Rain on the Righteous

59̊ at 1pm in the afternoon.  In the middle of February.  In Indiana.  And a forecast for mid sixties for the coming week.  Something seems ... wrong here.  Nice, a beautiful day to be sure, a blessing of spring in the heart of what is usually winter.  But I can’t but help and be uneasy.  You know how we are, expect the worst.  We’ll pay for this.  It can’t be this easy, this good, this blessed.  

We aren’t made for grace, it seems.  Or, maybe, to grab hold of an often misunderstand and neglected doctrine of the faith, maybe this is what sin has done to us.  Made us suspicious.  Made us live our lives waiting for the other shoe to drop.  We were created for grace, for blessing and wholeness and joy unbounded.  But something happened.  A fruit was eaten, a choice was made, or a history was lived that made us suspicious, made us enemies of those who were designed to be us, to be family, brothers and sisters.  They were designed to be a part of the rich tapestry of creation, in language and culture and color and shape and sound.  But now, they are enemies.  The other.  The ones we protect ourselves from.  The ones we build walls against.  The ones who hate us as much as we hate them. Maybe more, at least that is what we assume.

This is the world we have fallen into.  No sense romanticizing about it.  No sense burying our heads in the sand about it.  They are out to get us.  Aren’t they?  Of course they are.  They hate our way of life.  And we hate theirs in return.  Don’t we?  Of course we do.  For protection, if nothing else.  It only makes sense, we’ve got to keep what’s ours.  We’ve got to stay safe.  It is just the way it is. Let’s be real about it, can we?

Except then Jesus comes along and wants to change everything.  We’ve got this figured out, Jesus, don’t be messing with us.  Don’t be asking for something we can’t ... won’t do.  We understand you have to push, you have to challenge us.  That’s OK.  To a point.  But don’t go overboard.  OK? Whatdaya say?  Jesus?

Matthew 5:38-48 38 "You have heard that it was said, 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' 39 But I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also; 40 and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well; 41 and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile. 42 Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you. 43 "You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' 44 But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. 46 For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? 47 And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? 48 Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.

(Crickets chirping)

Very funny Jesus.  If anyone knows that we can’t be perfect, it would be you.  Right?  Are you trying to make fun of us?  Are you trying to make us feel inadequate?  Are you making some larger point here that we’re missing?  Because we got nothing.  Just years of struggle, pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps, doing our best, soldiering on, putting on our big girl panties, our big boy boots and all that stuff that we say that supposedly motivates us to try again.  To take that hill.  To climb every mountain.  And you know what?  It works.  To a degree.  We can be better, we can be more, when we expend a little effort.  We can be stronger, and more loving.  We can be smarter and kinder.  We can do that Jesus.  We have done that.  Regularly.  But we lose our grip on it so regularly.  It seems you’re never satisfied with small steps.  Never content with feeble efforts.  You seem to be calling us to an all or nothing approach.  Can’t you give us credit for the attempt and overlook the detail, overlook the shortcomings?  

And of course we know He does.  He doesn’t love us because of what we do or don’t do.  We know that.  He loves us for who we are.  Whether we’ve climbed the hill or not.  Whether we’ve loved our neighbor, let alone our enemy.  We are loved.  We don’t need to do anything to get it, we can’t earn it, or be worthy of it.  Except that we are made worthy by His love, by His choosing of us.  Even soaking wet.

No rain in the forecast today, but you can bet it’s not far off.  The rain falls.  When we’ve chosen to embrace the sunshine, to live in the light, the rain returns.  Regularly.  Our fears return, our suspicious nature takes hold of us, the desire to protect our own lives grab hold of us and we forget to live in Him, the One who promises to love us, to hold us.  We act as though we are on our own, our fate is in our own hands rather than in His.  We live as though the boundaries that we have drawn, the company we choose to keep, the colors we prefer is what defines us, rather than truth that our identity is in Christ.  

The Sermon on the Mount isn’t really an “ought” kind of sermon.  We ought to do this, we ought to think that.  No, it’s an is sermon.  This is what we are.  What we already are.  We are perfect in His love.  Perfect.  His love has been poured into us.  His vision has transformed our seeing.  His will has shaped our longing.  When we claimed Christ, that happened.  Be perfect, be the perfect instrument of God’s grace and love that you are.  That you are.

The problem is we don’t believe it.  We listen to too many voices.  We lean in too many directions. We succumb to too many fears.  We surrender the perfection we’ve been given to live in the brokenness we prefer.  It seems safer.  And it is.  In the terms we’ve defined for ourselves, in the short term, this world kind of safety, being wary of the stranger is a safer way to live.  But not a richer, not a deeper or more abundant way to live.  And that’s the invitation that Jesus is giving us in the Sermon on the Mount.

It’s not really a challenge to try harder, to be better bit by bit.  It is instead a call to accept grace, to get wet.  It’s going to rain, that’s the promise in these verses.  It’s going to rain, and we are going to get wet.  And we may think we don’t deserve it.  That we should always live in the sunshine and the warmth.  But it’s going to rain.  We’re going to get hurt.  We’re going to carry a wound.  Be disappointed.  Knocked down.  It’s going to rain.  So, the choice is not really how to keep ourselves safe.  The choice is really how will we live, rain or shine?  

Jesus says He came to bring us life, abundant, rich, satisfying life.  A perfect life.  When Wesley wrestled with this perfect idea, he decided it didn’t mean error free.  That won’t happen, he says. There’s too much we don’t know.  Too much that can get in our way.  Too much that trips us up in a messy world, a fallen world.  But in this fallen world there is the grace of God.  There is the light of Christ.  Perfection, Wesley argued, is not about doing everything right, but about wanting to.  About desiring the good for all.  About wanting to act in love - even when we don’t know what that is.  It’s about willing God’s will in every situation.  

The word we translate as perfect can also be translated as whole.  Be whole, as you Father is whole. Be complete, be mature (maybe Jesus is saying “grow up!”), be finished.  Be single-minded, focused on the goal of loving into wholeness.  Teleos.  That’s the word.  Let’s love like God.  Let’s choose, right now, in this moment in the history of the world, of our nation, let’s choose to love like God.  To see like God.  To risk like God.  

It is asking too much, I know that.  So did He.  But He asked anyway.  No, He didn’t ask.  He told, He invited, He revealed the secret to living the life we were created to live.  On this unseasonably warm and sunny day, He invited us to let it rain.  

Shalom, 

Derek

Let Your Word Be Yes

A busy day.  At Aldersgate, we hosted the district in an event titled “Back to Basics.”  Around 200 folks were expected to come and learn and grow together around the idea of becoming the church we were called to be, the church that is within us to be.  Built around the basics of being church, the participants were invited to consider just how we go about “Making Disciples of Jesus Christ for the Transformation of the World!”  That’s the mission statement of the United Methodist Church, but we don’t often stop and think about how we go about doing that exactly.  Fundamental, yet perhaps forgotten.  I’m sure it was a good event.

I say I’m sure because I wasn’t there.  Not because I didn’t think it was worth attending.  I attended the West District’s Back to Basics event last Saturday, in Terre Haute.  I even presented a workshop on taking a look at our Membership Vows to see what they say, to see what we promised to do, about making disciples and about being the church.  It was a fun exercise and I was on the schedule to do it again here.  Then I noticed that this is the same Saturday that I was supposed to be teaching in Indianapolis.  For many years now I’ve teaching in the Course of Study, which is the educational program for Local Pastors as they serve our churches.  A Local Pastor is a bridge position between laity and clergy.  They aren’t ordained they are commissioned for service.  They don’t always have a seminary degree.  But they attend the course of study which covers many of the same subject.  For at least 10 years I’ve been teaching the preaching course for the Course of Study.  And this was the first weekend of the new term.

So, I spent the day talking about preaching, instead of working on a sermon.  Ironic, I know.  Plus, I was hours away from my church talking about the basics of being the church in regard to the pastor’s role, while my church was hosting a conversation about the basics of being the church from the laity point of view.  Interesting symmetry.  All of this instead of concentrating on a passage about the basics of being a follower of Jesus before the church even came to be.

Matt. 5:21-37 21 "You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, 'You shall not murder'; and 'whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.' 22 But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment; and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council; and if you say, 'You fool,' you will be liable to the hell of fire. 23 So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, 24 leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift. 25 Come to terms quickly with your accuser while you are on the way to court with him, or your accuser may hand you over to the judge, and the judge to the guard, and you will be thrown into prison. 26 Truly I tell you, you will never get out until you have paid the last penny. 

27 "You have heard that it was said, 'You shall not commit adultery.' 28 But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart. 29 If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. 30 And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to go into hell. 

31 "It was also said, 'Whoever divorces his wife, let him give her a certificate of divorce.' 32 But I say to you that anyone who divorces his wife, except on the ground of unchastity, causes her to commit adultery; and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery. 

33 "Again, you have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, 'You shall not swear falsely, but carry out the vows you have made to the Lord.' 34 But I say to you, Do not swear at all, either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, 35 or by the earth, for it is his footstool, or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. 36 And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make one hair white or black. 37 Let your word be 'Yes, Yes' or 'No, No'; anything more than this comes from the evil one.

Whoa, slow down there Jesus.  I mean rules are one thing, but this, well, this goes way deeper.  This is moving from preaching into meddling.  Don’t you think?  I mean it is not just what we do that matters, but what we think, how we feel that seems to matter to Jesus.  That’s a bit much.  A bit intrusive, really.  I mean who can really control thoughts?  Things just pop into our heads.  We’re conditioned to think certain ways.  Right?  It’s not really our fault.  Our brother does something that he knows we don’t like, and he does it intentionally, most likely, trying to get a reaction from us, trying to see if we will stand up for ourselves.  And so we do, we have to, right?  We have to stand up for ourselves and get back at the little twerp for making us mad.  So we do.  But, I mean, we don’t, but we do, sort of.  Nothing bad, I mean, really bad.  We don’t kill him, or even permanently damage him.  But he’s got to know the boundaries, right?

And then that second one.  Hey, God, you made us this way.  Attracted to the one we think is beautiful.  We can’t help it really.  We’re drawn.  We’re helpless.  It just happens.  Surely you can’t be blamed for a stray thought, right?  A really nice, but random, out of nowhere thought.  A what if?  Or how about?  Or suppose it was a deserted island, or if you were the last person on earth, that kind of thing.  You know ...

And there’s the problem Jesus would say as he looked you right in the eye and raised an eyebrow. Truly random thoughts are dismissed as quickly as they arise.  Truly emotional responses fade away without a rational thought.  But that’s not how we deal with “random” thoughts or physical reactions. We tend to dwell on them, to nurture them.  To play them over and over in our minds until they become second nature to us, until the object - and the person we are angry at or lustful toward stops being a subject and become an object - until the object can’t be thought of in any other way.  We’ve killed our brother in our hearts, because he is no longer our brother but the object of anger and scorn and name-calling.  Read the passage as a progression.  It gets worse and worse.  So why not put it back together while it can be put back together?  Why not get over it?  Just let it pass through unremarked, unadorned, un-contemplated as though it wasn’t real, it wasn’t there.  

Notice that the first two come from the ten commandments and the third “you heard...but I say” comes from the statutes.  And it is the most confusing.  And I don’t propose in the space allowed here to explain it.  Since I don’t have an easy interpretation.  Except to say, that when human relationships are involved our actions, our decisions, our choices have implications and those implications can cause hurt even if unintended.  Especially when subjects become objects.  So pay attention.

Which is where we end up.  Paying attention.  To our words in particular.  These are the basics, says Jesus.  Let our words come from our heart, come from our soul.  Let our words honor the other.  Let our words reflect the source of our hope.  Let our word be yes.  Yes to faith and integrity, yes to hospitality and inclusion, yes to community and service.  Let our words go back to the basics.  Let our yes be yes, our no be no.  Can’t get any more basic than that.

Shalom, 

Derek

Hiding the Light

February 5th is my mom’s birthday.  Was I should say.  It was her birthday.  Do you still have birthdays in eternity?  The counting would get impossible, I would think.  And every day is like a birthday when you’re in the presence of the Light that loves.  So, probably not.  But we remember.  Here in this life, the life we shared with her for most of our lives, we remember that this day is special.  It is her day, the day of her.  As if every day wasn’t of her.  As if somehow her birthday is a different grief, a different experience of the loss of her.  I was asked recently if I wouldn’t rather be somewhere else than where I currently serve.  If perhaps the grief I carry would be less in a new place, the memories of what I’ve gone through here could be set aside in the transition.  Which frankly, seemed like a terribly naive understanding of grief and struggle and loss.  Like you could run away from it.  Like, yes I was in this place when this hurt happened so going to a new place would remove the hurt.  

We carry with us, wherever we go, the accumulated hurts and joys that make up our lives.  We carry with us the conflicts engaged and the love shared no matter where we are.  I remember conversations I had as a child, as a youth, throughout my life, they remain with me, these encounters, for good or for ill.  I am who I am because of the light that has shown on my life.  I am flavored by the salt that has been sprinkled on me and over me, sometimes by surprising people in breathtaking moments.  Or as Elphaba sang to Glenda, I am who I am because of the handprints on my heart from those who flowed into and sometimes out of my life. My mom is but one, brightest perhaps, but only one of those lights that shown.

Matthew 5:13-20 13 "You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot. 14 "You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. 15 No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven. 17 "Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. 18 For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. 19 Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. 20 For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. 

Jesus turns, in the sermon on the mount, from blessing to instruction.  From beautitude, with a surprising hope and a sharp warning, to a call to live into the life we’ve received.  That’s what the rest of the sermon is about.  Claiming a legacy, living out the gift that has been given.  And it isn’t presented as a possibility, but rather as a reality.  You are the salt of the earth.  You are the light of the world.  Not you could be if you do it right, or you might be if you choose to do so.  But, you are.  You are.  Already are.  You are shining, you are seasoning.  So why not be aware of it?  Why not choose your flavor?  Why not select your lumens?

Certainly there is a choice to be made here, I don’t mean to imply that it’s all done and nothing needs to be done on our part.  He wouldn’t be telling us this if it were automatic.  If it were built in and we don’t need to engage anything to make it happen.  No, something is built in, the mechanism is at work.  But we get to decide something.  We get to choose what kind of light we want to shine on others.  We get to choose what flavor we give to God’s world.

Which is another point to note.  God’s world.  Thankfully, we’re in Matthew’s Gospel and not in John, or in the letters of Paul.  In those latter works the world comes across as the antithesis of the kingdom.  And that our main responsibility is to stay clean from the dirty world that surrounds us, to stay aloof and unattached.  But in Matthew, the world is God’s, it is the arena within which   we are called to live and work.  It is where we encounter God at work and then roll up our sleeves and choose to work alongside, helping the kingdom be experienced in the reality of this life.  So, you are the light of the world, not some heavenly other-worldly place, not some reality that we conjure up in our minds and souls longing to be taken out of here so at last we let the light shine without fear, because all there will be is light.  No, we are light here where there are shadows, where there is darkness, that is where the light is needed.  And where light is possible.  We’ve seen it.  We’ve been led by it, redeemed by it, loved by that light. And that happened here in this world.

So, get out of your bushel!  Get out of your bucket.  Let your light shine.  Get connected with those who don’t know what you know, who slink around in the shadows because the light seems to painful, too unwelcoming, too demanding.  And get invested in their lives, help them find their way into the glorious relationship with Christ that you experience every day.  Let your light shine!

Yet, we hesitate, we wonder.  What gives us the right to help shape someone else’s life?  What do we know about that life so that we can share it, we can shine it in another’s life?  Wouldn’t it be better to just make sure we’ve got it right?  Isn’t my real responsibility to myself, my faith, my walk with Christ?  After all “work out your own salvation with fear and trembling” Paul wrote.  Thanks Paul (Philippians 2:12).  And if there is fear and trembling in working out my own, there must be stark raving terror in working out someone else’s.  Right?  

Except that’s how this thing works.  No one works out their own salvation, we are in this together.  We are influenced and we influence.  That’s how it is supposed to be.  That verse from Paul was never meant to be a call for spiritual isolationism.   It is more a recognition that there is a process here.  That we are patterning our life after the One we follow.  And He tells us that the pattern is to be found in the law.  Don’t give up on the law, that’s why he shifts into that here.  We’re not done with the law, it’s there as a pattern, as a model.  It’s role too is to help us know when we’re off track, not to drop a hammer, not to point a finger or cast into outer darkness.  Because none of us are good enough by that measure.  We can’t earn our salvation by the law.  But law draws a picture of what life ought to be like in God’s kingdom. It casts a vision of what the community could look like if we are all letting our light shine, if we are all guided by the Spirit.

So take the law seriously, says Jesus, let it help you figure out what it means to be the light of the world, to be the salt of the earth.  Pay attention to how the law tells us to live in community, caring for others, welcoming the stranger, sheltering the refugee, building up the body, comforting the grieving, binding up the broken.  The law draws a picture of what living in the light looks like.  But it’s better if we don’t just read the law, but see it at work.  We’ve all had the light shined on us by those who have gone before.  And we are better because of it.

So, Happy Birthday mom, you were the light that shined the brightest in my life.  The one who showed me how to live, the one who showed me how to love.  And though I miss you terribly, that light is not gone.  Because I have it now.  And I pray every day that I am letting it shine, just like you did.  Just like He did.

Shalom,

Derek

Of Whom Shall I Be Afraid?

Are we safer today than yesterday?  Are we on the road to greatness again?  Have we finally found our place in a dangerous world, one of strength and security and self-determination?  Can we now breathe a sigh of relief that regardless of what happens in the days and years ahead, at least we responded to the anger and despair of our own people?  Or have we stepped closer to the abyss?  Have we turned our back on unity and progress for a nation of division and oppression, suspicious of the other, protective of those like us and rewarding the haves at the expense of the have nots?  Have we elevated personal choice, local options to such a level that there is nothing that unites us anymore and it’s every soul for themselves, some will make it and some won’t, and that’s just the way it is, let’s be real, shall we?

Well, maybe neither.  Maybe something different.  It probably won’t be as bad as some think, but it likely won’t be as good as others think.  It what?  The future.  The glorious future of our great nation.  Whenever there is a change of power there are both hopes and fears.  That seems the way of things.  And maybe focusing too much on hope sets us up for failure and disappointment.  That seems to be the feeling of many who wanted a change.  And the call for change seemed to be based on fear.  Which is understandable to a degree, in the campaign.  Fear is a powerful motivator.  People will respond out of fear, will rise up out of fear, will demand change because of fear.  The question is are we still being led by fear and those who would stoke our fears?  Or is it time to find something else upon which to build tomorrow?

Ps. 27:1, 4-9 The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? ...  4 One thing I asked of the LORD, that will I seek after: to live in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the LORD, and to inquire in his temple. 5 For he will hide me in his shelter in the day of trouble; he will conceal me under the cover of his tent; he will set me high on a rock. 6 Now my head is lifted up above my enemies all around me, and I will offer in his tent sacrifices with shouts of joy; I will sing and make melody to the LORD. 7 Hear, O LORD, when I cry aloud, be gracious to me and answer me! 8 "Come," my heart says, "seek his face!" Your face, LORD, do I seek. 9 Do not hide your face from me. Do not turn your servant away in anger, you who have been my help. Do not cast me off, do not forsake me, O God of my salvation!

The psalmist knows trouble.  If this is David as some traditions have it, then he indeed knows trouble.  Threatened by enemies and loved ones alike, loved and despised in turn, filled up with God’s presence and then seemingly abandoned by God because of his hubris, because of his arrogance and self-conceit.  He knew what it was to fear.  He knew what it was to want to hide.  But David’s glory was that whenever he found himself in trouble he turned to repentance and humility.  And then he sought redemption from the only source who could calm his fears.

It wasn’t his own strength, flexing his own muscles that brought him comfort.  “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?”  Whom indeed?  You want a list?  Because I can find a list.  There are plenty out there who will itemize the fears we need to embrace.  It is the way of the world, it appears.

Exactly.  The way of the world.  And while we live in and embrace the world, we don’t live by the ways of the world.  We are called to live differently.  We are called to live confidently.  Have you ever noticed that scripturally, the opposite of faith is not doubt?  Doubt seems to be prevalent in the Bible.  Doubt seems to coexist with faith rather well.  Remember the prayer of the desperate father?  “Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.”  Go look it up, Mark chapter nine.  Jesus doesn’t chastize this poor man.  Belief and unbelief often sit side by side.  There are indications that belief without unbelief, without a measure of doubt, turns into a crusader’s arrogance, into the one who believes themselves incapable of error.  A certain amount of doubt gives us the right amount of humility to really be an effective instrument of God’s grace in the world.  Job, who had spent about thirty seven chapters convinced he was right, and that someone - namely God - had messed up and needed to fix all this mess real quick, falls to his face when God does show up and says I didn’t know what I was talking about!  I spoke above myself, of things I didn’t really understand.  And God blessed him in that doubt, in that uncertainty.

No, the opposite of faith isn’t doubt.  It is fear.  Throughout the bible the call is to not fear.  Angels said it every time they showed up.  God proclaimed it.  Jesus lived it.  Paul theologized about it.  John put it on a bumper sticker for us to cling to when things got shaky.  Perfect love casts out fear.  Perfect love.  The love that comes from Christ.  Casts out fear.  There is no room for fear when we are filled with love.  

You can’t get rid of fear with wisdom.  You can’t argue people out of fear.  You don’t show up at your child’s door in the middle of the night and say, now Billy, you know there are no such things as monsters under your bed.  This being afraid in the middle of the night is simply illogical.  Think about it, Billy.  No, that won’t work, and it sounds odd for a parent to do.  Instead we step in, rush in and gather little Billy up in our arms and hold him close and remind him that he is loved.  Powerfully, completely, unconditionally loved.  That’s how you handle fear.

The psalmist says the same thing in a different way.  Seek shelter in the tent of the Lord, he says.  Hide in God and be lifted up, above our fears, stable on that rock.  Then, we’re told, worship with joy.  Shouts of joy.  Not sitting in the pew while the worship show goes on, but shouting with joy while we make sacrifices.  Sacrifice?  Animals?  No, not any more.  The blood has been spilt already.  Instead let’s sacrifice our pride, let’s sacrifice our propriety, our stiffness, our standoffishness.  Let’s sacrifice our “you first” attitude and offer a hand to someone else, someone not like us.  Let’s act like we really have nothing to fear, but fear itself.  

So, you’re thinking, ok, I like the sound of that.  That living without fear kind of thing.  But how?  I mean, I heard the speech.  There are lots of things to fear.  Our world is falling apart.  Making fear choices seem to be the smarter way to go these days.  Acting out of fear seems the logical response.  So, how do we get to where we can live without fear?  

The psalmist is right there with you.  Needs a little pep talk to get to where his theology tells him he needs to be, even if his guts won’t let him.  Luckily, he slipped his little inner dialog right into the psalm.  “‘Come,’ my heart says, ‘seek His face.’” You want to over come fear?  Seek God’s face.  Seriously.  This isn’t just a cliche to make you feel better.  It is a program for ridding yourself and the world of fear.  Seek God’s face.  Set yourself the task of looking for God.  At work in the world.  We claim to believe God is at work among us, we claim to believe God is at work within us.  So, look.  Look for God’s face in the face of the stranger serving you your lunch, working on your car, asking for a hand out.  Look for God’s face in the gestures of kindness in this terrible world.  In the opportunities to laugh and to sing.  In the moments of grace with loved ones, in the passion of body and soul.  Seek God’s face in the beauty of music, in the wonder of the world around you.  You’re on a mission.  And if you fill up your life with the search for God you won’t have time to fear.  Let me see your face, O God, my light and my salvation!

Shalom, 

Derek 

Your Pit Or Mine?

Pitiful comes from pity, but neither seem to come from pit.  Sorry, a little etymological research today.  We’re in a pit again.  No, that’s not right.  We’re remembering a pit.  We’re out of it actually.  Celebrating breathing the fresh air.  It’s an ex-pit, a former pit experience.  A wiping of the brow and saying “whew!”  Glad that’s over.  Or is it?

Pits appear in the bible all over the place.  Often in speculative situations.  “Suppose someone falls in a pit.”  Or an animal.  An ethical puzzler.  Or a legal brief sometimes.  If someone digs a pit and leaves it open and animal falls into it, the pit producer is liable for the value of the animal.  That’s in Exodus where they’re trying to figure out how they are going to live as a new nation.  This from the pit owners lobby.  Or the clumsy animal supporters.  I don’t know.  But pits occupy the attention frequently.

The first pit reference is in Genesis.  You know the story.  Joseph, that sharp dressed little daddy’s boy, gets his brothers in such a lather they decide to kill him.  Luckily one of them regains his senses enough to say, let’s not kill him.  Just throw him in the handy pit.  Which seems like a good idea. Better than fratricide, certainly.  And it ends well.  Eventually.  Still, I imagine Joseph had pit-ophobia for the rest of his life.  Though he spent time in an Egyptian jail, that was probably pit like.

Pit like is what Daniel faced too, you remember.  It was called a den, but no lazyboy chairs and big screen TVs here.  Just lions, hungry ones, in a pit.  Daniel is lowered down and his friend the foreign king wipes away a tear and goes home to dinner.  That one ends well too, and the king finds Daniel the next morning curled up with the ravenous lions like they were kittens sharing his bed and hogging the blankets, though they do leave a warm spot when they do finally move.  

There are pits aplenty in the Psalms.  Which is where we are settling this week.  Fifteen different psalms rhapsodize about a pit.  Some of them are wanting a pit, for the enemies, the oppressors.  Throw them in a pit, Lord!  Some of them are petitions to help avoid the pit.  Some of the pits are capitalized.  Not just any old pit, but the Pit.  Don’t send me to the Pit.  Redeem me from the Pit.  

Our particular pit is kind of messy.  Mud and mire, just a mess.  The kind of mess that sticks to you.  That you can’t shake off, even after you’re out.  Maybe that’s why it comes up again.  Even after being rescued, something clings.  A memory, a grief, a wound that just won’t heal, a scar that reminds, a limp that persists.  Like Paul’s thorn in the flesh, it is a reminder that you’ve been helped before, that there is a weakness in you that makes you need to lean on a savior, reminds you that you rely on a power that comes from outside of you.  A rope dropped down into the pit to pull you up.  Not so that you are worthless, or a failure.  This limp isn’t a reminder of that.  Instead it is a reminder of the joy.  A reminder that rescue happens.  That transformation is possible.  

That’s what we hear in these verses.  Listen!

Psalm 40:1-11 I waited patiently for the LORD; he inclined to me and heard my cry. 2 He drew me up from the desolate pit, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure. 3 He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God. Many will see and fear, and put their trust in the LORD. 4 Happy are those who make the LORD their trust, who do not turn to the proud, to those who go astray after false gods. 5 You have multiplied, O LORD my God, your wondrous deeds and your thoughts toward us; none can compare with you. Were I to proclaim and tell of them, they would be more than can be counted. 6 Sacrifice and offering you do not desire, but you have given me an open ear. Burnt offering and sin offering you have not required. 7 Then I said, "Here I am; in the scroll of the book it is written of me. 8 I delight to do your will, O my God; your law is within my heart." 9 I have told the glad news of deliverance in the great congregation; see, I have not restrained my lips, as you know, O LORD. 10 I have not hidden your saving help within my heart, I have spoken of your faithfulness and your salvation; I have not concealed your steadfast love and your faithfulness from the great congregation. 11 Do not, O LORD, withhold your mercy from me; let your steadfast love and your faithfulness keep me safe forever.

Good news.  I waited patiently for the Lord, and He heard me.  He heard me.  Drew me up, dropped a line and I scrambled to safety.  I lay there panting, dripping with the mire that clings, and I started to sing.  To laugh and to sing.  

Can you imagine?  Do you remember such a moment?  You need to.  You need to remember that song.  The song you sang when the mud still clung to you.  When the memory of not being able to breathe was still a terror in your heart.  You need to remember the song you sang with passion and with joy, because you were made new.  The song you sang to everyone you met.  To old friends and new strangers, to neighbors and family members.  You sang it so much and those who knew you wept with joy to see the new you, the rescued you.  

And all you wanted to do was to please your rescuer.  You were the first one at worship when the doors opened and the ushers were still sorting out the bulletins.  You signed up to set up tables at the potluck dinners, you offered to wash dishes at the community meal.  You packed boxes and delivered Christmas gifts.  Remember, you taught Sunday school even though you thought you didn’t know anything.  But you were there.  You held crying babies and tears came to your own eyes as you realized this was you.  This little life afraid of everything and everyone, needing more than you knew how to find; but Someone came and held you in arms stronger than the fear and a love deeper than the pit.  Held you until you stopped crying and started singing.

What happened to that?  To that passion and that joy?  What happened to the song that you sang so long and so loud that even those who loved you thought you were a little bit crazy?  Some will say, well I never really had that passion.  I grew up in the faith and it was just there, you know, not a big life changing thing.  So, all this doesn’t really fit me.  I’ve seen folks like that, heard their stories.  That’s just not me.

Really?  Never fell in a pit?  Ever?  Never had the feeling that the walls were closing in on you?  Never walked through fire and somehow survived; never lost a battle you thought you should have won; never hurt someone who then forgave you even though you didn’t deserve it?  Never felt relief, rescue, grace?  Think again.  Go back to Psalm 40 and keep reading.  The pit is always there.  It comes back, just when we think we are safe and secure.  Just when we say “No thanks God, I’m doing fine on my own.”  It clings, the muck and the mire.  Our pit is always near.  The only thing that keeps it away is to sing the song that was put in your heart.  And to keep singing.  In and out of the pit.

Shalom, 

Derek

A Bruised Reed

I just came from a difficult meeting.  Difficult in many ways: the subject was difficult, the implications of the subject were difficult, the decisions needed to be made are and will be difficult.  But perhaps worst of all for me was that implied message that it is all my fault.  That had I been better at my job, made better decisions, worked harder and longer and been ... well, a different person then we wouldn’t be in the position we are in right now.  

Now, I’ve done this enough to know that the others attending the meeting would have a different impression for the most part, and would tell me I’m overreacting.  But that’s what I heard.  No, that’s what I felt.  Like a weight pressing down on me.  But.  But.  I’m being overly dramatic.  Emotional.  And you don’t need that.  The church doesn’t need that.  So I’ve been told.  We don’t need passion, we need ideas.  Things to think about.  Nuggets of truth to contemplate.  And there is wisdom in that.  Paul says in Romans chapter 12, that we can be transformed by the renewing of our minds.  So let’s think. Not react.  Just consider.  Who are we supposed to be as the body of Christ?  As the community of faith?  What defines us?

Well, there are all kinds of things we could use to define the church.  Lots of models and concepts.  Lots of techniques and examples from the world of business and the consumer culture in which we live.  There is much to learn about what is successful, about what works.  Let’s be pragmatic, shall we?  We don’t need words from a source thousands of years old, do we?  We can find better ideas in the world around us.

Well, we can find ideas, but are they better?  If we decide to become like the rest of the world then have we surrendered what makes us who we are?  We might as well be any number of service organizations, or social clubs, many of which do good things and are getting people involved in service and interaction.  Or is there something unique that we are called to do and to be?  Is the church something different?  Something that just might not be that appealing on the surface, but bringing profound commitment on a deeper level?  Frankly, I’m wondering these days.  Maybe Isaiah can help us.

Isaiah 42:1-9 Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights; I have put my spirit upon him; he will bring forth justice to the nations. 2 He will not cry or lift up his voice, or make it heard in the street; 3 a bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench; he will faithfully bring forth justice. 4 He will not grow faint or be crushed until he has established justice in the earth; and the coastlands wait for his teaching. 5 Thus says God, the LORD, who created the heavens and stretched them out, who spread out the earth and what comes from it, who gives breath to the people upon it and spirit to those who walk in it: 6 I am the LORD, I have called you in righteousness, I have taken you by the hand and kept you; I have given you as a covenant to the people, a light to the nations, 7 to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darkness. 8 I am the LORD, that is my name; my glory I give to no other, nor my praise to idols. 9 See, the former things have come to pass, and new things I now declare; before they spring forth, I tell you of them.

The first question we have to consider from these words is who is he talking about?  Well, and who is “he”.  Isaiah and the Lord often get confused when reading these sixty-six chapters.  Is this Isaiah talking for himself or speaking for God, and did God say this through Isaiah or to Isaiah and does Isaiah insert himself in the conversation, adding to God’s words?  There is a lot to think about.  So much that we could easily avoid acting on the words while we try to parse every verb and decline every noun.  (OK, maybe it is the other way around?  Where are my grammarians when I need them?)

Instead, let’s decide.  Let’s decide that this word is indeed the Word of God.  Let’s decide that it carries a description of what it means to be the servant of God.  And like most of the hearers of Isaiah, that servant isn’t an individual, but is the nation, the people of God.  We would say this is first of all a description of the church - the church that God calls us to be.  

But wait, you scholars might say, isn’t this about Jesus?  Doesn’t he fulfill this passage?  It isn’t about us, it’s about Him.  And you’d be right!  And wrong at the same time.  It is indeed a description of Jesus.  All the Servant passages of Isaiah become the template by which we examine the life of the One we call Christ.  But that does not mean that we are off the hook.  It is still a description of us.  Not me, and not you.  But us. 

See Jesus could fulfill the call to be the perfect servant of God.  But you can’t.  And I can’t.  But we can.  Together we who are the church are called to live this out in real and dynamic ways.  Live what out? Bringing justice, but not whining about it all the time, not complaining about how hard it is - that’s the lifting up the voice in the street bit.  But, this justice bringing will be healing and not destroying.  We don’t have to tear down in order to build up.  We don’t have to stomp on those with whom we have an issue, we don’t have to put down those who we think are wrong, we don’t have to beat up on those who have been beaten.  That’s the kind of justice we are called to bring.  

That’s who we are when the Lord delights in us.  What an amazing idea.  We are, we can be, a delight to God.  Not just obedient, not just faithful, not just thoughtful and considered, but a delight.  Isaiah says God likes passion.  Likes enjoying us.  Life isn’t a class room, a test to be passed, it is a joy.  Jesus said I have come that you might have life and have it abundantly.  Abundantly.  

Then, and here’s the best part, God promises to help us do that.  Help us in bringing justice by healing and helping.  Help us in being a delight to God and to others.  God will take us by the hand, what a wonderful image, will take us by the hand and walk with us and show us what it really means to be free. To live free and set others free.  

Then the last verse.  Is it a threat?  Things will change.  Don’t cling too hard to the way it has always been, because how it has always been might not have been as great as we remember.  Instead look for the new.  For the opportunity to serve in new and deeper and more joyous ways. 

Let the Spirit blow, even through difficult and uncertain terrain.  Walk in hope, and be lifted up.

Shalom, 

Derek 

O Holy Night

Well, it is Saturday, a day of preparation for me as I get into the sermon for Sunday.  Happens every week.  And a part of what happens is I write this Bible Study.  This gets me thinking about the passage in all kinds of ways and helps me be ready to preach the next day.  Even when the sermon sounds nothing like the bible study.  I also spend a lot of time before the weekend, reading and studying and formulating sermons.  I don't wait until Saturday.  Because what if something happened on that Saturday and I didn't have the time?  I would be unprepared on Sunday.  And that wouldn't be being faithful to my call.  So the sermon is "done" before Saturday.  Done?  Preachable.  I could climb in the pulpit or stand before the congregation and proclaim.

But on Saturday, I am living in it.  I am examining it again, rethinking, reworking, playing with the ideas and images.  I am paying attention to the world, listening to the voices of my people, and weaving that together with the Voice of God.  Sometimes Saturday confirms my planned sermon, sometimes it changes it completely.  But it is a day I cherish for the process as I have developed it over 35 years of preaching regularly.  This isn't what I recommend, it isn't what I teach.  And it isn't what I did for most of the 35 years, but it works well for me.

Until now.  Yes, it is Saturday.  But not just any Saturday.  It is Christmas Eve.  I have always loved Christmas Eve.  I have told churches I would do hourly services on Christmas eve if anyone would come.  I would do them morning and night.  I would do loud fun family ones, designed to make children laugh and families giggle.  I would do quiet reflective peaceful ones, designed to make you glad to be alive and filled with hope.  Musicals and dramas, lessons and carols, even full scale holiday parties wrapped up in profound worship.  I love Christmas Eve.  

And!  I love Christmas Day on Sunday.  I've mentioned this before.  I think it should always be on a Sunday.  I think it would be easier to hold on to the real meaning of Christmas if it was on a Sunday and the day began not with the frenzy of presents under the tree, but with worship in the family of God.  I think that is the way it ought to be.

Now, that being said, I don't like losing my Saturday.  I know, it's a selfish gripe.  But I'm not quite sure how to approach this day of preparation.  With three services tonight and two tomorrow morning, I'm lost in the busyness.  With some questions about my place in this congregation and an uncertain future in my calling, I'm a bit lost in the mood of the season.  So, I'm here thinking about tonight and tomorrow and not sure I have anything to say for either.  Which is a terrible admission, I know.  It's kinda my job to have something to say. And I know myself well enough to know that I will have some words for all those services.  Words that might even be meaningful for some.  Words that will allow me to fulfill my role and surrender to my obedience to the church and to God.

But I also know those words won't be enough.  Not nearly enough.  I've been doing this a long time.  And I've never had the words I really wanted to have.  I've never been able to really capture the power and glory of this event.  I've never really been able to articulate the wonder and the promise that Christmas is.  I've never had the words that become the Word, and live in the hearts and minds of those who come to hear, so that Christ is again incarnated among us.

See, that's how I define this job, this preaching thing.  Incarnation.  I have told my students and fellow preachers that above all else, preaching is about putting flesh on the idea of Christ.  Making Him real again in our experience, in our imagination, in our hearts and souls.  That's what I'm always trying to do, Sunday in and Sunday out, sermon in and sermon out, incarnation.  So when faced with the Incarnation itself, I stumble over the words.  Because it matters so much.  To me, for one.  But to the church, to you.  To everyone.  To the world, it matters so much, it is needed -- He is needed so much.  And I'm simply not up to the task.

Which means, in the end, I'm surrendering my Saturday to the One who speaks more clearly that I do.  I'm surrendering this day, this night, this O Holy Night to the Word made flesh.  And will hope and pray that those who come this weekend will hear beyond my inadequate words to embrace the living Word.  And to know and be known by the Presence who loves them as they are.  Every year I fail to capture the depth of this event with my words.  Yet every year I am rescued by the Word made flesh who speaks into my inadequacy and becomes flesh among us again.  Thanks be to God!

John 1:1-14 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being 4 in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. 5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. 6 There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. 7 He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. 8 He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. 9 The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. 10 He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. 11 He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. 12 But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, 13 who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God. 14 And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth.

Shalom, 

Derek