starting a new "transformation process" (the consultants who run it won't let you call it a program). These fads and buzzwords come and go, so I had to explain to the church why this wasn't a waste of our time and money. So I wanted to say something about change that you can't find in a management book. And here's what I got:
For the most part, people don't like change. Some do better than others, but change is scary--and the older we get, the scarier it seems to become. Why is that?
Maybe because change always equals loss. When we go through a change, we lose something that we have, and that's always scary and uncomfortable. No matter what good a change brings us, there's always a cost. Change is a trade: we lose something old and receive something new. So change always brings loss. And as we get older, we get closer and closer to the biggest, scariest, and most uncomfortable change of all, when we give up everything we know, our lives, our whole world, and pass into a truly unknowable future. Perhaps our fear of change, deep down, is a fear of death.
I hope this is true, because Jesus has an awful lot to say about our fear of death.
He said, "Those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it." He carried that through his actions too--he gave up his job, his home, his family, and eventually his life to serve God and other people. He was afraid--like the song says:
When Judas had betrayed him, his Father heard him cry,
He was brave until his death but he didn't wanna die.
Even Jesus was afraid of death, but he went through it anyway. And what happened? Jesus overcame death. He won the victory. He entered into a kind of life that we can't even begin to understand. He "emptied himself," as an ancient hymn puts it, and was filled with a new, glorious life that goes totally beyond the life that we understand and live. And he left us the promise that what happened to him would happen to us too...that if we faced our fear, if we accepted change, if we gave up the things that we cling to, that we would receive what God has in store for us.
And so the Gospel, the good news of Jesus, tells us that we never have to be afraid of change. The losses are real, but the promise is real too--that God knows more than we do, and that the more we change--the more we lose--the more God can give us. If we can accept that, we will get more than a seminar or a program...we can allow our whole lives will be changed.
This week I was talking about change. We're starting a new "transformation process" (the consultants who run it won't let you call it a program). These fads and buzzwords come and go, so I had to explain to the church why this wasn't a waste of our time and money. So I wanted to say something about change that you can't find in a management book. And here's what I got:
For the most part, people don't like change. Some do better than others, but change is scary--and the older we get, the scarier it seems to become. Why is that?
Maybe because change always equals loss. When we go through a change, we lose something that we have, and that's always scary and uncomfortable. No matter what good a change brings us, there's always a cost. Change is a trade: we lose something old and receive something new. So change always brings loss. And as we get older, we get closer and closer to the biggest, scariest, and most uncomfortable change of all, when we give up everything we know, our lives, our whole world, and pass into a truly unknowable future. Perhaps our fear of change, deep down, is a fear of death.
I hope this is true, because Jesus has an awful lot to say about our fear of death.
He said, "Those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it." He carried that through his actions too--he gave up his job, his home, his family, and eventually his life to serve God and other people. He was afraid--like the song says:
When Judas had betrayed him, his Father heard him cry,
He was brave until his death but he didn't wanna die.
Even Jesus was afraid of death, but he went through it anyway. And what happened? Jesus overcame death. He won the victory. He entered into a kind of life that we can't even begin to understand. He "emptied himself," as an ancient hymn puts it, and was filled with a new, glorious life that goes totally beyond the life that we understand and live. And he left us the promise that what happened to him would happen to us too...that if we faced our fear, if we accepted change, if we gave up the things that we cling to, that we would receive what God has in store for us.
And so the Gospel, the good news of Jesus, tells us that we never have to be afraid of change. The losses are real, but the promise is real too--that God knows more than we do, and that the more we change--the more we lose--the more God can give us. If we can accept that, we will get more than a seminar or a program...we can allow our whole lives will be changed.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Pastor's Column, January 2009
One of the comments I hear most often is, “our church has gotten so busy!” We’ve got an awful lot going on, and the period around Christmas has a particularly full calendar. When we get busy, it’s easy to get caught up in the rush of activities and lose focus on the point of all our business. That’s never a good thing, and it’s especially dangerous in a church, since our work only matters if we keep it connected to our reason for working. None of our services, events, or meetings matter if we don’t keep them focused on God.
This Christmas Eve, we’re focusing on both God and our neighbors. We will be giving our offering for the Christmas Eve service to the Salvation Army. More importantly, we will be posting flyers about the service around the downtown area and the neighborhood, and will specifically invite the families who come to the Lord’s Table on Christmas Eve to join us for worship. Please take a moment to invite your neighbors—friends and strangers both—to our service.
After church on December 28, we’ll be having a special congregational meeting to vote on the appointment of five new elders. This might seem like a dry formality, but I want to lift up the significance of that meeting. In our church, elders are called and ordained. When we ordains a ministers—pastoral ministers or elders—we are saying that we recognize and affirm a gift of God given to specific people to build up the community. And one of the basic principles of our church is that the gift of ministry has to be recognized and affirmed by God’s people. We have all sorts of boards, committees, and individual leaders, but all of those are secondary to the whole people of God. And so this business meeting is a holy time, a moment when we join together to speak the Word of God.
On January 4, the next week, the church will be celebrating our 175th anniversary. We will be learning about and reflecting some of the history of our church, and our celebration will be completed by the ordination of our new elders—a step into the future that will start the next 175 years of our church history. Afterwards, we’ll have a light lunch. All this will give us a chance to consider where we have been and where we are going, to think about the heritage that we are
January 11, the week after that, we’ll be introducing another step into the future. Back in November, the board decided to get involved in a process to help us open up to God’s calling for us, as a church and as individuals. Over the next year, we’ll be working with other Disciples churches in Indiana, regional staff, and an expert in church transformation. A group of church members will be the guides who lead the church through this process, and we’ll be lifting up them and the whole church.
So please take time to be involved in these celebrations, and pray with me that our business doesn’t turn into “busy-ness,” that we continue to do the Lord’s work and not just church work.
This Christmas Eve, we’re focusing on both God and our neighbors. We will be giving our offering for the Christmas Eve service to the Salvation Army. More importantly, we will be posting flyers about the service around the downtown area and the neighborhood, and will specifically invite the families who come to the Lord’s Table on Christmas Eve to join us for worship. Please take a moment to invite your neighbors—friends and strangers both—to our service.
After church on December 28, we’ll be having a special congregational meeting to vote on the appointment of five new elders. This might seem like a dry formality, but I want to lift up the significance of that meeting. In our church, elders are called and ordained. When we ordains a ministers—pastoral ministers or elders—we are saying that we recognize and affirm a gift of God given to specific people to build up the community. And one of the basic principles of our church is that the gift of ministry has to be recognized and affirmed by God’s people. We have all sorts of boards, committees, and individual leaders, but all of those are secondary to the whole people of God. And so this business meeting is a holy time, a moment when we join together to speak the Word of God.
On January 4, the next week, the church will be celebrating our 175th anniversary. We will be learning about and reflecting some of the history of our church, and our celebration will be completed by the ordination of our new elders—a step into the future that will start the next 175 years of our church history. Afterwards, we’ll have a light lunch. All this will give us a chance to consider where we have been and where we are going, to think about the heritage that we are
January 11, the week after that, we’ll be introducing another step into the future. Back in November, the board decided to get involved in a process to help us open up to God’s calling for us, as a church and as individuals. Over the next year, we’ll be working with other Disciples churches in Indiana, regional staff, and an expert in church transformation. A group of church members will be the guides who lead the church through this process, and we’ll be lifting up them and the whole church.
So please take time to be involved in these celebrations, and pray with me that our business doesn’t turn into “busy-ness,” that we continue to do the Lord’s work and not just church work.
Meeting Jesus
Last month I talked about meeting Jesus. This week, I met Jesus.
He didn’t come to meet me in any of the places he’s supposed to be: not on the cross, not in a stained glass window, not in the pages of the Bible, not in communion, not in my heart, not in any of the other places I’ve been told to look for him. No, Jesus walked right into the hall outside the church office. And he didn’t look the way he was supposed to either: no halo, no flowing hair, no flowing white robe, no unwrinkled white skin. No, Jesus was a black man with a clean coat and a huge duffel bag, salt-and-pepper hair cut very short, the smell of a few cigarettes, and a few wearied lines in his face.
I kept him waiting when he came in; I was on a very important phone call. When I was finally ready, I walked out of our locked office (we always keep the office locked, because you can’t be too careful). I went into the hall where he was sitting on an old pew and sat down next to him. He said, “can we talk in private?”
I wasn’t sure, but I took a chance, unlocked the door, and walked in with him. Then it occurred to me that I never talked to people in the hall, and I felt a little guilty. “Sit wherever you like,” I said. He sat down. I did too.
Then he told me that he was trying to get home to Kentucky—a little town I’d never heard of. He called me “brother,” talked about how he prayed and how God took care of him. I didn’t pay much attention because I knew that vagrants always try to impress preachers with a lot of talk about God. He told me how the father at the Catholic church had gotten him a room at the motel, how the Lord had moved a stranger had given him enough money, how a friend was coming to pick him up tomorrow. “So,” he said, “I need a ride to the store and then to the motel.” I waited for him to ask for money. He didn’t.
“You mean you just need a ride?”
“That’s right…and if you could, wait for me to run into a grocery store and buy some food.”
I could do that. So he tossed his bag in my van, got in, and we drove to a store. I made small talk and tried to figure out his angle. Would he tell me that he couldn’t pay at the store? Would he ask for me to pay for another night at the hotel? Was he going to just ask for money? I couldn’t see the plan as I waited. I thought about telling him that I had to go. I’d already gone out of my way to give him a ride, done my good deed for the day. I was going to miss my lunch, and it wasn’t that far to the motel...but when he came out with a little bag of food (I noticed ramen noodles, which are just about the cheapest food you can buy), I felt a little more guilty and kept quiet.
Then he said, “can we stop by the gas station too? I just need one thing.” So I took him to get his pack of cigarettes. Of course, even when he was begging he was still smoking—it figured. “I’ve got 10 minutes,” I told him. I stopped by a pump to wait for a car to pull out of a parking space, and he jumped out right away. I was definitely going to miss lunch now, so I dug in the back of my van and found a brownie. I’d bought it in the morning because I’d missed breakfast. I left late because I’d had to search for pants…I couldn’t fit into the ones I’d picked out, the ones that fit just fine before Thanksgiving. After I bought it I thought that maybe I didn’t need a brownie after all, but now I was missing lunch too, and I had to eat something, didn’t I? So I ate the brownie quickly. I had to shove the last bite in my mouth because he was done in four minutes and jogged back to the van. “Sorry that took so long,” he said.
Then we drove through the cold rain to the motel. It was a lot farther than I remembered. I thought about walking all that way in freezing rain. I thought about how long I’d be able to keep my home if I lost my job. I thought about the brownie I’d eaten, even though it was bad for me. I thought about eating it quickly, before the hungry man next to me noticed. And I remembered the words of judgment that Jesus said he would repeat on the last day:
“I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me.”
And when the judged would ask Jesus, “Lord, when were you a hungry or thirsty or a stranger stranger and we didn’t help you?” he would say
“Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.”
Then I knew that I was meeting Jesus, and that I had not welcomed him in. And I felt very, very, guilty.
He didn’t ask for money, but when he wasn’t looking I stuck a bill in his bag. I thought I’d feel better, but I didn’t. Then I remembered something that one of Jesus’ disciples said: “If I give all I possess to the poor but have no love, I gain nothing.” So I pulled out my card.
“Would you do me a favor?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said.
“When you get where you’re going, call me so I know you’re safe. Oh, and if your friend doesn’t come and you’re stuck here longer, let me know.” Then I looked him in the eye, and shook his hand. He smiled. He picked up his bag, his food, and his smokes, and went into the motel.
It’s a good thing for me that Jesus doesn’t hold a grudge. But the next time he shows up, I won’t leave him waiting in the hall.
He didn’t come to meet me in any of the places he’s supposed to be: not on the cross, not in a stained glass window, not in the pages of the Bible, not in communion, not in my heart, not in any of the other places I’ve been told to look for him. No, Jesus walked right into the hall outside the church office. And he didn’t look the way he was supposed to either: no halo, no flowing hair, no flowing white robe, no unwrinkled white skin. No, Jesus was a black man with a clean coat and a huge duffel bag, salt-and-pepper hair cut very short, the smell of a few cigarettes, and a few wearied lines in his face.
I kept him waiting when he came in; I was on a very important phone call. When I was finally ready, I walked out of our locked office (we always keep the office locked, because you can’t be too careful). I went into the hall where he was sitting on an old pew and sat down next to him. He said, “can we talk in private?”
I wasn’t sure, but I took a chance, unlocked the door, and walked in with him. Then it occurred to me that I never talked to people in the hall, and I felt a little guilty. “Sit wherever you like,” I said. He sat down. I did too.
Then he told me that he was trying to get home to Kentucky—a little town I’d never heard of. He called me “brother,” talked about how he prayed and how God took care of him. I didn’t pay much attention because I knew that vagrants always try to impress preachers with a lot of talk about God. He told me how the father at the Catholic church had gotten him a room at the motel, how the Lord had moved a stranger had given him enough money, how a friend was coming to pick him up tomorrow. “So,” he said, “I need a ride to the store and then to the motel.” I waited for him to ask for money. He didn’t.
“You mean you just need a ride?”
“That’s right…and if you could, wait for me to run into a grocery store and buy some food.”
I could do that. So he tossed his bag in my van, got in, and we drove to a store. I made small talk and tried to figure out his angle. Would he tell me that he couldn’t pay at the store? Would he ask for me to pay for another night at the hotel? Was he going to just ask for money? I couldn’t see the plan as I waited. I thought about telling him that I had to go. I’d already gone out of my way to give him a ride, done my good deed for the day. I was going to miss my lunch, and it wasn’t that far to the motel...but when he came out with a little bag of food (I noticed ramen noodles, which are just about the cheapest food you can buy), I felt a little more guilty and kept quiet.
Then he said, “can we stop by the gas station too? I just need one thing.” So I took him to get his pack of cigarettes. Of course, even when he was begging he was still smoking—it figured. “I’ve got 10 minutes,” I told him. I stopped by a pump to wait for a car to pull out of a parking space, and he jumped out right away. I was definitely going to miss lunch now, so I dug in the back of my van and found a brownie. I’d bought it in the morning because I’d missed breakfast. I left late because I’d had to search for pants…I couldn’t fit into the ones I’d picked out, the ones that fit just fine before Thanksgiving. After I bought it I thought that maybe I didn’t need a brownie after all, but now I was missing lunch too, and I had to eat something, didn’t I? So I ate the brownie quickly. I had to shove the last bite in my mouth because he was done in four minutes and jogged back to the van. “Sorry that took so long,” he said.
Then we drove through the cold rain to the motel. It was a lot farther than I remembered. I thought about walking all that way in freezing rain. I thought about how long I’d be able to keep my home if I lost my job. I thought about the brownie I’d eaten, even though it was bad for me. I thought about eating it quickly, before the hungry man next to me noticed. And I remembered the words of judgment that Jesus said he would repeat on the last day:
“I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me.”
And when the judged would ask Jesus, “Lord, when were you a hungry or thirsty or a stranger stranger and we didn’t help you?” he would say
“Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.”
Then I knew that I was meeting Jesus, and that I had not welcomed him in. And I felt very, very, guilty.
He didn’t ask for money, but when he wasn’t looking I stuck a bill in his bag. I thought I’d feel better, but I didn’t. Then I remembered something that one of Jesus’ disciples said: “If I give all I possess to the poor but have no love, I gain nothing.” So I pulled out my card.
“Would you do me a favor?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said.
“When you get where you’re going, call me so I know you’re safe. Oh, and if your friend doesn’t come and you’re stuck here longer, let me know.” Then I looked him in the eye, and shook his hand. He smiled. He picked up his bag, his food, and his smokes, and went into the motel.
It’s a good thing for me that Jesus doesn’t hold a grudge. But the next time he shows up, I won’t leave him waiting in the hall.
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