Mind Games

If you’ve been around Aldersgate for a while, you might remember that a year ago, during the season of Lent, I used African American spirituals as a theme for worship. I then took that theme to Choir School in the summer of 2010. It worked really well, as they got into singing some of those songs - as did the Aldersgate congregation, I must admit. I love that music, as it speaks so profoundly of deep human experiences and significant spiritual realities, and it has a good beat and you can dance to it. Sorry, American Bandstand has a lot to answer for.

Anyway, since there are only five Sundays in Lent, but eleven preaching opportunities at Choir School, I had to find some more songs to fill the week. And of the ones that seems to capture everyone’s attention that summer was one titled “Woke Up This Morning.” The first line goes “Woke up this mornin’ with my mind...”

Now, of course we took all kinds of liberties with the song from that point. “Woke up this mornin with my mind.” Well, good for you! We were wondering. Doesn’t say much about yesterday, or tomorrow for that matter. You know, that sort of thing. It’s a good thing, don’t you think, to wake up with your mind? Considering the alternative.

But in fact this isn’t a hymn about mental health. It is an invitation to think like Christ. The song, while it pauses at the end of the first line, goes on to make a very profound statement: “Woke up this mornin with my mind ... and it was stayed on Jesus.” Or some versions simply say with my mind stayin on Jesus.

It’s an early morning act of faith. It is claiming Christ first thing. Claiming that living the day that lay ahead in the way that we claim we want to live it is only possible by focusing on the mind of Christ. Which is exactly what Paul says in our lesson for this weekend. Take a look:

Philippians 2:1-13 If then there is any encouragement in Christ, any consolation from love, any sharing in the Spirit, any compassion and sympathy, 2 make my joy complete: be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. 3 Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. 4 Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others. 5 Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, 6 who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, 7 but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, 8 he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death-- even death on a cross. 9 Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, 10 so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, 11 and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. 12 Therefore, my beloved, just as you have always obeyed me, not only in my presence, but much more now in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; 13 for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure.

Paul seems very concerned about thinking. In the first few verses of this passage he is telling us that we ought to think alike and that we ought to think like Christ. Right? Well, sort of. Being of the same mind doesn’t stifle creativity or even differences of opinion. He is not trying to remove all the differences in the body of Christ. It is those differences that make us the rich tapestry that we are. And finding new perspectives, new ways of looking at the same things is a part of the excitement of living in community.

So, what does he mean about having the same mind? And how can a diverse collection of humanity - like the church - ever hope to achieve that unanimity of thought? We are too different, have too many variant experiences and backgrounds, too many diverse abilities to ever hope that we would think alike on any issue of substance. Don’t you think? Or do you?

Paul has a solution. Wake up in the morning with your mind stayed on Christ. He wants us to think like Christ. And the thought process he is particularly interested in is one of humility. Set yourself aside. Set aside your need to be right. Set aside your need to have it your way. Set aside ... Wouldn’t it be wonderful if those who claimed to be followers of Christ - in business, in politics, in the church - would set their minds on Christ, embrace that humility, that self-sacrifice, that desire for unity and for hope?

Some do, I know. But most don’t. Or most of us don’t all the time. That’s why we need daily reminders. Woke up THIS morning...

The same mind doesn’t mean the same thoughts, but the same goals. It means that love always trumps prejudice. It means that sacrifice always wins over selfishness. It means that giving always triumphs over hoarding. It means ... well, you get the idea. How we go about becoming more like Christ, having that mind of Christ, may be different as each of us are different. But we all seek the same Christ, the same Kingdom, the same hope.

That’s what brings Paul to break into song in the last verses of our passage. That hope that one day we won’t have to wonder what Jesus would do, because we would all be doing it. Not because we were forced to, or coerced into, but because it was what we all wanted to do. It was the natural response to any situation - the loving response, the caring and giving response. The Christlike response.

Woke up this morning with my mind stayed on Jesus.

At least that’s my hope. How about you?

Shalom,
Derek

What Is It?

“What are you hungry for when you don’t know what your hungry for?” Anyone remember that one? Boy, is my head full of useless trivia serving absolutely no good purpose. Except to win Trivial Pursuit (usually) and to start sermons and bible studies. Hence my question:

What are you hungry for when you don’t know what you are hungry for? It was a commercial many years ago, for a snack cracker, and the line was spoken by Matlock. No wait, by, um, what was his name? You know. Andy Griffith. That’s the guy. He’s the one asking the question. And the best part was he gave us the answer. What are you hungry for when you don’t know what you’re hungry for? Something on a cracker.

Umm. No. Doesn’t do it for me. All due deference to crackers with stuff on them. But, except in a momentary superficial kind of way, that won’t satisfy the hunger. Not the real hunger. The hunger that even us overfed modern day pilgrims lost in the wilderness have. Because when we stop to think about it, we’re hungry too.

And we can’t help grumbling about it a little bit. We don’t want to make a scene. But we feel like we’ve been shortchanged somewhere along the line. We thought this faith thing was supposed to bring us satisfaction. And yet, when we admit it to ourselves, our stomachs are still rumbling out here in the wilderness. And our secret fear is that this is all there is. We were brought out here in this wilderness to die, hungry and hurting, lost and alone.

Kind of makes you sympathetic for the Children of Israel, doesn’t it? Oh, I know most of the time I and preachers like me make fun of these folks wandering there in the wilderness. Complaining at the drop of a hat. Even Moses gets fed up with them, let alone God. We shake our heads at their blindness. We roll our eyes at their wandering ways. What a bunch of losers, we can’t help thinking. If we were there it would have been different. I mean the divided sea thing was pretty impressive. The pillar of fire and covering cloud must have been significant. Surely we would have paid more attention. Surely we would have trusted. Surely we wouldn’t have complained. At least until our stomachs rumbled again.

It’s hard to be faithful when you are hungry. Maybe we ought to listen again with a little more sympathy. Maybe we ought to listen for our own voices in this story.

Exodus 16:2-15 The whole congregation of the Israelites complained against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness. 3 The Israelites said to them, "If only we had died by the hand of the LORD in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots and ate our fill of bread; for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger." 4 Then the LORD said to Moses, "I am going to rain bread from heaven for you, and each day the people shall go out and gather enough for that day. In that way I will test them, whether they will follow my instruction or not. 5 On the sixth day, when they prepare what they bring in, it will be twice as much as they gather on other days." 6 So Moses and Aaron said to all the Israelites, "In the evening you shall know that it was the LORD who brought you out of the land of Egypt, 7 and in the morning you shall see the glory of the LORD, because he has heard your complaining against the LORD. For what are we, that you complain against us?" 8 And Moses said, "When the LORD gives you meat to eat in the evening and your fill of bread in the morning, because the LORD has heard the complaining that you utter against him-- what are we? Your complaining is not against us but against the LORD." 9 Then Moses said to Aaron, "Say to the whole congregation of the Israelites, 'Draw near to the LORD, for he has heard your complaining.'" 10 And as Aaron spoke to the whole congregation of the Israelites, they looked toward the wilderness, and the glory of the LORD appeared in the cloud. 11 The LORD spoke to Moses and said, 12 "I have heard the complaining of the Israelites; say to them, 'At twilight you shall eat meat, and in the morning you shall have your fill of bread; then you shall know that I am the LORD your God.'" 13 In the evening quails came up and covered the camp; and in the morning there was a layer of dew around the camp. 14 When the layer of dew lifted, there on the surface of the wilderness was a fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground. 15 When the Israelites saw it, they said to one another, "What is it?" For they did not know what it was. Moses said to them, "It is the bread that the LORD has given you to eat.

What are you hungry for when you don’t know what you’re hungry for? They were six weeks in and pretty hungry. OK, six weeks into a forty year journey doesn’t sound like much. But six weeks eating what you brought with you and what you could find along the way is a long time. They were hungry. And they weren’t sure where the next meal was coming from. And they didn’t have a clue where they were going. Sure, pillars of fire and clouds are great, but a good mapquest itinerary with points of interest highlighted in color would have come in handy. A good pecan roll from Stuckeys would have gone down a treat. (Do they still have those? Or just the signs?)

But nothing was on the horizon. At least what they could see clearly. So they raised a ruckus. Probably the worst part of their complaint was that where they had been was starting to look better than where they were.

Ah, the good old days. How we long for them when the wilderness seems to dark and too scary. Even though at least a part of us knows that the good old days were anything but good. In our memories they seem so much better than what we have today. They were looking longingly back on slavery and oppression and suddenly, because they were hungry, it began to look good. They seemed to remember it like it was some sort of resort (“we sat by pots of meat and piles of bread,” they said, conveniently forgetting that they weren’t lounging by some pool dining on overladen buffets, but were slaves, living by the whims of the powers that be.)

Their faulty memories almost cause them to want to settle. Not settle as in live there in the wilderness. But settle as in settle for less. Less than what was in store for them. Less than what God had intended for them. Their hunger almost caused them to settle for less. To go back to live as slaves because there at least they could eat, instead of living in this freedom that is too scary, too wild, too dangerous.

That seems to be the options open to us - slavery or wilderness. Giving in or being uncertain. Giving up or struggling every day. Wow, isn’t there a third option? Well, no and yes. No, because we are living in a cloud, living in difficult times, living with too many choices and no clear direction as to which to choose. So, we give up and live enslaved by the sin and despair that always seems within reach. Or we keep searching, keep marching through the wilderness trusting that there is a pillar of fire somewhere in the darkness.

And to keep us moving forward, to keep us fed on our journey we have the manna. Which we are told in our passage today is really a question. “What is it?” in Hebrew is man hu. Manna in the wilderness. What is it? So, we are to be sustained by a question? Hardly seems adequate, don’t you think? I suppose. Unless it is the right question. “What is it that God is doing in our midst?” Now that’s a question that can keep us moving.

What is it that God is doing in your wilderness? We think we are hungry for answers. But just maybe we are hungry for the right question.

Shalom,
Derek

If We Live

“Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road / Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go / So make the best of this test, and don't ask why / It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time. / It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right. / I hope you had the time of your life.”

Never thought I would quote a song by Green Day in this space would you? Me neither. But there it is. The song is titled “Good Riddance,” oddly enough. And I can’t decide if it is supposed to be ironic or not. “I hope you had the time of your life” doesn’t seem like a good riddance kind of statement. But it is about moments and memories and ones you want to hang on to and ones you’d rather let go. And some experiences which might be something of both.

Like 9/11. Ten years ago the world, or at least our corner of it, was a different place than it is today. I know that seems like a “duh” kind of statement. In ten years all kinds of things have changed. It’s a fact of life and history. Still, it is not often that we can look back and identify those forks stuck in the road, those times when time grabs you by the wrist and directs you where to go.

The question I have heard asked over and over in the past few weeks in the lead up to the 10th anniversary of the events we have come to call 9/11, is are we safer now than we were then? The answers, as you might suspect are varied and hedged. Some argue that we are more alert to the threats and the dangers than we were before those events. Others point out that our protective forces and intelligence gathering sources are more sharply focused. Still others argue that we are chasing shadows and dealing with worlds and cultures we barely understand and are causing more damage with each passing uninformed foreign policy decision.

Which means “who knows?” But maybe that is the wrong question. Maybe our national, communal question should be about safety first. Maybe instead of “Are we safer?” the question ought to be “Are we more like who we want to be than we were ten years ago?”

At least I think that is Paul’s question from our passage for this week. Or one of his questions anyway.

Romans 14:1-12 Welcome those who are weak in faith, but not for the purpose of quarreling over opinions. 2 Some believe in eating anything, while the weak eat only vegetables. 3 Those who eat must not despise those who abstain, and those who abstain must not pass judgment on those who eat; for God has welcomed them. 4 Who are you to pass judgment on servants of another? It is before their own lord that they stand or fall. And they will be upheld, for the Lord is able to make them stand. 5 Some judge one day to be better than another, while others judge all days to be alike. Let all be fully convinced in their own minds. 6 Those who observe the day, observe it in honor of the Lord. Also those who eat, eat in honor of the Lord, since they give thanks to God; while those who abstain, abstain in honor of the Lord and give thanks to God. 7 We do not live to ourselves, and we do not die to ourselves. 8 If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's. 9 For to this end Christ died and lived again, so that he might be Lord of both the dead and the living. 10 Why do you pass judgment on your brother or sister? Or you, why do you despise your brother or sister? For we will all stand before the judgment seat of God. 11 For it is written, "As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall give praise to God." 12 So then, each of us will be accountable to God.

OK, you are forgiven for wondering what this has to do with 9/11. The short answer is nothing, really. The longer answer is maybe everything. Paul is telling the church in Rome how to be the church. He is telling them that they shouldn’t make distinctions between those who live outside in and those who live inside out. Wait, what?

I don’t know why Paul uses the terms “strong” and “weak” when it comes to these different dimensions of faith. I really wish he hadn’t. Maybe he was just picking on the language that was being used by others - maybe it was sarcasm and we lost the “air quotes” in the translation. Or maybe he is revealing a bias here and from his perspective one method is evidence of a stronger reliance on faith than the other.

But if you look closely at what he says he is talking about the debate between those who live out their faith in observable ways, eating certain things or observing certain days and those who believe that faith is an inner reality and not an external one. Even though he uses the terms strong and weak, if you carefully he is saying there should be no hierarchy, no “better than” attitudes displayed. He is saying we are all one in Christ Jesus. He is saying in Christ there is now Jew or Greek, no male or female, no slave or free, He is saying this looking down, or measuring up does not fit in the Kingdom of God and therefore does not fit in the church.

Then he tells us why. “If we live, we live to the Lord.” If we live. I don’t know how you can get a more all encompassing statement than that. If we live. Not, if we live right. Or if we choose to live in certain ways. No, he says, if we live. That kinda puts things into perspective, doesn’t it? There simply isn’t anything that should cause us to love less than Christ loved. There is no circumstance that gives us permission to treat another human being with contempt. There is no event that allows us to respond out of hatred or a desire for revenge. If we live, we live to the Lord.” We have given ourselves to Him, we are no longer free to react the way that feels good to us.

Which brings me back to the question I think this passage wants us to ask in the shadow of 9/11: Are we more like we want to be than we were ten years ago? Are we living as though we were the Lord’s? Have our choices and our attitudes, our prejudices and our fears reflected that light living within us? Or is there something else at work?

The truth is, says Paul, we get to choose. We don’t have to succumb to emotions and to fears. We don’t have to follow the crowd and check our brains at the door. We can choose how we might treat those around us, weaker and stronger. We can be hospitable, because Christ was hospitable. We can be trusting because Christ is with us. This could be the time of our lives

That’s what I hear in the Green Day song. A choice. An opportunity to be more, to love more, to live more. This fork in the road, this time that grabs us by the wrist, doesn’t have to control us. Doesn’t have to make us less than we are in Christ. It’s our choice. “So make the best of this test, and don't ask why / It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time. / It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right. / I hope you had the time of your life.”

I don’t know that there are very many commentators who would say that remembering 9/11 is about celebrating the time of our lives. But then I’ve read Paul’s other writings, when he said that “all things work together for good for those who love God.” Not that all things are good. There was nothing good about 9/11. But that we can choose to work for good even in this. Because if we live, we live to the Lord.

Shalom,
Derek

Stumbling Across God

I’m just back from a speaking engagement in Corydon, Indiana. First of all, boy is that a long honkin’ way! Mile after mile of Indiana Interstate. Whew. I went down last night otherwise I would have had to get up and leave in the wee hours. And in case you don’t know what the wee hours are, they are the hours you ought to be sleeping, not driving.

But secondly, wow. What a beautiful day. Last night I got to see one of those spectacular sunsets, where it looks as though God dipped a brush in the orangey-red colors of the divine palette and flung streaks of that bright color across the blue canvas of the sky. This afternoon as I headed back, it was bright and clear, an invitation to look with wide eyed wonder at the beauty, the intricacy of creation. The fields of wild flowers that grew not because someone planted them, but because that was just where they were supposed to grow. So they did. With wild abandon they grew, not caring if anyone saw them, they burst forth in color because color was what was within them.

At one point on that long stretch of concrete and asphalt, a hawk winged his way across four lanes of traffic. Probably looking for the little field creatures that scurry through the hedgerows alongside that busy highway. But it appeared as if he was passing judgement on the four-wheeled conveyances that were hurrying through this beautiful day seemingly thinking only of the destination. He soared with a glint in those piercing eyes, as if he knew a secret that we have forgotten.

One wonders if Moses was enjoying the scenery as he wandered around on that mountain, following his father-in-law’s sheep. Did he bother to look at the majestic mountain pressing upward into the cloud strewn sky? Did he see the wind carved sandstone sculptures in the rocks that surrounded him? Or was he more worried about what he might step in as he made his way up the mountain, not quite as spryly as the sheep he followed?

Well, at least that bush caught his eye. We can thank God for that. Literally.

Exodus 3:1-15 Moses was keeping the flock of his father-in-law Jethro, the priest of Midian; he led his flock beyond the wilderness, and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. 2 There the angel of the LORD appeared to him in a flame of fire out of a bush; he looked, and the bush was blazing, yet it was not consumed. 3 Then Moses said, "I must turn aside and look at this great sight, and see why the bush is not burned up." 4 When the LORD saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, "Moses, Moses!" And he said, "Here I am." 5 Then he said, "Come no closer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground." 6 He said further, "I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob." And Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look at God.
7 Then the LORD said, "I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt; I have heard their cry on account of their taskmasters. Indeed, I know their sufferings, 8 and I have come down to deliver them from the Egyptians, and to bring them up out of that land to a good and broad land, a land flowing with milk and honey, to the country of the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Amorites, the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites. 9 The cry of the Israelites has now come to me; I have also seen how the Egyptians oppress them. 10 So come, I will send you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt." 11 But Moses said to God, "Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh, and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?" 12 He said, "I will be with you; and this shall be the sign for you that it is I who sent you: when you have brought the people out of Egypt, you shall worship God on this mountain."
13 But Moses said to God, "If I come to the Israelites and say to them, 'The God of your ancestors has sent me to you,' and they ask me, 'What is his name?' what shall I say to them?" 14 God said to Moses, "I AM WHO I AM." He said further, "Thus you shall say to the Israelites, 'I AM has sent me to you.'" 15 God also said to Moses, "Thus you shall say to the Israelites, 'The LORD, the God of your ancestors, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, has sent me to you': This is my name forever, and this my title for all generations.

Who knew that on that mountain in the back of beyond, Moses would stumble across God? Not Moses surely. He wasn’t looking. Didn’t want to be found, come to think of it. He was in his self-imposed witness protection program. Hiding out from the authorities back home who had his name plastered across post offices from Cairo to Goshen.

He let his temper get the best of him. Call it righteous indignation if you want, call it an act of justice - protecting one of the downtrodden who was being oppressed. But Pharaoh’s police force called it murder, and even the adopted grandson of the king himself couldn’t get away with murder. So, he ran for his life. Across the desert, he ran with blood dripping from his hands. Or at least it felt like it. His dreams were filled with a nightly re-enactment of his crime of passion. Had to have been. At least for a while. Maybe as the years passed, the hot sun and dry dust eroded his memories enough to honestly forget. Maybe he forgot what he did, where he came from, even who he was. I think that was his goal. This rescued Hebrew baby boy who grew up in the palace of the greatest king in the known world, wanted to forget everything. Except how to follow sheep up a mountain. “That’s all I am,” he thought, “all I’m good for, following sheep through the dusty middle of nowhere. Where nothing happens. Where no one goes.”

Except for God. “Take off your shoes,” the bush said. The bush? Yeah, the bush. The burning but not consumed bush. Burning but not consumed? Maybe that’s what drew him. Maybe after all these years of burning and being consumed, he wanted to see how it was possible for something to burn and yet not be consumed. Maybe it was the promise, maybe it was the hope that caused him to step aside long enough to have his whole life turned upside down and inside out.

“I’ve come to help,” said the bush, or the angel in the bush, or the voice that wasn’t the angel or the bush but seemed to transcend both. “My heart is broken with the pain of my people, so I have come to help. To set them free.” Great, thought Moses, what’s a bush gonna do against the might of a nation like Egypt? “I’ve come to help,” says the voice, “I’m sending you.” Say what, stutters Moses, I just follow sheep. I’m not a hero. “I will be with you,” says the voice as the flames crackle in the silence while Moses chews on this bit of news. And who are you, he ventures, wondering if that not consumed thing applied just to the bush.

As he made his way back across the desert to the land he had abandoned, but this time with a mission, an impossible mission to be sure, but you have to wonder if he rolled that name over in his mind with every sandy step. “I am who I am,” said the voice. “I will be who I will be.” Tell them “I am” sent you. I am will be with you.

He shook his head at the strangeness of the thought. And then a noticed a hawk flying low in front of him. It wheeled and circled and at one point it seemed to have a glint in its piercing eyes, as though it knew at secret he had almost forgotten. Or just been told. And his burden seemed lighter for a moment. He lifted his eyes to the hills and then the sky above, and it seemed his direction was mapped out with orangey-red clouds.

Shalom,
Derek

Down by the Riverside

The last time I drove to my parents’ house in Tennessee, I remember the Ohio River which had overflowed its banks to a significant degree. It was quite a sight, almost chilling in a way, as you could tell that there was destruction in its wake. Families were displaced, crops destroyed, devastation on multiple levels and varying degrees. If not right there on US41South, then somewhere else, up and down the river.

It certainly wasn’t the first time the Ohio had overflowed its banks. I’d seen it that high before. My Dad grew up in Memphis, a river town. I remember him telling me of the folks who lived along the Mississippi river, and how they would regularly lose the simple shacks they lived him because of the flooded river that would wash them away in the rainy season. But what amazed me about the story was that these people would return and build, again and again, despite the destruction the river brought. I couldn’t comprehend that. Why not move away, someplace safer, someplace drier? “Well,” dad would explain, “some of these folks were able to make a living on the river, fishing, scavaging, transportation. It wasn’t just destruction that the river brought, it was life too.”

Egypt was a river based nation. They were used to the rhythms of the Nile and were able to make good use of it. It was a source of life. A dangerous source of life to be sure, but a blessing nonetheless. At least until those in power seek to change it from a source of life and place of blessing to a instrument of death and symbol of terror.

Which is exactly what the unnamed Pharaoh tried to do in our scripture for this week.

Exodus 1:8 - 2:10 Now a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph. 9 He said to his people, "Look, the Israelite people are more numerous and more powerful than we. 10 Come, let us deal shrewdly with them, or they will increase and, in the event of war, join our enemies and fight against us and escape from the land." 11 Therefore they set taskmasters over them to oppress them with forced labor. They built supply cities, Pithom and Rameses, for Pharaoh. 12 But the more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied and spread, so that the Egyptians came to dread the Israelites. 13 The Egyptians became ruthless in imposing tasks on the Israelites, 14 and made their lives bitter with hard service in mortar and brick and in every kind of field labor. They were ruthless in all the tasks that they imposed on them.
15 The king of Egypt said to the Hebrew midwives, one of whom was named Shiphrah and the other Puah, 16 "When you act as midwives to the Hebrew women, and see them on the birthstool, if it is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, she shall live." 17 But the midwives feared God; they did not do as the king of Egypt commanded them, but they let the boys live. 18 So the king of Egypt summoned the midwives and said to them, "Why have you done this, and allowed the boys to live?" 19 The midwives said to Pharaoh, "Because the Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women; for they are vigorous and give birth before the midwife comes to them." 20 So God dealt well with the midwives; and the people multiplied and became very strong. 21 And because the midwives feared God, he gave them families. 22 Then Pharaoh commanded all his people, "Every boy that is born to the Hebrews you shall throw into the Nile, but you shall let every girl live."
2:1 Now a man from the house of Levi went and married a Levite woman. 2 The woman conceived and bore a son; and when she saw that he was a fine baby, she hid him three months. 3 When she could hide him no longer she got a papyrus basket for him, and plastered it with bitumen and pitch; she put the child in it and placed it among the reeds on the bank of the river. 4 His sister stood at a distance, to see what would happen to him.
5 The daughter of Pharaoh came down to bathe at the river, while her attendants walked beside the river. She saw the basket among the reeds and sent her maid to bring it. 6 When she opened it, she saw the child. He was crying, and she took pity on him, "This must be one of the Hebrews' children," she said. 7 Then his sister said to Pharaoh's daughter, "Shall I go and get you a nurse from the Hebrew women to nurse the child for you?" 8 Pharaoh's daughter said to her, "Yes." So the girl went and called the child's mother. 9 Pharaoh's daughter said to her, "Take this child and nurse it for me, and I will give you your wages." So the woman took the child and nursed it. 10 When the child grew up, she brought him to Pharaoh's daughter, and she took him as her son. She named him Moses, "because," she said, "I drew him out of the water."

Throw them in the river. Seems incomprehensible, really. That a leader would be so afraid of these immigrants that they would recommend throwing them in the river. And this was a general edict, did you notice that? He told all his people, whenever you see a Hebrew baby boy, throw it in the river. Appealing to mob action, inflaming prejudice and suspicion. Stirring up the populace with fear mongering and threats.

But let the girls live. Why was that, you wonder? Let the girls live, because they couldn’t do much? Because no one worries about girls? Because, well, because they are girls. Isn’t that enough? No one can be so mean as to kill baby girls, could they?

Actually, I doubt if it was sentiment that caused Pharaoh to spare the girls. It was because he didn’t think them capable of causing him trouble. Which means he wasn’t paying attention, because it was two women who got in the way of his first plan, and it was two women, and one from his own household that caused his ultimate downfall.

Which means that Pharaoh was just off base from the beginning. The river which was a source of life, he wanted to turn into a place of death, and it didn’t work. The women, the midwives who are bringers of life, he wanted to be instruments of death, and it didn’t work. The little girls he didn’t think worth his consideration, stood sentinel over a baby in a basket, floating on the river of life. A river of hope.

Now this doesn’t mean that what God intends for good, human beings can’t turn to evil. Oh, how we wish that were true. But it does mean that if those who fear God, as Shiphrah and Puah did (and no, it doesn’t mean that they were more afraid of what God would do to them that what Pharaoh would do to them - in fact it means that they trusted in God’s power and presence more than in Pharaoh’s power and presence) can work to foil those who would misuse the blessings of God. If they are willing to take the risk. If they are willing to work for life and not for death.

I always thought the song “down by the riverside” was about stopping work. But now I wonder if it is about changing the kind of work you choose to do. Maybe “gonna lay down my sword and shield” and “gonna put on my long white robe” is not really about being in heaven, but choosing to do the work of life and not of death. About making the choice to fear God and not Pharaoh.

Down by the riverside. Ain’t gonna study war no more. Ain’t gonna work from hate no more. Ain’t gonna ... well, you decide. It’s dangerous down by the riverside. But it is where life is. Let’s go.

Shalom,
Derek

Runaway Train

Call you up in the middle of the night / Like a firefly without a light / You were there like a slow torch burning / I was a key that could use a little turning / So tired that I couldn't even sleep / So many secrets I couldn't keep / Promised myself I wouldn't weep / One more promise I couldn't keep

I was driving Maddie to her dance lesson last night, and somewhere along the journey the radio played Soul Asylum’s “Runaway Train.” (By the way, notice how I get in the information about Maddie and her dancing and me being a good dad? I’m getting good at this extraneous information thing, aren’t I?) I don’t know if you know the song, it’s kind of catchy. Gets in your head anyway. Maddie and I were singing along. At least the words we knew. And then I listened carefully. And got depressed.

Like so many songs these days, there is a fatalism at the heart of the song. Runaway train never going back / Wrong way on a one way track / Seems like I should be getting somewhere / Somehow I'm neither here nor there. That’s the chorus. You can’t help but feel uneasy hearing these words. Like there might be a generation out there ready to give up. Like there might be someone crying out for something of significance.

Can you help me remember how to smile / Make it somehow all seem worthwhile / How on earth did I get so jaded / Life's mystery seems so faded. How on earth indeed. But it isn’t just young people. There are a lot of us who have this feeling of being on a runaway train. This past week has been a roller coaster ride for those who pay attention to the markets. And the race to the 2012 elections heated up with a debate full of name-calling and finger-pointing. The country’s credit status was downgraded. And Tiger Woods missed the cut at the PGA Championship. Runaway train never going back / Wrong way on a one way track / Seems like I should be getting somewhere / Somehow I'm neither here nor there.

Joseph was neither here nor there. For a while anyway. Remember him? Last week we left him in a pit. Well, not exactly. He was in a pit and then he was dragged out and sold into slavery and was on a camel train to Egypt. A runaway train. At least it felt so to him. He was not in control, he was pulled along by forces bigger than he was. And where did he end up? In a good job that he lost, in prison for years, then tossed before Pharaoh and asked to produce, like a performing monkey on leash.

But it turned out well. He was given authority and power and he used it wisely. And now he is second in command over all of Egypt. And his brothers show up, hat in hand, needing a hand out. Needing a government subsidy. The very ones who threw him in a pit because they didn’t have the will to kill him, like they wanted to. Now they are on Joseph’s doorstep inches away despair and destruction. And he kicks them to the curb.

Doesn’t he? Wouldn’t you? This is your chance to get back at all those who hurt you. Your chance to strike back against the runaway train that you were thrown on in that weak moment, in that dark time. Now you’ve got the power, how are you going to use it?

Genesis 45:1-15 Then Joseph could no longer control himself before all those who stood by him, and he cried out, "Send everyone away from me." So no one stayed with him when Joseph made himself known to his brothers. 2 And he wept so loudly that the Egyptians heard it, and the household of Pharaoh heard it. 3 Joseph said to his brothers, "I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?" But his brothers could not answer him, so dismayed were they at his presence. 4 Then Joseph said to his brothers, "Come closer to me." And they came closer. He said, "I am your brother, Joseph, whom you sold into Egypt. 5 And now do not be distressed, or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life. 6 For the famine has been in the land these two years; and there are five more years in which there will be neither plowing nor harvest. 7 God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth, and to keep alive for you many survivors. 8 So it was not you who sent me here, but God; he has made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house and ruler over all the land of Egypt. 9 Hurry and go up to my father and say to him, 'Thus says your son Joseph, God has made me lord of all Egypt; come down to me, do not delay. 10 You shall settle in the land of Goshen, and you shall be near me, you and your children and your children's children, as well as your flocks, your herds, and all that you have. 11 I will provide for you there-- since there are five more years of famine to come-- so that you and your household, and all that you have, will not come to poverty.' 12 And now your eyes and the eyes of my brother Benjamin see that it is my own mouth that speaks to you. 13 You must tell my father how greatly I am honored in Egypt, and all that you have seen. Hurry and bring my father down here." 14 Then he fell upon his brother Benjamin's neck and wept, while Benjamin wept upon his neck. 15 And he kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; and after that his brothers talked with him.

A lot of kissing in this scene! And weeping. Not really what you’d expect in a confrontation of long held grudges and chips on shoulders. In fact, if we are going to be honest, it sounds a little crazy. This forgiveness thing sounds wonderful in the abstract, but almost offensive in reality. Don’t you think they deserved a little more punishment than they got? Don’t you think they should pay for their crimes? How can they get off so easily and we all feel ok with that?

That’s the problem with this runaway train we are on, it makes what is sane sound crazy and what is crazy sound sane. Bought a ticket for a runaway train / Like a madman laughin' at the rain / Little out of touch, little insane / Just easier than dealing with the pain. Wouldn’t getting off the train make more sense? Wouldn’t living by different rules, trusting in a different driver make more sense?

See, that’s what happened to Joseph. He switched trains. From the outside, it looked like the same one. Things out of control, stuff happens to him, he pays for mistakes that weren’t his. But from the inside it all looked different. He was trusting in something different, something bigger than himself and his circumstance. He began to ask a different set of questions. Instead of “why me?” or “why is this happening to me?” he began to ask, what does God require of me now? No matter the depth of the now, no matter the hurt in the now, no matter the injustice of the now. He still could ask, “what does God require of me now?” And then based on the answers he discovered, he followed that track, he rode that train.

He trusted that the train wasn’t a runaway after all. That it had a destination that he couldn’t always see, or understand, or even like all that much. But he was along for the ride. He trusted in the driver. Some of our greatest frustrations come not from the circumstances we are in, but the belief that God should have worked them out in a different way. If only, we say and think and pray, if only.

Call you up in the middle of the night / Like a firefly without a light / You were there like a slow torch burning / I was a key that could use a little turning. What if instead of a love song like so many, we heard this as a prayer song? What if the slow torch burning was God, what if what we were asking for was a little turning, a little direction, enough wisdom to take one more step in the right direction. And then another. And another. “How did you get here” someone asks. “God sent me,” we reply, hoping, trusting that it is true. Because it is.

Shalom,
Derek

Gotcha

Hang on Facebook friends. Don’t assume you know what this is going to be about. Yes, I announced yesterday via Facebook that it was Rhys’ Gotcha Day. Which, for those who aren’t versed in the parlance of adoption, was the anniversary of the day we “gotcha.” August 5 1994, after an anxious nine month wait (yeah, funny isn’t it?), La Donna and I drove to Chicago O’Hare airport to pick up Kim Myung Hoon, a nine month old with bright eyes and a ready smile, and as if by magic turn him into Rhys Edmund Myung-hoon Weber. Who is now nearly 18 years old and somewhat embarrassed to be the center of such attention. Gotcha Day. Every August 5th.

But that isn’t what the Gotcha in our title for today is about. Though, you have to admit it was pretty clever of me to sneak it in one more time up there, right? But I wasn’t thinking of Rhys when I typed the heading for this week’s bible study. Instead I was thinking of the other reason why August 5th is a day of celebration in our family. It is my older brother Hank’s birthday.

Hank was, and still is for that matter, the strong, handsome, athletic one of the family. I hated him. No, just kidding. I never hated him. I was jealous of him. Tried to be like him. Wished I was him from time to time. But never could be, and have learned to live with that. Most of the time.

The truth is we got along pretty well, most of the time. He was a good guy and has become a good man, caring, committed, service minded, an asset to his church and community. But there were moments, usually when I was twisting in his grip, fighting against his muscle and knowing there was no hope of escape unless I could somehow make him laugh; moments when his gotcha was unnerving to say the least. Unnerving. Where did that word come from? It was frustrating, humiliating, painful, embarrassing, and a whole lot more. Any of you who had older siblings know what I mean. Momentary, to be sure, fleeting experiences, a bad taste in the mouth that you can wash away with a thousand better memories. Not the dominant motif of our relationship, by any means, but real. Real enough to make Joseph’s story that much more credible.

There are many dimensions of the Joseph story in the book of Genesis. But the one that leaped out at me this time through was the family dynamic. One preacher once said “show me one well-adjusted family relationship in the bible.” And Jacob and his boys put the fun in dysfunctional, to say the least. Joseph is introduced into the story in such a way as to make you shake your head. Talk about getting off on the wrong foot.

In worship, I’ve decided to read the whole story. Or the whole first part of it anyway. Verses 1-28. Settle in folks, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride! But here, I’ll even shorten the lectionary verses. Long enough, but skipping over some of the ugly detail. You can look it up yourself.

Genesis 37:1-4, 12-14, 18-28 Jacob settled in the land where his father had lived as an alien, the land of Canaan. 2 This is the story of the family of Jacob. Joseph, being seventeen years old, was shepherding the flock with his brothers; he was a helper to the sons of Bilhah and Zilpah, his father's wives; and Joseph brought a bad report of them to their father. 3 Now Israel loved Joseph more than any other of his children, because he was the son of his old age; and he had made him a long robe with sleeves. 4 But when his brothers saw that their father loved him more than all his brothers, they hated him, and could not speak peaceably to him. ... Now his brothers went to pasture their father's flock near Shechem. 13 And Israel said to Joseph, "Are not your brothers pasturing the flock at Shechem? Come, I will send you to them." He answered, "Here I am." 14 So he said to him, "Go now, see if it is well with your brothers and with the flock; and bring word back to me." ... 18 They saw him from a distance, and before he came near to them, they conspired to kill him. 19 They said to one another, "Here comes this dreamer. 20 Come now, let us kill him and throw him into one of the pits; then we shall say that a wild animal has devoured him, and we shall see what will become of his dreams." 21 But when Reuben heard it, he delivered him out of their hands, saying, "Let us not take his life." 22 Reuben said to them, "Shed no blood; throw him into this pit here in the wilderness, but lay no hand on him"-- that he might rescue him out of their hand and restore him to his father. 23 So when Joseph came to his brothers, they stripped him of his robe, the long robe with sleeves that he wore; 24 and they took him and threw him into a pit. The pit was empty; there was no water in it. 25 Then they sat down to eat; and looking up they saw a caravan of Ishmaelites coming from Gilead, with their camels carrying gum, balm, and resin, on their way to carry it down to Egypt. 26 Then Judah said to his brothers, "What profit is it if we kill our brother and conceal his blood? 27 Come, let us sell him to the Ishmaelites, and not lay our hands on him, for he is our brother, our own flesh." And his brothers agreed. 28 When some Midianite traders passed by, they drew Joseph up, lifting him out of the pit, and sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty pieces of silver. And they took Joseph to Egypt.

So, the story of Joseph begins with him as a tattle-tale. And gets worse from there. It ends with him thrown into a pit. Sold, or stolen (it gets a little vague in the telling), and carted off to Egypt. Now there is a fraternal gotcha that seems extreme to say the least. It is such a messy story that we are tempted to jump ahead to end to see if there is a rainbow after this storm. There is, but that is cheating, it seems to me. And it is cheating because some family stories don’t end well. Some family symphonies don’t resolve in the final chords. So, if we get to an “all’s well that ends well” kind of message what about all the others?

And to add to the problems, the God who has been amazingly present so far and will be again, is absent in this story. No messages in the night, no calls to accountability, no wagging of divine fingers or sending of glittering angels with flaming swords to sort it all out. Just an emptiness and a growing gap between brothers. So, what’s left in this story?

A search for peace? Verse 4 says that the brothers “could not speak peaceably” to Joseph. But then Jacob, winner of the clueless dad of the year, sends Joseph off to “see if it is well with your brothers.” Speaking peaceably and being well are both forms of the word Shalom. There was a constant search for peace. Even when peace eluded them. Even when peace was rejected.

We tend to think that God is where peace reigns. And the end of the story tells us that is true. But this part of the story of Joseph and his brothers tells us that God in the search for peace. Even when it isn’t found. Even when it seems far away. God is in the search, in the effort, in the longing for shalom. That’s what Joseph means much later - years later - when he says to his brothers “what you intended for harm, God intended for good.” (Gen. 50:20) Because God was in the search, in the attempt to find one’s way to shalom. Even when it is not realized in this life, in these relationship, we continue to search. We continue to hope.

Which means, I guess, that even in the midst of our struggles with brothers (or sisters, parents or neighbors), when we are feeling the sting of their gotcha, underneath it all God has a gotcha too. Even in the struggle, God says “I gotcha, never doubt my beloved child, never doubt.”

Happy Gotcha Day, everyday.

Shalom,
Derek