/Sermons/2005

Making Space December 18 2005 .rtf

Tue, 20 Dec 2005 17:07:18 GMT

"Making Space"
Luke 1:5-45, 57-80
Sermon by Anita Kehr
December 18, 2005

        Two angel visitations, one miraculous birth with one yet to come, one silenced man, two prophesying women, two assigned names, two triumphant songs celebrating salvation for humankind, three times when awe and fear descend because of the presence of the holy, God's mercy and the in-filling of the Holy Spirit at work and recognized, joy and worship and praise and confession: What a chock-full chapter! What a story filled with drama and brio! Luke certainly begins his gospel, the one written as ``an orderly account… so that [we] may know the truth concerning [these] things'' (Luke 1:3b-4a), with a flourish.
        And amid all of this drama and excitement is Elizabeth, an old (although she's probably younger than I) and righteous woman who has suffered many years of childlessness. She doesn't get visited by an angel. She discovers that her miracle baby is only second best. Her friends and family don't believe her when she tells them what her son's name is going to be. And yet.
        And yet Elizabeth recognizes the handiwork of God when she sees it--and she says so. She is the one Mary makes a bee-line for after becoming pregnant as a virgin, betrothed but not married, entrusted with the wonderful and terrible gift of bearing the Christ. Elizabeth is the one who names Mary's blessed child as the Lord . She's the one who by the Spirit understands the leaping of her child to be a joyful recognition of the one whom he will prepare a way for. She is the one who experiences the Lord's mercy in the safe delivery of her long-awaited son. She is the one who has to stand up in obedience to the command of the angel to name that son John. Not a family name, but a God-given name, one that describes exactly how Elizabeth feels. The name, John, means ``God is gracious,'' or ``God has shown favor,'' and certainly that is how Elizabeth received the gift of her baby: as an act of God's grace and favor and mercy.
        Unassuming Elizabeth seems to be the one person in these stories contained in Luke 1 who expects and is watching out for God to act. She lives a life of spaciousness with plenty of room for the miracle of conception in her old age, with plenty of room to offer hospitality when it is most needed, with plenty of room to recognize and name the Christ, the one who will bring salvation to the world.
        Now, this is not to take anything away from Zechariah and Mary. Well, not really. Zechariah finally comes to a full understanding of how God is working in his life and how God will work in the life of his son. His beautiful prophecy at the end of the chapter is an eloquent description of the salvation of God and the way that John will prepare the way for its fulfillment. But that prophecy comes after an… enforced time of silence. Zechariah's story starts with an event that must have been the pinnacle of his career. Only once or twice in his life-time would a priest be chosen to offer incense in the sanctuary of the Lord. And this time the lot fell to Zechariah. So, isn't it interesting that in a moment most anticipated and most holy and most imbued with prayer, Zechariah would be surprised to actually hear from God? And clearly he was surprised, and filled with the trembling awe described as fear, when he saw Gabriel standing there to the right side of the altar. But, evidently he was not awe-struck enough to believe what the messenger had to say. It does take some of us longer, doesn't it?
        It apparently didn't take Mary quite as long as Zechariah. When the angel came to her, she also was surprised and trembling in awe-filled fear. She also needed to ask some clarifying questions about what the message was and how everything was going to happen, but far sooner, it appears, than Zechariah, she was ready to say, ``Yes. Here am I, the servant of the Lord. Let it be with me according to your word.'' The Holy Spirit came upon her and the power of the most High overshadowed her, and she came to be with child, with the child who would become the savior and redeemer for the world.
        Elizabeth did not have the advantage of an angel visit. But she was as faithful as Zechariah and as willing to be obedient as Mary. She recognized and named God at work. She offered hospitality to her who needed welcome. She allowed herself to be used by the Holy Spirit and declare the good news of Christ's coming. She had made space for God in her life long before she was called to play a key role in the drama of salvation.
      Part of the call of Advent, and one reason we celebrate this season each year, is the call to make space for Christ as the very center of our lives. Most of us will likely not experience an angel visitation--although I would never limit God's surprises--but all of us are called to live spaciously, to make room, to be a bit more like Elizabeth. When we rid ourselves of complacency and cynicism, then we might learn to expect that God really is present and active with us. When we de-clutter our lives and get rid of the stuff that obstructs our vision, then we're better able to recognize and name God at work. When we make space in our lives to welcome others, to let them take up residence in our hearts, then we are partnering with God in the mission-act of hospitality. When we pry out the tenacious roots of prideful competition--although maybe they're just tenacious for me and not so much for you--then we can see Christ in others and bless them for it. Making space, as painful as it might be, will also certainly yield joynot always happiness, perhaps, but certainly joy.
        And it is joy that just pulsates through this first chapter of Luke: joy and praise and worship and confession. It is the joy of an individual, but it is more so the joy of the people of God. This entire beginning to the gospel of Luke is a celebration of the salvation that draws people to their God and to each other. It is a celebration of the salvation that turns the disobedient to the wisdom of righteousness. It is a celebration of the salvation that cares for the poor and the hungry and the displaced and the least. It is a celebration of God's steadfast love and faithfulness to the covenant. It is a celebration of the salvation that comes upon us by the tender mercy of our God like the dawn, bringing light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death. It is a celebration of the salvation that brings peace.
        The promised salvation of the Christ as it is celebrated in this first chapter of Luke is not a promise made in privacy to individuals. It is, rather, a promise to the entirety of humanity. It shakes the order of the world. There is no mention in the angelic messages of a restoration of the kingdom of Israel or an expulsion of the Gentiles. There is, instead, a prophecy that John will call the people to prepare themselves through repentance, reconciliation, and just righteousness. There is no mention of using the power of the government, of king or of general, to bring in the reign of God. Instead God works through a devout old couple and a humble young girl, and then enters the world in defenselessness. The disorder in the world will be set right, but in unexpected ways.
        Our Advent Committee chose Psalm 85:10 to be a theme text for this season. ``Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet; righteousness and peace will kiss each other.'' Those four key words--love, faithfulness, righteousness, peace--are on our banner, and the weaving together of the four patterns signifies the way that the four are intertwined and inseparable. Those four powerful words depict the nature of God's salvation: salvation happens when God's steadfast love and faithfulness meet and embrace in a response of love and faithfulness from us. Salvation happens when peace and righteousness--when well-being and justice--follow that embrace, and come together in a tender kiss. Salvation touches the person and the people; it heals the individual soul and the corporate structure. Salvation leads to an eternal life and to a new heaven and a new earth. We cannot isolate God's intentions for us from God's intentions for the whole of the world.
        Here's what I imagine when I picture Mary hurrying to Elizabeth's house. I see a woman of steadfast love reaching out and hugging a woman of deep faithfulness. I see Elizabeth's intense joy as she feels her miracle baby leaping in her womb, recognizing the greater miracle of Mary's child. I hear Elizabeth's voice ring out in her Spirit-inspired naming of the Christ and her blessing of Mary. And then I hear Mary declaring that God is already bringing peace and righteousness, well-being and justice, that what is wrong is being made right, according to what God has promised and in tender and divine mercy. Steadfast love and faithfulness meet; peace and righteousness kiss.
        This first chapter of Luke is not here just to add some dramatic flair and a hook to keep us reading. It's not here only to prove that John and Jesus are special, God-ordained men. The first chapter in this gospel lays a foundation for The Gospel. Here's what we learn: God is acting purposefully for the redemption of humankind. Scripture is being fulfilled and promises kept. The Spirit is active and inspiring. God is attentive to the poor and the oppressed. God is merciful. And the response to these things must be joy and worship and praise and confession.
        God continues to act purposefully in our world. Scripture continues to be fulfilled and promises kept. The Spirit is indeed active and inspiring. God continues to care especially for the poor and the oppressed and the weak. God is tenderly merciful. And--when we make enough space in our lives so that we're able to see and respond to and delight in all of these things--then our response must be joy and praise and worship and confession.
        In this season of preparing for--of making space for--the Christ, may the tender mercy of our God break upon us as dawn from on high, to guide our feet into the way of peace and righteousness, to draw us by and into an embrace of steadfast love and faithfulness. (adapted from Luke 1:78-79, Psalm 85:10) And may we all grow and become strong in the Spirit. Amen.

With thanks to:
Culpepper, R. Alan. The New Interpreter's Bible, Volume IX. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995, pp. 42-61.

Anointed, December 11, 2005

Dan Schrock — Sun, 11 Dec 2005 15:56:42 GMT

Anointed

Isaiah 61:1-3, 10

Sermon by Dan Schrock
December 11, 2005

¹ The spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me,
because the LORD has anointed me;
he has sent me
to bring good news to the oppressed,
to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and release to the prisoners; ² to proclaim the year of the LORD's favor,
and the day of vengeance of our God;
to comfort all who mourn;
³ to provide for those who mourn in Zion
to give them a garland
instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness
instead of mourning,
the mantle of praise
instead of a faint spirit.
¹⁰ I will greatly rejoice in the LORD,
my whole being shall exult in my God;
for he has clothed me
with the garments of salvation,
he has covered me
with the robe of righteousness,
as a bridegroom
decks himself with a garland,
and as a bride
adorns herself with her jewels.

A few days after I was born at the Elkhart General Hospital, one of my great uncles sat down at his desk to write me a letter. He took out three unlined half sheets of paper, and using a blue fountain pen, wrote me a letter of anointing. When finished, he folded the sheets of paper into thirds, inserted them into a small envelope, stamped it, and addressed it to ``Master Daniel Paul Schrock, Elkhart General Hospital, Elkhart, Indiana.'' This was 1959, remember, when there were still some people around who called young men ``masters,'' and before the post office imposed zip codes on the country.

Within a few days, that letter was delivered to the hospital room where Mom and I were both recovering from the ordeal of birth. Of course I was too young to read this first letter I ever received, and if in some private moment Mom read it to me in hushed whispers as I snuggled against her, I did neither understood it nor remembered it.

Nonetheless, that letter profoundly affected me. Mom saved that letter, and for many of my childhood years stored it in the drawer of an end table in our living room. One day when I was old enough to read, maybe six or seven or eight, curiosity led me to rummage around in that end table drawer to see what it contained. There I discovered this letter addressed to ``Master Daniel Paul Schrock.'' That word alone made me take notice: ``Master''? Nobodyand I mean nobodyever called me that. And a whole letter for me? What was this? Why didn't I know about it before? What did it say? And maybe most importantly, who was it from?

Quickly, I pulled the letter out of the envelope and read through the contents, but did not understand everything it said. The most mysterious part was the last: ``With Christ's love and blessings, Uncle John Gingrich.'' Who was he? I didn't know any Uncle John Gingriches.

Taking the envelope and letter with me, I went out to the kitchen where Mom was cooking supper. ``What's this?''

She looked up briefly from the counter to see what I had in my hands. ``Oh, that,'' she said. ``That's a letter to you from Uncle John. He was one of your Dad's uncles, and he was a minister in the Mennonite Church. He wrote it to you after we called him to say you had been born. But he died when you were about two or three. I don't suppose you would remember him.''

If I still had this letter, I would read it to you right now in its entirety, but I think the letter may now be lost. I have not seen it for perhaps 25 years. If I could remember specific phrases from the letter, I would repeat them; but I do not. All I really remember is how I read that letter and how it made me feel.

After I left the kitchen and returned to the living room, I read the letter one more time and then reverently put it back where I found it. From then on, that letter had power over me. I read it only in quiet moments when I was alone. If I felt angry or frustrated, I might go read the letter. If I was unsure about myself, I might go read the letter. If I felt anxious about the future, I might go read the letter. The letter made me feel lighter, as if some mysterious power had just embraced me. Uncle John, whom my family spoke of in reverent tones, had somehow conferred upon me the presence and power of God. But it wasn't really Uncle John: it was actually Most Holy God, the Ruler of the Universe, reaching down from the heights of heaven to finger me. Perhaps more than anything else, that letter, and what it symbolized, convinced me that I was a child of God and needed to follow Jesus Christ. In short, from a very early age, I knew was anointed.

When did the Lord God anoint you? How did this anointing happen? Who was the human agent? What did he or she or they use to anoint you with? And how did it change your life?

In the Old Testament, people were anointed with olive oil. Olive oil was one of the most prized possessions in the ancient world. It took a lot of work to produce. First, you had to plant olive trees and wait for them to grow to maturity. Then came the sweat of harvesting olives, squeezing them in a press, straining off the water and other substances, and finally pouring the oil into jars and flasks for storage. If you could not produce your own oil and had to buy it from someone else, the price was fairly high. Even today, high quality extra virgin olive oil is still one of the most expensive cooking oils you can buy. Then as now, you used it carefully, sparingly.

Olive oil had lots of uses. One way you used the lesser grades of olive oil was rubbing it into your skin, much the way we use hand and body lotion in the winter. The air around the Mediterranean was bone dry, drying and cracking your skin. Rubbing on a little olive oil kept your skin soft and supple. It also left you smelling nice, a sort of perfume.

And then there was anointing. Getting anointed with olive oil was one of the best things that could ever happen to you. In fact, only the chosen few were ever anointed with oil during the course of their livespeople like priests of Yahweh, prophets of God, and kings over all of Israel. Aaron, Samuel, Saul, David, and some others of their caliber were anointed for God's service. Getting anointed was a turning point, a holy event that marked you as special for the rest of your life.

In the Old Testament, anointing was always performed by a human agent; but at a deeper level, people knew that God was doing the real anointing. So, for example, the prophet Samuel, who was himself considered to be one of God's anointed ones, one day filled his horn with olive oil and went to anoint Saul to be the first king of Israel. As he poured the oil on Saul's head and kissed him, he said while looking Saul in the eye, ``[Saul,] the Lord has anointed you [to be king] . . .'' (1 Samuel 10:1). Some years later, when this same Samuel anointed a teenager named David to be the second king of Israel, something similar happened. The story says that after Samuel poured oil out on David's head, ``the spirit of the Lord came mightily upon David from that day forward'' (1 Samuel 16:13).

When God anointed you, it changed the course of your life. You went from being a shepherd boy to being a king, from being a farmer to being a prophet, from the ordinary to something extraordinary. Being anointed with oil set you apart from other people, dedicated you to special work, and gave you the character of holiness. Anointing gave you a new purpose in life, a new set of responsibilities, a new task to perform, a new mission to fulfill. As the oil was poured out on your head, God poured out the Holy Spirit into you.

That is what happens here in Isaiah 61. ``The spirit of the Lord God is upon me,'' says the poet, ``because the Lord has anointed me.'' Anointing gives the author a new mission to heal broken hearts, to free prisoners from jail, and to release slaves. This is a joyful mission! By the end of the passage, the poet wants to dance, to shout, to sing hallelujah. Getting anointed by God feels like getting a new set of clotheswhich in the ancient world was a very rare event, considering how much work and money it took to make clothing. The metaphors keep jumbling out on top of each other: getting anointed is like going to a wedding, like covering yourself with precious jewels. Getting anointed by God is the best thing that could ever happen to you, for you are blessed and loved and given clear purpose.

This month we celebrate the birth of Jesus, which essentially is God's decision to anoint humanity with divinity. By taking human form, God blesses us, and gives us a new mission: to understand Jesus Christ as best we can, and to follow him as faithfully as we can. Many years after Jesus died, rose, and returned to God, the Apostle Paul wrote a letter to the newly born Christians in Corinth. Call it a letter of anointing. Fortunately, this letter is not lost; we still have it and we know what it says. Since it would take too long to read the whole letter to you this morning, I'll read just one sentence: ``God . . . has anointed us by putting the divine seal on us and giving us the spirit in our hearts'' (2 Corinthians 1:21-22).

Each of you is a child of God, loved and blessed. May Most Holy God, the Ruler of the Universe, reach out and finger you, anointing you with the same Spirit who was in Jesus Christ.

Desperate

Dan Schrock — Fri, 2 Dec 2005 15:54:48 GMT

Desperate

Isaiah 64
Sermon by Dan Schrock
December 4, 2005

¹ O that you would tear open the heavens
and come down,
so that the mountains would quake
at your presence
² as when fire kindles brushwood
and the fire causes water to boil
to make your name known to your adversaries,
so that the nations might tremble
at your presence!
³ When you did awesome deeds that we did not expect,
you came down,
the mountains quaked
at your presence.

⁴ From ages past
no one has heard,
no ear has perceived
no eye has seen
any God besides you,
who works for those who wait for him.
⁵ You meet those who gladly do right,
those who remember you in your ways.

But you were angry,
and we sinned;
because you hid yourself we transgressed.
⁶ We have all become like one who is unclean,
and all our righteous deeds are like a filthy cloth.
We all fade like a leaf,
and our iniquities,
like the wind,
take us away.
⁷ There is no one who calls on your name,
or attempts to take hold of you;
for you have hidden your face from us,
and have delivered us into the hand of our iniquity.
⁸ Yet, O LORD,
you are
our Father;
we are the clay,
and you are
our potter;
we are all the work
of your hand.
⁹ Do not be exceedingly angry, O LORD,
and do not remember iniquity forever.

Now consider, we are all your people.
¹⁰ Your holy cities
have become a wilderness,
Zion
has become a wilderness,
Jerusalem
a desolation.
¹¹ Our holy and beautiful house,
where our ancestors praised you,
has been burned by fire,
and all our pleasant places
have become ruins.
¹² After all this,
will you restrain yourself,
O LORD?
Will you keep silent,
and punish us so severely?

Sooner or later, many of us enter a situation where we get desperate for God. Our child becomes seriously ill; and on behalf of our child we climb to heaven in prayer and pound our fists on heaven's door, hoping God will hear all the racket and open the door to us. Or, we go on a fraternal visit to Colombia to learn more about the situation of our sisters and brothers who try somehow to live Christ's way in the middle of a civil war that has now dragged on for over 45 years, and that has been made only worse by so-called aid from this country. While we are there in Colombia and after our return home, we pray like mad, pestering God to end the war, to protect our Mennonite brothers and sisters from evil, to do something to end the plight of the desaparecidos , the people who have disappeared because of political violence. Or, we pray for ourselves because our own desperation is so great. During a recent illness that left me in great physical pain, all my usual ways of praying crashed to the floor; and the only prayer I was left with was perhaps the most basic, elemental prayer that anyone is ever left with in extreme need, the prayer of three words: ``God, have mercy!''

Isaiah 61 is a desperate prayer to God for mercy. To understand why it's so desperate, maybe it would help to know a little about the situation of the people who prayed this prayer. The year was about 520 B.C.E., [Walter Brueggemann, Isaiah 40-66 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1998), 164] and the city of Jerusalem was in bad shape. Jews in and around the city were living hardscrabble lives. Although some of the houses were now rebuilt, many of the city's buildings were still piles of rubble from when the Babylonians had wrecked the city 67 years before. The economy barely functioned and yet taxes were high. Most people were poor. Injustice and oppression were ways of life.

To imagine the context of this prayer a little better, think of what New Orleans is like right now. Several months after Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans is still much reduced from its former size and glory. Only about 20% of the population has returned (``New Orleans Vote Near, but Who Will Go?'' The New York Times , November 17, 2005). The ruins of many buildings flattened in the hurricane still lie where the hurricane's winds and water left them. Many of the buildings that didn't collapse are stained with mud six feet up the walls; and given the warm, humid climate, are full of mold. The government estimates that the repair bill for many of the houses that still stand will be at least $100,000 per housea price far beyond the financial ability of most homeowners. Many of the houses are so damaged it will be simpler to dismantle them and build new.

But reconstruction will not be easy, because all the problems in New Orleans are creating a kind of feed-back loop that intensifies the challenges. People want to bring in construction crews and start rebuilding, but where will the construction crews live since the houses and rental units are mostly uninhabitable? Do you just house them in tents? A few businesses have returned and opened, but there are not enough customers. For example, a clothing store called Rubenstein Brothers reopened last month, but barely has any customers. The clerks basically just stand around with nothing to do.

Then there are infrastructure problems, especially fixing the levees. The Army Corps of Engineers hopes to have all the levees fixed by June 1 of next year so that they can withstand a Category 3 hurricane. But business owners, as well as many residents, are saying that's not good enough. They say that unless those levees are strong enough to withstand a Category 5 hurricane, they will not move back to the city. But the state of Louisiana says levees for a Category 5 hurricane will cost between $10 billion and $20 billion. Where is that kind of money going to come from? So far neither the local, state, nor federal government claims to be able to afford that. Even if some government comes up with the money, the Army Corp of Engineers says that Category 5 levees will take 10 years to build. That's a long time. If many businesses and residents refuse to move back until after Category 5 levees are built, then what happens to New Orleans in the meantime? How many people will want to risk living and working there? Likely, therefore, we are looking at a much smaller New Orleans for the foreseeable future, nowhere near the half-million people it used to have (``New Orleans Is Still Grappling with the Basics of Rebuilding,'' The New York Times , November 8, 2005.)

I take all this time to talk about the problems and discouragements in New Orleans to help us imagine the problems and discouragements that people in Jerusalem faced after the Babylonians destroyed the city in 587 B.C.E. For Jews, the destruction of Jerusalem was probably the most shocking, gut-wrenching event during the entire Old Testament period. Jerusalem's destruction caused more hand-wringing, more tears, and more despair than any other event. It left enormous problems for Jews: logistical problems, reconstruction problems, economic problems, and perhaps above all, theological problems. Why did destruction happen, and what was God doing when it took place?

For a long time I've struggled in my preaching and teaching to try and convey how hugely significant the destruction of the Jerusalem was in the formation of the Old Testament. But now because we have seen the destruction of New Orleans, perhaps we can imagine a little better what it may have been like for Jews who lived through the destruction of Jerusalem. New Orleans will likely be rebuilt one way or another. After all, we have the advantage of cranes and trucks; air nailers and other sophisticated tools; prefabricated steel girders, cement blocks, window glass, and plywood that will make reconstruction move forward at a fairly good clip, once the financing is in place.

But in 520 B.C.E., Jews in Jerusalem had none of those things. Construction was a painfully slow and physically exhausting process. The main building materials were stone, clay bricks, and some wood, all of which had to be shaped, fashioned, or cut with hand tools. Furthermore, construction was largely a pay-as-you-go process since borrowing money at reasonable rates was virtually impossible or simply not done. Some people, perhaps, were living in temporary structures that gave little protection from the elements. Others may have been living in more permanent houses that were only partly finished. But it was not as though you had all day to rebuild on your house. For most people the more pressing need was raising enough food to avoid starvation, a task that required most of the daylight hours for most of the year. But even in the good years when you were able to raise enough food, you didn't have much extra, which meant that your economic resources were extremely tiny, which in turn meant you didn't have much money to fix up your house.

It seems, then, that many people during this time were living on the edge, barely hanging on, sometimes hopeful, but maybe more often desperate. This is the situation we find in Isaiah 61. This prayer does not begin with praise and thanksgiving. It does not begin in joy. No. This prayer begins with words that slice to heart of the matter: ``O that you [God] would tear open the heavens and come down!'' Why tear open the heavens and come down? The answer is found in verses 10 and 11: ``Your holy cities have become a wilderness, Zion has become a wilderness, Jerusalem [has become] a desolation. Our holy and beautiful house [meaning the Temple], where our ancestors praised you, has been burned by fire, and all our pleasant places have become ruins.'' Do you hear the desperation behind those words? The landscape is ruined, and people have little hope it will be rebuilt unless God takes action.

That's precisely what the pray-ers of this prayer want God to do: to take action. Not small, subtle actions, but huge, grand actions that shake up mountains and set fires blazing, actions so obvious that the nations will tremble at God's power (vv. 1b-2). After all, insist the people praying this, you, God, are incomparable (v. 4). In the long sweep of history, ``no one has heard, no ear has perceived, no eye has seen any God besides you.'' What other god has your power? What other god has your ability? What other god is able to do for us the way you are able to do for us? We turn to you, God, precisely because you have no equal in all the universe!

In the third stanza of the prayer, vv. 5b-7, the people confess that they partly deserve this terrible situation they're in. They made God angry because they sinned, and their own extreme sin has sent God into hiding.

However, this prayer does not focus on our sin for very long. In v. 8 it quickly moves on to remind God that being God brings with it a role which implies certain responsibilities. You made us, the people tell God, like a potter makes vessels. You are our Father. You therefore have some responsibilities in this relationship. You cannot turn your face away from us forever. We are your children, for pity's sake! You should not be hiding from us, refusing to answer our prayers and refusing to intervene in history for the sake of shalom. Just as parents should not walk out on their children, so you, the creator and sustainer of the world, should not walk out on us your people!

Finally, this prayer ends, oddly enough, with two questions in v. 12. The questions look to me like they are hurled directly into God's face. Given the passion of the whole prayer, these final, unanswered questions must also be full of passion. ``After all this, will you restrain yourself, O Lord? Will you keep silent, and punish us so severely?'' Meaning, after all the extreme punishment we have already received for our sins, after the ferocious devastation of our city, after all the desperation and struggle and hardship and pain and suffering and hopelessness and despair that we have had, how can you still sit silently up there in heaven, refusing to speak to us, refusing act for us, refusing to redeem us your children?

That is how the prayer ends, at what sounds like the apex of frustration. There are no promises in this prayer about what God will do. There are no promises about some future period of peace and prosperity. God, in fact, does not speak once in this prayer. The prayer is stark, bold, and passionate human speech, uttered from one of the most desperate places in the human soul.

But precisely in that lies its great power and its great good news. This prayer, this poem, is after all holy scripture, and it shows us that we have the freedom to speak to God in direct, blunt ways. We do not always have to offer God our praise and thanksgiving, if we don't feel like doing so. Sometimes it's ok to bare the rawness in our souls. Sometimes it's just fine to ask God tough, uncompromising questions. It's ok to let our emotions direct our praying, even if those emotions are desperation, frustration, hopelessness, a sense of guilt and shame, anger, or whatever. We don't always have to be nice and polite in prayer, because God, implies this text, can take whatever we want to say in prayer. God can take even our most passionate speech.

Let us pray:

Incomparable, O Lord, is your capacity to hear whatever we wish to say to you, using the full range of emotions that fill our lives. Receive all of our praying; and meet us at the place of our deepest, most desperate need. Amen.

Comforted November 27 2005.rtf

Sun, 27 Nov 2005 14:07:06 GMT

Comforted

Isaiah 40:1-11
Sermon by Dan Schrock
November 27, 2005

Advent 1

Sometime around 540 B.C.E., a Jewish poet sat down in a quiet place, perhaps with a wet clay tablet and a stylus, and wrote a poem. You might guess that this Jewish poet was sitting somewhere in Judah or Jerusalem, because the poem mentions the region of Judah and its main city, Jerusalem. But you would be wrong. As far as folks have been able to deduce, this poet was not anywhere near Jerusalem or the surrounding region of Judah. Instead this poet was sitting some 900 miles away, in the proud and pompous city of Babylon, the capital of the mighty Babylonian Empire. And not only this one Jewish poet. In that same proud and pompous Babylon lived perhaps ten thousand other Jews, all of whom had either been taken from Jerusalem and marched to Babylon against their will, or were descended from Jews who had been forcibly marched from Jerusalem to Babylon (2 Kings 24:8-16). Now these Jews were residents--unhappy residents--in the capital city of the enemy. Babylon had defeated their tiny nation of Judah in war, and now they had to live in the capital city of the empire that had run them over.

These Jews in Babylon were unhappy because they had lost nearly all the structures and organizations they had once staked their lives on. They had lost their own Jewish king and nation, their own priests and temple, their own network of business and trade, their own system of courts and legal procedures. Likely most of these Jews in Babylon had also lost family members in the war. So in most areas of life--in politics, religion, economics, law, and family--these Babylonian Jews had experienced dislocation and disintegration.

So the Jewish poet who sat down to compose on a wet clay table around 540 B.C.E. was writing in a context of dislocation and disintegration. Before we hear the words of this poet, maybe we first need to get in touch with some modern situation of dislocation and disintegration. I don't know what situation of dislocation or disintegration you might find easiest to connect with, but let me name 3 possibilities:

Imagine, if you want to, the dislocation that Hurricane Katrina has brought to people who lived in southern Louisiana and Mississippi. Most fled northward when the hurricane came, and by their own testimony, many of them have flatly stated they will never go back. Some social historians speculate that Hurricane Katrina may have caused the single largest migration of people within the U.S. since the Civil War, with consequences for American culture than no one can presently predict. Some people are wondering whether the Cajun culture that was formerly centered in and around New Orleans could now affect the rest of the country in new ways. The advocates for and practitioners of Cajun culture are now in Texas and Washington and Montana and Tennessee and who knows where all. Will Cajun culture now blend in with other local American cultures? How will this effect our food or our music? Be that as it may, refugees from Katrina are now dispersed all over the U.S., and while some will eventually go back, many will not. They are physically dislocated and culturally disintegrated.

Or think of the extensive unraveling of retirement benefits that has been happening in American society. ``The Great Retirement Ripoff,'' a recent cover story in TIME magazine labeled it. ``Millions of American who think they will retire with benefits are in for a NASTY SURPRISE. How corporations are picking people's pockets--with the help of Congress.'' According to the article, ordinary workers could once count on receiving from their company in retirement a guaranteed pension, health insurance until they were old enough for Medicare, supplemental health insurance after age 65, a fixed death benefit in case of an accident, and a modest life insurance policy. But most people will no longer get any of these things, even if they once had been promised them (``The Broken Promise,'' TIME, October 31, 2005, pp. 32-47). The elimination of these benefits has dislocated some from the security they thought they would have in retirement.

Or consider the grief and bitterness that some people feel about losing a son or daughter, a brother or sister, to the war between the U.S. and Iraq. ``That war killed my son,'' some parents have said, ``and I'm still mad about it. His departure for Iraq disrupted our family life, then left a hole when he was shot. Oh, we miss him!'' Once again, people are dislocated and their sense of wholeness disintegrated.

So now, with some sense in your mind of what dislocation and disintegration are like, hear the words of comfort that Jewish poet wrote onto a wet clay tablet sometime around 540 B.C.E.

1 Comfort, O comfort my people,
says your God. ² Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
and cry to her that she has served her term,
that her penalty is paid,
that she has received
from the LORD's hand
double for all her sins.

³ A voice cries out:
``In the wilderness prepare the way of the LORD,
make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
⁴ Every valley shall be lifted up,
and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level,
and the rough places a plain. ⁵ Then the glory of the LORD shall be revealed,
and all people shall see it together,
for the mouth of the LORD has spoken.''

⁶ A voice says,
``Cry out!''
And I said, ``What shall I cry?''
All people are grass,
their constancy is like the flower of the field.
⁷ The grass withers,
the flower fades,
when the breath of the LORD blows upon it;
surely the people are grass.
⁸ The grass withers,
the flower fades;
but the word of our God will stand forever. ⁹ Get you up to a high mountain,
O Zion,
herald of good tidings;
lift up your voice with strength,
O Jerusalem,
herald of good tidings,
lift it up,
do not fear;
say to the cities of Judah,
``Here is your God!''
¹⁰ See, the Lord GOD comes with might,
and his arm rules for him;
his reward is with him,
and his recompense before him.
¹¹ He will feed his flock like a shepherd;
he will gather the lambs in his arms,
and carry them in his bosom,
and gently lead the mother sheep.

As you may have noticed from the first stanza of the poem (1-2), the first thing the poet does is speak to the sense of guilt and shame that this dislocated group of Jews in Babylon apparently felt. Why were they feeling guilt and shame? They felt guilt for all the sin they and their ancestors had committed in the presence of God. This sin fell into two broad categories: first was all the ways they had worshipped the puny little gods of Canaanite religion, or the puny little gods of Ammonite religion, the puny little gods of this and that, rather than the only God worth worshipping (Isaiah 42:14-17). The second sin was crushing the poor instead of helping the poor (Isaiah 3:14-5, 10:2, 11:4, 14:30, 25:4, 26:6, 32:7, 41:17, 58:7). Jews in Babylon bore a heavy load for this sin and for the sense of shame from the very public defeat of their country. In many ways, Jews in Babylon doubted that the world had much comfort left to give.

To this sin and shame the poet cries, ``Comfort!'' The people who once lived in Jerusalem have paid the penalty for their sin, paid twice as much, in fact, and are now due only words of tenderness (v.2). The implication? That in God's eyes the Jewish exiles are now free to leave Babylon. They are no longer bound to stay there, but are instead free to leave and return to Jerusalem after 47 long years of exile.

That's just what the poet envisions in the next stanza, vv. 3-5. Now the scene shifts to the long, wild wilderness that lay between the cities of Babylon and Jerusalem. A voice cries out, probably a heavenly voice, and authorizes the construction of a new highway in the wilderness that will require massive earthmoving. To build a straight, level highway, the tops of mountains and hills will be shaved off and the dirt from them used to fill in valleys. Rough spots will become smooth for the ease and rapidity of travel. Clearly this will be a highway for the Lord God to travel on, followed by Jews from Babylon. In the ancient world among many different religions it was common to hold triumphal processions of the god you worshipped. In non-Jewish religions, you attached an idol of your god to the end of a pole. Your high priest or some other important official then grabbed the other end of the pole and led you in a triumphal procession down the highway, the image of the god going first, followed by all the people. Perhaps there was singing and dancing along the way. (A description of one such procession as part of the Babylonian Akitu Festival may be found at http://www.livius.org/aj-al/akitu/akitu.htm ). Something like this seems to lie behind vv. 3-5, except, of course, that Jews never would have made an image of the Lord God to hoist in the air, since one of the 10 Commandments prohibited making an image of God. But Jews could have had such a procession without an image of Yahweh. Such a procession would have brought great joy and celebration to people, and would have given great glory to God.

In the third stanza, vv. 6-8, a voice from heaven cries out once again, and this time the poet responds, wanting to know what to cry out. The message to pass on, according to this heavenly voice, is that you cannot count on human beings to be constant, just as you cannot count on the grass to stay green, especially in a hot Middle Eastern climate where grass can wither in just a few days. You just can't depend on human beings, along with their projects, institutions, and morality. They are fickle and ephemeral. But that's not how God is. The word of God ``will stand forever'' (v. 8). You and I can rely on God to do what God says.

The last stanza returns to the theme of crying out good news. Verse 9 imagines that the city of Jerusalem (also called Zion) is now able to talk to other cities in the region. What is the topic of this conversation? That God has arrived (end of v. 9)! In other words, God has completed the journey down that level, straight, smooth highway through the wilderness. God has returned to Jerusalem and Zion in great power and glory! God still cares and has not absconded from the world!

``See,'' proclaim Jerusalem and Zion in voices of strength (v. 9), ``the Lord God comes with might.'' Verse 10, with its language of a mighty God who has a strong arm, portrays God as a mighty warrior who will now make things right. Verse 11 then sets up a paradox by portraying God as a tender shepherd who carries lambs against the divine chest while leading their mothers gently. In these last two verses, 10 and 11, the poet therefore gives us two different but complementary snapshots of God--a strong, victorious God who will at last compensate victims, and a shepherd God who will treat dislocated and disintegrated people with the utmost tenderness.

It may be that this is the kind of God you and I most need right now--a God mighty enough to make things right, and yet a God tender enough to carry us from dislocation to home, from disintegration to reintegration.

I once knew a woman whose husband died unexpectedly. Since she was only in her 40s when he died, she obviously could expect to live for many more decades, barring some unforeseen disease or accident. This woman at first spent a lot of time crying, a lot of time grieving, over the disintegration of much that she had built her life around. His steady income was gone. His companionship and friendship were gone. Her sense of herself as a married person was gone. She did what most people would do in her situation; she found a job that would allow her to pay the rent, utilities, groceries, and other necessities of life. Perhaps most important of all, she immersed herself in her local congregation. She reached out to other women in the church, some of them widows like herself, some of them not. She redoubled her dedication to prayer and Bible reading, to following Christ and opening herself to the mercy of God.

As the years went by, she gradually was reintegrated. I would say she was reintegrated into God. The new center of her life became Christ, and the things of Christ. She found God to be both mighty and tender, able to heal her and bless her and guide her.

That's the God we worship. Let us shout and cry out, for the Lord God, our God, is traveling down a new highway, and at the end of the journey will bring us both might and gentleness!

What s It Mean November 20 2005.rtf

Mon, 21 Nov 2005 16:56:04 GMT

What's It Mean?
Matthew 24:3-8, 29-31, 36; Matthew 25:1-13; and Matthew 25:31-46
Anita Yoder Kehr
November 20, 2005

       Sometimes in the last year and a half, I have felt as if the Earth itself were becoming more fragile. Nature has risen up in ways that I certainly have never seen before. You know the litany: In the summer and fall of 2004, three hurricanes in a row devastated Florida. 2004 ended with the tsunami that rose up because of a magnitude 9.0 earthquake, killing many, many people. The devastation was so bad that the estimates of dead range from between 164,000 and more than 220,000; there's no way to know for sure how many people died.
         In 2005, then, hurricanes returned to smash into the coast of United States: Katrina, then Rita and Wilma. These storms, but especially Katrina, destroyed human-made structures with an ease that reminded us--all too clearly--that we humans are not so powerful, not so in control, not so smart as we thought we were. Dan Nafziger, while serving on a medical team in the Gulf Coast, wrote an email saying that ``The extent of the destruction can't be captured by words or video footage,'' and he asked for continuing prayer ``for the many anxious, depressed and wounded people of this area.'' (1) The destruction also peeled away our illusions of equity in our nation. Those who suffered and are suffering most are the poorest, and a disproportionate number of them are racial/ethnic minorities.
         But wait: those are only the hurricanes we think about because they affected the United States most directly. Some of those and others also rampaged through the Caribbean and Central America, and some--like Hurricane Stan--yielded massive damage that we hear very little about. That hurricane, Stan, created huge mudslides on the west side of Guatemala. Justin Heinz, who has been studying in Guatemala this semester, is currently helping with the recovery efforts around Lake Atitlan. He describes houses buried three feet deep in mud so that doors appear to be foreshortened, and the people have decided that they won't dig them out but, instead, will build new structures on top of what was once the first floor and is now nearly basement. (2)
         After all those hurricanes, then in this year of disasters came another earthquake, one for which the death toll continues to rise. On October 8, a magnitude 7.6 earthquake shook Pakistan. (3) Recent news reports indicate the death toll resulting from the destruction wrought by that event has reached nearly 75,000 people. But equally as disturbing are the reports that warn of many more deaths coming because of untreated injuries and a lack of shelter as winter comes to Pakistan's highlands. I thought about those unsheltered people as the wind whipped snow past my cheeks this past week. It has seemed to me as if we, or maybe just I, hardly have the energy to look at this tragedy because it is so overwhelming and we are exhausted from mourning the disasters on our own shores…which, to top the year off, now includes three tornado outbreaks in November , each one yielding some deaths. November--how weird is that?
         And that's only the weather phenomena. There are also the illnesses--the pestilence--that threaten our world: HIV/AIDS in Africa is killing off whole generations of people, leaving old grandmothers and young children as the new heads of household. (4) The complexity of the problem in Africa is almost beyond comprehension and so difficult! And now, everyone's all het up about the possibility of a bird flu epidemic. What's next?
         Well, maybe wars and rumors of war. There's Iraq and Afghanistan, there's Russia and the Chechen rebels, there's North Korea and it's isolation and sensitive ego, there's Iran and its nuclear program, there's the genocide in the Darfur region of Sudan, there's Israel and Palestine, and I know there are more that I cannot name.
         What does all of this mean? Is the Earth, in its geology and geography, its politics and its weather patterns, more fragile now than at other times in history? Might all of these things be the ``birth pangs'' that Matthew describes in the text that Aaron and Sara and Seth read for us today? They read just snippets of Matthew 24 for us this morning, but if you were to read the whole chapter, you might wonder: Are these upheavals of nature the warnings of tribulation and suffering to come for Christians? Are these conflicts rising up out of human nature the prelude to a series of false prophets and bogus Messiahs?
         Many of us might look at all of these events and come to the conclusion that they must signify something momentous. In Matthew 24:32 and 33, we read this: ``From the fig tree, learn its lesson; as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. So also, when you see all these things, you know that [the coming of the Son of Man] is near.'' Can we look at all this stuff and say that surely the end of time as we know it is near, that the Christ--who has already begun his reign on earth by way of his advent, life, ministry, death and resurrection among us--will soon come again to culminate his reign and finally vanquish evil and death?
         Unfortunately, I am absolutely the wrong person to ask these questions. I have done my best to avoid the study of eschatology as much as possible. (Eschatology is the study of how God will work to bring an end to time as we know it; it's a theological exploration of the last days of human history.) Now, I know that the end times are really important to many people--including to many of you, perhaps. We had a friend in our church in San Antonio who said that when she heard the notes of a trumpet drifting through her open window, her first thought was that Jesus was returning. Upon further exploration, she discovered a neighbor practicing. And when Peter Buller, our former interim pastor here at Berkey, began his missionary career many decades ago, the Commission on Overseas Mission tested him on his eschatology, and when they discovered that he didn't have the right millenialist view, he had to promise that he would do no teaching on eschatology but let someone more sound do it instead. Unfortunately, I can't remember which millenialist view was the right one: pre-, post-, a-, dispensationalist, or something else. And he tried to teach me.
        During Peter's time of service here, he helped teach some of the sessions of the Baptism Exploration class. I asked him to lead the session on the Reign of God, which is the section in our Mennonite confession of faith that deals with eschatology. He prepared a careful outline of all those millenialist views of eschatology, and he even spent extra time with me going over what they all meant, but they never stuck in my head. Never have. Now, I assume if I put my mind to it, I'd be able to remember all that stuff, but I don't because I really don't think the details matter at all. Let me tell you why:
        First of all, I believe that the important affirmations are not how or when the eschaton--the end of time--comes, but these other three affirmations: 1) God has been present and active in all of human history, and God's reign, the Kingdom of heaven, began in a new way with the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. 2) When Jesus ascended into heaven, he did not leave us bereft. He is Emmanuel, God with us. (Matthew 1:23) Some of his last words were these, ``And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age. (Matthew 28:20) The gift of the Holy Spirit brings comfort, hope, and power to our lives. In this time between the times--in this time of now and not yet--God remains with us. 3) Jesus will come again, in some new way, bringing the reign into a fullness that we do not yet experience. That second coming will involve a time of sorting out and judgement, but it will also involve a final victory over sin and evil and death. These are the important affirmations.
        Another reason I don't bother so much with eschatology is because it's pointless to try and figure out when the end times are going to come. The clearest Biblical assertion about the eschaton is that its timing is hidden. Now, you all know the stories about people who try to figure out the day and hour--there's even one about an Amishman in Holmes County, Ohio, who set the date for 1853 and built an oversized chair in preparation to receive Jesus (5)--but the truth is that we're just not going to know. That information is God's and God's alone. So, that being the case, my approach has always been not to try. There are far more important things to do… which brings us to our texts from Matthew 25.
        Both of these stories--the parable of the ten bridesmaids and the portrayal of the last judgement--tell us just what we need to know about the end times. That is, be prepared and serve Christ. That's it. Those two things. Nothing else. Of course, we need to think about what it means to be prepared and to serve Christ, but those are the important questions, not the when's and how's.
        Let's look first at the story of the ten bridesmaids, Matthew 25:1-13, a teaching on what the kingdom of heaven will be like. Ten bridesmaids were invited to a wedding, and according to this parable, their responsibility was to wait for the coming of the bridegroom to accompany him into the wedding banquet. Now every one of the ten brought their lamps, and every one of them fell asleep while waiting for the bridegroom to show up. He was delayed and came much later than expected. The critical difference between the five wise bridesmaids and the five foolish ones was the way in which they prepared for their responsibility of waiting. The wise ones brought extra oil so that they could re-fill their lamps if they got empty; the foolish ones didn't think that far ahead. In this story, the coming of the bridegroom signifies the coming of the Christ, and we who follow Christ wait alongside those bridesmaids. So, are you prepared? How do you stay filled up so that your lamps can keep burning and glowing and sending out light into darkness?
        The language of ``oil'' in Jewish writings in Matthew's time and beforehand often symbolized deeds of love and mercy or obedience to the Torah. (6) The central commandments in the Torah and the two greatest commandments lifted out by Jesus direct us to love God first and then to love our neighbor. So, I wonder if keeping our lamps filled with plenty of oil handy means tending to our love of God and love of neighbor, always remembering that love of God comes first and is prior to loving others. According to Evald Lovestam, ``Spiritual wakefulness… means the living of life `in communion with the Lord and in faithfulness to him.''' (7) A most critical question then becomes how you stoke the flame of your love for God. How do you live in communion with the Lord? Where is the space in your life to listen to? to watch for? to contemplate? to love God? How is your oil supply doing?
        The last of Jesus' teachings as recorded by Matthew before the events leading to his crucifixion is this depiction in Matthew 25 of the judgement at the end of time. Jesus, the Son of Man, comes fully revealed at last as king over all and as shepherd and judge and lord. The people of all the nations gather before him, and he separates them into two groups, the ``sheep'' at his right hand and the ``goats'' at his left. And then he explains the criterion he used to divide them. Is it whether or not they called him ``Lord''? Is it whether or not they were faithful in worship or tithing or prayer? No--those very important confessions of faith and activities of faithfulness apparently have nothing to do with how they get grouped. The single criterion that determines whether they will find favor with the king is whether or not they fed the hungry, gave drink to the thirsty, welcomed the stranger, clothed the naked, cared for the sick, and visited the imprisoned. In this passage of 16 verses, that list of six acts is repeated nearly identically four times. It is important to listen and to hear.
        And, it is as important to see in this text that serving the least of these in our world is the same thing as serving the Christ. It is not serving in the name of Christ; it is serving Christ. Now, there is debate about who ``the least of these'' are. Verse 40 talks about the least of these ``who are members of my family.'' So, does that mean that only service to Christians counts or to any of the neediest in our world? That's the debate.
        I have two responses to that. First, in verse 45 there is no modifier to the ``least of these.'' The Scripture says, quite simply, ``just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.'' And second, in light of the Great Commission in Matthew 28, isn't everyone either brothers and sisters or potential brothers and sisters in Christ? This instruction to care for the least of these, I believe, means to care for all of the poorest, the most vulnerable, the most oppressed, the neediest, whether or not they're Christian.
        This biblical picture of the judgement at the end of time gives a clear and unambiguous message. Being prepared for the eschaton, for the end times, means living in service now. It means living ethically. It means fusing faith with everyday action. It means treating each person-- each person-- as we would treat Christ. How we live now--how we act in discipleship and obedience--has eternal implications. That's the point of this text.
        So, what do these stories of the bridesmaids and the judgement have to do with the many natural and human-made disasters that we've seen in these last 18 months? What if they are, really, the birth pangs signifying the beginning of the end? Well, it strikes me that these disasters have left many hungry, thirsty, exiled and alien, poorly clothed, ailing, and imprisoned people. What is there to do but to keep our lamps filled and to serve Christ? Filled up or empty? Sheep or goats? Those are the proper questions.

(1)      E-mail message to the Berkey Avenue Mennonite Fellowship, November 9, 2005.

(2)      E-mail message, November 12, 2005.

(3)      U. S. Geological Survey, http://earthquake.usgs.gov/eqinthenews/2005/usdyae

(4)      Lewis, Stephen. Entertainment Summit Keynote Address, New York City, November 18, 2003 (Similar to address given at MEDA Convention, Whistler, British Columbia, November 3-6, 2005). Posted by Population Communications International (PCI) at ww.population.org/newsarchive/archive_03_ent_lewis.shtm.

(5)      Hartzler-Miller, Gregory. ``The Descendant of the Man Who Built a Chair for Jesus,'' DreamSeeker Magazine, 2:4, Autumn 2002.

(6)      Boring, M. Eugene. ``Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections: Matthew.'' The New Interpreter's Bible, Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995, p. 450.

(7)      Lovestam, quoted in Hagner, Donald A. Word Biblical Commentary, Volume 33B: Matthew 14-23. Dallas: Word Books, 1995.

dadtheo.jpg

Tue, 15 Nov 2005 21:37:12 GMT

Sermon: �Things Hoped for, Things Unseen�

Heidi Siemens-Rhodes — Sun, 30 Oct 2005 21:53:28 GMT

BAMF Remembrance Service, October 30, 2005
Sermon: “Things Hoped for, Things Unseen”
Heidi Siemens-Rhodes

Text: Hebrews 11:1-3 and 12:1-3

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Indeed, by faith our ancestors received approval. By faith we understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was made from things that are not visible.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such hostility against himself from sinners, so that you may not grow weary or lose heart.

Dad and Theo, Lake Michigan, October 2003

This is my father, Mark Stanley Siemens. He was born on July 24, 1946, and died after a sudden and short illness on March 8, 2005. In the picture he’s standing on the shore of Lake Michigan, and the baby he’s holding, or “slinging,” as we usually say, is our son Theo, his first grandchild. The picture was taken 2 years ago, when Theo was 6 months old.
This is my Dad’s Tilley hat, which you can also see in the picture, and in lots of other pictures of him outdoors. If some of you have seen me wearing this hat and wondered where I got such a good looking accessory, now you know! ☺ I do wear my dad’s hat a lot, to remember him, but also because he and I shared a UV ray phobia due to the prevalence of skin cancer in his family.

When my dad died in March, my first thought was not to ask “Why?” although there could have been a lot of questions along these lines. Why him? Why me? Why now? These are important questions, and I have asked them in my own way. I expect that they will appear and reappear at various times in the months and years ahead. But my first question when my dad died was, “Where is he now?”

I wasn’t wondering if he was in heaven or hell. I was blessed to able to trust that my father knew God, as I had seen him walk the walk of discipleship in his life. No, my question was a more fundamental one: where was he now that he had left earthly life? Was he still in some way my father, or was I left only with memories? What was there of Dad to hold on to, to continue relationship with?

As a Christian, and maybe even more clearly as an Anabaptist/Mennonite, I have long understood the church to teach that we are safe beyond the limits of this earthly life, that our bodies are not eternal but our souls are. This belief is reflected in the practice of Believers Baptism. We are cared for gently by God until we reach the age of accountability, and are then called to move toward an owned faith through baptism. In the same way we trust that God will care for us beyond the boundaries of this life, beyond what we can know and can imagine. With these core beliefs, I was able to say goodbye to my dad without fear. Still, it was unclear to me how my relationship with him would continue, or not, now that he was no longer living.

Our relationship had always been secured in the physical nature of things, even if we weren’t together in the same room: Dad calling me from his desk at home in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, me imagining the smile I could hear in his voice as we spoke, the many times he and my mom drove the 10 plus hours out from Lancaster to visit us here in Indiana, the way I always tried to have a bag of “Glad Corn,” from Maple City Market, waiting for him when they arrived, the way he would rub his hands together with exaggerated glee when he caught sight of his favorite snack. Who was my father without the voice on the phone, the smiling figure in our doorway after a long drive, the expressive hands? Where was he now?

I know that others of you here this morning have sat with a loved one as they died. Some of you have seen many deaths, through work in the health care professions. And still others have never had an experience with death, yet. Let me tell you how it was for me and my dad.

Dad had a sudden, massive, and completely unexplainable bleed in his brain, a major stroke, on the morning of March 5. After losing consciousness, he never emerged from a deep coma. When I got the news, Mitch, Theo and I hopped in the car and drove the 13 or so hours to a hospital in Delaware where he had been airlifted from a little hospital on the Delaware shore. He had been enjoying a weekend by the ocean with my mother and a family friend. When Mitch and Theo and I arrived at the hospital, he was on a ventilator in the Critical Care Unit, in the room and bed where he remained, except for tests, over the next three days, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday.

Those were hard days for us as a family, as we were faced with the most literal of life-and-death decisions, alongside long periods of waiting and hoping, interspersed with episodes of chasing our not-quite-two-year-old, Theo, around the hospital lobby. During this in-between time, I did begin ask myself where my father, the Dad I knew, was. Was he aware of us with him? Could he hear our words of love and encouragement and gratitude? I mourn the lack of opportunity to say these important last things to him and know that he heard them. But I am so grateful for those days that we could be with him before he died.

On Tuesday a final test showed that Dad’s brain had been massively damaged, and the doctors gave us little hope for his recovery. By this time we felt that we were ready to remove Dad from the ventilator, the machine that was breathing for him. We knew him well enough to be quite sure that he wouldn’t want his life artificially prolonged at high cost, in absence of hope for recovery.

Dad’s vital signs were strong, so the medical staff just couldn’t predict how long he would be able to breathe on his own. My brother, my mother, the pastor of my parents’ church and I were present in the room as the tubing was removed. Surprising us all, my dad took his last labored breaths within the span of less than a half hour. We read to him from the promises of God through the prophet Isaiah, we sang, we said goodbye, we cried. It was a hard and a holy half hour.

What I remember most is the change that came over him when the breath was gone. For the previous few days he had maintained his ruddy complexion and warm body heat, even running a slight fever. He had looked almost just like himself, which was not really surprising as he had been a healthy not-quite-sixty-year-old just days before. But when he died, the color drained from his face, and he seemed to gain 30 years, and lose 30 pounds, in less than a minute. And my question began to emerge more strongly—where are you now, Dad?

On Easter Sunday, two and a half weeks after Dad’s death, the celebration of resurrection seemed hollow to me. Lazarus had been raised from the dead and got to go back for more years of earthly family life, but the resurrected Jesus soon he went away from his family and friends, up into unreachable, unknowable heaven. In the Gospel of John, chapter 21, the resurrected Jesus meets the disciples by the seashore, offering them a breakfast of fresh fish around a charcoal fire. This became an important image for me, and that day I wrote this poem:

7 haiku for dad

this easter sunday
i cling to jesus eating fish
by the sea, fire

with loved ones again
not lost, not dead, alive, here
like lazarus now

it’s been three weeks now
dad gone at 58, now
ashes to ashes

what i want now—fire,
the sea—not resurrection—
to eat fish with him

i learned how to love
him here, him alive—he now
moves from what i know

unlike lazarus
raised from us, to a glory
far beyond this place

where I live today
clinging to jesus who ate
by the sea, fire

Where are the loved ones we have laid to rest? As I have walked the journey of grief, the passage Lisl read this morning from Hebrews has become a great comfort to me. I especially love the strong image of a “cloud of witnesses,” the idea that those who have died are not gone, but are still around us, loving us, cheering us on as we run the race and eventually join them at the final finish line. The author of Hebrews writes, Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. It is the unseen-ness of the dear departed which is hardest to bear, perhaps because we have a sense that relationship does not die with the death of a loved one. I am still my father’s daughter. I always will be.

There is a phrase in the Apostles’ Creed which echoes the image of the cloud of witnesses. We don’t use creeds very much in the Mennonite church, but this ancient formulation of what followers of Jesus believe is probably the most widely accepted presentation of Christian beliefs. It is found as number 712 in the blue hymnals by your seats. The creed begins, “I believe in God, the Father almighty,” and continues with a second section on Jesus Christ, and a third section on the Holy Spirit. In this last section the phrase “the communion of saints” is found. This is a rich image with a long history. The general idea is that all who love God and walk in God’s ways, that is, the saints, are connected in a real and lasting way, whether they are living or dead.

Soon after my father died, I was required to write a 15-20 page paper for my Systematic Theology class at Associated Mennonite Biblical Seminary. It was a time of stress and grief, yet I can’t remember when I have ever got more out of writing a paper—no doubt because I put so much of myself into the project. My father had a Masters of Divinity, like the degree I’ve just finished at AMBS, and so as I researched the communion of the saints, running the race toward my own diploma, I felt a precious connection to him and his interests.

If you’d like to read the paper, by all means let me know! But I would like to share with you now the most important answers, or hopes, the study gave me. Despite all our longing to see beyond the veil, we just don’t know where people go when they die, and how they get there, and how they see us from there. We can’t know the details. But we can trust, in faith, that at death we will fall into the embrace of God. We can’t know what that embrace will mean for us, exactly, or for others who may seem far from God in life. But we can know, by faith, that in the unseen space beyond this life, God is present and waiting to scoop us up tenderly. And finally, we can hope, by faith, that as we join this unseen communion of saints, we may remain as actively and lovingly connected to life on earth as God is connected to that life.

Who are these saints in the great communion? Surely not only the holy men and women who have been recognized as saints by the Roman Catholic Church, or remembered in Anabaptist circles as founding father and mothers, or martyrs. The communion of saints is a great equalizing image, the whole number of people who have lived and died in the Lord, who have fought the good fight and entered into God’s presence with great joy. Catholic theologian Elizabeth Johnson, in her excellent book on the communion of saints, called Friends of God and Prophets, writes that this communion, and the day we celebrate it, November 1, All Saints Day, are tools of memory, times when we together remember the many faithful ones whose names were not well-known, whose deeds may not have been noticed by others, whose lives seem lost to the world after their deaths. All Saints Day is the day to remember that the circle is wider than we can see or imagine! Not one little one who loved God is lost.

And so it is right that we should gather together as a worshiping community, the living communion of saints, and remember those who have died. We gather here to renew our faith in things hoped for, things not seen. We grieve our losses, while affirming again the hope that our loss was their gain. We recognize that while we can no longer in the same ways know those who have died, as we persist in our walk of faith, moving closer to the heart of God, we move closer to them as well. The resurrection that seemed hollow to me this past Easter is the promise that life and love continue past what we can know and understand. We can only walk into that resurrection though faith.

After my dad died I first realized the vast difference between saying, “Someday I will die. Someday everyone dies,” and saying, “My father died tonight.” My father died almost eight months ago, and sometimes it feels like I miss him more every day. But when I look at this picture, I am reminded that if my dad, as imperfect as the next earthly saint, could care so tenderly for his grandson Theo, how much more sweetly is God now holding him? He has joined the communion of the saints, the cloud of witnesses that surround and enfold me and all of us as we find our own way into God’s open arms.

Incomparable God November 13 2005.rtf

Tue, 15 Nov 2005 20:58:31 GMT

Incomparable God
Isaiah 51:9-11
Sermon by Dan Schrock
November 13, 2005

Awake, awake, put on strength,
O arm of the LORD!
Awake, as in days of old,
the generations of long ago!
Was it not you who cut Rahab in pieces,
who pierced the dragon?
Was it not you who dried up the sea,
the waters of the great deep;
who made the depths of the sea
a way for the redeemed to cross over?
So the ransomed of the LORD shall return,
and come to Zion with singing;
everlasting joy shall be upon their heads;
they shall obtain joy and gladness,
and sorrow and sighing shall flee away. (NRSV)

One night many years ago Jim called me on the phone. When I jumped out of bed to answer, I noticed the clock said 2:14 AM. ``Dan,'' the voice at the other end said. ``This is Jim. Angie and I are at St. Jude's Hospital. She started going into labor a few hours ago, and we rushed over here to see what was wrong since she's only 4 months pregnant. The baby miscarried. Can you come?''

When I hung up the phone, I silently groaned, suspecting that this was not going to be easy. Angie and Jim were in their early 20s, newly married, and this was to have been their first child. Just a few weeks before they had stood up in church, grinning, to announce they were pregnant, and the congregation had applauded its approval.

When I arrived at the hospital, Angie was lying in bed, her eyes red from crying, exhausted. Jim was hovering around the room, not sure how to be helpful but trying anyway. ``Why?'' they both wanted to know, ``why did God let this happen to us?'' I didn't answer the question because I knew that 2:43 AM at St. Jude's Hospital was not the right time to talk about why. Instead I sat with them for a while, listened to their story, read them their favorite Psalm, held their hands, and prayed. But I also knew that their question would not go away, and that I needed to talk to them about it at a later date.

Two weeks later I called them on the phone. ``Angie,'' I said, ``would you and Jim like me to come over and talk more about your question?'' They did, and a few evenings later I sat with them in their living room. I listened for maybe half an hour to what they were thinking and feeling, and then said, ``There really isn't a good answer to your question about why you miscarried. Theologians have been struggling with that question for thousands of years, and we still don't have an answer that satisfies everybody. Even after all that thinking and praying, we haven't figured out how God can be so good and so powerful, yet allow all these evil things to happen to us.

``But I'd like to offer you one answer that appears in the Bible. It's not the Bible's only answer to your question, and you probably won't find it very satisfying. In fact, you might reject it. You might think it's a pile of baloney. But it's one of the answers the Bible offers us, so I'll share it with you anyway. And who knows? Maybe something about it will appeal to you. So here goes.

``Let's start all the way back in Genesis 1:1. `In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.' In other words, the first verse of the Bible says before God began to create, the universe already had raw material like water and other stuff which God used to build the universe. But this raw material was chaotic and disorderly. It had no boundaries, no form, no structure. This stuff in the universe was like goo that oozed around without any shape or texture or purpose. So what does God do with this chaotic mess? God comes along and gives it order. A few verses later, God `separates' the light from the darkness and `separates' the waters below from the waters above (vs. 4, 6). So part of what God did in creating the world was to impose order on it. Part of what God does in creation is to put boundaries on the chaos, to say `thus far you can go, but no farther.'

``Other passages in the Old Testament also talk about chaos. Do you remember reading in the books of Job, Psalms, and Isaiah about an evil beast called Rahab (Job 9:13, 26:12; Ps. 87:4, 89:10; Is. 51:9)? Or in those same books, do you remember reading about an evil beast called Leviathan (Job 3:8, 41:1; Ps. 74:14, 104:26; Is. 27:1)? Rahab and Leviathan symbolize the powers of evil and chaos that Genesis 1 talks about. These beasts represent the chaos that God defeated in the creation of the world. Isaiah 51:9 says God cut these beasts up into little pieces, while Psalm 89:10 says God `crushed' Rahab. In other words, God puts limits and order on the chaos.

``But--and here's where things start to get interesting--one of these texts, Isaiah 27:1, says that at some future time, God ` will punish Leviathan' and ` will kill the dragon that is in the sea' (emphasis added). This means that God still hasn't completely finished defeating the powers of chaos. Isaiah 51:9 says something similar. It says that while God has already `cut Rahab in pieces,' God still has not defeated all the evil in the world. Therefore Isaiah cries out to God, `Awake, awake, put on strength, O arm of the LORD! Awake, as in days of old, the generations of long ago!' Meaning: God, there's still an awful lot of evil chaos in this world, things like miscarriages and tsunamis and hurricanes and famines. Do something about it, God! Fight back against the chaos! Arm yourself with renewed strength! Defeat it!

``So what is this theological strand of the Bible saying? It's saying that God started to fight chaos way back in the creation of the universe, but that God is not finished yet. God is still fighting the chaos, still trying to defeat the evil things that happen to us. God is still trying to order the chaos, put boundaries on it, and keep it in its place. Maybe an image would help to understand what's going on. It's as if God has a pair of hands, and forms inside of them a place of shalom within which we humans (and plants and animals) can live. We live inside of God's hands. Yet outside of God's hands still exists more chaos--chaos that God holds back in order to make our lives possible. God's act of creating is not so much a one-time event that happened a long time ago, but a continuous process that's still happening. If God would let the divine hands fall away even for a moment? Whew! The chaos would rush in and we would be wiped out in a flash. But thanks be to God! God is diligent and attentive. God's attention doesn't waver, and so God's hands are always there trying to create a place of shalom for us. We can be confident that God is working hard against the chaos.

``However, that doesn't mean evil things will never happen to us. You found that out a couple of weeks ago when your child miscarried. It's not your fault your child miscarried. You did the best you could. It's not some sin that caused it, because it just happened. People find out the same thing all the time in hurricanes and tornadoes. Evil happens and it's not really our fault. So in this theology that I've been talking about, how does chaos slip through and get inside this place of shalom?

``You've probably heard some people say that God is `omnipotent.' It means that God is supposedly all-powerful, that God can do anything God wants to do. But there's a little problem here. The word omnipotent is not in the Bible. It's actually a Latin word that was incorporated into Christian theology after the New Testament was written. In the Old Testament, there is no Hebrew word equivalent to omnipotent. Even though just a few Old Testament passages get close to the Latin idea of omnipotence, no Hebrew word matches it. ¹ Generally speaking, the people of the Old Testament did not think of God as omnipotent, as having complete power and might. ²

``So how does the Old Testament most often think of God, if not as omnipotent? The answer is incomparable. The most common affirmation about God's power in the Old Testament is that God is incomparable. No one can compare to God. No one else has as much power as God has. This is not the same thing as claiming that God is omnipotent. In the Old Testament, God is not all-powerful, only more powerful than everybody else. Some examples. In Exodus 8:10, Moses says to Pharaoh, `So that you may know that there is no one like the Lord our God, the frogs' will cover the land of Egypt. Did you hear that phrase ``no one like the Lord our God'? That means God is incomparable. Or 1 Samuel 2:2, where in a prayer to God after the birth of her son, Hannah says, `There is no Holy One like the Lord, no one beside you; there is no Rock like our God.' Or Psalm 89:6: `For who in the skies can be compared to the Lord? Who among the heavenly beings is like the Lord, a God feared in the council of the holy ones, great and awesome above all that are around him? O Lord God of hosts, who is as mighty as you?' Or again in Psalm 113:5: `Who is like the Lord our God, who is seated on high, who looks far down on the heavens and the earth?' Do you hear that astonishing claim that the Old Testament makes again and again? God is without equal in the whole wide universe. God is one of a kind, more powerful, more able, and more creative than any other god. [See also Isaiah 40:12-31.]

``Back to our image of God's hands. In general, the Old Testament says that God's hands continually try to create goodness and peace for the world by constantly holding back the evil forces of chaos that still threaten to overwhelm us. God is doing the very best with this that God can. But once in a while, despite God's best efforts, little bits of chaos manage to slip through God's fingers, and as a result, something evil happens in our world. A miscarriage, a devastating hailstorm, no rain for 4 years, a hurricane, a tragic accident that no human being was responsible for, a life-threatening disease that seemingly pops up from nowhere. In the language of Biblical theology, these evils are small incursions of chaos that slip through God's fingers and cause evil. God tries hard not to let it happen, but it still does. God is fighting on our behalf, struggling against evil, but once in a while evil still slips through.

``Now, remember I warned you that you might not find it very appealing to think of God as incomparable. Most of us would rather think of God as omnipotent. But if we think of God as omnipotent, then it becomes very hard to account for evil, because if God is truly omnipotent then there should not be any more evil mucking around in our world. But clearly, evil still is mucking around; and so one strand of Hebrew theology resolves the dilemma by picturing a God who has no equal, who is doing the best possible job, who is mostly successful in fighting evil, but who still has more work to do.

``However, incomparable is an outstandingly awesome thing to be claiming about God. It means that God is by far and away your best bet, because in the final analysis nothing can stand up to God for long. God is good. God is very powerful. God is very able. God is working hard on our behalf. Nothing will ever be able to defeat God or get the best of God. God is endlessly inventive, and always figures out a way to out-smart, out-fox, out-think, and out-maneuver evil. In the long sweep of things, evil doesn't stand a chance of winning. God will win, no question about it.

``And for the people of God in the Old Testament, this affirmation was a great cause for celebration. Looking forward to the day when God's mighty arm would be renewed with strength in the fight against chaos and evil, Isaiah 51:11 exalts that in that day, `the ransomed of the LORD shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.'''

Angie and Jim had lots of questions. I was there until fairly late in the evening. When I got in my car and drove home, I wasn't entirely sure that they wanted to buy it. But I kept watching them on Sunday mornings at church, and in the weeks that followed I noticed that for whatever reason, hope and laughter were slowly growing on their faces.

Note
1. From a lecture by Rodney Hutton, ``On the Verge of Despair: Old Testament Faith in Crisis,'' Trinity Lutheran Seminary, June 6, 1994.

2. After I delivered this sermon, one perceptive person wondered about the word ``Almighty'' that appears so often in the Old Testament. The Hebrew phrase behind " Almighty" is El Shaddai . This was one of the earliest names for God in the Old Testament. El Shaddai originally meant something like "the God of the mountains," but eventually came to mean "mighty" or "God the mighty one." Between 3 00 and 2 00 B.C. E , some Jews translated the Old Testament from Hebrew into Greek (because most Jews then were losing the Hebrew language and starting to speak Greek, sort of like what happened among Mennonites when we switched from German to English). When they got to this Hebrew phrase El Shaddai , they chose the Greek word pantokrator , which actually does mean "all powerful." Ever since then in the King Jame s, NIV, and RSV/NRSV versions, El Shaddai has been translated as "Almighty," even though in Hebrew it simply means "mighty."

Are Natural Disasters God s Judgment November 6 2005.rtf

Fri, 4 Nov 2005 19:23:10 GMT

Are Natural Disasters God's Judgment?

Jeremiah 4:23-28
Sermon by Dan Schrock
November 6, 2005

I looked on the earth,
and lo, it was waste and void;
and to the heavens,
and they had no light.
I looked on the mountains,
and lo, they were quaking,
and all the hills
moved to and fro.

I looked,
and lo, there was no one at all,
and all the birds of the air
had fled.
I looked,
and lo, the fruitful land was a desert,
and all its cities
were laid in ruins
before the LORD,
before his fierce anger.
For thus says the LORD:

The whole land shall be a desolation;
yet I will not make a full end.
Because of this
the earth shall mourn,
and the heavens above grow black;

For I have spoken,
I have purposed;
I have not relented nor will I turn back. (NRSV)

On every continent, our world has recently suffered from many natural disasters. A tsunami smashed into various nations in southeastern Asia last December 26, killing 200,000 people. In this country, Hurricanes Katrina and Rita flooded New Orleans, ruined lots of smaller towns, and forced several million people to relocate permanently or temporarily. Last month on October 8, an earthquake killed perhaps 80,000 in Pakistan and India. In Central America, Hurricane Stan caused severe flooding and mudslides last month, causing at least 1,153 deaths.

When all these natural disasters happened, where was God? Was God taking a vacation in some distant galaxy? Why did God permit all these terrible things? Is God trying to send us a message of some kind?

The Bible offers many responses to questions like these, but few definitive answers. In today's newsletter, I briefly introduce the three sermons we will be doing this month on some of the Bible's theological responses to natural disasters. The variety of theological responses in the Bible illustrates that God's people have been struggling with these questions for thousands of years without arriving at a definitive answer.

Anita and I want to be clear that when we talk about natural disasters, we mean events that are largely beyond our direct control, such as hurricanes, tornadoes, tsunamis, earthquakes, snowstorms, floods, drought, and certain kinds of epidemics. We are NOT talking about disasters directly caused by human behavior, such as war or terrorist acts.

So let us plunge in. The theological response I want to look at today says that when a natural disaster happens, God might be punishing us for sin. In an earthquake or flood, tornado or drought, God might be bringing judgment upon us for the evil we have done. I hope you hear that word ``might'' because this theology is vulnerable to all sorts of wild expressions. After hurricane Katrina, some well-meaning Christian and Jewish people rushed to proclaim what God was punishing us for in this hurricane. Let me give you some examples to illustrate how nonsensical some of this became. One Christian group suggested that God sent Hurricane Katrina in order to shut down the ``ten child-murder-by-abortion centers'' in Louisiana, including the five in New Orleans. But there's a problem here. If God wanted to destroy abortion clinics, then why choose Louisiana? After all, the states of New York and Illinois have more abortion clinics than Louisiana does, so why Louisiana ( Chicago Sun-Times , September 13)? And why destroy a whole city just to get measly five clinics?

On this same theme, another Christian commentator claimed, after looking at a satellite photograph of Katrina swirling over the Gulf of Mexico, that it looked like the sonogram of a human fetus. Therefore, said this Christian, Katrina was God's judgment on abortionists. But I wonder: if that was true, then why did so many other people suffer who had nothing to do with abortion one way or the other?

Repent America, a religious group in Philadelphia, claimed that God destroyed New Orleans because it was a wicked city that publicly celebrated sin. Well, ok, but why New Orleans? Was it really any more wicked than Birmingham, Alabama, or Anchorage, Alaska, or Goshen, Indiana?

Still other groups argued that Katrina was God's way of punishing the U.S. for supporting the withdrawal of Jewish settlers from the Gaza strip in the Middle East. The obvious problem with this interpretation, however, is that the people of Louisiana and Mississippi were not exactly at the forefront of calling for Jews to leave Gaza, and clearly did not make the decision that Jews should leave Gaza. The Israeli government made that decision. So again, why send a hurricane to the Gulf coast?

On the other end of the spectrum, some Christians proposed that Katrina was God's judgment on America for starting a war with Iraq. But again, this doesn't make a lot of sense. The decision to start a war with Iraq was basically made by the president and his neoconservative advisors, without much consultation with either Congress or the American people. If God wanted to communicate judgment upon the people who made that decision, then why not stir up a hurricane or a tornado and send it to destroy the White House and the Pentagon? Why pick on New Orleans, Gulfport, and Biloxi?

I hope these examples show that it's a tricky business to say for certain what kind of judgment God might be trying to communicate in a natural disaster, or even whether God is trying to communicate anything at all. I don't know any biblical passage that says every natural disaster is God's judgment on sin. Sometimes a hurricane is just a hurricane. Sometimes a snowstorm rolls in and it's just a snowstorm.

Nevertheless, the Bible does say that natural disasters can sometimes be one of the ways God may judge us. One of the strongest examples is the poem from Jeremiah 4:23-28. The prophet Jeremiah lived in an anxious, fearful age during the last years of the kingdom of Judah. Because of its location, Judah was caught geographically between two empires: Egypt to the southwest, and the new, extremely powerful Babylonian empire to the east. The only good route for an Egyptian army to reach Babylonia, or for a Babylonian army to reach Egypt, lay right through Judah; and so the tiny kingdom of Judah was inevitably caught up in the intricacies of international politics. Judah was valuable territory; and the big empires often went to war to try to control, occupy, or obliterate the nation of Judah. Consequently wars and the rumors of wars were constant during Jeremiah's lifetime.

Jeremiah knew all about big empires and their wars, but he also saw in these events the judgment of God. Why did Jeremiah think God was judging Judah? Because Jeremiah looked around at his fellow citizens and saw a great deal of sin. Basically he saw two kinds of sin: pervasive oppression of the poor, and a refusal to worship God exclusively. Let me take each of these in turn.

The first sin Jeremiah saw was widespread oppression of the poor. We find one of the best examples of this in 22:13-19, where Jeremiah lambastes King Jehoiakim for not paying ordinary workers a fair wage, and then using the profits from that oppression to build expensive houses. Listen:

Woe to him who builds his house by unrighteousness,
and his upper rooms by injustice;
who makes his neighbors work for nothing,
and does not give them their wages;
who says, ``I will build myself a spacious house with large upper rooms,''
and who cuts out windows for it,
paneling it with cedar, and painting it with vermilion.
Are you a king because you compete in cedar?
Did not your father eat and drink and do justice and righteousness?
Then it was well with him.
He judged the cause of the poor and needy;
then it was well.
Is not this to know me? says the LORD.
But your eyes and heart are only on your dishonest gain,
for shedding innocent blood,
and for practicing oppression and violence.

For this sinful behavior, Jeremiah says that King Jehoiakim will not get a nice, respectable funeral when he dies. Instead of a state funeral with the national flag draped over a coffin, instead of an honor guard of the nation's finest soldiers shooting a twenty-one arrow salute, the king will be buried like a common jackass (v. 19a). His dead body will be dragged in the dirt and thrown outside the city walls to rot in the hot sun (v. 19b). And no one will even lament for him, give him a eulogy, or make it sound like he was a nice guy (18b). The point of all this? That God sends disaster on political rulers whose policies favor the rich and oppress the poor.

The other main sin that Jeremiah saw was a refusal to worship God exclusively. Jeremiah knew that God gets jealous whenever we worship other gods such as power or national security. In Jeremiah's day, those other gods were usually the Baals, an assortment of local Canaanite gods that Yahweh, Lord of heaven and earth, found repugnant (e.g., 2:8, 11, 23, 26-28; 3:1-3, 19-20; 5:18-19; 7:8-10, 17-20). Consider what Jeremiah says in just one very short text from 1:16:

And I [God] will utter my judgments against them, for all their wickedness in forsaking me; they have made offerings to other gods, and worshipped the works of their own hands.

So for the sin of worshipping gods that are no gods at all, that do not have the power to save or heal or bless us, the One God will sometimes judge us through a natural disaster.

This is just what Jeremiah foresees in 4:23-28. In this poem a natural disaster sent by God very nearly destroys all of creation. The earth is stripped of its plants, animals, and people, so that only wasteland and desert are left. Mountains shake and cities are turned into rubble. The sky turns dark because there are no longer any stars, sun, or moon. The destruction that Jeremiah envisions in this poem is almost total--God is so angry that God comes close to wrecking creation--but not quite total. In verse 27 there is one small word of hope: that God ``will not make a full end'' to the world.

God will not make a full end. That's really the overarching message of the book of Jeremiah. No matter how sinful we are, no matter how evil things get, God cannot bear to allow the world to end. We and the created world we inhabit are far too precious for God to permit complete destruction. In the theology of Jeremiah, there are always survivors because God's mercy continues even after disaster.

And that, of course, is also one of Bible's overarching messages. After the flood in Genesis 7, God's mercy continues, and the destruction is not total. After Job's possessions, family, and personal health are wiped out in a series of disasters (Job 1:13-2:8), God's mercy continues, and Job lives to praise the greatness of God. After Ezekiel looks out upon a vast valley of dead bones (Ezekiel 37:1-14), God's mercy continues, knitting those bones into new life. After the radical devastation of the earth envisioned in Revelation 15 and 16, God's mercy continues, creating a new heaven and a new earth of righteousness to last forever (Revelation 21 and 22).

God's judgment for sin and evil is mysterious. It's difficult, perhaps impossible, for us to draw a direct line from specific sins to specific disasters. God's ways are sometimes beyond our ability to understand. Personally, I have no idea whether or not Hurricane Katrina represented God's judgment on us for sin, and if it was judgment, what sins it was supposed to judge us for. I have not received a direct communication from God about this.

But we can understand God's mercy that continues no matter what we do, and that calls forth new life in the most devastating circumstances. Thanks be to God.

Yes! (October 23 2005).rtf

Sun, 23 Oct 2005 16:11:21 GMT

Yes!
Psalm 51:10
Sermon by Dan Schrock
October 23, 2005

Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me. (NRSV)

Many years ago I attended the annual delegate sessions of one of our area conferences in the Mennonite Church. The conference sessions that year were held in a large, new building which the host congregation had just constructed. At the beginning of the first session, the senior pastor stood up to welcome us to the congregation. Since we had ever been there before, of course he had to orient us to the building--where the restrooms were, where lunch would be served, and so forth. All that information was good and necessary. But then he launched into a detailed statistical list of how spacious this building was--thirteen bathrooms, four kitchens, the biggest private parking lot in the state, and over a thousand seats in the sanctuary.

It was indeed an imposing building, well-built, and attractive in its own way. But as we launched into conference business, I sat on the pew wondering what the real motivation was behind this impressive structure. Did the congregation erect it because they genuinely needed all that space or because they wanted to make other churches jealous? Was the intent to glorify God or to enhance the stature of the congregation? Was the building there for ministries of healing and hope or was it there to feed the pastor's ego? I had no way of knowing the answer to these questions, but it did seem possible that the motives might have been mixed.

The greatest occupational hazard that Christians have is doing mission or ministry for the wrong reasons. When I worked in Mennonite Central Committee, we had a young Christian woman in our unit who came into voluntary service for the wrong reasons. She went through MCC's normal application process which included a written application, references, and an oral interview. As usually happens for most people who want to work with MCC, the application process uncovered some strengths and some weaknesses, but all in all she looked like a relatively good applicant and so we decided to accept her. It turned out to be a disaster. Within a few weeks after she came to the unit, we knew we were in trouble. She refused to participate in unit activities, even to sit down and eat dinner with the rest of us. She would not go to church. Within a few months we discovered she was sexually active with men in the community. The last straw came when she stole money from the unit checking account and used it to buy cocaine. By that time it was clear that she was not a good fit for Mennonite Central Committee, and so we asked her to leave--a mere six months after she came. In retrospect I think the underlying problem was her motivation. Before applying to MCC, her job history had been checkered, with no job lasting longer than about two years. Consequently she saw MCC as a way to support herself without having to negotiate directly with an employer. In my conversations with her I never detected a real motivation to serve others in the name of Christ. Her true motivation was looking out for herself.

In Psalm 51, the poet prays for a clean heart, for a new and right spirit. One way of describing a clean heart is doing good things for the right reasons. But this is not as easy as it sounds because most of us have terribly mixed motives. The problem of mixed motives may be more serious than many of us realize. Let me illustrate.

When I began working at the Neil Avenue Mennonite Church in 1991, I was a fairly new pastor with almost no experience. Most of the time I did not really know what to do or how to do it. I also entered a congregation that had a history of troubled relationships with its pastors. So my main motivation was simply to survive my first three year term. Sure, I also wanted to serve Christ, but the bigger motivation was sheer survival, to keep my job and have enough money to pay the bills.

By the grace of God I survived the first three year term, and eventually discovered that the congregation liked me, for reasons I never fully figured out. Around the fourth or fifth year, I no longer worried about surviving. I relaxed, trusting that if I continued to work diligently the congregation would probably continue to employ me. They did, for ten and a half years. The congregation gave lots of affirmation and was unfailingly generous with me. They worked hard to treat me well. They didn't want to lose me after a series of vexing relationships with previous pastors.

But around the fifth and sixth years, I was getting hooked on all the praise. By at least the eighth year if not before, praise had insidiously become my biggest motivation for being a pastor. Did I still want to serve God? Of course. Did I still want to faithfully preach and teach scripture, walk with people in crises, and promote spiritual and missional growth? Yes. But what I really lived for was the praise. At the time I did not realize it. I still thought my motives were pure. But they weren't pure, and only in retrospect after leaving that congregation have I been able to see my true motives. The praise from conference ministers, congregational leaders, and congregational members had snookered me.

I decided to leave that congregation because I believed God was asking me to leave. In what way did God communicate that to me? How did I finally figure out that God wanted me to go? One sign was the hollowness I was feeling inside. When we engage in our vocational ministry and in God's mission for the wrong reasons, it has a way of making us hollow, dry, and empty. The adulation was killing me spiritually--and I suspect that if I had stayed in that congregation, continuing to snarf up the junk food of success but starving my soul, eventually I would have also caused great harm to happen in that congregation. I don't know what kind of harm, but staying longer might have inadvertently killed something in that congregation. It wasn't the congregation's fault; they were doing their best. It was my fault for becoming attached to praise instead of attached to God. Praise had become a hollow god, and to quit worshipping it I walked away. Sometimes hollowness, dryness, emptiness, or whatever you want to call it, might be a sign that our motivation stinks. This can be true whether we are pastors, businesspeople, teachers, medical workers, social service workers, or administrators.

Thanks to the jobs I've had and the schools I've attended in the last twenty years, I've spent a considerable part of my life in the company of people from other denominations. I've hung around Southern Baptists, National Baptists, American Baptists, Nazarenes, Evangelical Covenanters, Catholics, Episcopalians, Lutherans, Presbyterians, Methodists, United Church of Christ, Unitarian Universalists, various ilks of Brethren, and nondenominational types. Everywhere I go I've met many fine Christians who try to follow Christ and serve others with the right kind of motivation. There was Edward McCarthy, the Catholic archbishop of Miami, Florida, who not only led meetings competently, but also humbly and prayerfully. There was the Nazarene elder in Barrington Hills, Illinois, who in the middle of a nasty conflict stood up in church and confessed to all the mistakes he had made recently in church life, the tears rolling down his cheeks. There was Marilyn Stoppleworth, a mission worker in Comayagua, Honduras, who cared about nothing except serving the boys and girls in the high school she worked at.

But in many of the places I've been, I've also seen messed up motives getting in the way of the church's mission. There was the senior pastor of a huge church in Atlanta, Georgia, who deliberately manipulated the statistics on how many new members were joining so that it looked like the congregation was increasing its membership every week, even when in some weeks the church's membership actually decreased. There was the wealthy church in Dallas, Texas, that paid all expenses for each of its pastors to get a doctorate, so that on the sign by the road out in front all ten pastors on staff could be listed as ``Reverend Doctor Jane L. Smith, Reverend Doctor John W. Doe'' and so on. There was the pastor in Columbus, Ohio, whose pompous ego overpowered the rest of us whenever he walked into the room, and whose sole purpose in ministry seemed to be controlling who did what, when they did it, and how they did it. There was the Christian social service agency in Miami that said it wanted to cooperate with other service agencies, but in fact constantly fought those other agencies for clients, dollars, political influence, and favorable press in the city's main newspaper. It just made you want to cry.

Do you see what happens to us? All sorts of perverse motivations sneak in, co-opt us, and hijack what we want to do for God--the scramble for prestige, the struggle for control, the competition for people and dollars, the appetite for praise, the illusion that big is automatically better than small, the scheming for influence, the concern for appearance rather than substance. These are occupational hazards for Christians. They happen in congregations, conferences, and denominations; in evangelism and social service ministries; in pastors and laypeople.

So what do we do about it? You might think the solution is to examine our motives, dump the ones that are evil, and keep the ones that are good. Maybe that helps sometimes, but I don't think it's always enough, for two reasons. First, we often can't perceive what our real motives are. During my last years in Columbus I could not see how caught up I was in things that were not good. It's only now, three and a half later, that I understand better what was going on. Even now I could easily be caught up in nefarious motivations that I can't perceive, yet are causing me to stumble. The second difficulty is that even when we do see our real motives, we can't always free ourselves from them. Often we are bound, captive, enslaved to them. Sometimes it's beyond our ability to live differently.

Psalm 51 responds to these problem with prayer--prayer for a clean heart, prayer for the gift of a new and right spirit. We pray for this because only God can completely see what our motivations actually are. We pray for this because only God can finally make our hearts clean. When we're baptized, God's presence and power move in, permanently settling down inside to work on us. God opens the windows to air things out, sweeps up the dirt, repairs the plumbing, upgrades the electricity, lays down a new floor, paints the walls, runs a cloth over the woodwork, washes the soiled laundry, fixes the broken furniture, hangs up new pictures, and overhauls the landscaping. At baptism, God gradually starts to build a home in us.

In other words, once God moves in, our prayers are primarily about consenting to all this repair work God is doing. After our baptism God has an awful lot of work to do on us. So at the most basic level, prayer is about saying yes to God's renovations. We will not always know what God is up to, since some of God's work happens at night. We will not always feel God's presence or recognize God's activity. That's ok, because we don't need to know or feel or see everything God is doing. All we really need to do is say yes to the person, power, and presence of God. That is the true substance of prayer, whether we pray with words or pray with silence, whether we pray in a group or pray alone, whether we pray while moving around or pray while sitting perfectly still. Just say yes to God, even if you're not entirely sure what you're saying yes to. God is worthy of our full trust because God loves us more than we love ourselves, and because God can clean our mixed up motivations.

Just say yes.

Coming to the Table October 16 2005 .rtf

Wed, 19 Oct 2005 17:32:46 GMT

"Coming to the Table"
Matthew 22:1-14
Anita Yoder Kehr

Every week on Thursdays, I meet together with a group of women (pastor-types, all of them) and we study the lectionary texts together. Two and a half weeks ago, we opened our Bibles to the passage that Steve just read for us. As we discussed this passage, I was thinking: ``Why would you ever choose this version of this parable to preach on? I'd pick the version in Luke 14! There's no war or destruction there; it's better written; it's a more comfortable story!''

I didn't worry much more about it then; I knew what I was going to preach on todayBartimaeus from Mark 10. Unfortunately, like a popcorn hull wedged way back between your teeth, the peculiarities of this text stuck in my head and bothered me and worked on me, and so here I am: preaching on this parable and having come to believe that it has an important message. It's the third of three increasingly pointed parables directed at an audience of important Jewish leaders, chief priests, and Pharisees.

By the time Jesus gets to this third parable, that ``important'' half of his audience is probably dreading what they're going to hear and the other half is probably beginning to feel pretty smug. The half who are dreading what comes next have finally realized that Jesus' stories are targeted at them. Jesus has said as much: ``The kingdom of God will be taken away from you,'' he said, ``and given to a people that produces the fruits of the kingdom….'' The narration of the story ends chapter 21 with this observation, ``When the chief priests and the Pharisees heard his parables, they realized that he was speaking about them. They wanted to arrest him, but they feared the crowds, because they regarded him as a prophet.''

I suppose that Jesus figured he should continue to strike while the iron is hot, or preach while consciences are stirring, and so he continued to address the crowd with this third parable that we heard Steve read for us this morning. And this parable surely does continue to provoke the Jewish leaders, but I wonder if those who had been smug before might have been squirming by the end. Maybe that's part of the point of this parable: don't ever presume enough to get smug.

Before we look at the parable itself, let me say a word about suspension of disbelief. I am not going to worry much about the timeline within this storywhether a king could really go out and destroy a city while the beef stays warm at home for those who eventually make it to the party. Of course, the answer's ``no,'' and it doesn't really matter. What does matter are the points that Jesus is trying to make as he shapes this parable with all its different elements, the easy to read and the hard to swallow all included, and there are some of both in here. So now let's look at the story:

The king was excited. He had a son who was getting married, and he wanted to include his people in the celebration. Invitations had gone out, a huge dinner was prepared, andas was the customit was finally time to send the servants out to give the courtesy reminder to all of the invited guests. And, in this case, the custom was surely just a courtesy, for who among his loyal people wouldn't want to come to this party? Or so thought the king until the servants came back with no guests. None of them wanted to come.

The king didn't want to over-react. Maybe his people just didn't understand what was going on. This is a party after all; it's not forced labor or conscription into a militia or collection of taxes. It's a party! And maybe his people didn't realize that if they'd say ``no'' to his direct request, his gracious invitation, there would be political consequences? To ignore the king is to suggest rebellion. Surely, they had just misunderstood the invitation. So the king sent out his servants again, with a special message: ``Look! Everything's ready!! The time is now. Come and enjoy!!'' Some of the people who got the message just blew off the servants like they had before, going on with their regular lives and business, not willing to be interrupted. But others seized the servants and killed them.

The interpretation of this is simple: The king is God, the servants are the prophetsincluding some Messianic messengers, like John the Baptistwho were either ignored or, worse, tortured and killed, when they tried to call the people to the feast of God. The people who received the invitation are the Jews, who had gotten the first invitation to the heavenly banquet because they had been the chosen people all along. But, they turned their backs on the invitation to celebrate their God's son, and they persecuted the ones who delivered the message.

Simple, right? But maybe the interpretation of this for us is not so simple. Why in the world would anyone turn down an invitation to a feast thrown by the king to whom you've pledged your life, your love, and your allegiance? Perhaps the people simply presumed upon the goodwill of the king. They knew they were special subjects of the kingdom, and they thought they knew the king. They were sure they could predict how the king would react because hadn't he saved them over and over again from slavery and exile? Hadn't he forgiven them over and over again for their unfaithfulness? They were sure that the king would understand if they didn't disrupt their lives and schedules in order to celebrate the son and delight in the presence of the king. They were very smug…but they were very wrong. They didn't understand all the ways of the king. I wonder, just what do we presume to know about ``our God? How do we presume upon God's patience when we fill up our lives with lots of good stuffwork and family and even great soccer games!and never bother to respond to the invitation to spend time delighting in and celebrating with our Sovereign?

The next section of this parable is one of those hard-to-swallow parts: The king is angry with his people, and his rage is born in spurned love. He has given everything to them, and they can't bother to give anything back to him, to honor his son, to come to a party, for Pete's sake! In his anger, the king sends out his troops and destroys houses and people. He withdraws every invitation and declares his formerly-blessed people unworthy.
For some scholars, the interpretation of this section is simple: They say that Matthew wrote his gospel after the destruction of Jerusalem around 70 A. D., and looking back, he clearly sees God's hand in that destruction. The people refused the invitation to celebrate the Son, and they got what was coming to them.

Simple, right? Well, maybe not so simple for us. This is not an easy text to look at, especially for us who focus primarily on God's love. It's hard to look at God's wrath, to think about destruction coming from the one who calls and invites. Even for me to assert that this anger comes out of a well of sadness and grief dug deep by the people's rejection doesn't make it a lot easier. But the truth is: our choices have consequences. Come to the party or don't. Delight in the presence of the Son or stay away. Whatever we decide alters the trajectory of our lives. In Matthew's gospel, we see that there will be a time when we'll be sorted out according to the decisions we've made.

Back to the parable: After the troops finish their terrible duty, the king calls his remaining servants to him, and says, ``I still have all this food! I still have a wedding to celebrate! Those I invited first aren't worthy of what I've prepared, so go out and invite everyone else. Call them to the banquet. It doesn't matter where they come from or who their family is. Just get me some guests for this feast!''

So the servants go out into the streets, and they round up anyone they can find. They keep going out and inviting in and rounding up until the feasting hall is filled. And the Scripture says that the ones they rounded up were both the good and the bad.
According to most scholars, the interpretations of this are simple. First, God's invitation to salvation and fellowship through Jesus is now opened up to include the Gentiles, those formerly not chosen, because the Jewsthe formerly chosen peoplehad rejected the Son. And second, scholars say, Matthew has already written twice before about the way that good and bad people are all mixed up in the church, first in the parable of the wheat and the tares and then in the parable of the net thrown into the sea, both in chapter 13. This text is just like those others: there are good and bad in the Christian church, but at the end of timein the final judgmentGod will judge everything and sort it out.

Simple, right? Well, maybe not so simple for usat least for me. This particular passage does not say that the good and the bad are going to get sorted out at the end of time. In factas we'll see in a momentall that is required is that they're dressed right. So the question that keeps coming up for me is my own judgment. If God is the one issuing the invitation, am I the one who gets to decide whether someone else is good or bad, worthy or unworthy, of being at the table? Mmmm, don't think so. Warnings against rushing to judgement make up another theme in the Gospel of Matthew. Perhaps we'll be very surprised to find out who our fellow celebrants are when we finally get to see the full table of the heavenly banquet.
The end of Jesus' parable as recorded by Matthew does not have a parallel in any of the other gospels. The king comes in to visit with his guests, glad that the hall is finally filled, ready to celebrate and enjoy the party. His gaze scans the room: A rainbow of colors lights the chamber; people have dressed up for the occasion, as is proper because it's a formal affair. They're talking with one another, enjoying the rich delicacies of the feast. Some are a little dazed, hardly able to believe that they're really here, in the king's hall, in the king's presence! They're filled with awe and humility. The atmosphere is joy-filled.

As the king continues his entrance into the room, he suddenly notices a man who is seated at the table, dressed in his working clothes, probably a little grubby from his daily labor. The king marches up to the man and asks him why he doesn't have on a wedding robe. The man is taken aback and has no answer. The king turns to his servantswho have already had quite a dayand tells them to tie the guy up and pitch him out into the isolation of the deep of the night where there is only mourning and desperation.

The interpretation of this is simple. The wedding robe is the garment of righteousness that Christians must put on. Throughout the New Testamentin Romans, Galatians, Ephesians, Colossians, and Revelationssalvation is imagined as putting on new apparel, first taking off the old person and behavior and attitudes and then putting on the new person with Christ-like behavior and attitudes. That's the reason we give our baptismal candidates fresh, new towels after their baptism: it's a symbol of their new clothing, their new identity as Christian, their garment of salvation, their call to discipleship rooted in righteousness, love, and justice. Getting properly ``dressed'' isn't an option; it's a requirement. If you belong at the banquet table, you'll look like you belong there because of what you do and how you livethe fruit you bearnot where you come from or who your family is.

Simple, right? Well, maybe. But I have some questions. The king sends his servants out to scour the streets for people to come to the feast. Isn't that the overriding impulse: to get the invitation out and to bring in the people as soon as possible? Did the king really have a requirement that everyone get dressed up first? According to this, I guess so…and then what does that mean?

I've been thinking that this is the part of the story where the somewhat smug half of Jesus' audience starts to get squirmy. What Jesus is suggesting in this parable is that it's not enough just to show up. You've also got to get changed. Jesus has now turned his parable into one that addresses the people who have said ``yes'' to the invitation to the banquet. Jesus is talking to his own disciples here, not so much to the Jews anymore. The man who said yes to the invitation and came into the banquet, but came without respectful and appropriate garments, does parallel the first people in the parable who presumed on God's patience. This man was presuming on, taking advantage of, the graciousness of the king. He showed up at the banquet, expecting that he didn't need to do anything more to go in. Jesus says in this parable very clearly, ``That is not enough. You've got to be willing to get changed, to be changed.'' And the judgement against the man who ignored the importance of the new garment parallels the judgement against the people in the first part of the parable. It is heavy and hard. It is a serious error to forget that saying ``yes'' to God's invitation has implications for how we live our lives.

Jesus concludes this parable by saying: ``[M]any are called, but few are chosen.'' This is simple, right? This is the sorting out part of the parable, where the ones who aren't fit are thrown out and the ones who are worthy stay at the table.

But maybe it's not so simple. There's the first part of the sentence: many are called. In fact, all are called. The invitation to the banquet has been broadcast to the world. The people of God can come from anywhere, from any family, any background, any culture. But what does the second part mean: few are chosen? Let's start with what ``few'' means: does it mean hardly any at all or does it mean any fraction that is less than the whole? One of the interpretations I read said the latter: that ``few'' just means that it's less than everyone. Mmmm, maybe. But Jesus has already said in the Sermon on the Mount as recorded by Matthew that ``the gate is narrow and the road is hard that leads to life, and there are few who find it.'' And he's told the parable of the sower where only a small fraction of the seed ends up yielding any harvest. And here in our parable again is the emphasis on discipleship and bearing fruit. The invitation is to all. But maybe it is really just a few who are willing to be changed. I don't know.

And then there's this language of ``being chosen.'' It seems to me, in agreement with every other commentator I read, that what Jesus means here is not that God arbitrarily selects (or elects) some folks who are in and others who are out. Instead, God's choices are based on assessment and judgement: Has this person done what is acceptable: said yes to the invitation and put on the garment of righteousness? Douglas Hare, one of those commentators, says that this last versemany are called and few are chosen``should not be taken as a forecast of the proportion of the damned. Its function is not to frighten Christians with the thought that the statistical odds are against them but to encourage vigorous effort to live the Christian life.'' (1) That sounds right and good to me.

So, what is the good word for us here? There are some hard words, some gracious words, some difficult-to-decipher words. What is the central message?

This past week, when our lectionary group got together, we opened our Bibles to the texts assigned for next Sunday, October 23. There, for the gospel reading, was the last story in Matthew, chapter 22, the one which our parable begins. Jesus is addressing the Pharisees again; this time, they've come to him, trying to trick him into making some kind of theological mistake so that they can silence him. ``What is the greatest commandment in the law?,'' they ask. You all know the answer that Jesus gives. The first and greatest commandment is to love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind. And the second is just like it: love your neighbor as yourself. Jesus boils down all the law and the prophets into those two simple statements: love God, love neighbor. Love God first and enough to disrupt your daily living to get to the banquet table. Put on the garment of righteousness in every one of your relationships. Love God; love neighbor. Delight in the celebration of the Son. Put on Christ and live in the way of the Son. Love God; love neighbor. Pledge your allegiance and your life to the Creator of heaven and earth. Let all that you do be a proclamation of that allegiance. Love God; love your neighbor.

Maybe it really is simple.

(1) Hare, Douglas R. Matthew. From Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching , p. 252.

Expanding the Stewardship of the Servant October 9 2005 .rtf

Tue, 11 Oct 2005 15:55:49 GMT

Expanding the Stewardship of the Servant

Matthew 25:14-29
Sermon by Steve Garboden
Mostly written by Kirsten Klassen
October 9, 2005

We are all familiar with the parable of the talents in Matthew 25. A few months ago, Dan gave a sermon on this passage that radically changes the meaning. But I refer to it today with the more traditional interpretation. Many read that parable to say we are to be responsible of the time, money, and talents that God has given us, to use them for God. You practice this parable daily and I affirm you for that. That is, to be stewards of these gifts. So keep that parable in your mind.

As many of you know, Susan and I took two trips to India this past year. Rebekah attended her junior year of high school at an International school in south India. During her first few months there, Rebekah developed some symptoms that could be a sign of heart trouble. So, as her conditions progressed, you can image our concern. Communication with the primary care doctor at the school was difficult because of time differences, language nuances, and phone quality. But we were able to arrange to meet our daughter at a large Indian city to do some testing and review her medical record with some specialists. That was just over a year ago. Ah what an experience it was to be in the Indian health care system and utilize their time and talent resources.

Now, I'm going to give you my premise for this talk. I don't like to do this because then as soon as you get the premise you can stop listening. But I'm going to take that risk because I believe that by the end of this talk, you'll understand that you and our community (I include myself) are the only ones who can discern what this premise means for us.

My premise is this: That God calls us to be good stewards of more than our money, time, and talents. As directed in Matthew 25, God calls us to be good stewards of our health and our health-care resources. Just to be clear on what I mean by Steward….. is to take care of what God has given us: In this case, our health and health care resources.

Why is health such a critical stewardship issue? Maybe because we live in a country of such abundance and we're discovering that abundant living breeds abundant diseases heart disease, obesity, diabetes, cancer to name a few. Abundant living in America does not mean abundantly physically active lives, or well-developed spiritual disciplines, or ample amounts of sleep, or whatever other good things you might define as improving the state of our health as a population.

Abundant living in America seems to mean we eat too much, we are sedentary too much, we take on too much responsibility and stress, and we subsequently spend too much money to improve our health. A symbol of abundant eating is the Hardies Monster Burger this past year: Have you heard of it? Two 6 ounce patties of beef, 4 slices of bacon, and 3 slices of cheese on a large bun. Calories: 1400! Grams of fat: 101! As one commentator said I know I should not eat it, but it is so good. Actually for a family of four, not bad! We have reached the point where sums of money are used to cure us of illnesses where it appears we have been trying to kill ourselves, with our abundant habits.

So, if as a starting point, we can agree we are called to be good stewards of our health, what exactly does that mean? In the area of health stewardship, perhaps most markedly, this is a journey and not a destination. While we may aim to improve our health, to maintain a certain state of health, or even to prevent a further decline of our health, if we are looking for a clear sign that we've achieved perfect health, we're bound to be disappointed.

Still, concentrating on the journey to better health besides being faithful to God's call to treat our body well, does have its own intrinsic rewards. Being more physically active may help you have more energy. Having more energy may improve the quality of your life both to do God's work and to for example, play with your grandchildren. Can you fulfill God's purpose for your life without exercise? Maybe. But there's no question that the better health you're in, the more capable you are of being and giving all you can be. A healthier servant is often a more productive servant.

So, isn't that enough then? I mean to say, if I've figured out how God is calling me to be healthier and I'm doing those things, then I'm being a good steward of my health, right? Besides, I hear you saying, I get preached at all the time about taking better care of myself. So, why do I have to be a good steward of my health-care resources? Isn't being a steward of my resources the same as being a good steward of the money I spend on my health?

Being a good steward of your health-care resources does include how you spend money for promoting your health and treating illness. That's certainly part of it.

For example, let's say you suffer from back problems. You've talked to your physician about this for a couple of years and taken pain medication off and on as the pain got worse. Let's say that at your latest check-up, your physician says it's time to see a specialist. While you're a little reluctant since you're not eager to consider surgery as an option, you agree.
Now, your own physician has, over the past couple of years done an X-ray of your back and even an MRI. So, you remind your physician that these tests might be helpful to the specialist. Your physician agrees and says he'll make sure they get sent to the specialist.

But on the day you arrive at the specialist's, you discover that the tests have not been sent. The specialist informs you that she's going to schedule an MRI for your back. What do you do?

If you paid for a portion of the MRI you'd had, you may be aware that the cost was around $1,500, so you may say, ``Well, I had one just six months ago. Can't you look at that one?''

Or you may just sigh and think how frustrated you are that you wasted your time at the specialist's office and will have to waste another couple of hours to get the MRI done, and then come back to see the specialist, not to mention paying a deductible or coinsurance on the next $1500 bill.

Your health-care resources are your money and your time. Both are valuable. Let's get something straight neither one is more valuable than your health. Try as we may, we cannot put a price on health. Your health is irreplaceable. Your health is sacred.

But, and you knew that was coming, didn't you? But, just because something is so valuable doesn't mean you can pay money to keep it or preserve it. Think of a marriage that's in trouble. Sometimes, you just can't spend enough money on counseling to fix problems that have been in the making since the beginning of the relationship.

Where am I going with this? Simply put, being a good steward of your health-care resources means using discernment. If your newborn has a fever and it's the weekend and you're scared, don't rush to the hospital. But do call a nurse advice line of your local hospital and discuss the situation with an expert who can tell you whether or not you need to rush to the hospital. For non-urgent decisions, for example, the choice of different treatment plans for cancer, a small group or Sunday school class can add needed perspective to that of the oncology specialists.

And, just as wise discernment sometimes means slowing down and getting advice, sometimes it means that you don't stop to get advice. If there's a history of heart disease in your family and you have high cholesterol and high blood pressure, you need to know what the symptoms of heart attack are so you can get to the hospital without having to stop and do research on the way.

Honestly, then, what difference does it make whether you use your health-care resources wisely or whether you fritter away every last dollar of your insurance coverage's $2-million lifetime maximum? Assuming you are fortunate enough to carry one of those magic insurance cards in your wallet.

Before I answer that, let me ask a different question: What difference does it make to you if you live paycheck to paycheck as long as you're able to give ten percent to the church and meet your expenses? Does it make a difference to you or not?

Well, it might, if you think about how using your resources more carefully might leave a little more left over to give to someone else who's barely getting by. Or that if you leave some money to your children, you might be ensuring they'll have some help with college expenses for their kids.

But leaving money left on your health insurance policy … how does that benefit anyone? Well, believe it or not, even if you are paying the full cost of your health insurance, you will never put $2 million into it. What you pay in health insurance is based on mathematical formulas that calculate risks and ages and the likelihood of expenses.

To simplify it greatly, when we spend our money our health care dollars and the dollars of our employers and insurance companies more carefully, we keep the cost of health insurance lower for everyone. When we spend extravagantly beyond what we need, demanding the most technologically-advanced treatments, designer drugs, and endless physical therapy, we are hiking up the cost of insurance for everyone.

Our individual actions affect us collectively. At MMA, in the last couple of years, we've had reason to reacquaint ourselves with the Amish and Conservative Mennonites who don't believe in health insurance; they believe in old style mutual aid. Their example of sharing each other's burdens humbles and inspires me. In one small group of four churches who band together to share each other's costs, their expenses totaled $300,000 in 2003. This burden was shared by 100 families, for a total of about $3,000 a family.

We're amazed that these types of arrangements can continue to exist in today's market place where these religious groups, while they can receive discounts for paying upfront, are still charged amounts in some cases that an insurance company would shudder at. How can they do it?

Because they believe in it. The man who manages the health care expenses for these four churches says quite simply, ``We do have church members who have chosen to receive Social Security, but we discourage it because it weakens the brotherhood.'' It's the reliance on the church, on their brothers and sisters in Christ, that strengthens their convictions that they need one another.

One doctor in Ohio, struck by the amounts Amish and Conservative Mennonites were being charged, assembled a collection of physician and hospitals who agree to charge deeply discounted rates to these uninsured clients. And, when one of these Amish church members is offered the choice of having a hip replacement in her home community for $37,000, or traveling a few hours to Ohio and paying only $13,000, what do you think she choose?

Not only are members of these churches willing to travel to save money on health care, but they don't even have to be offered any incentive beyond the price. They understand they are spending their money and more importantly the money of their fellow church members.

Somehow, as insurance has transformed how mutual aid is offered to our less conservative Mennonite church members, as well as the rest of our society, we've lost this thread of connection. It seems it doesn't take much for MMA health members to forget that they're spending the money of other health plan members.

Not that I'm suggesting we want to go back. I'm not sure we can move back to sharing resources the way some of these churches do. But the problems of stewarding our health and health-care resources, this forgetting how our behavior impacts our communities our church communities, our insurance communities, our society these problems belong to all of us in this country.

Back to our experience in the Indian health care system. First, the very good news is that Rebekah showed no indications of a heart condition. And she learned that with better care of herself, she would be fine and has been. But I came away with a strong impression and a quandary. We spent a day at one of the newer hospitals in this city with a population of over a million. The quality of the healthcare professionals was high, but we had a very different experience with the "creature comforts" compared to the U.S. As an example, the city is in a hot climate, but the hospital had no air conditioning. So, windows were wide open letting in city dirt and insects. That was a shock but not nearly as much as the price for the services. Visits with four specialists, an echocardiogram, and a pulmonary capacity test yielded a bill of $35. In the US, that would have been 30 to 60 times as much. So, the experience left me wondering how can I utilize the abundant resources effectively here to be able to expand health care resources in other countries, where the same amount of money can be leveraged many times.

What I like about the conservative church is the tenacity of clinging to our faith to solve these problems. I'd like to strengthen our brother- and sisterhood. I'd like us to share a vision that we're in this together, this being called to be good stewards of one of the greatest and most mysterious gifts of our Creator our health. And that just as we try to discern how to best use God's other gifts of our time, talents and money, we are wrestling with being better consumers of our health-care dollars. All of this to bring about a greater good that we may be better servants to God in our abundant world.

So as stewards of health and our abundant health care resources, how is God calling you to take further steps as servants with and to each other?

Curse Reversed October 2 2005 .rtf

Fri, 30 Sep 2005 17:55:38 GMT

Curse Reversed

Genesis 6:9b-13
Sermon by Dan Schrock
October 2, 2005
World Communion Sunday

Noah was a righteous man, blameless in his generation; Noah walked with God. And Noah had three sons, Shem, Ham, and Japheth.
Now the earth was corrupt in God's sight, and the earth was filled with violence. And God saw that the earth was corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted its ways upon the earth.
And God said to Noah, `I have determined to make an end of all flesh, for the earth is filled with violence because of them; now I am going to destroy them along with the earth.'' (NRSV)

At various times I've tried to imagine what it would be like to be completely moral. What would it be like to eradicate all the sin from my life, engage only in practices that nurture healthy relationships with God and others, and achieve a life of complete virtue? Surely that would be heaven on earth, a state of happiness and bliss, free from conflict or suffering.

As you might guess, I've never achieved such morality, never completely eradicated sin from my life. If anything, the longer I live the more I realize how tangled I am in the machinations of sin and evil. It surprises me, therefore, to hear Genesis say Noah was righteous and blameless (6:9). Do you hear how robust those words are? Becoming righteous might well be the whole aim of biblical thought and practice. It's why God gave Israel the Ten Commandments, why the prophets railed at injustice, why Jesus uttered the Sermon on the Mount, why Paul wrote his letters with such verve. Righteous is what I've been pursuing for decades--and Noah, says the text, had it.

Moreover, the man was blameless. Blameless is perhaps an even stronger word than righteous . The Hebrew means to be whole, complete, and to have integrity. Only two other people in the Bible are called blameless with this Hebrew word: Job, and the female lover in the Song of Songs (Job 1:1,8; 2:3; Song 5:2). Noah's extreme morality has put him in the rarified company of exactly three people.

As if that achievement were not astonishing enough, Noah also ``walked with God,'' a phrase that suggests the highest possible intimacy with the divine (6:9). Again, this puts Noah in elite company, along with people such as Adam and Eve before the fall, and Enoch, whose walk with God earned him the special reward of being taken by God instead of having to die like the rest of us (Gen 2-3; 5:22-24).

Noah, therefore, achieved perfect character in the presence of God and perfect communion with God. ¹ As nearly as I can tell, Noah practices four things that sustain his morality. His first practice is to refrain from violence. Any pursuit of virtuous living not only considers which practices to accept, but also which practices to avoid. Noah avoids violence. His rejection of violence starkly differs from what other folks of the time were doing. They were all corrupt and full of violence, says the narrator (6:11-13). In Noah's day the weapons of violence were much simpler than the Black Hawks and Humvees we use today; but aside from the technology, I imagine that the wars and rumors of wars were not so different. Noah said no to war. His second practice is to take up saw and hammer when God asks him to construct an ark (6:22). He obeys. His third practice is praise, in the form of building an altar to thank God for safe passage during the flood (8:20). He worships.

Noah's fourth practice is the one that has puzzled me for a long time, however. It's the strange text from 9:18-29, which we must wrestle with in order to measure Noah's character. This is the incident where Noah gets drunk, goes naked, and curses his son. ² Listen:

The sons of Noah who went out of the ark were Shem, Ham, and Japheth. Ham was the father of Canaan. These three were the sons of Noah; and from these the whole earth was peopled. Noah, a man of the soil, was the first to plant a vineyard. He drank some of the wine and became drunk, and he lay uncovered in his tent. And Ham, the father of Canaan, saw the nakedness of his father, and told his two brothers outside. Then Shem and Japheth took a garment, laid it on both their shoulders, and walked backward and covered the nakedness of their father; their faces were turned away, and they did not see their father's nakedness.
When Noah awoke from his wine and knew what his youngest son had done to him, he said, ``Cursed be Canaan; lowest of slaves shall he be to his brothers.'' He also said, ``Blessed by the LORD my God be Shem; and let Canaan be his slave. May God make space for Japheth, and let him live in the tents of Shem; and let Canaan be his slave.''
After the flood Noah lived three hundred fifty years. All the days of Noah were nine hundred fifty years; and he died (NRSV).

To our twenty-first century North American ears, this story hardly conveys morality. One of my grandmothers was killed on the road in front of our home by a man who had too much to drink and insisted on driving afterward. Thirty-four years later, I can see in my memory the spreading pool of blood that her mangled body left on the asphalt, now mingled with spilled engine oil. Since then I've not thought highly of people who drink and drive. Nor can I easily justify a father who curses his son, since the thought of me cursing one of my sons is almost more than I can imagine.

But the story of Noah was crafted in a vastly different culture than ours, and the moral meaning we attach to a particular act may not be the moral meaning ancient Hebrew culture gave it. Consider Noah's drunkenness. The story says Noah was the first person ever to plant grapes and make wine, which means Noah had no idea what that wine could do to him. It tasted so good that just he kept drinking the stuff until he was splayed unconscious across the floor of his tent (9:24). It wasn't his fault. Neither he nor anyone else knew until that moment what alcohol can do to you.

What about Noah's nakedness? The story only says that Noah ``became drunk and lay uncovered in his tent'' (9:21). Elsewhere the Hebrew Bible issues stern warnings to people who strip someone else naked (Lev 18:6-19), but in this case those warnings don't apply because Noah apparently made himself naked. Surely there was nothing immoral about a man being naked in the privacy of his own tent, where he might understandably want to shed a few clothes in the heat of the day, particularly if he were a little heated by the alcohol in his veins.

No, the transgression here belongs to son Ham, a grown man who by now had his own wife (6:18; 7:7; 8:16) and his own tent to live in, who had no right to barge in on his father without warning. If Ham had still been a little boy, then maybe yes, we could excuse him for walking in on his naked father; but Ham had no excuse to do so as a mature adult. By seeing his father's genitalia, Ham broke what in the ancient world was a serious social taboo. ³ Back then, it was considered to be a terrible offense to see either of your parents naked.

As if seeing were not bad enough, Ham also blabbed to his brothers about it (9:22). In honor-shame cultures like ancient Israel, an immoral act becomes shameful only when other people find out about it. Shame, in other words, has a distinctively public nature to it. In an honor-shame culture, you cannot really be shamed if no one else knows what happened. But once other people find out, the shame kicks in. So if Ham had kept his mouth shut, the matter probably would have ended there. Things would have remained quiet and private.

But Ham told, and so the situation got really bad. Dad was now publicly shamed in the eyes of all three sons, and given the dynamics of public dishonor, Noah could not maintain his virtue or his honor in such a situation. It was unthinkable for Noah to let this matter pass, because it would have meant being dishonored for the rest of his life.

A measure of Noah's morality is his honor; and to recover that honor Noah really had only two options for flipping the dishonor back onto the son who announced his nakedness: Noah could either kill Ham, or curse him. To us it sounds cruel for a man to kill his son, but in honor-shame cultures it makes some sense. We see the same dynamic at work in modern honor-shame societies, where families sometimes kill one of their own members in order to erase the shame that person has brought on the family. ⁴ You can read about these stories in the news from time to time. Of course you and I regard these ``honor killings'' as odious; but honor-shame societies have traditionally said that honor killings are legitimate. Compared to killing, Noah's decision to curse Ham seems downright merciful. Ham might just as easily have been killed for the act of discussing his father's penis in public.

By the standards of ancient Israel's honor-shame culture, Noah therefore maintains his morality to the end. At the beginning of the story both the narrator and God declare Noah to be righteous and blameless, and nowhere in the Bible is that assessment ever withdrawn, to my knowledge. But that does not mean Noah's life was happy and blissful, free from conflict and suffering--because Noah has just cursed a member of his own family. For the remainder of his long life (9:28), Noah had to live with the awful tragedy that some of his family was blessed while the rest of his family was cursed.

However, Noah's own life testifies that curses do not have the last word. When Noah was born, his father--a man named Lamech--predicted that when baby Noah became an adult, he would bring humanity relief from hard work and from the toil of our hands (5:29). In other words, dad predicted that his son Noah would discover a new substance called wine--that from the very ground which God cursed in humanity's fall in Genesis 3:17-19, Noah would bring forth wine to give humanity relief from hard manual labor.

Perhaps this calls to mind another parent--a mother named Mary--who at the birth of her child similarly predicted in Luke 1:46-55 that when this child became an adult he would bring forth a magnificent reversal. It turned out that Mary was right just as old Lamech had been right: on a night more lovely than the dawn, ⁵ Mary's son took Noah's discovery of wine and pronounced it the cup of salvation, poured out for forgiveness. Then he went out into that lovely night and handed over his body to be broken on a cross, to become for us the bread of heaven.

And so Jesus reversed Noah's curse.

Notes
1.       Johnson T.K. Kim, Grace in the Midst of Judgment: Grappling with Genesis 1-11 (Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2002), 170.

2.       I'm well aware that Noah actually curses Canaan, the son of Ham, rather than Ham himself, who did the looking and telling. Scholars have offered all sorts of explanations from the ludicrous to the reasonable about this discrepancy. For one review of the issues, see Donald E. Gowan, From Eden to Babel: A Commentary on the Book of Genesis 1-11 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1988), 109-111. Whether the cursed person was Ham or Canaan, my larger argument still stands that Noah maintains his virtue even in this incident of drunkenness and cursing.

3.       Robert Alter, Genesis: Translation and Commentary (New York and London: W.W. Norton, 1996), 40.

4.       Hillary Mayell, ``Thousands of Women Killed for Family `Honor.''' National Geographic News , February 12, 2002. http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2002/02/0212_020212_honorkilling.html .

5.       I've borrowed this phrase from the poem ``The Dark Night,'' by John of the Cross, in The Collected Works of St. John of the Cross (trans. Kieran Kavanaugh and Otilio Rodriguez, rev. ed., Washington, D.C.: Institute of Carmelite Studies, 1991), 51.

Cruciformity September 25 2005 .rtf

Fri, 23 Sep 2005 15:14:44 GMT

Cruciformity

Luke 9:21-24

Sermon by Dan Schrock
September 25, 2005

He [Jesus] sternly ordered and commanded them [the disciples] not to tell anyone, saying, ``The Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, chief priests, and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.''
Then he said to them all, ``If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it.'' (NRSV)

How many times have you died? Once? Seventeen times? 153 times? How many times during your years as a Christian have you died?

That's what Jesus is really asking us to do in this passageto follow him by dying. In the first century taking up the cross meant only one thing: it meant your death. When the Romans crucified you, you had to carry a heavy wooden beam to the place of crucifixion. That heavy wooden beam became the horizontal bar upon which you died. With your arms stretched out over the length of the beam, soldiers pounded a nail seven inches long into each of your wrists and then hoisted you up onto the vertical beam that was already planted in the ground. When you and the crossbar were firmly in place, they finally nailed your ankles down. Hanging in that position made it hard for you to breathand that, in fact, was how you died. It wasn't the bleeding from the nails, or the pain in your wrists and ankles. You died from asphyxiation.

In each of the synoptic gospelsin Matthew 16:24, Mark 8:34, and Luke 9:23Jesus tells people that if they want to follow him, they will have to deny themselves and take up their cross. Of course we can choose whether or not we want to follow Jesus, but once we chose to follow him, the part about the cross is not optional. If we are Christians, we will carry a cross. We will follow Jesus to the place of crucifixion. At the place of crucifixion, we will die. For Christians this is not a choice. It's inevitable, because dying is a fundamental part of the Christian faith.

Taking up the cross does not happen just once in our life. Notice what Jesus says: ``Take up [your] cross daily and follow me'' (emphasis added). When the Romans sentenced you to crucifixion and made you carry that heavy wooden beam, they nailed you on it that very same day. You didn't carry that cross one day, lay it down overnight while you slept, pick it up and carry it for another day, and then lay it down once more to rest. No. The same day you carried the cross was the same day they nailed you up to die on it. So in reality, Jesus is not suggesting that we die only once. No, he's really saying we carry the cross and die every day. To catch the flavor of what Jesus is telling us, suppose we are baptized and start following him around the age of fifteen. Further suppose that we live to be seventy, which means we follow Jesus for fifty-five years. Multiply that by 365 days a year, and we end up following Jesus for approximately 20,000 days. We carry the cross and die 20,000 times.

This past summer I flew to Atlanta where I took a class on Christian ethics. Before we arrived for the first day of class, the professor e-mailed us several assignments. One of those assignments was to write down the virtues that we think are important for Christians to have. When we got to class, she asked us to write all our virtues up on the chalkboard. By the time we were done, we had a long and impressive list of virtuesthings like hope, love, courage, peace, reverence, joy, integrity, and so on. Our professor carefully looked at the list on the blackboard, and then made what I think was a crucial observation. She said: ``All those virtues you've listed are virtues anybody could practice, even non-Christians. A Christian might practice love or reverence or integrity better than a non-Christian, but still, a non-Christian could live out all those virtueswith one exception. One of you wrote up on the board the word `cruciformity.' That's a specifically Christian virtue that non-Christians cannot really practice.''

Cruciformity is a good word, even though we don't use it very much. Cruciform means anything shaped like a cross. The floor plan of church buildings is sometimes laid out in the shape of a cross, and architects call it the cruciform plan. Jesus says that the Christian life is by nature cruciformyour life and mine are shaped like a cross. After years and years of carrying a cross and dying daily, our life itself becomes a cross. The virtue of cruciformity is therefore the pursuit of cruciform living. As we open ourselves more fully to God and others, our lives are re-made into a cross. We die again and again.

This is not a popular message. The North American culture we live in doesn't want to die. Instead it pursues a life of ease and luxury. It grabs as much as possible from others in the world. It gleefully starts wars and kills people in far away countries. By and large, most people work extremely hard to avoid the one physical death that all human beings will sooner or later come to. So for Christians to talk about dying spiritually every day is more than most people want to hear about.

Our denomination, the Mennonite Church USA, has formally declared its wish to become more missional than the many ways in which are already missional. Our denomination has chosen not to define ``missional'' very precisely, preferring instead that local conferences and congregations decide for themselves what missional means. For some Mennonites, one of the hundreds of ways to be missional is to be evangelisticto go into the world and persuade people who demonstrate no faith in God to repent, turn their lives around, and start following Jesus. Of course evangelism is a part of the Christian gospel. But I fear that some evangelistic Christians have not been completely honest in the way they present the gospel to non-Christians. I suspect that in an effort to convert as many people as possible, some evangelistic Christians have only talked about how wonderful Jesus is, have only talked about joy in following him, have only mentioned the blessings that come our way when we say yes to God.

Those things are true, but only part of the truth. The rest of the truth is that following Jesus is about dying. Maybe all evangelistic Christians really are being honest with the unchurched about dying. Maybe at some point before baptism, all evangelistic Christians are coming clean with the unchurched and saying something like: ``Look, my friend, I want you to know that if you decide to become a Christian, you will end up dying again and again, maybe even every day. Jesus will ask you to let go of some things you'd rather not let go of. Jesus will lovingly but persistently detach you. unhook you, separate you, from most of the things you think you can't live without--and I don't just mean cigarettes and cocaine and cheating--I also mean some of your fondest dreams, your most grandiose projects, and your most favorite pleasures, even the clean ones. In a fundamental way, the Christian life is about getting crucified in places you don't want to be crucified. Yes, along the way you will have some joy, love, and peace. But honestly, Christ will be asking you to die thousands of times.''

Maybe all evangelistic efforts incorporate this kind of honesty somewhere along the line, but I haven't heard much of it. And oddly enough, I also haven't heard much about dying in our denominational, conference, or congregational discussions about becoming more missional. That's odd because we Mennonites are one of the groups that have historically emphasized radical discipleship. We are one of the groups that have historically known that following Jesus could get us killed long before the age of seventy. If any Christian group would talk about dying, I'd think it would be us. So I ask you: what kinds of dying is Jesus creating in the Mennonite Church USA? Where are the fingers of God already shaping the cruciform life in us? What sort of crucifixions has our congregation already had, and what additional crucifixions are coming up just ahead on the path that Berkey Avenue Mennonite Fellowship is walking? For that matter, what about you has died in the course of following Jesus Christ your Lord?

It's important, I think, to talk about what part of us dies. If we die over and over again, it's obvious that part of us continues to live. So which part of us dies and which part lives? The answer, I think, is that the false self dies. It is not our true self that dies, but our false self. The true self is our best self, the one that God creates. But the false self is the part of us that we start to create when we are little children. We shape and preen and refine this false self partly in response to our childhood hurts, and partly in response to the sinful impulses of the fallen society around us. Let me say a little more about that.

Some of us were wounded emotionally or psychologically as we grew up. Maybe at age eight we lost a close friend when our family moved to a new town, and that loss made us sad and lonely. Maybe a member of our extended family abused us when we were twelve, and the scars from that abuse still reach deep inside us. Maybe our siblings were vastly different than we were, with different personalities, different interests, different ways of seeing the world, and from an early age we consequently felt misunderstood and out of place in our own family. Maybe we saw a gruesome act of violence at age ten, and the memories still haunt us. There are hundreds if not thousands of ways to be hurt as a child or a young person or even an adult, and our false self is formed partly in response to these hurts. The false self is wounded, angry, bitter, and afraid. It wants revenge. It wants to squash other people. It hates. From our false selves come evils like war, racism, and terrorism.

Our false selves develop in at least one other way too. No matter how old we are, society around us is constantly enticing us to conform. We're under pressure to be like the Joneses. Of course human society has a lot of good in it, such as art and music, laws and civil order, and many other things we could name. But human society also has a lot of evilthings like the pressure to buy and buy until we are hopelessly in debt, or the push to have the newest computer, the fastest motorcycle, the biggest SUV, the fanciest house. Society wants us to excel, compete, and succeed in order to become the best, the smartest, the most powerful. Our false self develops partly in response to these insidious traps, fomenting in us evils like greed, lust, and pride.

So the false self is fallen and sinful, and when we follow Jesus in discipleship this is what slowly starts to die--sometimes very painfully. This is the part of us that gets nailed to the cross and gradually asphyxiates to death.

But we also have another self, our true self, which God has made in the divine image. God gives us the true self at the moment of our creation; but during childhood and often during adulthood too, the true self gets overshadowed by the larger and more powerful false self. But when we follow Jesus, our false self begins to withereventually it will dieand our true self gradually emerges into God's light. And when that happens, we begin to bear the fruits of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22-23). ¹
As you know, the Bible nowhere uses the phrases ``false self'' and ``true self.'' The language of false self and true self instead comes from certain strands of modern psychology. Yet this language is rooted in the Bible. Do you remember that passage in Romans 7:14-25 where Paul wrestles within himself? He writes, ``For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do'' (vv. 15b, 19). Paul is really talking here about two different selves inside of each of uswhat we're calling the false self and the true self. Our false self eventually dies and our true self takes on more and more life.

Today is the third in a series of four Sundays on difficult texts. Unlike the other texts we have been talking about, this one is not difficult to understandit's just difficult to live, and difficult to package in such a way that other people will want to become followers of Christ. Dying is not appealing. As Paul wrote to the Corinthians: ``the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God'' (1 Corinthians 1:18).

In following Jesus every day lies our salvation. As we die over and againseventeen times, 153 times, 20,000 timesGod gradually purifies us of all the evils and sins to which we are prone. As this process of purification is accomplished in us, God shapes us into the pattern of Christ. We become Christ's arms and hands, his legs and feet, living new life for the world. Call it cruciformity.

Note

1. For more on the false and true selves, and their role in the Christian spiritual development, see Thomas Keating, Intimacy with God (New York: Crossroad, 1994).

A Banquet of Love September 18 2005 .rtf

Fri, 16 Sep 2005 17:45:23 GMT

A Banquet of Love

Song of Songs
Sermon by Dan Schrock
September 18, 2005

The first time I read the Song of Solomon, I was about ten or eleven years old. I wasn't even baptized yet, but I grew up in a congregation where the pastors and Sunday school teachers kept telling us to read our Bibles. So I read my Bible. Since I was a great fan of history, I read everything from Genesis to Esther (although I admit to bogging down in Leviticus), and everything from Matthew to Acts. I tried reading the Psalms, the prophets, and the epistles, but I didn't find them nearly as interesting because they were not stories. One evening after everyone else I was asleep, I was in my bedroom down in the basement trying to find something new to read out of the Bible, when I stumbled onto seven pages sandwiched between Ecclesiastes and Isaiah. I started reading, and was astonished:

O that you would kiss me
with the kisses of your mouth!
For your love is better than wine,
your anointing oils are fragrant,
your name is oil poured out;
therefore the maidens love you.

(Song 1:2-3, RSV)

With eyebrows raised, I kept going and eventually came to:

Your eyes are doves. . . .
Your hair is like a flock of goats. . . .
Your lips are like a scarlet thread. . . .
Your cheeks are like halves
of a pomegranate. . . .
Your two breasts are like two fawns . . . .

(4:1-5)

By now all sleep had vanished and I was wide awake. I sat up in bed and read the rest of the book rapidly, feverishly, the neurons in my brain flashing like fire. Why hadn't anyone told me about this book? For all the emphasis on Bible study in my congregation, why was no one studying the Song of Solomon? Why were all the sermons either about evangelism and saving the lost, or about keeping ourselves nonconformed to the world? Why were most of the Sunday school classes about the parables of Jesus and the so called ``missionary journeys'' of Paul?

My ten- or eleven-year-old brain quickly reasoned that since the pages before me were in the Bible, and since the Bible was the Word of God, this passionate language about lips, thighs, and breasts therefore also had to be the Word of God.

But what strange words these were! As I finished reading through the Song of Solomon, I had the hazy sense that this little book was very different than the rest of the Bible. The rest of the Old Testament seemed to be mostly about family conflict, war, national and international politics, and idol worship. The New Testament seemed to be mostly about discipleship and the cross. But the Song of Solomon had none of that. It seemed to be about physical attraction between a man and a woman. It was love poetry; it was in the Bible; and in ways I could not then figure out, it had to be important for Christian faith and practice.

That was thirty-five years ago. As far as I can tell, Christians pay about as much attention now to the Song of Solomon as they did then, which is not very much. Yes, occasionally you might be at a wedding where they use something from the Song; and if you're in a church that uses the lectionary every Sunday, one passage from the Song of Solomon will come up in the entire three-year cycle of scripture passages. That's one reading from the Song in approximately 470 readings. But other than those rare occasions, most people pay no attention to this book. Maybe we don't use the Song of Solomon because we're not sure how to interpret it, especially since we live in a culture permeated with dehumanizing sexual behavior.

The Song of Solomon is one of the Bible's more difficult texts. So I'd like to offer you ten observations that may help us to use this odd but important book in our Christian lives.

1.       The Song of Solomon may be erotic, but it's not pornographic. The two lovers certainly are aroused by each other, delighting in each other's voice and each other's body. Their eyes linger over the physical attributes of each other. The woman, for example, thinks he looks wonderful:

My beloved is all radiant and ruddy,
distinguished among ten thousand.
His head is the finest gold;
his locks are wavy,
black as a raven.
His eyes are like doves beside springs of water,
bathed in milk,
fitly set.

In sympathy with these lovers we may also be aroused as we read the book. Yet this book is not pornographic literature. Although their relationship is intimate, there are no descriptions of sexual intercourse, and we do not even know what these lovers look like. ``Your belly is a heap of wheat, encircled with lilies,'' says the man in 7:2. But what exactly does that poetic language mean? I don't know about you, but I wouldn't know how to draw a heap of wheat surrounded by lilies and have it come out looking anything like a belly! The language these two people use is metaphorical, and the metaphors hide as much as they reveal. When we first read the words ``Your two breasts are like two fawns,'' we might think that's pretty frank language for anybody to use, much less for someone in the Bible to use. But think about it: what do her breasts actually look like? I have no idea, because the metaphor of twin baby deer hides the woman's true appearance. Eyes like doves, hair like a flock of goats (4:1), a neck like the tower of David (4:4)can we really say with any precision what that looks like? The man and woman know what they look like, but we don't. Their language carefully veils their actual physical appearance. So in reality, this book is not pornographic at all. The language is sensual and evocative, but it's so vague that we know almost nothing about their actual appearancewhich takes us to a second observation.

2.       The Song of Solomon does not value any body type over than any other body type. As you all know, North American culture prefers skinny people. In contrast, archaeologists have unearthed figures and drawings from the ancient near east which pretty clearly show that people back then preferred plumper bodies than we do today. But the metaphors used in this book make it impossible to tell whether the lovers are tall or short, thin or plump. The open-ended, imprecise language allows for any body type you care to imagine, implying that any body shape can be beautiful. This book suggests that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

3.       While we're talking about the bodies of these lovers, we should notice a third point: we do know one small but important detail about the woman's appearance. In the opening speech she triumphantly declares that ``I am black and beautiful (1:5). The context infers that her skin is dark because she's been working outside in the vineyard. In the ancient world one of the markers between rich and poor was skin tone. The rich stayed inside as much as possible, which made their skin lighter in color. Ordinary people had to work for a living, however, and that meant working outside in the hot Mediterranean sun, which made their skin darker. So the woman is a member of the working classshe's a manual laborer, a farmer. Her skin is black and she's as proud of it as she can be. And we know from the rest of the book that the man simply adores her. This passage encourages we who have darker skin tones to think of ourselves as beautiful, and chastens we who have lighter skin tones never to regard darker skin as unattractive. In other words, this text is sharply anti-racist.

4.       Even though the Song of Solomon celebrates the beauty of the human body and the beauty of nature, it nevertheless upholds the Bible's wider standard of exclusive commitment. Several times the man affectionately calls the woman ``my sister, my bride'' (4:8-12, 9:1), but we should understand that to be love talk. It's almost certain that these two lovers are not married, and probably not even engaged. In Egyptian love poetry from the same time period, men also call their significant other ``my sister, my bride.'' It was just standard love talk of the time, and does not literally mean the two were either siblings or married. They probably just wish they were married. Yet these two people clearly have an exclusive commitment to each other. There is no philandering in their relationship, no flirting with other people. They display no interest whatsoever in another man or another woman.

5.       More than in any other book of the Bible, this one shows us that human sexuality is good and honorable. Neither she nor he is ever ashamed of their bodies. It's as if these two people have somehow transcended negative stereotypes about sexuality and are living in a new Garden of Eden, at one with the creation as God originally meant us to be.

6.       These lovers model for us a relationship of mutuality. The woman is remarkably free to take initiative in the relationship and to speak her mind. In fact, she speaks in fifty-six of the book's ninety-two verses. Back and forth these two go in their speech. She speaks and he listens. He speaks and she listens. He pursues her, and she pursues him. In their relationship there is no patriarchy or matriarchy, no male headship or female acquiescence, no domination or submission, and no verbal, psychological, physical, or sexual abuse of any kind. This couple powerfully illustrates what male-female relationships can be like.

7.       The love in this book is realistic, not idealistic. Human love is not only about rapidly beating hearts, smiles of delight, and erotic imagination. Human love is also sometimes vexing, difficult, and disappointing. The relationship between these two people in the Song of Solomon is sometimes better and sometimes worse. In 3:1-5 and again in 5:2-8, the two lovers are out of synch with each other. She goes out at night looking for him, but for a while can't find him. Then he comes to visit her, but she has gone to bed for the night and doesn't want to get up to open the front door of the house. In this the Song of Solomon rings true to real life. In intimate relationships one of us will yearn for closeness while the other one yearns for a little personal space. Our moods shift, but they don't shift at the same time. Our relationships go up and down.

8.       Like the book of Esther, this book never mentions God; yet God is still present in subtle ways. In 8:6, for example, one of the loverswe're not sure which onesays this:

Set me as a seal upon your heart,
as a seal upon your arm;
for love is strong as death,
passion fierce as the grave.
Its flashes are flashes of fire,
a raging flame.

This verse alludes to God in two ways. First, the phrase ``set me as a seal upon your heart'' closely parallels Deuteronomy 6:8 and 11:18, where God asks the people of Israel to bind God's law on their hearts and minds as a sign of covenant loyalty. Second, the phrase ``a raging flame'' in Hebrew literally reads ``the fires of Yah.''¹ That Yah is the short form of Yahweh. In other words, this verse infers that human love originates in the holy fire of God, and that infidelity to our partner reaches back into God's own life and offends the Holy One.

9.       The book traces a mysterious but very real connection between sexuality and spirituality. When we mess with sex and sexuality, we are messing in holy things. And when we honor sex and sexuality, we are honoring holy things. God is deeply involved in our sexuality, even though we may fully understand how that is so.

10.      More than anything else, the Song of Solomon is about passionate desire for the person we love. Several times the woman teaches us that this passion is a mighty force that once stirred up, does not easily subside (2:7, 3:5, 8:4). Many of us know what it's like to be passionately in lover with another person. Yet the Song of Solomon nudges us to realize that our passion arises from God's passion for us. And our passions, no matter how intense, are supposed to be shadows of the passion that we have for God. Our passion for God reaches over everything else.

Note

1. David M. Carr, The Erotic Word: Sexuality, Spirituality and the Bible (Oxford University Press, 2003), 135; and Ariel Bloch and Chana Bloch, The Song of Songs: A New Translation (New York: Random House, 1995), 213.

The Medical Meaning of the Head Covering September 11 2005 .rtf

Sun, 11 Sep 2005 18:31:42 GMT

The Medical Meaning
of the Head Covering

1 Corinthians 11:2-15
Sermon by Dan Schrock
September 11, 2005

² I commend you because you remember me in everything and maintain the traditions just as I handed them on to you. ³ But I want you to understand that Christ is the head [ kephale , the word can also mean ``source'' or ``origin'' ] of every man, and the husband is the head [ kephale ] of his wife, and God is the head of Christ. ⁴ Any man who prays or prophesies with something on his head disgraces his head, ⁵ but any woman who prays or prophesies with her head unveiled disgraces her headit is one and the same thing as having her head shaved. ⁶ For if a woman will not veil herself, then she should cut off her hair; but if it is disgraceful for a woman to have her hair cut off or to be shaved, she should wear a veil. ⁷ For a man ought not to have his head veiled, since he is the image and reflection of God; but woman is the reflection of man. ⁸ Indeed, man was not made from woman, but woman from man. ⁹ Neither was man created for the sake of woman, but woman for the sake of man. ¹⁰ For this reason a woman ought to have a symbol of [ ``a symbol of'' is not in the Greek ] authority [ exousion , meaning ``inner power'' or ``inner capability'' ] on her head, because of the angels. ¹¹ Nevertheless, in the Lord woman is not independent of man or man independent of woman. ¹² For just as woman came from man, so man comes through woman; but all things come from God. ¹³ Judge for yourselves: is it proper for a woman to pray to God with her head unveiled? ¹⁴ Does not nature itself teach you that if a man wears long hair, it is degrading to him, ¹⁵ but if a woman has long hair, it is her glory? For her hair is given to her for a covering [ peribolaion , also means ``testicle'' ]. (NRSV)

When I was a little boy, Mom sometimes dropped me off at my grandmother's house near Wakarusa. One of the best parts of staying with grandma was eating her food, especially her mashed potatoes and homemade egg noodles. When grandma and I sat down at her small kitchen table, she had a peculiar ritual that she always followed for the prayer before the meal: she picked up the pleated white prayer covering that was laying on the side of the table, unfolded it carefully, pinned it to the top of her head, and when it was safely in place, launched into the prayer. After the prayer she reached up, unpinned her prayer covering, neatly folded it, stuck the pins into it, and laid it down on the side of the table next to the wall where it stayed until the next meal.

That was in the early 1960s, when most Mennonite women in this area wore a prayer covering, maybe not always during the prayer before meals, but at least during church on Sundays. If you went to almost any Mennonite church service around here in the first half of the twentieth century, you'd see an ocean of delicate white prayer coverings pinned on the heads of baptized women. Back then Mennonites interpreted 1 Corinthians 11:2-16 literally: Paul told women to cover their heads in worship, so Mennonite women did so.

But even in the early 1960s, feelings about the prayer covering were starting to change. In the same year that I watched my grandmother pinning and unpinning her white covering at the kitchen table, the women in a brand new Mennonite congregation in Columbus, Ohio--a congregation I would become the pastor of thirty years later--were mounting a rebellion against prayer coverings. In 1962, the twenty- and thirty-year-old women at the Neil Avenue Mennonite Church in Columbus, Ohio quietly informed conference officials that they would not be wearing head coverings any more. That set off a flurry of letters among male denominational leaders in both Ohio and Indiana. What are we going to do about those radical women in Columbus?, they asked. Finally, after months of theological argument and diplomacy, conference leaders agreed to let the women in Columbus go to church with their glorious hair uncovered. Only ten years after those delicate behind-the-scene negotiations, by the early 1970s, Mennonite women in most churches left their coverings in some forgotten drawer at home, or simply dropped them into a wastebasket. By now it's rare indeed to see any woman wear a covering in the Mennonite Church USA. ¹
Today you can still buy twenty-five different models of prayer coverings at http://www.prayercoverings.com, but only conservative Christian women wear them. Most women in North America do not cover their heads in worship. This creates a problem. When we get to 1 Corinthians 11, how are we supposed to interpret Paul's admonition for women to cover their heads in worship? The problem is not only that most women don't and won't wear veils. The real problem is that most people have basically given up trying to make sense out of Paul's logic because they think Paul's argument is too convoluted. ²
Until now. Just last year a man named Troy Martin published an article in the Journal of Biblical Literature that finally makes sense out of this odd passage in 1 Corinthians 11. ³ Martin is a theologically conservative scholar, a member of the Church of the Nazarene, and has impressive academic credentials. Since other Pauline scholars are beginning to accept his interpretation of this text, ⁴ I want to share some of this new research with you, using the edited copy of the scripture passage printed above.

We begin with a key translation issue at the very end of the passage. Look at the last word of verse 15, where Paul uses a peculiar Greek word, peribolaion, pronounced per-ib-ol'-ah-yon. You see the NRSV translates that word as ``covering'' in the sentence ``For her hair is given to her for a covering.'' But when Mr. Martin started reading Greek medical texts from the ancient world, as well as Greek literature like poetry and plays, he discovered the word peribolaion can also mean ``testicle.'' ⁵ Careful reading of ancient medical books shows that doctors of the time believed the hair on a woman's head is a testicle, a peribolaion, or in other words a sexual organ. So when Paul asks the Corinthian women to wear a veil on their heads, he's really asking them to cover one of their reproductive organs during public worship services.

I know this sounds absolutely crazy, but bear with me while I try to explain what ancient doctors said about human anatomy, and how they thought babies were created. Most of this medical theory is going to sound weird to you. But remember that ancient doctors did not know even one percent of what we now know about the human body. They did the best they could; but without microscopes and other medical tools that we have today, ancient doctors misunderstood how the body works and how children are created.

For instance, doctors apparently knew nothing about the eggs stored inside a woman's body, and the need to fertilize an egg in order to create an embryo. When it came to creating babies, all the ancients knew about was sperm. Where does sperm come from? Sperm comes from your head, according to the doctors, especially from the man's head. So if sperm is stored in a man's head, how does it get from there over into the woman to make a baby?

The answer is hair, said the doctors. Human hair helps sperm travel through channels or tubes in our bodies because hair is hollow and has suction power. If you want a modern analogy, think of a vacuum cleaner hose that's hollow and creates an air vacuum with suction power. That's just what the ancients thought hair does. The longer your hair is, the more suction power you have inside your body. If you have lots of long hair, you have the most vacuum power. If you have a little bit of short hair, or no hair at all, you don't have much vacuum power and so the sperm won't move from one place to another in your body.

So in order to get the sperm from a man's head down into his testicles, he needs short hair on his head and lots of hair further down on his body. A man doesn't want long hair on his head, because then the hair will keep sucking that sperm up and it will stay there in his brain. That's why a man who wants to have children should have a head of short hair. Then the hair on his chest and testicles and legs will suck the sperm from his head down through his body. Once the sperm arrives down in the man's testicles, said the ancient doctors, the testicles froth the sperm before it leaves his body. This frothing determines the gender and personality of the new baby.

Once the sperm leaves the man and enters the woman, it has to travel up into the woman's body into her womb. Once again, the suction power of hair does the trick. A woman should have as little hair as possible in the middle part of her body, because you don't want the sperm to sit there and not go anywhere. This explains why so many women in the ancient Mediterranean world removed hair in the middle area of their bodies, and why they let the hair on their heads grow as long as possible if they wanted to have children. The long hair on a woman's head vacuumed the sperm up into her womb, where it congealed and grew into a baby. The hair on a woman's head is therefore a vital part of her reproductive powers. Not only is her long hair a sign of fertility, it's also a crucial part of her sexual organs, her testicles. So there we have it--the best ancient medical insight into human procreation! ⁶

With these medical beliefs in mind, Paul's logic in 1 Corinthians 11 makes more sense. Since female hair is a testicle, it's disgraceful, says Paul, for any Christian woman to come to a worship service with her hair publicly exposed. In a little rhetorical hyperbole, Paul even declares in verse 6 that it would be better for such a woman to shave the hair off her head and be bald--at least then she wouldn't be displaying one of her sexual organs. But of course Paul doesn't really want women to be bald. Instead he wants them to have the long, glorious hair that will help them and their husbands to conceive children.

This helps us understand the meaning of verse 10, where Paul says ``For this reason a woman ought to have authority on her head.'' You'll see that the phrase ``a symbol of'' in the NRSV was added by the translators and is not in the Greek text. The Greek word for ``authority'' ( exousion ) really means inner ``power'' or ``capability'' or ``ability.'' So this sentence should really read, ``For this reason a woman ought to have inner power on her head.'' In other words, long hair gives a woman the inner power and capability to draw the sperm up into her womb where it can congeal and grow into a child.

While we're on verse 10, you're probably wondering about that phrase, ``because of the angels.'' In those days Christians and Jews believed that angels were present whenever people gathered for worship. ⁷ Jewish rabbis also believed that angels were sticklers for moral behavior. ⁸ So it seems Paul is simply reminding the Corinthians that angels are watching them during worship services and will be offended by immoral behavior like displaying personal body parts.

Now since male hair is not a sexual organ, it's perfectly fine in Paul's view for Christian men to come to worship with uncovered heads. I suspect that if the Corinthian men had come to worship with their sexual organs publicly displayed, but the Corinthian women with all their sexual organs covered, Paul would have written this same passage, but against the men's behavior rather than the women's.

If female hair was considered to be a sexual organ, we might wonder why the Corinthian women were coming to church with their hair uncovered. Scholars offer various answers for this, but the most sensible one is that Christians in Corinth misunderstood what it means to follow Christ. As we can see in the discussion about sexual behavior in 1 Corinthians 5, about food offered to idols in chapter 8, and about behavior during the Lord's Supper later in chapter 11, the Corinthian church as a whole thought Christ gave them freedom to do whatever they wanted, to say and eat and act however they pleased. No, says Paul, that's not true. We Christians don't have the freedom to do anything we please. God still wants us to pursue virtuous living.

There's one more important detail in verse 3. Paul says here that God is the head of Christ, Christ is the head of every man, and every husband is the head of his wife. As you know, a lot of people have misinterpreted the headship language in this sentence to mean that husbands should dominate and have authority over their wives. But you'll see on your sheet that the word for head, kephale , can also mean ``source'' or ``origin.'' Keep these two meanings of kephale together--think of the physical head as the source or origin. I think the medical theory we've talked about helps us understand that in this context Paul is really talking about the sequence or stages of biological creation. Since people in Paul's day believed that new human beings came from sperm, and that sperm was produced and stored inside a man's head, then the word ``head'' had to connote the starting point--the source or origin--for new life. At the dawn of creation, according to Paul, the life-giving essence flowed from God's head into Christ, who in Romans 8:29 and Colossians 1:15 is called the ``firstborn of creation;'' then from Christ's head into Adam, the first man; and then from Adam into Eve, the first woman. That's the way it happened for just the first two human beings. Ever since then, of course, it takes a man and woman working together in an interdependent relationship for God to create a new human being, which is just what Paul affirms in verse 12.

So in this headship language, Paul is basically describing the flow or sequence of biological creation. This is how new life enters the world--and if Christ is the head of the church, and we the church are Christ's body (1 Corinthians 12), then Christ's life-giving essence--his sperm, if you will--flows through the church's body into the world, where it can give life to others.

Thanks to medical advances, you and I have a far better understanding of the human body than the best ancient doctors and the best ancient theologians did. We know sperm is not stored in the head, that hair is not hollow, that hair has nothing to do with human reproduction, and that women's hair is not a sexual organ. Paul's argument for head coverings was based on inaccurate medicine. So I see no reason, whether medical, theological, or biblical, for women to wear a veil in worship--unless they happen to want to for the sheer fun of it.

However, that does not mean this passage is irrelevant for us today. In at least two ways it continues to be relevant. First, I suspect all of us would agree with Paul about the main point he's trying to communicate to the Corinthians: good Christian people, both men and women, should arrive for public worship services with their sexual organs covered. The right clothing for worship is modest clothing.

The other value for us in this text is Paul's assumption, clearly articulated in verse 4, that women as well as men are to pray and prophesy in worship services. ⁹ Christ's church is more faithful when we hear the Holy Spirit speaking through both women and men working together.

Notes
1.       For more on the covering in Mennonite history, see ``Prayer Veil,'' The Mennonite Encyclopedia , Volume V, ed. Cornelius J. Dyck and Dennis D. Martin (Scottdale: Herald Press, 1990), 719-720.
2.       Robin Scroggs' views illustrate the long-running exasperation of scholars with this text: ``This is hardly one of Paul's happier compositions. The logic is obscure at best and contradictory at worst. The word choice is peculiar; the tone, peevish.'' See ``Paul and the Eschatological Woman'' in The Text and the Times: New Testament Essays for Today (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), 87.
3.       Troy W. Martin, ``Paul's Argument from Nature for the Veil in 1 Corinthians 11:13-15: A Testicle Instead of A Head Covering,'' Journal of Biblical Literature 123/1 (2004), 75-84. Also available at http://www.sbl-site.org/Publications/JBL/JBL1231.pdf
4.       See for example, Christopher Mount, ``1 Corinthians 11:3-16: Spirit Possession and Authority in a Non-Pauline Interpolation,'' Journal of Biblical Literature 124/2 (2005), 333.
5.       Martin, 77.
6.       Martin, 77-81.
7.       Raymond F. Collins, First Corinthians (Collegeville: Michael Glazier, 1999), 412.
8.       Scroggs, 91.
9.       Alert readers of 1 Corinthians may want to protest that 14:34b-35 explicitly forbids women to talk in church. Since the two passages contradict each other, something is obviously out of alignment here. As Jouette M. Bassler observes in The Women's Bible Commentary , ed. Carol A Newsom and Sharon H. Ringe (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1992), ``How can women exercise their acknowledged right to pray and prophesy . . . if they must keep absolute silence? How can women like Euodia and Syntyche (Phil 4:2-3), Prisca (Rom 16:3; 1 Cor 16:19), Mary (Rom 16:7), and Tryphaena and Tryphosa (Rom 16:12) function as co-workers in the churches if they cannot speak in those churches? How can Phoebe fulfill the role of deacon (Rom 16:1-2) if she cannot speak out in the assembly?'' (327-328). While scholars have proposed a number of different solutions to this dilemma, the most sensible one--and the one favored by most people--is that 14:34b-35 was inserted later by some copyist and is not original to Paul. For discussions of the various solutions, see Bassler, 328; Richard B. Hays, First Corinthians (Louisville: John Knox Press, 1997), 245-249; J. Paul Sampley, The First Letter to the Corinthians , in The New Interpreter's Bible , Vol. X (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2002), 968-970, and Graydon F. Snyder, First Corinthians: A Faith Community Commentary (Macon: Mercer University Press, 1992), 184-186.

Preparatory Waiting September 4 2005 .rtf

Tue, 6 Sep 2005 15:56:17 GMT

Preparatory Waiting
Jeremiah 17:5-8
Anita Yoder Kehr
September 4, 2005

         Today is the first Sunday of our new church year. This morning, our children get to go to their new Sunday school classes: sixth-graders to the JYF, ninth-graders to the MYF, and everyone else into their new groups and grade levels. We adults will get to experience something new, too; we begin our own nurture hour re-organization experiment today (and I hope you all will participate!).
         A number of people have finished their terms of service on commissions and committees. Those who finished their terms on August 31 no longer have to worry about scheduling those meetings butI hopecontinue to have a sense of accomplishment and ownership in the work that they've done. New commission members may be anticipating their first meetings of the year, wondering just what it is they've agreed to and bringing new ideas to contribute to the work of the church.
         A couple of weeks ago, we approved a new budget for this year, and it includes plans for what to do with any surplus at year's end. Our first fellowship event of the yearnext week's ice cream socialis on the calendar. Our morning services continue every Sunday, with many people offering their gifts each week in order to lead the congregation into worship of the One God. However, at this time of year, folks have mostly returned from vacation and are back in college or university, and there's a level of excitement and anticipation as we gather together, once again feeling a little more complete and whole.
         I really enjoy this time of year. It's a good time for looking back at the year just past, evaluating what could have been done better and reflecting with satisfaction on what was done well. It's a good time for gratitude; God has brought us through another cycle of twelve months both well and whole. This time of year is also good for looking ahead and wondering what is going to unfold in the months to come. It's a good time for anticipation and planning and preparing. It's also a good time for praying and trusting that God will bring us through this next cycle of twelve months both well and whole. I am excited about what lies ahead in this year for our congregation! For me, this past Thursday, September 1, was my ``happy new year.''
         Which is the heading I slapped on the top of our bulletins for today. Happy new year. And before Eleanor was finished copying those bulletins, I was regretting what I had done. How can I talk about a ``happy new year'' when thousands of people are in misery and dying in the gulf coast after experiencing the effects and after-effects of Hurricane Katrina? How can I talk about a ``happy new year'' when the economic ripples of this hurricane are going to drive people already on the edge all around our country deeper into need as higher fuel prices lead to higher prices generally? How can I talk about a happy new year when I wonder about the role that race and economic status played in who got help and who didn't? How can I talk about a happy new year when so many are homeless and wondering just what is going to happen to them next?
         Here's the truth that two good women helped me to understand better: This irony of human existence is always present with us. Sadness and despair are always present somewhere in the worldand in our congregationeven while opportunities for gladness and celebration are also always present somewhere in the worldand in our congregation. Even while we can anticipate with hope and gladness what lies ahead for us in our congregation, we must also recognize with grief and sadness the pain and loss that is present not only in the gulf coast of the United States but in the gulf region of the Middle East and in the African country of Zimbabwe and among the Christians in Vietnam and within the country of Colombia and within the gathering of our congregation. As members of Christ's bodyas Christ's hands and feet in this world, we bear both realities in our hearts and minds: both mourning and hope. It is at our own spiritual peril that we neglect one to focus on the other. So, this morning, we recognize the huge losses that have taken place in our world this week, even as we look ahead with joy and expectation to the unfolding of our own church year. And, as we look ahead to the next twelve months in the life of our congregation, the losses sustained this week in the southeast sector of our country may indeed affect our church life. We are certainly called upon to offer money and labor, but we may also be called upon to offer shelter and home to refugees who need a place until their own homes are either re-built or restored to livability. We will have to be attentive to the ways in which we may be asked to respond.
         Seven or eight years ago, Richard Litwiller, who was the pastor at Berkey Avenue then, used one particular metaphor over and over again in the course of a year in a number of different sermons. Again and again, Richard called us in the congregation to sink our roots down deep into God's life-giving streams so that we could grow green, luxuriant leaves on strong branches reaching out high and wide, so that we could bear fruit and give shade and remain strong in seasons of transition and trial. As I've been thinking about this next year and what I was being called to say today about what is to come, that image has returned to settle in my spirit. Our first and most important priority this year is to sink our roots down deep into God's life-giving streams, to root our trust in the one who has called us into being, who has led us safe so far, and who will continue to lead us with steadfast love and wisdom. Only by being rooted in trust can we grow green, luxuriant leaves on strong branches reaching out high and wide. Only by being rooted in trust can we bear fruit and give shade and be strong for our season of transition that is certainly coming.
         There is transition certainly coming because, as many of you know, part of our task this year is to prepare and wait to make some major decisions toward year's end. Last year, the Building and Land Use Committee listened, surveyed, explored, and led the congregation in a discussion of variety of options for building onto our current facility. This year, an as-yet-to-be-renamed committee will listen, explore, and lead the congregation in a discussion of options for becoming two congregations. Dan and I both expect that we, as a congregation, will be ready to make some major long-term decisions regarding these two options by next May or August. So, what do we do in these monthsin this yearto prepare and to wait?
First of all and againwe can cultivate our trust in God. We can affirm that God has led us safely so far because we know it's true. And we can affirm that God will continue to lead us step by step. ``Blessed are those who trust in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord.'' (Jeremiah 17:7) We do not need to fear and we do not need to be anxious.
In fact, I want to encourage us to see this period of waiting as a gifteven if it's driving you crazy! (And I do know that some of you are just a little irritated and wonder why we can't just make up our minds and get on with it!) However, this year offers us a season for dedicated and focused praying, and it also offers us a season of hope and expectation. This year offers us an opportunity to send our roots down deeper in faith, in worship, in our following of the risen Christ, in fellowship; this year offers us an opportunity to tend to our spiritual health intentionally and carefully. In this way, we prepare ourselves to listen well to the leading of the Holy Spirit so that when it's time to decide, we can and then afterwards we can act.
Second, we can cultivate trust in each other. Allow the process of discernment to work throughout this year. And not only that: I ask you also to believe, and then to act willfully on the belief, that the Holy Spirit can move in the combination of our voices. Cultivating trust in the body of Christ requires humility; it means that each of us trusts that we can learn something from the other believers in this fellowship. In other words, if we speak with conviction and listen with humble opennessif we're willing to be moved by the breath of the Spiritwe will bear good and nourishing fruit.
Third, we can delight in the opportunities that will unfold for us in the year to come. The newsletter for this week has a partial list of your accomplishments from the year just ended; now let's imagine the possibilities that will emerge in the next 12 months. I expect that new opportunities will come to us through the imagination and creativity of some of you who are sitting in this congregation right now. I expect that there will be changes in our programs and in our organization as we seek to be good stewards of the gifts in our congregation: our time, our talent, and our money. I expect that we will build relationships with each other, developing new bonds and strengthening on-going ones. I expect that new opportunities and possibilities will develop through the work of each of the commissions in the areas of: our fellowship with and caring for one another; in the spiritual formation that takes place in our corporate worship; in the careful stewardship of the generous giving of this congregation; in the opportunities for faith formation and nurture in our Christian education programs; and in the ways in which we understand our mission in the world. I expect that we will be surprised and delighted as we discover the gifts that each of us offers, and I expect that we will continue to revel in and be blessed by the energy of our children and youth (although it would be great if a few more of you might move toward more direct involvement!).
Fourth, we testify that God has given our congregation a gift of growth, and we acknowledge that we have pretty well filled up our physical space. Therefore, one challenge for us in this coming year will be to continue to invite when there's not much space in our meetingroom and to continue to cultivate intimacy in the context of a larger fellowship. Invitation and intimacy: these are the two movements that form our vision statement. The year that lies ahead of us will be a time for discovering new ways to do both, even as we prepare and wait to make long-term decisions about how to increase our physical space. I want to suggest something that I hope makes sense. You can let me know if it doesn't. In this next year, I suggest that each of us will need to carefully open up some psychic and emotional space. In other words, the physical reality of being full doesn't need to limit the way we welcome those who are new to our congregation and embrace warmly our brothers and sisters who are already here.
Can we do that? I think so. I hope so. You are a hospitable people; you can continue to offer hospitality whether or not our meeting space is elbow to elbow. You are a caring people, and I hope that you can open your circles of relationships, as well as your minds and your hearts, to fellowship with people you don't yet know, no matter how long they've been part of Berkey Avenue.
Fifth, this year offers an opportunity to strengthen what needs strengthening and to attend to those areas in our congregational life that need attention. We have time now, in this year of waiting to make a decision about the next steps in our congregational journey, to work at some things that have been set aside in recent years because of the other agenda that we've been working at. In these months before we decide together which direction our congregation will takeeither becoming two congregations or enlarging our buildingwe have time to plan better for small groups, to review our organizational structure and amend it as necessary, to experiment with adult nurture, to support our youth coordinatorswho are doing wonderful workmore fully (they still don't have a completely-equipped office here!), and I'm know there's a longer list of stuff! Our time to pay attention to these things is now becauseafter we finally make our decisionwe will have a whole new agenda to address, a whole new work to undertake. So, we have this moment.
Sixth and finally, let's come back to first things. Remember the beginning of our text for today: ``Thus says the Lord: Cursed are those who trust in mere mortals and make mere flesh their strength. They shall be like a shrub in the desert, and shall not see when relief comes.'' (Jeremiah 17:5a) Whatever we do in this yearas we prepare, as we wait, as we make decisionslet's do it all in recognition of our dependence on and trust in God. Let us not rely too heavily on mortal wisdom and human processeven our own mortal wisdom and human process!but instead let's rely on the God-given strength that comes by sending our roots down deep into life-giving streams which alone enables us to grow green, luxuriant leaves on strong branches reaching out high and wide, which alone causes us to bear fruit and give shade and remain strong in seasons of transition and trial.
In the year ahead, let us remember to give constant witness to the source of our sufficient strength and wisdom and hope for the work that we have to do. Psalm 107 has a line that makes me think of a mother reminding her children to say ``thank you.'' Here's what the psalmist writes, ``Let the redeemed of the Lord say so!'' What the poet means is, let the redeemed of the Lord say how they were redeemed! Let the redeemed of the Lord explain how they made it out of slavery into freedom! Let the redeemed of the Lord tell the story of how they got to the Promised Land! Now, then, let the redeemed of the Lord at Berkey Avenue say how they have been saved! Let the redeemed of the Lord at Berkey Avenue explain how they made through their first 25 years as a healthy body of believers. Let the redeemed of the Lord at Berkey Avenue tell the story of God's steadfast love and faithful leading. Let the redeemed of the Lord at Berkey Avenue say so!
Brothers and sisters, remember: ``Blessed are those who trust in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord. They shall be like trees planted by water, sending out their roots by the stream. They shall not fear when heat comes, and their leaves shall stay green; in the year of drought, they are not anxious, and they do not cease to bear fruit.'' (Jeremiah 17:7-8) Amen.

Communion--Liberation August 21 2005 .rtf

Tue, 6 Sep 2005 15:31:19 GMT

CommunionLiberation
Psalm 105:1-4, 37-45 and Galatians 5:1-6, 13-16
August 21, 2005
Anita Yoder Kehr
         It is for freedom that Christ has set us free, brothers and sisters. Do not submit again to a yoke of slavery! Now hear those words of Paul, writing to the church at Galatia; hear those words from nearly 2000 years ago as a word for youfor ustoday.
         Listen well: God's project in history has been a project to set women and men free, to unbind themto unbind usfrom the sin and situations and influences that prevent us from living into the fullness of what we have been called to. God's project is a project that liberates us so that we can live in a joyful relationship of love and service for God and with each other.
         The psalm from which Evan read this morning extols God's deliverance of the people of Israel out of slavery in Egypt. The story of the Exodus is the foundational Old Testament story of salvation: God liberates the people of the covenant from the oppression in which they had been bound and under which they had labored. God guides the people with cloud and fire in the wilderness. God sustains and satisfies them with the bread of heaven. God brings them to a land of their own so that they might keep God's statutes and observe the covenant. Liberation, guidance, sustenance, covenant relationship: God's project of salvation included all of these when dealing with the children of Israel, and God's project of salvation includes all of them when dealing with the children of the twenty-first century as well.
         Now likely our slavery looks different than it did for the children of Israel. We aren't typically forced into heavy and uncompensated labor. We aren't worked ruthlessly, nor are our lives made bitter by the constraint of work done in hardship. That was the lot of the people of the covenant in Egypt.
         More likely, however, the slavery that we struggle with today is akin to the slavery that Paul addresses in his letter to the Galatians. The Galatian church had taken upon themselves all of the do's and don'ts of Jewish law, and it had become an enslaving burden. Especially, there was an on-going argument between those who insisted that all male believers be circumcised, even if they came from a Gentile background, and those who believed that Christ had ushered in a new covenant that superceded the old ways of showing commitment and obedience.
Sometimes the slavery that oppresses us might look a lot like the yoke that oppressed the Galatians; it's the weight of all those human-imposed expectations about what a Christian should look like or act like. If we focus first and narrowly on doing what others expect of us rather than living out of our love relationship with the risen Christ, then we are enslaved.
Here's what Paul says in chapter 5 of his letter to the Galatians about the circumcision controversy. It's appropriate for us, too. Paul writes, ``In Christ Jesus, neither circumcision nor uncircumcision counts for anything; the only thing that counts is faith working through love. You are called to freedom, only don't use your freedom to indulge yourself, but instead, turn around and serve one another in love. If you live by the Spirit, you will not yield to selfishness and sin!''
Did you hear the keys that Paul gives which free us from the weight of manufactured expectation? They are these: living in faith and in love with Jesus, serving othersand doing it all by the power of the Spirit. It's the impetus, the motive, the attitude of our hearts that makes all the difference. Making our choices by focusing on what others will think of us is essentially selfishwe're worrying most about our reputation. Making our choices by focusing on what God desires for us and for the other person is something else entirely. We're motivated to service by faith and by love rather than by the desire for recognition or reciprocation, and we're enabled by the Spirit rather than by dependence on our own energy and ingenuity.
Now, there are many, many other kinds of slavery as well. There is purposelessness. There is isolation and bitterness and anger. There is fear and pride and cynicism. There is addiction to alcohol or to other substances that alter our bodies and our minds. There are wounds that don't seem to be able to heal up. There are as many kinds of slavery as there is sin. And yet, Paul says, it is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.
The keys to freedom that Paul set out for the Galatiansfaith and love and service and life by the Spiritdo liberate us. However, living in freedom means committing ourselves, over and over again, to living in the freedom God offers. And that is something we can learn from the children of Israel's exodus from Egypt.
Remember the wilderness where the people finally walked free from slavery? As they were leaving Egypt, God placed in front of them a pillar of fire by night and a pillar of cloud by day so that they would never be without direction, never without guidance. (Exodus 13) And yet, the people needed to choose over and over again whether they'd follow that cloud or walk behind that fire. And sometimes they turned away.
Remember the wilderness where the people walked free. After escaping the pursuing Pharaoh, God made water sweet and rained down bread and quail from heaven so that they were never without food and drink, never without sustenance. (Exodus 15 and 16) And yet, the people needed to choose over and over again whether they'd eat the food provided for them. And sometimes they grumbled instead.
Remember the wilderness where the people walked free. After God had liberated them and led them and fed them, God made a covenant with them, a contract built upon and well beyond the one made with Abraham and Sarah. God said, ``Now if you obey me fully and keep my covenant, then out of all nations you will be my treasured possession.'' But before Moses even made it back down the mountain with the details, the people had built for themselves an alternate goda golden calf which could not liberate or guide or sustain. (Exodus 19-32) But, even though grieving and angry at the people's stiff-necked short-sightedness, God relented and graciously made the covenant anyway. And yet, the people needed to choose over and over again whether they'd walk in the way of that covenant. And sometimes they disobeyed instead.
The people eventually made it to the Promised Land. But it took them a long, long time to get there because they so often chose against the way of God's freedom. The tricky thing about slavery and liberation is that, sometimes, the thing that binds us feels more comfortable to us than the unpredictability of freedom. We're really not so different from the children of Israel after all. Sometimes, we act as if we don't want freedom from that which enslaves us, or liberation from that which binds us, or deliverance from that which oppresses us. We choose instead to live bound livesbecause it's what we know. Freedom may mean going on a journey into unfamiliar territory.
Listen well: God offers us freedom from whatever enslaves us through Jesus Christ and the way of the cross. And, just as the children of Israel experienced firsthand, God offers guidance and sustenance and covenantal, loving relationship. But, there's choice involved. Be freed or choose slavery? Follow God's leading on a journey or stay at home? Eat the bread of heaven that nourishes or fill up on junk? Say yes or say no to God's offer of healed and whole relationship.
For freedom Christ has set us free. Do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.
Today we celebrate communion in light of the Exodus and the cross. Perhaps it seems odd that we've talked about the Exodus so much in the context of an event where we focus on Jesus. And yet, remember that it was at a celebration of the Passoverthe final act in the drama of liberation from slavery in Egyptwhere Jesus instituted for us this meal of remembrance. And remember, the Exodus is the foundational Old Testament story of salvation. But most important, remember that salvation then and salvation now means being made free by the hand of God. God's salvation project has always included the work of liberating people from the forces that oppress; of guiding them by pillar of fire, towering cloud, stark cross, and empty tomb into freedom; of providing sustenance for the journey; and of offering loving and gracious covenant relationship. We are freed in order that we may live in faith, in love, in service, and in the power of the Spirit.
Therefore, when we gather at this table today we will be giving thanks for God's salvation project. ``Giving thanks'' is the definition of the word, Eucharist, another word we sometimes use for this meal of remembrance that Jesus, the Savior, inaugurated at that long-ago Passover supper. Today we will give thanks for the liberating forgiveness and grace and covenant love of God. We will give thanks for the Holy Spiritour own lively flamewho guides and leads us. We will give thanks as we eat and drink this spiritual food, the sustenance provided by the bread of heaven. We will give thanks for our brothers and sisters who join us as fellow travelers on our journey.
But, as we do for any celebration, we need to make some preparations. And, as we often do when we gather for this particular celebration, we will prepare by spending some time in examination and confession in the presence of God. And so now I invite you to quiet your hearts and your minds in prayer. (quiet)
Our God, you are the only one who can liberate us from all that enslaves us. We thank you for your saving work that has spanned all of history, and we thank you for the particular saving work of Jesus Christ, who lived and died and was raised to life again so that we can know the fullness of your freedom. We thank you for the work of your Spirit by whom we can live in love and faith and service. We thank you for hearing our prayer.
Our Deliverer, we confess that we sometimes cling to the very things which bind us. We confess that we resist your desire to free us. Show us now those places in our lives where you want to set us free:
         Perhaps we put on the act of ``good Christian'' rather than acting out of our love for you.
Perhaps there is pain or anger or fear or jealousy that we nourish rather than release to you for your healing.
         Perhaps there is love of money and things.
         Perhaps there is pride or cynicism that prevents us from trusting you.
         Perhaps there are sins which we indulge rather than confess.
         Perhaps there are other enslaving forces in our lives.
         Your word says, O God, that if the Son sets us free, we will be free indeed . (John 8:36). Your word says that it is for freedom that Christ has set us free. We want to stand firm now, O God, and not submit again to a yoke of slavery. We trust your liberation, your love and faithfulness, and we pray in the name of Jesus. Amen.

Imprisoned August 28 2005.rtf

Tue, 30 Aug 2005 18:27:12 GMT

Imprisoned

Philippians 1:12-14
Sermon by Dan Schrock

August 28, 2005

I want you to know, beloved, that what has happened to me has actually helped to spread the gospel, so that it has become known throughout the whole imperial guard and to everyone else that my imprisonment is for Christ; and most of the brothers and sisters, having been made confident in the Lord by my imprisonment, dare to speak the word with greater boldness and without fear. (NRSV)

For ten years, I used to go to a women's prison about once every two months to visit several inmates. This prison was surrounded by two chain-link fences each about 15 feet tall. There was an outer fence, and about 20 feet inside that a second inner fence. If you visit this prison on a sunny day, you can see the tops of the two fences sparkling from a distance, almost as if the fences are capped with glittering diamonds. But when you drive closer you realize they are not diamonds at all; they are thousands upon thousands of thin razor blades, each about an inch and a half long, embedded in wires coiled at the top of the fences.

``Razor wire,'' they call it. The outer fence has three separate coils of this razor wire, and the inner fence has one coil. This is a maximum security prison, and the idea behind all the razor wire is to prevent people from escaping. One day one of the inmates I did not know, a 20-something woman, tried to escape. She dressed herself in several layers of heavy clothing and put two layers of thick socks over her hands. When she thought the guards weren't watching, she ran to the inner chain-link fence, scrambled over it (including the razor wire at the top) and dropped down to the 20-foot no-woman's land between the two fences. Like lightening she climbed up the outer fence but then got tangled in the three rolls of razor wire at the top. That's when the guards nabbed her. But before they put her into solitary confinement, they had to take her to the infirmary for medical treatment. The front of her body, especially her hands and arms, were covered in long, thin, profusely bleeding cuts. The razors in the wire had not only shredded her clothes but sliced her skin in all directions.

The women I visited had been sentenced to several decades in that prison. Not many people came to see them. Nearly every time I saw them, they had some new lament to share about the difficulties of life in prison. Many of these laments had to do with increasingly restrictive rules. It seemed that every time a new warden arrived to take over prison management, he or she thought it was necessary to demonstrate right away that this new administration was tough, take-charge, and would not tolerate any monkey business from the prisoners. Usually what that meant is that the warden imposed a set of more restrictive rules than his or her predecessor had imposed. So over time, life in prison had become significantly more restrictive for my friends. As a consequence they longed for the day when they could be paroled, when they would be able to leave the razor wire behind and create a new life of liberty.

Most people look down on anyone who's ever been in prison. But a number of very fine biblical people were imprisoned at one time or another in their lives. When only a teenager, Joseph was thrown into a prison-like pit by his own brothers, then sold into slavery which is its own kind of prison (Genesis 37:12-28). Later Joseph was arrested on false charges and put into prison (39:1-23). Many centuries later, Jeremiah was arrested twice, the first time sentenced to overnight in the stocks, and the second time sentenced to the bottom of a muddy pit (Jeremiah 20:1-3; 38:1-6). Daniel went to prison for the so-called crime of worshipping God instead of the king (Daniel 3). John the Baptizer was imprisoned for critiquing the ethical shenanigans of political leaders, and got out only after his head had been severed from his body (Mark 6:17-29). For no reason except personal whim, King Herod Agrippa threw Peter was in prison for a while. Paul was imprisoned several times, and the last time, so far as we can tell, got out only when the Roman emperor decided to kill him (Acts 16:16-40; 21:27-36; 25:1-12; Philippians 1:12-26). John, the writer of Revelation, was imprisoned on the island of Patmos ``because of the word of God and the testimony of Jesus'' (Revelation 1:9). Many admirable biblical people spent a lot of time in prison.

But we don't have to live in a government prison in order to be imprisoned. Many people, maybe even some of us here this morning, know what it's like to be imprisonedeven though we've never been in a prison run by the government. For example, you have a chronic illness that forces you to live inside its impassable fence. Or you have a job you despise, but because your employer has better health insurance than most places you feel trapped into staying right where you are. Or you were raped at some point in your life and now you live inside walls of mistrust. Or as empty-nesters looking forward to the freedom of traveling and volunteering, your fond dreams are dashed when your son and daughter-in-law divorce, and your son looks to you for significant childcare so he can continue to work. Or maybe you're just tired of life and you want to depart to be with God, yet it appears you will have to stay here on this earth for a long time yet because you're middle-aged and still in good health. Sometimes we are imprisoned by our own ill-advised choices. At other times we're imprisoned by rotten, horrible, terrible, no-good choices other people have made and we now have to live with, much to our frustration. At still other times we're imprisoned by unlucky events that are no one's fault but now we have to deal with.

By its very nature, prison traps us, making us feel surrounded by steel bars with no good way out. This entrapment usually has the effect of stripping us, of taking things away from us that we thought we needed or wanted or had to have. Prison strips us of the illusion that we control our own lives, and makes us realize that we are bound by relationship or obligation or sheer inescapable necessity. Depending on the nature of our particular prison, it may strip us of our social status in the eyes of other people. Or prison might strip us of our wealth. Or prison might strip us of something else we thought we couldn't live without.

Prison can make you bitter. I once worked in the same office with a woman whose brother had been sentenced to 25 years in a state penitentiary. She said that when her brother was released after many years behind bars, he was a broken man. Since he was only in his lower 50s, in terms of age he should have had many productive years left. But prison broke him psychologically and spiritually. All he could do for the rest of his life was sit at home, brooding, despairing, languishing in a kind of shadowy half-life. About twenty years later this shell of a man died in his chair at home, and not many people came to his funeral because he had left his house so rarely that hardly anyone knew him anymore. He left prison, yes, but prison never left him.

But prison doesn't have to make you bitter. The women I used to visit behind the razor wire have now all been released; and I knew them well enough to say that prison did not slash their souls into bitterness. If anything, prison transformed those women into more mature, courageous disciples of Christ. They would probably say prison was the most difficult experience of their lives; yet the indignities, inhumanities, and injustices of prison also shaped them more fully into the image of Christ (2 Corinthians 3:18). In the years I visited those women, I could see them slowly changing into the image of Christ with my own eyes. For them the process wasn't always fun, and it wasn't always easy, but it did happen.

How do we avoid becoming permanently bitter? I know of only one way: to offer ourselves to God, again and again and yet again. Sometimes we have to offer ourselves to God every day, perhaps even several times during the day. It might be as simple as saying: ``Here I am, God. You know my situation. I give myself to you. Help me!''

Often the simplest things have the strongest effect. Some imprisoned people find great meaning in repeating the Jesus prayer: ``Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me.'' Other people discover that uttering a confession of sin every day is just what they need, something short, like: ``Merciful God, I confess I have sinned against you in thought, word and deed. I have not loved you or my neighbor. Forgive me, that I might delight in your will, and walk in your ways.'' Still other people who feel trapped utter a prayer for help, such as: ``O God, make speed to save me; O Lord, make haste to help me.'' Some folks find the greatest help by writing down their struggles in a journal. Still others just sit quietly in the presence of God for twenty minutes twice a day, offering to God their willingness for God to do whatever God wants to do in them and with them. Whatever the method you use, the underlying movement is the same: to offer ourselves to God. It's the only way I know of to avoid bitterness, to let go of bitterness.

The apostle Paul worked hard at not letting prison make him bitter. I'm sure he sometimes felt depressed and angry, yet he seems to have avoided bitterness. In Acts 16:25, we have a clue to Paul's method for not succumbing to bitterness: in prison he and Silas sang hymns. If Paul sang during all his prison experiences, that might explain his cheery view of things in the letter to the Philippians. When Paul wrote to the Philippians, he had been in prison for a while. Energetic mission worker that he was, Paul had enough reasons to be bitter about being in prison. For instance, in prison he could no longer travel. He could no longer start new churches. He had no choice in food, but had to eat whatever people gave him. He was confined to a tiny room and could not get exercise. Many of the freedoms he once enjoyed were taken from him.

Yet he did not become bitter. Contrary to what you might expect, his letter bursts with gratitude. Paul thanks God, thanks the Philippians, and thanks the fact that he's in prison. Why all this thanks? The reason is simple. Paul discovered that the limitations imposed on him in prison, this stripping away of his former freedoms, allowed a new series of good events to unfold that might not have happened otherwise. Because of prison, he met Roman soldiers, a class of people he might not otherwise have met. Because of prison and the necessity of facing trial before Roman governors and eventually, the Roman emperor, he was able to speak to a series of political rulers whom he almost certainly would not have had access to otherwise, and to tell those political rulers something about Jesus Christ, the alternate ruler whom he worshipped, and about the church, the alternate community he was a member of. Yes, some good things happened to Paul as a result of prison.

If given the choice, most of us would not choose to live in whatever prison we find ourselves in. We would choose to be free of that prison. Yet if we respond to our imprisonment in the right way, it does not have to diminish us. With God's help, prison could turn us into saints.

The Sound of a Voice August 14 2005 .rtf

Tue, 16 Aug 2005 14:58:12 GMT

The Sound of a Voice

John 10:1-5
Sermon by Dan Schrock
August 14, 2005

"Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers." (NRSV)

In forty-six years of living on this earth, I've heard thousands of voices. If I add up all the people I've lived with, gone to school with, and worked with; plus all the people I've heard speaking on TV, radio, and the telephone; and all the people I've heard talking as I walked down the sidewalks of cities and towns in several continents, it's reasonable to guess that I've heard tens of thousands of voices during my lifetime.
Tens of thousands of voicesand no two of them exactly alike. Yet most of us don't have much trouble distinguishing among all these voices. With enough practice, we can usually distinguish the voice of a woman from a man, the voice of a person born in Mexico from a person born in Canada. You and I might have a hard time telling the difference between the voices of identical twins, but their parents can usually tell. After years of listening, the parents of twins recognize that Sally's voice has a slightly different timbre than Sarah's voice, and when one of the girls yells from the next room, their parents know exactly who it is.
Jesus calls each of his sheep by name, and those sheep, he says, know the sound of his voice. Do you know the sound of Jesus' voice?
It works the other way too. Children learn the sound of their parent's voices from an early age. Back on May 15 when we dedicated Eli Martin along with his parents Andy and Lydia, some of you were sitting toward the front and saw what happened during that dedication. When I took Eli into my arms in order to bless him, he was peacefully sleeping. But as soon as I spoke his name, he suddenly woke up, his eyes wide and a little fearful, because he did not recognize the sound of my voice. He was thoroughly familiar with his mother and his father's voice, but not mine, and when he heard my strange voice he woke up in order to check it out.
Do you know the sound of Jesus' voice?
I have no experience with sheep, but in high school I did acquire some experience with Holstein cows. Three members of my familymy grandfather, father, and Itook care of about thirty cows. Because we talked to those cows twice every day of the week, they knew the sound of our voices. When we spoke, they did not get ruffled but remained their placid selves. But if some stranger walked into the barn and started talking, the cows instantly became nervous. They would be much more likely to kick or run or empty their bowels. They would even get skittish if my mother walked into the barn and talked to us while we milked. The cows simply didn't know her voice even though she lived right there on the farm. From their point of view, my mom was a stranger.
Do you know the sound of Jesus' voice?
It takes practice and experience to recognize someone's voice. We have a good example in the story of Samuel and Eli, where Samuel, then just a boy, heard an unfamiliar voice calling his name just as he was lying down for the night. Samuel had no idea who it was. Only after the voice spoke several times did old man Eli suggest to the boy that it was probably the voice of God. Eli had been hearing the voice of God for perhaps fifty years or more, and out of that long familiarity with God correctly discerned who was speaking to Samuel. This story suggests that children usually can't recognize God's voice because they haven't have enough experience with God yet. They just don't know God, or God's voice well enough. Older people who have been communicating with God for a long period of time are much better equipped to distinguish God from all other voices.
How well do you know the sound of Jesus' voice?
The more experience we have with Jesus, the more adept we will become at picking out his voice from thousands of others. But even adults sometimes don't do this accurately. Barbara Brown Taylor tells the story of an incident that happened to her when she was in seminary. At the time of this story Barbara was in her mid-twenties and had been a Christian for some years. Here, in her own words, is the story of how she failed at first to distinguish Jesus' voice:
``When I was in seminary, I stayed on campus over one particular spring break. Since the refectory [the dining hall] was closed, I stocked my refrigerator with cold cuts and vegetables and spent my days in the library reading. I had the place to myself, and while it was a luxury it was also a little eerie to walk down the halls with nothing but the sound of my own feet patting the linoleum behind me.
``One afternoon I needed a break from my books and walked down to what we called the Red Table Caféa room full of vending machines in the basement under the chapel, with one round table and four wooden chairs painted fire-engine red. I did not expect anyone to be there, so I was startled to find a man sitting in one of the chairs nursing a paper cup of coffee.
``I knew right away that he was not a student, although he may have been, once. When he looked up at me his face was wide open and interesting. He had the bluest possible eyes and there was definitely someone home in them, but he seemed to have fallen on hard times. His windbreaker was greasy around the cuffs. The collar of his flannel shirt was frayed. The fingers he curled around his cup were dirty and they held on a little too tight.
```Hello,' he said. It was a nice voice, soft but direct.
```Hello,' I said, wondering if it was wise to start a conversation with him. But he wanted to talk, and before long I learned that he had been on the road for a while, hitchhiking from somewhere to somewhere else, and that when his latest ride had let him off about a mile away he had decided to walk up to the divinity school and take a look around.
```I was here a long, long time ago,' he said, smiling into his coffee cup.
```A student?' I asked. I was shocked. What had happened to him?
```No,' he said, `a speaker. But like I said, that was along time ago.' We both looked at his cup until he changed the subject. `Is the refectory open?' he asked. `I could sure use something to eat.' I told him it was not. `Do you know any place else I can get some food?' he asked. I thought about my cold cuts, my vegetables. I thought about inviting a strange man to my room.
```No,' I said. `I'm sorry. I don't.'
```That's all right,' he said, draining his cup. `I'll just have another one of these.' So I said goodbye to him and left him there, feeding his nickels into the [coffee] machine.
``Halfway up the stairs to the library, it occurred to me that I could bring him a sandwich, and I ran back down to the Red Table Café to tell him so, but he was gone. I ran down the length of the hall, checking empty classrooms. I opened the door at the end of the hallway and checked the quadrangle. I even checked the chapel, but he was gone. In less than thirty seconds, the man with the blue eyes had utterly vanished, and it was only then that I had the strange feeling that I knew who he wasthe hungry one I did not feed, the thirsty one I gave no drink.'' ¹
When have you met someone, and only later realized you heard the voice of Jesus speaking to you?
I've been trying to listen to the voice of Jesus for over twenty years. Maybe I'm a little better than I used to be at recognizing the sound of that voice, thanks to many hours of Bible study, prayer, theological education, and service to others. But I don't always get it right, not even after two decades of some fairly intense practice. Yet for what it's worth, here are some things I've learned so far about how to distinguish the voice of our shepherd Jesus from all the other voices in the world.
1. Jesus often speaks in short, pithy phrases. While it's true that in the Bible God and Jesus sometimes speak in long discourses (e.g., Job 38-41, Matthew 5-7, John 14-17), more often Jesus speaks to us in brief, pungent phrases such as: ``Fear not, for I will be with you'' or ``Peace, be still'' or ``Repent and believe the good news'' or something similar. Certainly this has been true in my own walk with Christ. I cannot remember a single time that God spoke to me for a long period of time without interruption, whether during prayer or Bible study or anything else. I think it does happen occasionally to some people, but it hasn't happened to me. When Jesus chooses to speak to me, all I hear are short phrases or even just one word. I don't get whole paragraphs or whole sentences, usually. I hear something short, sweet, and usually surprising. Jesus often speaks briefly, and that's one way you can tell that it might be him.
2. The voice of Jesus leaves us with a feeling of rightness, of peace, of calm. This doesn't mean that Jesus will always say nice and pleasant things. Sometimes Jesus shakes us up by saying things that reverse our usual way of living or make us squirm in our seats. But even when this happens, we will still be left with a sense that these words, uncomfortable though they are, are authentically from Jesus. If Jesus tells me to love or forgive someone, I might not want to hear those words at all. Loving and forgiving someone I detest might be the last thing I want to do. But I know what I heard is authentic because love and forgiveness are essential to who Jesus is. Even if I resist the words to love and forgive, I may still have a sense of peace because I'm pretty sure Jesus really did speak to me. Sometimes the paradox of being uncomfortable and at peace at the same time is a sign Jesus truly is speaking to us.
3. Jesus has a voice of justice and nonviolence. If the voice you hear speaking to you matches up with all the voices in the New Testament that call for nonviolence and justice, then the voice probably comes from God. Three or four thousand years ago God did sometimes permit warfare, but we believe that God sent Jesus to teach us a new and better way of finding nonviolent resolutions to conflict.
4. Jesus has a voice of healing. During his earthly ministry two thousand years ago in Palestine, Jesus devoted much of his energy to the healing arts. Jesus has continued that work down through to the present time. We don't all have broken legs or blind eyes, but most of us are wounded somewhere in the depth of our spirit or our memory or our will. We need healing of one sort or another, and Jesus is in the business of healing. The healing may not come when we like or in the way we like. We might even resist our own healing because it will take some sacrifice and pain that we really don't want to go through. But still, we need healing and Jesus wants to heal us. Therefore when we hear a voice of healing, we can be relatively confident that it comes from Jesus.
Those are some things I've learned so far about the sound of Jesus' voice. What have you learned so far? How do you try to recognize the voice of Jesus?

Note
1. Barbara Brown Taylor, Bread of Angels (Cambridge and Boston: Cowley Publications, 1997), 54-55.

Matthew 19 13-15 12 46-50 July 17 2005 .rtf

Sun, 17 Jul 2005 13:56:27 GMT

         I've been thinking about a memory I have from just over 20 years ago, of a high school boy, a runner, who gave a gift to his coach and his wife for their baby daughter. Now in general, I have a lousy memoryI remember only bits and piecesbut this particular ``bit'' has stayed with me. I think it's because it was so unusual, a teenage boy noticing that a baby's been born and bringing a gift of celebrationor being willing to give a gift that a parent has arranged for. And I don't really think it matters which way it was because it was the young man who actually presented the gift. That memory has come back to me quite clearly this week, since that baby daughter is today leading worship for the service in which the young man's own baby daughter is being dedicated. That would be André the runner, Hannah the baby, Bryan the coach, and I the wife. It strikes me that this particular web of relationship is, for today and this moment, quite serendipitousa kind of happy surprise!
         In our congregation, there are all kinds of connections and relationship webs among people of all ages and stages of life. But I hope that these connections aren't just serendipityaren't just unplanned but delightful accidents. I hope instead that these connections are intentional; the relationships that we build with people in the congregationof all ages and stages of lifeare important to the health and to the mission of the congregation. This morning, just a little while ago, we formalized our intentions for one of these connections. We promised Lori and André that we will share with them in Emma's nurture and support them in their efforts to raise her in the context of Christian faith so that one day she will hopefully choose the way of Jesus for herself. We have said that we hope our shared life and witness will help make their parenting task easier and more joyous. We have said, essentially, that we're in this nurturing thing together. And we said the same things to Andrew and Lydia about Eli several months ago, and before that to Brian and Cheryl about Mackenzie, and before that to Heidi and Mitch about Theo, and before that to Galen and Ruth about Mia, and before that to Darin and Lisa about Maija… We have made that promise many times in this congregation. I want to propose to you that following through on that promise is a fundamental act of mission , which is why this sermon follows up on Dan Schrock's and David Shank's of the last two weeks.
         We heard two passages from Matthew this morningread very well, by the way. These stories are also found, with slight variations, in the gospels of Mark and Luke. They are therein all three of the Synoptic gospelsbecause they're important. They tell us something about Jesus and his priorities. But they're quite an interesting pair, aren't they?
In the story from Matthew 19, we see the disciples trying to shoo away the children who were being brought to Jesus to receive his blessing. The disciples apparently think that they need to protect Jesus from these little nuisances, these children who are distractions from the ``really important work'' that Jesus is supposed to be doing. But you know the story. Jesus apparently thinks that welcoming and blessing those children is ``really important work'' and not a distraction at all. Those children are welcome members of the kingdom of God.
The story from Matthew 12 is considerably less comfortable. Jesus' mother and brothers are trying to get hold of him to talk to him. (The gospel writer Mark suggests that Jesus' family thought he might be going crazy and they were worried about him, but Matthew doesn't mention that.) When Mary and the brothers finally find Jesus, they ask to speak to him. Jesus doesn't even bother to respond to them directly. Instead, he points to his disciples and completely redefines who his real family is. He says, ``It's the one who does the will of my Father in heaven who is my brother and sister and mother.'' Isn't it interesting to read these passages side by side? Jesus has time to hug up the children but not enough time to talk to his mother and brothers. He blesses the children as important members of the faith community just as they are, but he demands from adults a different standard of commitment and obedience. Something happens at the point that a person becomes old enough and mature enough to hear and understand the call of Jesus and the implications of that call. Those from the believers' church tradition call this point, ``reaching the age of accountability.'' When a person comes to that point which, I think, can come at different ages for different people, they need to make some decisions. Will they say ``yes'' to Jesus? Will they say ``no''? Will they do their best to ignore that there's any decision to make at all?
Here's what I want to say as clearly as I can: We can make no assumptions about how the children of our congregation or the children in our families will respond to those questions. Children are neither extensions of their parents nor of their congregation. They are not little ``us''es. They are each wonderfully and uniquely made, with their own gifts and personalities and experiences. And they each need to make their own choices about faith. So, the way they experience the community of people who are named followers of Jesus will certainly affect the way they respond to the call of Jesus. Is the church a place of acceptance and caring? Or is it a place of rejection and loneliness? Are there people who know children's names and care about what they care about? Is the church a place where grown-ups treat each other with respect even when they don't agree, or is anger and bitterness simmering just below the surface? How do adults talk about each other over Sunday lunch? Is the church a place where the message of the Bible stories learned there matches up with the lives of those who tell them? Is following Jesus attractive?
When a child of the congregation says ``yes'' to Jesus, then a shift in identity must take place within the community of faith. She who has said yes and been baptized becomes a sister now, a companion in faith, one who can give counsel as well as receive it. He who has said yes and received baptism is no longer a child of the congregation but a fellow disciple, a brother in the family of faith. I believe with all my heart that it is truly mission to nurture our children in the congregation so that that shift in their identity will take place, so that they will become our brothers, our sisters, our companions in discipleship.
How do we nurture the children of the congregation? Berkey Avenue has a history of doing well at this, and so I mostly want to name some things that many of you already do unconsciously, without realizing how important what you're doing really is. (We probably have some work to do on making the shift from nurturing children to accepting as brother and sisterbut that's another sermon.)
The first thing, I think, to nurture the children of the congregation is to delight in themeven when they get restless or squirrelly, even when their activity makes the way out to the back door a little bit hazardous. Delight in their energy. Delight in their endless particularities. Delight in their intensity. Delight in the fact of their existencethey are a new creation of God in the image of God. They are wonders.
A second thing to nurture the children of the congregation is to bless them at every opportunity. Blessing someone, as I understand it, is to name the good that is already at work in the person and then to imagine with her God's good plan for the future. Blessing is a way of encouragement and care. The most basic blessing a grown-up can offer a child is to know his name, to notice that she exists as an individual separate from her parents, and to indicate that he is important enough to you that you know who he is. We can also bless by inviting children to use their own gifts within the congregation and to ask them to work side by side with us on things that are important. I wonder how many of the children who helped build the playground continue to have a sense of accomplishment whenever they look at it.
I've also been wondering if another way of blessing the children is to care enough to watch out for them, to redirect when the play is getting too rough, or to remind of inclusion when someone is being left out, or to set limits when behavior is crossing bounds of appropriateness. We can all help with that! Making sure that our children are safe and accepted and well-directed is, I think, an act of blessing. We are reminding them that we want what's best for them and for others, and sometimes what they're doing isn't what's best.
A third way of nurturing the children of the congregation is to nourish their faith. We nourish the faith of our children when they see us modeling healthy ways of being in fellowship with one another. How do we both speak truth and offer grace to one another? Do we build up or tear down? How do we help the children work through disagreements between them? What perspective of the church are we depicting for our children? One of the greatest gifts we can offer our children is to learn to disagree with integrity and still remain in relationship with one another. Another gift we can give is to acknowledge that, as individuals and as a community of faith, we're far from perfect, we make mistakes, but we want to continue to learn and growas long as we live! Our children watch what we say and what we do very closely, and they notice whether our words and our actions match up. We are drawing our children a picture of the church; let's be aware of the images that we're creating.
We nourish faith when we encourage parents in their important task of caring for their children. We nourish faith when we encourage and support the Sunday School teachers and the high school and jr. youth sponsors and the youth coordinators and others in their important task of caring for our children and youth. We nourish faith when we consider carefully and prayerfully whether we're being called to any of these important congregational tasks: to teach or to be a sponsor or to serve as a mentor to a youth or as a caregiver in various settings.
And, we nourish faith when we learn to talk about our own faith without embarrassment. Can we speak about what God is doing in our own lives and ask others about what God is doing in theirs? As we learn to know our children better and as they grow older, can we ask them the important questions as well as the small-talk ones? (Small talk is necessary for the beginnings of relationships; it's also important to eventually get beyond it if a relationship is to grow.)
Finally, we nurture the children of the congregation best when we pray in gratitude and in intercession for them, when we pray for their parents, and when we pray for those who are in the work of guiding and training up our little ones. We ask God most of all to lead and enable the missional work of nurturing our children, of leading them into faith when they reach those moments of decision.
Caring for the children of the congregation is not a distraction from the real work of the congregation just like it was not a distraction from the real work of Jesus. Remember, ``let the little children come, and do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs!''

Saying Yes and No, To Be Light, July 3, 2005

Dan Schrock — Thu, 7 Jul 2005 16:09:51 GMT

Saying No and Yes, to Be Light

Matthew 5:14-16

Sermon by Dan Schrock

July 3, 2005

``You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. 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. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to God in heaven.'' (NRSV, adapted)

In her call to worship this morning, Jan introduced us well to today's service on mission. Next Sunday David Shank will also speak about the church's mission, but today I'd like to explore a biblical mission theme that I think is terribly important but is not often emphasized in American Christianity. Of course the Bible has many othe5r mission themes, yet this one is a common, significant pattern across both Old and New Testaments. The pattern is this: saying no to empires, saying yes to God, and being light to the world.

The first part of this biblical mission is to say no to empire. For example:

·         In Exodus 1, two Hebrew midwives named Shiphrah and Puah said no when Pharaoh ordered them to kill Hebrew boys as soon as they were born. Pharaoh, you see, was worried these Hebrew boys would grow up to be terrorists and become a security threat. But Shiphrah and Puah said no, we're not going to kill anybody for the sake of your empire's so-called national security needs.

·         In Exodus 5, tens of thousands of Hebrew people said no when the Egyptian empire trapped them in economic slavery and refused to provide benefits and humane working conditions. The Hebrews decided they didn't have to accept this kind of treatment from their employer. They not only walked off the job, but they also left the empire completely and moved out into the wilderness where no empire could rule over them.

·         In Daniel 3, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, faithful young Jewish men, said no when Nebuchadnezzar ordered them to bow down and worship his statue. They stood tall for God when all the spineless toadies in Babylonian society bowed down to a ridiculous symbol of imperial ego.

·         In the book of Esther, queen Esther said no to the hedonistic values of the Persian rulers by calling a fast.

·         During the temptations in the wilderness, Jesus said no to the devil. You will remember that in the theology of Matthew and Luke, all kingdoms and empires of the world belong to the devil. So when the devil offers to give Jesus all those kingdoms and empires if Jesus will just worship him, Jesus quite properly said no!, because scripture says we are only supposed to worship God (Matthew 4:8-10, Luke 4:5-8).

·         Paul said no to the Roman empire in his letter to the Philippians by turning the conventions of letter writing upside down. When they sat down to write a letter, most people in those days would have wished the recipients grace and peace from the emperor. But not Paul. He wishes the Philippians grace and peace from Christ. In the body of the letter Paul urges the Christians in Philippi to ``live out your citizenship'' [politeuma] in a manner worthy of Christ (1:27). Paul does not mean Roman citizenship, which he thinks is rubbish (skýbala, 3:8). Instead Paul urges Christians to live out their citizenship in God's new order, visibly expressed in Christian churches scattered all over the empire. ``Our [real] citizenship [politeuma] is in heaven,'' asserts Paul (3:20).

In each of these examples, biblical people also say yes to God. That's the second part of this strand of biblical mission: find a way to say yes to God. The Hebrew midwives, the disadvantaged workers in Egypt, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, Esther, Jesus, and Paul all found a way to say yes to God. It's not enough to say no to the world's empires; we also say yes to God. Both no and yes are important, because we cannot fully say yes to God until we firmly say no to the ways of the empire. Consider some other examples from the Bible:

·         In Exodus 2 and 3, Moses says yes to God at the burning bush. But Moses never would have walked by that burning bush and heard God's voice if he had not first left Pharaoh's palace, if he had not first fled the Egyptian empire to live in the wilderness. His no enabled him to say yes.

·         In Daniel 6, Daniel says yes to God three times a day by going to the upper room of his house, getting down on his knees, and praying to God. But before doing this, Daniel first had to say no to a silly law of the Persian empire that prohibited prayer to anyone except his most royal highness, King Darius. Daniel's no to King Darius sustained his yes.

·         In Mark 5, Jesus says yes to God's healing and hope by casting out the unclean spirit from the Gerasene demoniac. But Jesus first has to say no to that evil spirit named Legion. In the world of the first century, everyone knew what legion wasit was the basic organizational unit of the Roman army, which at full strength numbered 2,000 soldiers. That, of course, is why legion ends up drowning 2,000 pigs. In this exorcism Jesus symbolically ends the oppressive power of the Roman army. Saying no to the empire's military power allows Jesus to say yes to God's peace. By the end of the story, the poor man who had suffered so long from the evil effects of militarism sits ``clothed and in his right mind'' (v. 15), which is a pretty good description of peace.

There is one more part of this mission sequence which completes the no to empire and the yes to God. It's being a light to the nations. We say no to empire and yes to God so that we can be lights in this mixed-up and messed-up world. Our light comes from God. In the words of 2 Corinthians 4:6, God's light ``has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.'' Our ultimate purpose is to reflect God's light to this confused, crazy world. Again, some biblical examples:

·         In Genesis 12, Sarah and Abraham left Ur of the Chaldeans, said yes to God's call, and went out to become a blessing to all peoples of the world.

·         In Isaiah 42, the suffering servant lives by God's values instead of the empire's values, and so is able to be a light to the nations.

·         In the Sermon on Mount, Jesus asks us to be ``the light of the world,'' shining in a prominent place where everyone can see us (Matthew 5:14).

·         In Ephesians 5:8, Paul encourages us to ``live as children of light'' in the world.

What does this look like in your life or mine? There are many ways to say no and yes in order to be light; but here's one possibility. Gordon Atkinson tells the story of Red Davis, a man who lived this kind of mission these biblical texts talk about.

Twenty-five years ago Red Davis was the CEO of a big company down in Texas. You might think the crowning achievement of Red's life was being the CEO in such an important company. But maybe the crowning achievement came after Red left the company in the late 1970s. When Red got his gold watch and retired, he went to the pastor of his church and said he'd like to find a way to serve the Lord. The pastor thought Red could chair a committee, or something important like that. But Red said no, what he really wanted to do was teach the Sunday school class for three and four year olds.

The next Sunday morning the CEO of the most important company in the county showed up to sit on the floor and tell Bible stories to children. At first Red didn't know much about teaching children, but he was warm, kind and willing. It wasn't long before groups of little children were seen following Red around the church wherever he went. For 25 years Red taught the three and four year olds. Having a kid in Red's class became something of a rite of passage for young families at the church. If you had a child in his class, you knew you had to be there every Sunday, because none of the kids in Red's class ever wanted to miss church. Almost everyone had a child or a grandchild who had been in Red's class. They say when Red stood up to speak in a church business meeting, which wasn't often, a reverent hush would fall over the congregation. People respected him not because he had been a CEO of a big company, but because he taught children.

In August 2004, Red Davis died. At the funeral, the pastor asked everyone who was ever in Red's Sunday school class or who ever had a child or relative in his class, to stand. Almost everybody stood up.

Once before Red died, a woman and her small child were at the local grocery store getting groceries. The little boy said, ``Mama, I just saw God.'' The mother looked down the aisle where the child was pointing. It was Red Davis. The boy was in Red's Sunday school class, and when he tried to wrap his little mind around the big idea of God, the best he could do was think of Red.¹
How do you allow the light of God to shine through you?

Note
1.       Adapted from Gordon Atkinson, ``Following Red,'' The Christian Century , December 14, 2004. Also at www.findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1058/is_25_121/ai_n8702614#continue.

What God Looks Like June 12 2005.rtf

Sun, 12 Jun 2005 14:52:53 GMT

What God Looks Like

Hosea 5:12-14; 6:3; 7:11-12; 11:1,3-4; 13:7-8
Sermon by Dan Schrock
June 12, 2005

When you pray to God, what picture of God do you have in your head? When I was a child, a teenager, and a young adult, the image of God I prayed to was an old, white-haired man with a long beard, sitting on a throne holding a kingly scepter, with winged angels standing around him waiting to carry out his commands.

But what about you? When you pray how do you imagine God? For you, what does God look like?

Many years ago I was leading a retreat for a small group of five people. We were talking about prayer; and I asked each of them to tell us what image of God they most frequently used in their prayers. The first person, a cello player, said, ``Well, for me God is like an orchestra conductor; when I pray I see a conductor on a stand, with a baton in his hand.'' The next person was a theologian, and he said, ``I usually pray to all three persons of the Trinity. For God I picture a father, for the Holy Spirit I picture a mother, and for Christ I picture a son. So when I pray, I pray to this little family group.'' The third person, a young adult, said, ``I think of God as energy moving throughout the universe, sort of like electricity. God is power, and we Christians plug into that power.'' The fourth person remarked, ``I don't see anything. When I pray, I have no image in my mind at all. For me God is Presence, and I pray to this Presence.'' The fifth person in the group, who was an artist, had an entirely different image. She said, ``God is yellow and black.'' And then she went into a detailed explanation (which I've now forgotten) about what yellow and black symbolized for her, and why those two colors were the best representation of God she could think of.

But what about you? What do you think God looks like?

The Bible has scads of images that attempt to describe our magnificent God. Because so many scripture passages use them, we're all familiar with images like Lord, Savior, Redeemer, Creator, and so on. These are common images for God that you'll hear many people use in their prayers.

But these images, as familiar and comfortable as they may be, barely get us started. The Bible has hundreds upon hundreds of images for God, far more than we can possibly talk about this morning. But to sample some of rich diversity of biblical images for God, I'd like to walk through one relatively short book, the book of Hosea. Hosea the man must have had a creative life of prayer, because his images of God are astounding. Let's sample some of them. In the second chapter, Hosea depicts God as a husband and Israel as a wife. In the fifth chapter, Hosea imagines God to be a collection of maggots eating putrid skin. Consider Hosea 5:12-13:

I am like maggots to Ephraim,
and like rottenness to the house of Judah.
When Ephraim saw his sickness
and Judah his wound,
then Ephraim went to Assyria,
and sent to the great king.
But [the Assyrian king] is not able to cure you
or heal your wound.

Now you might say it's gross and disgusting to think of God as a pile of maggots. But Hosea has a reason for talking this way. In Hosea's mind Israel has a serious sickness, a skin wound so infected and rotting that the best thing God can do is to become like maggots eating away Israel's putrid skin so that whatever healthy skin is left has a chance to heal.

In the next chapter, Hosea pictures God as the morning sun and as rain watering the earth to grow people of faith. Hosea 6:3:

Let us know, let us press on to know Yahweh;
whose appearing is as sure as the dawn;
who will come to us like the showers,
like the spring rains that water the earth.

In 7:11-12, Hosea describes Israel as a flock of untamed doves and God as a bird catcher and bird trainer:

Ephraim has become like a dove,
silly and without sense;
they call upon Egypt, they go to Assyria.
As they go, I will cast my net over them;
I will bring them down like birds of the air;
I will discipline them. . . .

In 11:1,3 and 4, God becomes an attentive mother who carries babies, bends over to feed them, and teaches them to walk on their own two feet:

When Israel was a child, I loved him,
and out of Egypt I called my son.
I taught Ephraim to walk,
I took them up in my arms;
but they did not know that I healed them.
I led them with cords of human kindness,
with bands of love.
I was to them like those
who lift infants to their cheeks.
I bent down to them and fed them.

One more example from Hosea. In 13:7-8 he speaks of God as a wild angry animala lion, a leopard, or a bearthat will rip Israel to pieces:

I will become like a lion to them,
like a leopard I will lurk beside the way.
I will fall upon them like a bear robbed of her cubs,
and will tear open the covering of their heart;
there I will devour them like a lion,
as a wild animal would mangle them.

Now I ask you: in your prayers, have you ever imagined God as an angry mother bear who just lost her cubs? I certainly haven't. But this quick tour through Hosea shows us how daring and breath-taking the Bible can be when describing Godand this is only one book of the Bible, and one of the shorter ones at that!

If you think about it for a while, you'll realize that scripture borrows language from almost every area of life, and applies that language to God. From the animal world, the Holy Spirit is like a dove (Mark 1:10) and Christ like a lamb (John 1:29). From nature, God is like a mighty river of water (Ezekiel 43:2), or like a dark and obscure cloud (Exodus 13:21, Psalm 18:11). Sometimes God creates nature (Genesis 1 :1), while at other times God destroys nature so completely that nothing is left except rocks and desert (Jeremiah 4:23-26). Borrowing from the realm of occupations, God is like a shepherd (Psalm 23:1, Ezekiel 34:12, John 10:11), a farmer (Isaiah 5:1-4), or a householder (Luke 15:8-10). From the world of politics and government, God is like a king, a ruler, or a warrior (Exodus 15:3). The Bible even borrows from technology and inventions. Remember Ezekiel's wheel within a wheel (1:16)?

As we all know, there are a lot of male images for God in the Bible. One of the most common images in the New Testament is father. When biblical writers call God Father , what they really mean to say is that God is like a human father. Just because we often imagine God to be like a father does not mean that God therefore must be male. Genesis 1:27 reminds us that both women and men are created in the image of God. Since both women and men equally bear God's stamp, it makes little sense to conclude that God is more like men than like women. Deuteronomy 4:12 and 15 assert that God has no form, which surely means that God is neither male nor female, but is beyond gender. Jesus picks up this idea in John 4, telling the Samaritan woman at the well that God is spirit, which again is a category beyond the limitations of gender.

Imagining God as a human father is fine, as long as we are fortunate enough to grow up with tender, caring fathers who love us and treat us respectfully. But sadly, not all fathers are like that. One day I sat down with a woman in her late thirties to listen as she talked about some of her struggles in praying to God. From about the age of 8 to about the age of 15, she had been abused by her father. Sometimes when the other members of her family were gone, leaving her and her father alone, he would come and do things no one should ever do to a child, especially not a father. Her story was just awfulawful for her to go through that, awful for her to tell me about it, and awful for me to hear it. It made me very sad that in our world some fathers commit this evil, this sin. As a consequence of the way she had been treated as a child, this adult woman simply could not pray to God if she imagined God as a father. By the time I listened to her story, she had already made huge progress in finding other images for God that meant a great deal to her. One of her favorites was to picture God as a nurturing, life-giving womb. In order to pray to God, in order to have a relationship with God, this woman needed to find new ways of thinking about God. The image of God as a father had been destroyed for her, perhaps for the rest of her life.

But it also made me realize how harmful it may be for some people to think of God as a father, and how important it is for us to realize that God is also unlike our human fathers. Let's face it, none of our fathers were perfect, and none of us who are now fathers are perfect either. We mess up, we make mistakes, and we do and say stupid things. But that doesn't describe God at all. Since God has a kind of perfection we do not, we benefit greatly by recognizing the profound ways in which God is not like any father we know.

Maybe we can now understand why the Bible provides us with so many metaphors that go in so many different directions. God is far beyond our puny pictures, our puny ideas, and our puny realities. There simply is no one metaphor that totally describes the relationship between God and us. Each of them is partly true, but also seriously incomplete and inadequate. We need many metaphors to grasp different aspects of God's character and personhood. If the only metaphor we ever use for God is "Father," then I wonder how faithful we're being to the Bible's diversity of images.

Some of these metaphors in the Bible clash with each other. For instance, compare two images we find in the Old Testament, that of triumphant messiah and suffering servant . These two images move in opposite directions and say contradictory things about God. Yet after watching Jesus, the writers of the New Testament concluded that those two images that we thought contradicted each other actually go together. We know they go together because we see each of them in Jesus; he is both triumphant messiah and suffering servant. This is a good example of what the Bible does again and againit uses many different images in creative tension with each other so that we have a fuller understanding of God.

If you compare the language for God used in the earlier sections of the Bible with the language used in the later section, you will discover that it becomes more liberating. For example, early parts of the Old Testament frequently call God a king . But by the time we get to the New Testament, that king abandons the heavenly throne, is born as an ordinary human being, and for thirty years lives as a poor person in a remote rural location far away from the centers of political power. Is this king ever enthroned? Yes, in an unexpected way. At the end of his life he is enthroned on cross, not a crown of gold on his head, but a crown of thorns, not wearing expensive royal robes, but wearing nothing, as naked as can be. That image radically changes the meaning of kingship, doesn't it? It's not a domineering image at all. We find a similar pattern with the word lord, used regularly in the Old Testament to describe a God who rules over people and gives them orders. But in the New Testament that lord becomes a servant who helps people with their difficulties and even kneels down to wash their feet. So the overall direction of biblical language is to become more freeing, more liberating. That means our language for God should also become more freeing and liberating over time.

Biblical people gave themselves permission to invent all kinds of new metaphors for God, based on what they had experienced of God within the community of faith. I think that means we can also give ourselves permission, here and now, to invent more metaphors for God. To illustrate the possibilities, let me try a few examples. What if we imagined God as the motherboard of a computer, with everything in the universe plugged into that motherboard? God is then like matrix through which the various components of the world communicate and coordinate with each other. Weird, maybe, but try it for a while and see what you think. Or this: God is like fog. The fog is always around us, close, intimate, and enveloping, surrounding us no matter where we go or what we do. But that fog is also beyond our control, because fog comes and goes as it pleases. Furthermore, fog is a little mysteriouswhen we drive through fog we turn on our headlights to try to pierce that fog and see which way to go; but the fog persists, and we have to drive without seeing very far into the future. Again, maybe fog doesn't work very well for you.

But what does? What images of God nurture your prayer? For you, what does God look like?

Note

For this sermon I have been helped by Brian Wren's magnificent book What Language Shall I Borrow?: God-Talk in Worship: A Male Response to Feminist Theology (New York: Crossroad, 1989). Wren has written hundreds of hymn-texts, fifteen of which appear in our Hymnal: A Worship Book (numbers 77, 132, 209, 223, 232, 233, 272, 278, 315, 459, 622, 623, 634, 637, 640).

The Extravagant Disciple June 5 2005.rtf

Tue, 7 Jun 2005 18:43:52 GMT

The Extravagant Disciple
John 12:1-8
Sermon by Dan Schrock
June 5, 2005

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus' feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, "Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?" (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, "Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me." (NRSV)

This passage from John 12 is a story about extravagance, about a woman named Mary who dumps very expensive perfume on someone's dirty feet and then promptly wipes it off. You might call this action absurd, wasteful, and outrageous. Jesus, however, calls it discipleship.

To understand Mary's motivation for this act of extravagance, we must begin the story back in chapter 11, with a text often used at funerals. Lazarus, the brother of Mary and Martha and a close personal friend of Jesus, is deathly ill. Sisters Mary and Martha are concerned enough about their brother's illness that they send a message to Jesus, telling him that Lazarus, ``whom you love, is sick.'' The underlying message is that he is very sick, at death's door, and if you want to see him before he dies you'd better come now, Jesus

After hearing such a message, most folks would rush right over to the bedside. But Jesus inexplicably dawdles. Only after two full days of dawdling does he finally decide it's time to go see Lazarus. By this time, of course, Lazarus is already dead, and by the time Jesus actually arrives in Bethany where the family lives, Lazarus has been dead four days. Through her tears of grief, and maybe with a bit of reproach in her voice, Martha tells Jesus that if he had come right away, Lazarus might still be alive.

The narrator says that Jesus was greatly distressed by this situation; maybe the emotion and sadness of the gathered mourners were so overwhelming that Jesus himself could not help but feel distressed too. Jesus, however, knows that death is never the end of the story, that new possibilities for life and healing and faith lie on the other side of death. Jesus asks for the stone to the tomb to be rolled away, prays to God for help, and while standing outside the tomb yells, ``Lazarus, come out!'' You'd never think it possible, but out came the formerly dead but now very much alive Lazarus, still wrapped up from head to toe in strips of burial cloth. Need we mention that Mary and Martha were joyful beyond compare?

Some time afterward, in gratitude for resuscitating their brother, Martha and Mary throw a party in their home for Jesus and the male disciples. The behavior of the two sisters described in John 12 is consistent with what we know of them from other accounts. On another occasion, in Luke 10 for example, the sisters host Jesus in their home. Martha bustles around the house, consumed by the many tasks of a kind and gracious hostess. Mary, by contrast, will have none of it. Rather than bustling around, she rejects the role of a typical Jewish woman and instead chooses to sit at the feet of Jesus and listen to the conversation. Martha understandably becomes exasperated with Mary for not helping, and complains out loud to Jesus. Jesus answers Martha by approving Mary's choice to break out of the stereotyped female role, but also by not criticizing Martha's decision to stay in the role. In other words, Jesus shows his appreciation for different personality types and for different roles.

In our story from John 12, we again find the sisters just where we would expect them, based on Luke 10: Martha is showing her gratitude to Jesus by bustling around the house serving him and the others a meal, and Mary is sitting at the feet of Jesus. The question Mary must have asked herself is this: my sister Martha has such an obvious way to express gratitude. She can cook wonderfully and serve the meal up with a flourish. She is an outstanding hostess. But that's not my style. What can I do to show my gratitude for having Lazarus back safe and sound?

Mary's solution to this little problem almost certainly shocked everyone in the house; it clearly shocked Judas Iscariot. She took a pound of pure nard perfume worth 300 denarii, poured it on the feet of Jesus, and wiped it off with her hair. You will recall that since a denarius was the average daily wage for a worker, the price of this perfume would represent about 11 months' worth of wages. But this perfume may have cost Mary far more than 11 months of wages. Most workers out in the marketplace who earned a denarius every day were male, not female. Women then were not paid as nearly as much as men. Therefore it might have taken her even longer that 11 months to earn the money to buy this perfume. For how many years had she set aside a little at a time until she had saved enough for the purchase price? That jar of perfume might have been the only savings account she had, the only investment she owned.

As if giving away the perfume was not extravagant enough, she poured it all away at once. She did not use it as most people would, a little dab on the neck or arms, only for special occasions, conserving it to be used gradually over the course of years. No. Mary uses all of it at once to wash the feet of Jesus, looking profligate, acting rashly, even foolishly, letting the aroma drift away in the air.

Judas is absolutely scandalized. ``Why didn't she sell this perfume for 300 denarii and give the money to the poor?'' On the surface this sounds like a good argument. Judas sounds like a righteous Old Testament prophet, like some Amos of Tekoa come back to life for the purpose of making rich people squirm with discomfort. Who of us would disagree with Judas? The poor are desperate and they do need our help. Yeah, Judas, that's right: sock it this silly woman!

And then we find out that Judas is not as holy as he sounds. As the narrator points out, Judas is a thief. His job is to keep the money box for Jesus and his fellow disciples. But he has not been keeping it; he has been skimming it for his own personal use. The thought surely crossed his mind: ``300 denarii! Wow! I could take maybe 10% off the top. 30 denarii, a month's wagenot bad! Oh, I wish I could have gotten my hands on that money!''

The full meaning of Mary's extravagant act does not become clear until chapter 13. Only six days after this thank-you party at Mary and Martha's, Jesus and the disciples (presumably the male disciples) get together for the Passover meal. During the meal, says John, Jesus took off his outer robe, tied a towel around himself, and began to wash the feet of the disciples!

Does it ring a bell anywhere? One cannot help but believe it had to ring a bell for those disciples. Only six days before they had sat in Mary and Martha's house, had watched Mary lavishly bathe the feet of Jesus with that expensive perfume, had heard Jesus vindicate her extravagance with his approval. And now comes the most astonishing thing of all for those male disciples. I quote:

``After Jesus had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to the disciples, `Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lordand you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do [to each other] as I have done to you.'''

Which roughly translated, I think means this: if you want an example of what it means to follow Jesus in discipleship, remember Mary. True discipleship is about faithfulness, yes, but it's also about extravagant praise to God, extravagant acts of service to fellow human beings. Don't be like Judas, who is still trapped in his wilderness of lies, stealing, and selfishness. Instead, be like Mary: leave your wilderness and engage in absurd, wasteful, and outrageous acts in order to praise your Lord; or be like Jesus, who extravagantly demonstrates Lordship by doing what slaves do.

Extravagance does not come easily to Mennonites. For 500 years Mennonites have tended to be a thrifty, prudent people. We have watched our money carefully, avoided lavish purchases, and spent only where we had a reasonable hope of return. Our behavior has been quiet, reserved, and full of decorum. We would have looked at Mary and labeled her action to be not only irresponsibly wasteful, but also personally undignified. To my knowledge, Mary has not ever been a model of discipleship in the Mennonite Church. Mary is very nearly the opposite of the kind of serious, sober discipleship we have upheld as normative.

I think we have much to learn from Mary. But let us be clear that Mary's extravagance is not lavished on herself. The American culture we live in pushes us to spend lavishly on ourselves, to get the most we can for us, to max out our credit cards for us. Friends, spending lavishly on yourself is not the gospel. It's not what Mary's doing in John 12 and it's not what Jesus is doing in John 13. Mary and Jesus are lavishing their extravagance on God, or on other people, not on themselves!

Let us also be clear that Mary and Jesus' actions go far beyond the simple niceties of taking care of a neighbor's cat while they're away on vacation, far beyond dropping off a cherry pie to a friend in crisis, far beyond giving a little money to a worthy cause. Those acts may be valuable expressions of your Christian faith; but they are not quite the kind of radical actions we see modeled here in John.

In an attempt to flesh out what extravagant discipleship might look like, I'd like to share with you some modern examples of Christians who've done things which in my judgment approximate Mary's perfume pouring and Jesus' feet washing. The first centers around money, but the other does not, because extravagance can extend to many facets of life.

· In college I was acquainted with a student who at the end of his sophomore year had $500 left over after all that year's educational bills were paid. Many prudent, penny-pinching students would have kept that money for the next year's bills. But he was moved by the needs of others in the world and by the kind of work Mennonite Central Committee, our relief and service agency, was doing with those needs. So at the end of that year he wrote out a check for $500 and mailed it to MCC. At the end of the year, he was penniless.

· A church in California decided to try an extravagant form of mission. Late one New Year's Eve, some members of the congregation took brooms, brushes, mops, and other cleaning supplies to area restaurants and clubs which had New Year's Eve parties in full swing. To the astonishment of managers, these Christians offered to clean the restrooms for free, reasoning that patrons would appreciate having a freshly done restroom as the celebrations continued. It is not recorded that any manager refused the offer.

Extravagant discipleship is rooted fundamentally in the extravagance of God. If you choose to live extravagantly for others, don't do it simply because Mary poured some expensive perfume on the feet of Jesus. Do it mainly because God in Christ is extravagant with you: extravagantly forgiving, extravagantly blessing, extravagantly loving. In response to such an extravagant God, let us live the Kingdom of God for others. Extravagantly.

Yearning for Purity May 29 2005.rtf

Sun, 29 May 2005 16:01:52 GMT

Yearning for Purity

Romans 8:18-27

Sermon by Dan Schrock
May 29, 2005

I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.
Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. (NRSV)

Many years ago I knew a man named Clarence whose deepest desire was to eradicate sin from his life. From a very early age, Clarence had been trained to believe that sin was humanity's great evil. The pastors of the Mennonite church where he grew up preached frequently against sins like gambling, drinking, and smoking; wearing jewelry and flashy clothes; going to the movies and working on Sunday; dancing and giving in to sexual lust. ``Worldliness,'' his pastors called it, and to counteract this worldliness the pastors frequently quoted in their sermons the King James Version of Romans 12:2: ``And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is the good, and acceptable, and perfect will of God.'' We Mennonites are to be distinctly different than the world, the pastors said, a holy people washed in the blood of the Lamb and set apart to be the pure and unspotted bride of Christ.

Thanks to this heavy preaching against well-defined and clear-cut sins, Clarence decided at the age of 14 that he wanted to be baptized and join the church. The pastor immediately put Clarence in a Monday evening baptism class where Clarence could learn the confession of faith which Mennonites then used. Given the pastor's persistent preaching against sin, it was no surprise that sin was also the main subject of the baptism class. In this class, Clarence heard all over again the list of specific sins the Mennonite Church was against, and he heard that Jesus saves us from those sins. When we are baptized, the pastor explained, the shed red blood of Jesus washes us as clean as snow. Clarence always thought that phrase was a little nonsensical because it mixed up colors. How in the world could you wash anything in red blood, even a soul, and have it come out white? As far as Clarence could see, after such a washing your soul should be red, not white. But then Clarence was only a mere lad of 14, with average intelligence, and who was he to question the pastor who had been to seminary?

The thing Clarence most looked forward to about baptism was being free from sin. According to the pastor, when Clarence was baptized Christ would break the power of sin in Clarence's life. The shackles of sin would no longer control Clarence. God would free him and send the Holy Spirit to live in him forever. This Holy Spirit would give Clarence power to resist temptation successfully. In the wake of baptism, Clarence would become a new person nonconformed to the world.

So maybe you can understand that when Clarence rolled out of bed on the morning of his baptism, he was quite excited. This was the day he would finally and forever be free from sin! Those pictures in the Sears catalogue of sexy women in undergarments would no longer even tempt him, much less excite him. He would no longer fight with his older sister and his younger brother. He would honor his mother and father every moment in every day of the week, cheerfully obeying whatever they told him to do. When the baptismal water cascaded down onto his head and bounced off his shoulders, he, Clarence, would be one of God's new creations (2 Corinthians 5:17), the sin all washed out of him forever and ever amen. For the rest of his life, he Clarence would be morally perfect, resisting temptation as easy as you please, devoted purely and wholly to God alone. O thanks be to God!

On Monday, the day after his baptism, reality hit when Clarence got into a nasty fight with his sister over whose turn it was to wash the dishes. On Tuesday, Clarence complained when his mother wanted him to help her shell peas; and on Wednesday, after struggling mightily against himself, he spent ten minutes looking at the Sears catalogue. Clarence was profoundly disappointed by what had happened, or better, by what had not happened. Why was it still so easy for him to commit various and sundry sins? Surely it was not the fault of the baptismal service itself, because everything in the service had gone exactly like it was supposed to. When the water dripped off his scalp, Clarence had felt inside of himself a leap, a tug, a shift, which he thought was probably the Holy Spirit coming in and taking up residence inside his soul. The pastor's prayers had been beautiful and fervently spoken. After the service everyone shook his hand, or hugged him, and welcomed him into the church as a brother in Christ.

No, the baptismal service was great, everything he had hoped for. Yet three days later, the steel grip of sin seemed as strong as ever. Where was this Holy Spirit who was supposed to empower him against evil?, Clarence wondered. Baptism, according to the teaching of the church, had cleansed him, washed him like strong detergent. Yet only days later, here he was, dirty all over again, seemingly as sinful as ever. Was the teaching of the church wrong? Had the pastor not told him the whole truth? Or had Clarence somehow misunderstood what was actually going to happen?

He didn't know the answer. For the next five years, Clarence lived in a state of confusion. O yes, he listened attentively to sermons and engaged in Sunday school classes. Yes, he volunteered for some of the jobs around the church that he thought he could do as a teenager. Yes, before falling asleep in his basement bedroom, Clarence read a chapter or two of the Bible nearly every night, and after reading the Bible said prayers begging God to deliver him from the power of sin. ``I believe you're up there!,'' Clarence whispered aloud while lying flat on his back, ``please help me fight temptation! Give me the willpower to successfully resist! I want to do what's right! I want to obey and follow your will! With all my heart I want to quit sinning! Help!''

But as far as Clarence could tell, he remained as sinful as ever. And the older he got the more sin he recognized both in the world and in himself. By the time he was 18, he started reading the news regularly, and became depressed at all the wars, economic injustice, racism, and sexism in the world. He realized that sin was entrenched in politics and government bureaucracies; in national and multi-national corporations; in local businesses and neighborhood associations; and yes, sin was even entrenched in the church itself, which the theology of his childhood had claimed to be the pure and unspotted bride of Christ. Some days, Clarence was a little cynical about it all.

But what kept cynicism from taking over were Clarence's growing insights into his own sin. The older he became, the more sin he was able to see in himself. It wasn't that he was committing new and extra sins he had never committed before; no, it's that now in his twenties and thirties he was able to see more clearly some of the sin that had always gripped him but which he had never noticed before. Examples abounded: the sophisticated and subtle ways he tried to make himself look good in conversations with other people (a little verbal one-upmanship), the way he fished for power and privilege at work, his desire to own a luxury vehicle and an expensive house, the acquisitive feelings that flared up whenever he walked into Target or Meijer, his attachments to Monday night football and Mexican style arroz con pollo, the way jealousy bloomed when he glanced at his neighbor's fine flower beds, the unfiltered images he once saw on the Internet that still flashed in his memory, the hatred he felt for that American president whose policies he detested. Sin, he now saw, not only had a steel grip on him; it was also far more subtle and sneaky and insidious than he had ever realized in his youth.

Mind you, Clarence remained utterly serious about following Christ in discipleship. He kept going to church, praying to God, serving others, learning the Bible, and fellowshipping with other Christians. But his sin persisted like weeds in a flower bed. For Clarence, Paul's words in Romans 7 became poignant: ``I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. I know that nothing good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh. I can will what is right, but I cannot do it. I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do. For I delight in the law of God in my inmost self, but I see in my members another law at war with the law of my mind, making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. Wretched person [NRSV: ``man''] that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?'' (15, 18-19, 22-24).

An intellectual turning point came at the age of 31 when Clarence heard a sermon on Romans 8:18-27, where Paul speaks about the bondage and futility in this world and about our hope for God's glory at the end of time. Paul, suggested the preacher, knew from his own messy life as well as the messy lives of the first Christians how impossible it is for us to free ourselves from sin, even though we have done our best for a long time to be faithful Christians. We Christians are so trapped in sin, says Paul, that we don't even know how to pray as we ought to pray. According to Paul our only salvation lies in the secret, mysterious, agonizing work of the Holy Spirit, who like a woman in labor, groans to give birth to the new creation within God's people; who prays for us with sighs too deep and incomprehensible for words; who in small but persistent ways keeps transforming us in ways we cannot transform ourselves.

Finally his own, largely futile struggles against sin started to make some sense to Clarence. He realized that as a human being he simply could not completely expunge his own sin. Over the years he had made tiny steps of progress, but the vastness of the remaining sin was huge. God had to act. Clarence needed to keep reaching out to God, yes, but the work of substantial purification had to be God's.

Some years after this, God decided to act in a new way to purify Clarence more intensively than ever before. God started by refusing to give Clarence any further sense of satisfaction. Monday night football, once a source of pleasant diversion, now appalled Clarence. He lost his fondness for Breyer's ice cream and arroz con pollo. The attraction to manicured flowerbeds vanished. In his head he still believed that his vocation as a teacher was genuinely worthwhile, that it contributed to the well-being of the human community; but it now had so little meaning, so little satisfaction, that teaching was mostly just going through the motions. Nothing in his Christian life satisfied him either: not communion, not his small group, not prayer, not worship, and not volunteering at the food pantry. Clarence had no idea what God was doing, or even where God was in all of this. For Clarence it was an extremely trying and profoundly confusing time.

The next shift that Clarence felt inside him was a powerful and growing desire for God. Christ became the overarching passion of his life, indeed the only passion. He wanted to become one with Christ, to enter into such unshakable intimacy with Christ that it could never be dislodged. As a consequence of this one urgent longing, Clarence noticed that his old attachments, his old sins, began to lose much of their power. It didn't happen in a day or two, or even a few months, but it did happen. While he still had the capacity for sin, he had little desire, little temptation, to do it.

One winter morning a long time afterward, Clarence was outside on his driveway shoveling snow. As the sun spread itself over the eastern horizon, he suddenly stopped shoveling and stood still in wonder, because he realized for the first time that a veil had been torn away from his eyes, allowing him to see a flame burning inside him. Intuitively, he recognized this flame as the Holy Spirit, which was leaping, laughing, loving, bathing him in goodness, refreshing him with divine life, delighting him with joy unbounding. The world appeared to be a gentle, surging sea of love.

From that point on, other people felt blessed to be in Clarence's company. They felt accepted and respected, nurtured and gently loved. They found in Clarence a mature sense of justice, a generous measure of dignity. Through him they thought they could see Jesus Christ.

This is how God changed Clarence, meeting him at the place of his longing, and finally embracing him forever. Clarence's story is not exactly like everyone else's, because the Holy Spirit works with us in different ways. Still, to the glory of God this kind of thing does happen to quite a few people; and some of those people are sitting here this morning, just a few feet away from you.

Note

``Clarence'' describes no single person I have known, but neither is he fictitious. He represents bits and pieces from many women and men I have known in the last forty years.

Baptism May 22 2005 .rtf

Wed, 25 May 2005 16:33:41 GMT

Baptism Sunday 2005

by Anita Kehr

What a beautiful passage of Scripture! Poetic words, powerful images, prodding us and pulling us forward in our understanding of how God moves and then desires us to move in response. This text is way too often used for weddings naturally enough, I suppose, because of its main topicbut this word intends to teach us not what it means to be married but instead what it means to be Christian and to be a part of the Body of Christ.

         Love is the movement that brings us to this place at this time on this day.
         The love of God has always gone before. In love, God created heaven and earth and all things creeping, crawling, walking, swimming, and flying in and over the land, sea, and sky. In love, God created humankind, male and female, in the divine image God created them. And God laughed in joyous love and said, ``It is good!''
         In love God reached out to sinning humans, offering covenants of faithfulness and salvation and redemption� not once, but over and over again. And ultimately, Godin the fullest expression of love, in the form of Jesus Christemptied himself and was born in human likeness. And being found in human form, Jesus humbled himself and became obedient to the point of deatheven death on a cross. (Philippians 2:7-8) But death could not hold him, and Jesus was raised to life. In that act of gracious love, the power of death and sin was broken, and by that act of gracious love, we each can die to sin and be raised into new life, both now and for evermore. Amen.
It is that new life we celebrate todaythat new life of Josh and Luke, Dan and Lynelle, Nathan and Jay. Their spiritual journey is not beginning today; their movement toward and in the love of God began long ago. On this day of days, however, as they go under the waters of baptism, they are making public their own love for the God of love. And on this day of days, they are also making a commitment to you, their family of faith, as they become your brothers and sister in this particular part of the Body of Christ. Later on, as they share their statements of faith, some of them may tell you how important their families and their friends and their church have been in showing them the love of God. Again, it is God's first movement of love that binds the communitythe Bodyof faith together.
        This is not easy, lightweight love. Instead, this love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things on behalf of the other. This love is patient and kindnot envious, boastful, arrogant, or rude, not selfish, irritable, or resentfulbut instead rejoicing in the truth, offering the grace of God to each other. Fluffy? Easy? Feel-good love? No. This loving is hard work and only grows out of God's first movement of love for us. This love is more powerful than prophecy, more insightful than heavy-duty intellect, more eloquent than the Spirit-gift of tongues. This love never ceases, it never ends , and it reflects God's own character to other members in the Body and to the world.
        Whew! This is an assignment for perfection! How's your loving? You're always patient and kind? Never ever envious, boastful, arrogant or rude? Truthfully, it's the irritability and resentment that get me every time.
I need to confess something to you. The real reason I savor this text so muchthis beautiful, poetic passage of Scriptureis because of the last few verses, the part that reminds us that we're not going to get all the way to perfection in this life. All of us are growing up into the love of God. We're only on our way; we're not all the way there, yet! Now of course, we are called to learn and grow and put more and more of the childish things in our lives behind us, but in this life we will not see or be in completeness the way that we will see and be in the presence of God at the end of time.
        ``For now we see through a mirror darkly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.'' When Paul was writing his letters, mirror making was in its infancy. Corinth, the city of those were going to receive this particular letter, was a mirror-making center in its time, but their mirrors were made of polished metal, not reflective glass. If you've ever looked at a reflection of yourself in something metal, you know that there is distortion of shape and color and proportion. The details are blurred although the outlines are there. That metalled reflection is not so different from our growth in relationship to God here and now.
        God sees us directlywithout the distortion of images in metal or even in glass. God knows us inside and out, fully and intimately. Even so, God loves us perfectly with complete and holy love. God calls us to be followers, disciples, reflecting the divine love more and more clearly as we grow nearer in relationship. Now, we know God because of what we have seen and experienced of God: because of what we read in the Bible, because of the people around us who have shared the love of God with us, because of the breath of the Holy Spirit in our lives. We know the hope that is born in us as we respond in faith to God, but still we only know and only respond in part. And we will only know in part, only see in part, only be transformed into faithful disciples in part, until that time when we are able to gaze directly at the face of God.
        I hope you all hear this as encouragement, not as cop-out. Lynelle and Dan, Nathan and Luke, Josh and Jay, as you are baptized today, hear me clearly. You are called to grow in your love for God and for others. You are called to be disciples, sharing the good news, loving mercy, doing justice, and walking humbly with God. You also, however, will not be perfect in this life. And when you fail and fall, the endlessly gracious love of God will reach out to lift you up and set you on your way again. That's why faith and hope are also so important here. Faith and hope sustain us when the way grows difficult. We have faith and we hold onto hope that the steadfast love of God really does endure forever.
        And know, too, that your companions on this journey of faith, hope, and loveall these Christians who surround you today and who will surround you in the futureare just like you: they're growing into the love of God, seeing and being and knowing just a little more clearly day by day, still imperfect and yet sustained by faith and hope and love.
        Brothers and sisters, this is indeed good news. God's love for you, God's salvation, does not hinge on your perfection. You do not need to be perfect to know the love of God; indeed, you cannot be perfect enough to ``earn'' God's love. No. God only asks that you turn and look as directly as you can into the holy image of love offered to us in Jesus Christ and respond in the faith and hope born of your own reflection of that love.
And now, brothers and sisters, faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love. Amen.

Tongues May 15 2005.rtf

Sun, 15 May 2005 15:27:21 GMT

Tongues
Acts 2:1-12
Sermon by Dan Schrock
Pentecost, May 15, 2005

When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.
Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. Amazed and astonished, they asked, "Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs--in our own languages we hear them speaking about God's deeds of power." All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, "What does this mean?" (NRSV)

What does this mean? Luke says that when the Holy Spirit came upon the believers at Pentecost, it divided itself into separate tongues so that every believer received one tongue of the Spirit (2:3). Let us be clear what this story does not say. It does not say that the 120 people crammed into that upper room in Jerusalem spoke gibberish. No, everything those believers said on the day of Pentecost was in language the listeners clearly understood. Nothing said that day was mysterious. The words were meaningful, clear, and comprehensible. If you read the rest of Acts, you will see that this keeps happening again and again to Christian believers: the tongue of the Spirit comes to them, and they receive the ability to interpret Christian faith clearly to other people, and when the going gets tough, the ability to stand up for Jesus Christ.

Look what the tongue did to Peter. Peter was a fisherman. He never went to college. He never went to high school. I'm not even sure he went to school at all. Yet when the Holy Spirit tongue got into Peter, he stood up in front of a huge crowd of people and without any notes or practice, made a passionate, coherent speech that cut right through to people's hearts (2:37). In the book of Acts something similar happens to other Christian believers such as John, Stephen, Philip, Paul, Barnabas. When the Holy Spirit tongue gets into them, they start saying things they never said before in ways they never said them before: boldly, clearly, passionately, articulately. So well do these believers speak that in 17:6 the people of Thessalonica declare that these Christians ``have been turning the world upside down''mostly because of what they say and the way they speak.

You are also a believer in Jesus Christ. You too have a tongue, the tongue of the Holy Spirit. How is your speech cutting right through to people's hearts? How are you turning the world upside down?

Letting It Be May 8 2005.rtf

Sun, 8 May 2005 14:06:22 GMT

Letting It Be
Luke 2:41-51
Sermon by Dan Schrock
May 8, 2005

Now every year his parents went to Jerusalem for the festival of the Passover. And when he was twelve years old, they went up as usual for the festival. When the festival was ended and they started to return, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but his parents did not know it. Assuming that he was in the group of travelers, they went a day's journey. Then they started to look for him among their relatives and friends. When they did not find him, they returned to Jerusalem to search for him. After three days they found him in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. And all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers. When his parents saw him they were astonished; and his mother said to him, "Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety." He said to them, "Why were you searching for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?" But they did not understand what he said to them. Then he went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them. His mother treasured all these things in her heart. (NRSV)

About 12 years ago some acquaintances of mine gave birth to premature twins. There was nothing so very unusual about that, except that these babies weighed just slightly over 1 pound. From the first day the twins had lots of problems with their lungs and hearts and brains. Even after 3-4 months when they were well enough to come home, the difficulties persisted. Eventually doctors discovered that both children had cerebral palsy.

At first the parents lived in shock, not only because they were having twins, but especially because of all the special health problems that lay ahead of them. At first these parents tried to be brave about it all; but in private they cried and screamed and yelled and asked God why us. Sometimes they thought wondered whether this might be God's will; but at other times they were sure God had actually given them a very raw deal. Today these parents still don't know why them. Their family life has not been easy.

Throughout this challenge, I think something surprising has been happening to my friends that neither they nor anyone else expected: I think that having children with a disability is helping these parents to become more holy. More holy.

It's what happened to Mary, the mother of Jesus. We first meet Mary when the angel Gabriel stops by for a visit. At the time she was a teenager, maybe only 14 or 15 years old. ``You're going to get pregnant,'' the angel says, ``and not the way you think you're going to get pregnant. Moreover, this will not be just any child. This child is the son of the Most High, and he will rule for eternity.''

Mary probably didn't have to think too hard to realize this pregnancy is going to make her life difficult. You knowpregnant before she was decently married. Oh, how those tongues around Nazareth would start to wag: ``Did ya hear the news about that girl Mary? Pregnant! For shame! What will her mother and father do? That nice young man Joseph doesn't deserve to be cuckolded like that!'' Oh yes, Mary knew very well what dishonor she would face for this pregnancy. Seems to me she had all the reason in the world to yell and scream back at Gabriel; but she doesn't. She just says: ``Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.''

What?! Let it be?

It happens again at this child's birth. On the same day as the delivery, a bunch of smelly, low-down, shifty shepherds stop by the stable with an astonishing story about some choral concert performed by angels. According to Luke, Mary responds in much the same way she did at the annunciation: she ``treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart'' (Luke 2:19). Just let it be.

Parenting this boy proves to be an astonishing adventure also. When he's twelve years old and they lose him for three days, you'd think that after they found him he'd be repentant or emotional or something. But instead he acts just as calm as can be, as if hanging around in the temple talking with a bunch of theology professors is a perfectly ordinary thing for a twelve-year-old to do. Mary has some sharp words for this son of hers, yes: ``Child! What in the world do you think you're doing? We were near worried to death over you!'' But on the way back home, says Luke, she ``treasured all these things in her heart'' (2:51). Just let it be.

The gospel of Mark records another little vignette about Mary, in 3:19-35. By now Jesus is a fully grown man and Mary is perhaps 45 years old, give or take a few years. This grown son of hers is still just as unrespectable and unsettling as he ever was. Lately he's been unemployed, unless you consider employment to be wandering around the countryside like a shiftless bum, making friends with the dregs of humanity and antagonizing respectable folks like the Pharisees. In any case, he comes back home to Nazareth for a visit. Mark says that Mary and the rest of her sons, the biological brothers of Jesus, confront Jesus about his behavior, and in verse 21 they actually try to ``restrain'' him. The implication is that they've had enough of his shenanigans. They want him to settle down and be normal. How does Jesus respond? He says, ``That woman is not my mother and those men are not my brothers. They're not my family. My family is whomever does the will of my Father in heaven.'' Mark doesn't mention it, but I'll bet Mary had two reactions. First, I'll bet she was deeply wounded by her son's words; and second, I'll bet she pondered all these things in her heart. Just let it be.

And then there's the gut-wrenching event in John 19. Mary is standing out in the city garbage dump, watching this son of hers dying slowly on that cross. Upon seeing her standing there with one of his male disciples, Jesus tells her that this man is now her son and tells him that this woman is now his mother (26-27). Now after reading this story a lot of people say, ``Oh, how nice! Even though he's in mortal agony, Jesus reaches out here in compassion to make sure the people he loves will be taken care of after he dies.'' Well, maybe. But there might be another way to interpret this. The specific word Jesus uses is ``woman'' as in ``woman, here is your son.'' Not Mom, not Mama, not Mommy, just woman. Not ``Mom, I'm sorry I put you through so much trouble and grief,'' but simply ``Woman, there's your son.'' Not ``Thanks for giving birth to me, thanks for preparing all those meals for me, thanks for singing songs to me when I was a child and couldn't go to sleep.'' Just ``Woman, there is your son.'' Can you imagine how Mary must have felt?

We'd like to think that Christianity is supposed to make us feel warm and fuzzy all over. We'd like to believe that if we were just holy enough, just spiritual enough, we'd always be on an emotional high. We'd always feel good about ourselves.

No. The process of becoming holy sometimes feels terrible. The process of becoming holy sometimes feels like we're dying. And in fact that's precisely what's happening. We are dying: dying to the false illusions we have about ourselves. We delude ourselves with all sorts of false illusions, you know: illusions about how powerful we are, how in control we are, how respectable we are, how intelligent we are, how successful we are, even how holy we are. But if we really want to fall in love with God, if we really want to be holy, all those false illusions have to die.

In the process of becoming holy maybe we will also have to die to all the false expectations we have about what our lives will be like. Die to the false expectations about how perfect my children will be. Die to the false expectations about how wonderful my marriage will be and how my spouse is going to meet all of my needs. Die to the false expectations about how if I could just find the right friendship it will take away all my loneliness. Die to all the false expectations about easy and good and ideal my life is going to be.

Dying can happen to us in any number of ways. Dying to our false selves might happen after giving birth to twins with cerebral palsy. Dying could happen after hearing that your spouse has a debilitating and irreversible mental illness. Dying could happen after being told your job has been discontinued. It could happen as a result of any number of painful events in this crazy, mixed-up, and evil world. God doesn't cause these things; but God may use these things to transform our illusions and delusions into something better.

When one of these things happens to us, there's usually very little we can do about it. We can't fix it, change it, correct it, or even end it. Like Mary, we simply have to let it be, to ponder in our hearts what this thing might mean for us, to wonder what God will do as a result of this. Just let it be.

I think that on the day Mary stood in that garbage dump and watched her son die, all the false expectations and illusions inside of her also diedand I think that she was finally ready for the next step. The next step. There's one more passage about Mary in the New Testament, one more thing that happened to her, from Acts 1.

About a month and a half after the crucifixionhis crucifixion and her crucifixionMary was in that upper room in Jerusalem. You know the one, with the disciples like James and John, Peter and Andrew and all the rest, the room that Jesus told them to wait in (1:13-14)? Well, it says Mary was there too. And suddenly from heaven came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, filling the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit!

In that moment something new happenedto Mary, to the others in that room, ultimately to the world. I think Mary finally understood, deep in her bones, what the spiritual life is all about.

And this is my prayer May 1 2005 .rtf

Sun, 1 May 2005 16:13:02 GMT

`` And this is my prayer''
Philippians 1:3-11; 1 Corinthians 2:14-16
Anita Yoder Kehr
May 1, 2005

         This morning in your mailboxes out there in the fellowship hall you will find a document16 pages worththat comes from the elders and the Building/Land Use Committee. This document describes a range of options that we, as a congregation, have looked at over the past several years to address the wonderful challenges that come from growth. It outlines the reasons that the elders and the Building/Land Use Committee believe we should, or should not, consider these options. As you read this report, you will find that we commend only two of this array for your further consideration, one option for remaining one congregation and one option for becoming two. We plan to spend a lot of time on Sunday, May 15that's two weeks from todaytalking about this report and trying to discern our ``next steps.''
         Now, we really have done a pretty thorough job as a congregation in getting this far, and so I had an idea this week about how to make our decision quicker and easier. Actually, it was an idea I got from a New York Times story about a Japanese firm that was planning to auction off its art collection. This collection, including works from Picasso, Cezanne, and van Gogh, is estimated to be worth more than 20 million dollars. Therefore, whichever auction house got this commission would reap a profit of several million dollars, since their fees are based on a percentage of the final sale. Only two auction houses in the world are well equipped to handle collections like these, and they are Christie's and Sotheby's. Mr. Takashi Hashiyama, president of the company selling its art, could not decide which to hire. So, he devised a decision-making plan: Mr. Hashiyama asked each of the auction houses to send one representative to the company's headquarters where they would play rock, paper, scissors. The winner would get the commission.
         When representatives of Christie's and Sotheby's showed up in Tokyo on the appointed Monday in January, they received a copy of the rules and another piece of paper on which they were to write ``rock'' or ``paper'' or ``scissors.'' The Christie's representative had researched the psychology of the game, prepared herself with rituals for luck, andmost importantlytalked to two 11-year-old girls. The Sotheby's representative had talked briefly with some others but, because it is a game of chance, hadn't given his choice a lot of forethought. When the appointed time arrived, the Christie's representative wrote down ``scissors,'' following the advice of the 11-year-olds who had instructed that you ALWAYS start with scissors. The Sotheby's representative wrote down ``paper.'' Since scissors cuts paper, Christie's received this commission worth millions of dollars; the sale is planned for this coming Wednesday.
         So, after reading this, I thought about this. None of our options is worth multiple millions of dollars. So, maybe what we should do is get two people up here, one for one option and the other for the other, and play rock, paper, scissors. Wouldn't that be easier than spending hours in conversation with one another? Five minutes max to figure out our future. Sounds like a plan to me…
         …but of course that's not true. The very idea of using such a system for making congregational decisions is offensive. It's offensive for a variety of good reasons, one of which is that we wouldn't have an opportunity to share our thoughts and feelings and opinions with one another. Only two of us would really be able to influence the decision-making. There is, however, a more important reason that rock, paper, scissors simply would not work as a decision-making tool. That is, we are called to the spiritual taskto the spiritual discipline of discernment. We can't take a shortcut around it, and rock, paper, scissors would certainly be a shortcut!
         What is the spiritual discipline of discernment? I commend to you an excellent book by Sally Weaver Glick called, In Tune with God , (1) that simply and clearly describes just what discernment is, especially congregational discernment. Much of what I will say to you this morning is informed by her thoughtful and biblical approach to this necessary activity in the Body of Christ.
         Sally uses at least three compelling images to describe discernment. First, discernment is seeking the face of God. It is the practice of looking intently for God in the midst of whatever decision we're making. Second, discernment is tuning ourselves to sing God's song. We might imagine that God has a sustaining and beautiful melody that extends throughout time and space, and our call is to sing along and harmonize with that transcendent melody. And third, we can think about discernment as finding our way into and then swimming along with the current of the mighty river of life, which pours from the throne of God as described by Ezekiel and in Revelations.
         Note that all of these images have at least two underlying assumptions. One assumption is that when we seek, there is indeed something that we will find. Discernment is not just a practice of talking and talking and talking until, by human reason and will, we come to some sort of an agreement that satisfies most of us. Discernment is, instead, based upon the belief that God does intend some things and does not intend others.
         The second assumption in these images is that God isto some extentknowable. God's self revelation has come to us in a variety of ways. We know who God is because of what we read in the written Word, in Scripture. We know who God is because of what we see in the Living Word, in Jesus, and by way of the reconciled relationship with God that is enabled by Jesus. We know who God is because of the ways we're moved by the Holy Spirit in our daily walk. While we acknowledge that we still can only know God imperfectly, as through a glass darkly, we can expect that the shape of our discernment will not, indeed cannot, be inconsistent with what we know of God by these other means.
         One more thing about what we mean when we talk about discernment: When we enter into a process of congregational discernment, we do not expect that the end result will necessarily, or even likely, be complete unanimity of opinion. We will probably not all agree on exactly the same thing for exactly the same reasons. What we do expect is that we will reach a level of unity that includes agreement to support movement in a certain direction even though not all of us have the same level of conviction for that movement. We're talking about a unified diversitywhich includes continued relationship with one another and agreement to support a congregational decisionrather than conformity of opinion.
         So, as we look ahead to May 15 when we will discuss this 16-page report and our future, how shall we prepare for the spiritual practice of congregational discernment?
         The first step is one that, for some of you, began years ago. The first step is saying ``yes'' to God; it is entering into the healed, whole, and reconciled relationship with God that is possible through Jesus Christ. In saying ``yes,'' you begin a life-long process of spiritual formation , of growing up into the way of Christ, of learning to know God. It happens as we worship together as a gathered congregation of Christians, as we hear the gospel story and sing the praises and offer thanksgiving and give gifts and lift up our petitions. Spiritual formation happens as we learn to recognize and respond to the movements of the Holy Spirit, when we feel those nudges and learn to become obedient to them. Spiritual formation happens as we allow the very mind of Christ to operate within us. Discernment, listening to God, happens in the context of this formation.
         The verses that Armand read for us earlier from 1 Corinthians 2 sound pretty definitive, don't they? They summarize a teaching that describes the difference between those who are spiritual and those who are not. As Christians, we receive the gifts of God's own Spirit which enable us to discern with clarity and understanding. Although the wisdom of the Spirit may appear as foolishness to those who haven't received those gifts, we can be confident that we can discern with the Spirit and be instructed by the wisdom of God.
The truth of this text, though, also emerges in the context of what follows in chapter 3. I'm sure that the Corinthians were gloating as they read this letter from Paul up to this point, seeing that they would not be subject to anyone's scrutiny or judgment! They knew the mind of the Lord! They had the mind of Christ! But then Paul switches gears and hits them hard. ``And so,'' he writes, ``I could not speak to you as spiritual people, but rather as people of the flesh, as infants in Christ…'' The truth is that all of us are growing up into Christ. As far as I know, none of us is all the way mature yet. Some of us are certainly farther along the way, and we know them because we see the fruit of the Spirit in their lives and the fruitfulness of their lives. But even those who are farther along are not all the way perfect yet. (Let me know if you have information to the contrary.) What does this have to do with discernment? As we discern together, we must cultivate a posture that balances confidence and humility. We are confident that God will make a way known to us, and we are humble enough to know that our perceptions are likely to be blurred and blinkered by the stubborn parts in our lives that require on-going redemption.
Another requirement for discernment is trust: trust in God and trust in one another. We trust God because we have seen God's faithfulness in the past, both in our congregational life and in our individual lives. Because we trust that God has been active in the past, we can trust that God will continue to lead us forward.
We also trust one another as we continue our discernment for the future. We trust that all of us share a desire to be faithful to God. Even though we may come with different ideas and opinions, that does not mean that our basic commitment is different. Let us trust each other's intentions.
Can we also trust each other's communication? I hope so. I think that our congregation often does a good job of talking with one another. But there's always more to learn and new ways to grow. So let me say very clearly what I mean by trustworthy communication. It's important, I think, that we trust each other to speak honestly and openly, saying what we really mean without hidden undertones. We trust each other enough to ensure that everyone has an opportunity to name what they're sensing. We trust each other enough to provide time and space for those of us who require time and space to formulate what they want to say. As critical as speaking is, though, good listening is even more important in building trust. We must be able to trust each other to listen well, to listen with humility, and to listen the whole way through without beginning to prepare a rebuttal in our heads.
We also must trust that we all have gifts to bring to this body and that we will, with the help of God, be able to come to clarity. There will likely be disagreement and different points of viewthere will likely be some conflictbut these differences can become the fertile soil in which creativity and imagination and new possibilities can flourish and grow. Our diversity as a congregation is a gift to celebrate and to trust as being something good.
What else is required as we enter into a significant period of discernment? Prayer. Of course, it's prayer. If you have your Bibles, turn in them to Philippians 1, beginning with verse 3. Now see how Paul's prayer begins. He writes, ``I thank my God…'' and then goes on to give thanks for the church at Philippi, for their commitment to and partnership in sharing the gospel, for the confidence he has that God will finish the good work that has begun in them. As we pray for our congregation, let us begin with thanksgiving. Let us give thanks to God for grace, for the Good News of Jesus Christ. Let us give thanks for the way that God has already faithfully led us here at Berkey Avenue Mennonite Fellowship over the last 25 years. Let us give thanks for the ways that we can see God at work among us right now. And let us give thanks for each other: for those with whom we agree, for those with whom we disagree, for each one's distinctive perspective that helps ustogetherfind a particular harmony to sing along with God's melody.
Paul's prayer in Philippians 1 continues with petitionbut such an interesting petition! If we follow Paul's pattern, we would ask first of all that everything we do will reflect a love that overflows, that spills out in its abundance, that splashes on all who come near. That abundant love finds its source in God; we are loved and so we love in return. But then that spilling-over love flows out into love for each other and for our world where we are called to be the presence of Christ. Our prayer of petition begins by asking for an increase of our love.
It continues with a petition for knowledge and full insight so that we can choose the best things, the important things, the things that are in harmony with God's song. In this process of seeking the knowledge and insight of God, we are formed as Christians; we are led further along in our spiritual journey, so that, on the day of Jesus Christ, we might be presented pure and blameless.
Paul's prayer continues with a plea that the Philippian church may produce a harvest of righteousness. What does that mean? It means that relationships with God, with each other, with our community and our world are both right and just. It also means that the fruit of the Spirit are evident in this community of faith. And it means that this Body doesn't hoard the Good News but shares it with the world.
         Paul's prayer of petition ends by asking that all that the Philippian church does may be for the glory and praise of God. And that, too, must be our prayer. We want everything we doboth the what and the howto reflect well on God. That must become our deepest desire, our greatest hope, and our most fervent prayer: to bring glory and praise to God.
         Just several more important things in need to say: First, the elders and the Building and Land Use Committee are really certain about only one thing. That is, they expect to be surprised. Who knows what we all will discern together? Second, this opportunity for congregational discernment is not something to dread but rather, to embrace. It brings potential for our spiritual growth as individual Christians and as a body of believers. Third, discernment is certainly work, work requiring trust, courage, and humility. But it can also be delightful play ! We are in a moment in our congregation, a moment that is filled with possibilities for creativity, for imagining together in ways that we simply couldn't individually. The variety of gifts that are present in all of you can yield depth and beauty to our singing of God's song. There can be deep and sparkling joy, joy filled with anticipation. We know that God is calling us to something, and we can hardly wait to discern together what that might be. We can delight in this process of seeking God's face, of singing God's song, of swimming along in that mighty current of God's holy river of life.
         Let us pray? ``O God, I do indeed thank you every time I remember this congregation of Berkey Avenue Mennonite Fellowship. I constantly pray with joy for all of them because they have shared in the gospel in so many ways and from the first day to this one. I am confident, O God, that you who began a good work here will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ. I am so grateful for the way that they share in your grace and in the defense of the gospel, and I love them in the love of Christ. And this is my prayer: that their love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight to help them determine what is best, so that, in the day of Jesus Christ, they may be pure and blameless, having produced the harvest of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ and that is for your own glory and praise. Amen.''

(1) Glick, Sally Weaver. In Tune with God: the Art of Congregational Discernment. Scottdale, PA: Faith and Life Resources, 2004.

Divestment April 24 2005.rtf

Sun, 24 Apr 2005 16:10:46 GMT

Divestment

Genesis 32:13-21
Sermon by Dan Schrock
April 25, 2005

So Jacob spent that night there [at the Jabbok River], and from what he had with him he took a present for his brother Esau, two hundred female goats and twenty male goats, two hundred ewes and twenty rams, thirty milch camels and their colts, forty cows and ten bulls, twenty female donkeys and ten male donkeys. These he delivered into the hand of his servants, every drove by itself, and said to his servants, "Pass on ahead of me, and put a space between drove and drove." He instructed the foremost, "When Esau my brother meets you, and asks you, 'To whom do you belong? Where are you going? And whose are these ahead of you?' then you shall say, 'They belong to your servant Jacob; they are a present sent to my lord Esau; and moreover he is behind us.'" He likewise instructed the second and the third and all who followed the droves, "You shall say the same thing to Esau when you meet him, and you shall say, 'Moreover your servant Jacob is behind us.'" For he thought, "I may appease him with the present that goes ahead of me, and afterwards I shall see his face; perhaps he will accept me." So the present passed on ahead of him; and he himself spent that night in the camp. (NRSV)

Maybe you know a little bit about divestment from the business world. In the business world, divestment is a common practice. Divestment usually has three phases. In the first phase, a company assesses its mission. How has the mission of the company changed over the last number of years? When we consider recent economic and social trends, when we think about the demands of our customers, and when we assess our sales record, what should our mission be right now? Once people agree on the company's present mission, phase two begins. In phase two of divestment, people scrutinize each part of the company to decide whether it contributes or doesn't contribute to the company's mission. If a part doesn't contribute, then that part might be divested, sold off to some other company. Finally in phase three, the resources that were freed up from this divestment are reinvested back into the main company to further enhance the company's mission. In companies divestment is typically a highly rational, analytical process, often based on analyzing numbers. As Christians, we hope that when companies divest they will consistently treat their employees justly and fairly, not mistreating them or taking advantage of them. But the goal is to make the company more profitable while delivering a better product and treating employees fairly. ¹
Divestment also happens in our Christian lifeor at least it should happen. Many years ago I knew a Christian man who needed to assess his personal mission in life and then make the right kind of spiritual divestments. We'll call him Henry. The driving passion of Henry's life was to become a professor at a prestigious university. He wanted to teach and do research and publish ground-breaking ideas. In pursuit of his dream, he studied hard in high school and got straight As. In college Henry continued to get As; but one day a professor in his department told him as politely as he could that even though Henry was a good student, he wasn't outstanding, and because Henry wasn't outstanding, he probably did not have a very good chance to become a respected researcher at a prestigious university.

After hearing this kind of honest evaluation, some people in Henry's place might have given up the dream and gone into some other kind of work. Still others might have revised their lofty vocational goal and settled for teaching in a second or third tier university. But not Henry. He was convinced he was better than good and could succeed at the very top level of academic life. He, Henry, would prove that professor wrong if it killed him. He would study even harder. He would cut his sleep down to five hours a night so he could study longer.

After hearing what the professor thought of his abilities, the central mission of Henry's life shifted significantly. Now his goal was not just to become a distinguished scholar, but to prove that college professor wrong. By dint of hard work, Henry successfully achieved his goal. After graduating from college with straight As, he went to the University of Chicago and got a Ph.D. in theological ethics, graduating with distinction. Next he went to Harvard Medical School and became a medical doctor so he could get a teaching and research position in medical ethics. He did indeed prove his college professor wrong. But then one day while sitting at his desk writing a paper for a scholarly journal, Henry had a heart attack and died. He was 35 years old. No one really knows for sure, but it seems a fair guess that stress and overwork probably conspired to killed Henry, stress and overwork that he had largely created for himself.

I wonder whether Henry misunderstood his mission. God does nudge some of us to become teachers, researchers, and writers, of that I am sure; and like any mission, this one called upon Henry to divest himself of some things in order to achieve that mission. I have no doubt that this was the path God invited Henry to walk. But I wonder if Henry overdid it, if he pursued his mission for the wrong reasons. But Henry is not unique. I've watched other people misunderstand their central mission: businesspeople killing themselves in pursuit of wealth; leaders and employees of Mennonite institutions taking themselves to an early grave by overwork; parents making themselves physically sick trying to raise perfect daughters and sons, and when those parents did not succeed because no one can succeed at such a mission, believed their life to be a resounding, abject failure.

So the first important thing is to get our mission right. In Genesis 32, we see Jacob getting his mission right. From a young age Jacob thought his mission was to squeeze out a blessing any way he could. So in Genesis 25 we watch Jacob manipulate a blessing from his older brother Esau. When Esau comes in hungrier than a bear from hunting and asks for that lentil stew Jacob has been cooking, Jacob cuts a grossly unfair deal: my stew for your birthright, a little of my food in exchange for the huge blessing of your birthright.

Not satisfied with the birthright, Jacob and Mom conspire to cheat Esau out of Dad's parental blessing. We learned the story in Sunday school: how Jacob put sheep fur on his arms, cooked up another outstanding stew, and all the rest. After Esau discovers Jacob's treachery and vows to kill him, Jacob flees to Uncle Laban, a man who is stamped from much the same mold as Jacob. For the next twenty years, nephew and uncle try to squeeze the blessing of material wealth out of each other. In the end Jacob emerges victorious from this struggle, an exceedingly rich man. So when the story gets to chapter 32, Jacob has squeezed out for himself blessing after blessing after blessing. He has wildly succeeded at the mission he gave himself at an early age.

But then during the long trip from Uncle Laban's house back to the home of his youth, Jacob evaluates the choices and trajectory of his life. We cannot be sure because the text does not say, but maybe Jacob wonders whether the mission he's pursued is the mission he should have pursued. Is life really about milking blessings from other people, wrecking relationships in the process? Or should life be about something else?

However it happens, Jacob changes his mission. He decides his new mission is to be at peace with his brother Esau. In an act of divestment which is also an act of restorative justice, Jacob gives Esau some of his vast wealth: goats and sheep, camels, cows, and donkeys. They are presents of contrition, gifts to make right and soften up. It works. Jacob's gifts apparently have the desired effect on Esau. Jacob and Esau inaugurate a new era of peace between each other.

Yet when the story continues in the next chapter, we find out that Jacob is no fool about family realities. Jacob knows that he and Esau have grown apart from each other. He knows their families and flocks need room without getting in each other's way. He knows they should not try to be too intimate. So in chapter 33 they separate immediately after making peace. Esau goes south to Seir and Jacob goes west to Succoth, essentially in opposite directions. Seir and Succoth are about 100-120 miles apart if you use the main road. The Bible records only one more meeting between the brothers, when they came together to bury their father (35:29). But as soon as the funeral was over Esau ``moved to a land some distance from his brother Jacob'' (36:6), and that, it seems, is the last time the brothers ever see each other. This story might suggest that sometimes peace of a certain sort is achieved simply by avoiding each other. In any case, from this point forward Jacob's chief mission is to make peace in his huge family, particularly among his four wives and assorted concubines, and among his twelve rambunctious sons and their sisters. Jacob is not always successful at this mission as chapters 34-49 of Genesis show, but at least we can say his new mission is a whole lot more worthwhile than his original mission was.

Once our mission is clear, the next step is to divest ourselves of whatever prevents our mission. Jesus says the central mission of the Christian life is to love God with every part of our personhood, and the second, corollary mission is love our neighbors as much as we love ourselves (Mark 12:28-31). As we pursue these missions the Holy Spirit will ask us to practice spiritual divestment, which essentially means getting rid of lesser loves that keep us from loving God. Unlike divestment in the business world, spiritual divestment is not a logical, rational process. Instead it's a process led by the Holy Spirit that involves our heads, hearts, and emotions. It twists, turns, and surprises us. Sometimes it's not as clear as we'd like it to be.

What do we divest? Whatever holds us hostage from loving God more. The things that hold us hostage have deep roots in our souls. For Henry it was the desire to prove that professor wrong. For Jacob it was the need to extract blessing from the nearest human victim. For someone it may be attachment to the false conviction that she is worthless. For someone else it may be a long, engrossing love affair with Bailey's Irish Cream at $22.95 a bottle. The core love that diverts each of us from God is somewhat different. Therefore the process of divestment won't necessarily be identical for every person. But the Holy Spirit, who knows what we need better than we do, will guide our divestments, prompting us what, when, and how to divest.

To illustrate what spiritual divestment looked like in the life of one person, I want to tell you the story of a woman named Therese Casey. ² Her spiritual divestment began after her husband died. As she grieved in the months following his death, the Holy Spirit beckoned her down a path of refocused mission and spiritual divestment. Some of the concerns she once thought were so important and central to her mission no longer seemed so crucial. She noticed divestment happening in six areas of her life. In each case the Spirit led her to these divestments, and in each case she discovered that God was dissolving her inner attachments to these things.

First, God called her to a divestment of things, which in her case meant selling her house and giving away her husband's fishing rods and photography equipment so that she would not be encumbered by so much stuff.

Second, she was drawn to divest herself of excess noise, especially from radio and TV. While driving her car, she decided to leave the radio off. When she got home, she left the TV off. At first the resulting silence seemed like empty space, but she soon discovered the silence allowed her to think more deeply and listen to the Spirit more carefully.

Her third divestment was the divestment of scheduled routine. When she looked at her daily routine, her monthly calendar, she saw for the first time that nearly every hour was scheduled with something: work, sleep, prayer, eating, social lifeall good and worthwhile, but so scheduled that no time was left for unscheduled things like reading or going on a picnic. When she de-routinized her schedule, she noticed that her prayers became more leisurely and more intense.

The fourth divestment? Gossip. Gossip at work around the water cooler and copy machine no longer fascinated her. In fact it bored her, so she quit paying attention to it. In time she realized that because she no longer gossiped, her conversations with coworkers took on more substance and became more interesting.

Fifth, she divested herself of ambition. ``There was a time when I was very ambitious,'' she says. ``In the organizations that I worked in, I was alert to the next step, the next job, and the next promotion. I knew well the trappings of power, the clothes, and the talk.'' But then she asked herself, ``How does this [ambition] contribute to my real life?'' Since it didn't contribute, she relinquished it.

Sixth, she divested herself of judgments. For years she had harshly judged other people, but now grieving over her husband's death softened her, making her more compassionate.

For Therese Casey, these six divestments were extremely freeing. They focused her in fresh ways. They gave her energy and resources to re-invest in the mission of spiritual growth, which happens when we love God and neighbor. May it be so among us.

Notes
1. Adapted from M. Therese Casey, ``Divestment: A Spiritual Process,'' Spiritual Life , Winter 2000, p. 211. Also on the web at http://www.spiritual-life.org/Winter2000.pdf .
2. Casey, pp. 213-217.

Attachments April 17 2005.rtf

Sun, 17 Apr 2005 13:38:15 GMT

Attachments

Exodus 20:2-3; 1 Kings 11:1-11
Sermon by Dan Schrock

April 17, 2005

I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery; you shall have no other gods besides me (NRSV, using the variant reading in the footnote).

King Solomon loved many foreign women along with the daughter of Pharaoh: Moabite, Ammonite, Edomite, Sidonian, and Hittite women, from the nations concerning which the LORD had said to the Israelites, "You shall not enter into marriage with them, neither shall they with you; for they will surely incline your heart to follow their gods"; Solomon clung to these in love. Among his wives were seven hundred princesses and three hundred concubines; and his wives turned away his heart. For when Solomon was old, his wives turned away his heart after other gods; and his heart was not true to the LORD his God, as was the heart of his father David. For Solomon followed Astarte the goddess of the Sidonians, and Milcom the abomination of the Ammonites. So Solomon did what was evil in the sight of the LORD, and did not completely follow the LORD, as his father David had done. Then Solomon built a high place for Chemosh the abomination of Moab, and for Molech the abomination of the Ammonites, on the mountain east of Jerusalem. He did the same for all his foreign wives, who offered incense and sacrificed to their gods.

Then the LORD was angry with Solomon, because his heart had turned away from the LORD, the God of Israel, who had appeared to him twice, and had commanded him concerning this matter, that he should not follow other gods; but he did not observe what the LORD commanded. Therefore the LORD said to Solomon, "Since this has been your mind and you have not kept my covenant and my statutes that I have commanded you, I will surely tear the kingdom from you and give it to your servant (NRSV).

King Solomon was good person, at least in the beginning. One day as a young adult, Solomon left his house in Jerusalem and traveled to the town of Gibeon for a kind of spiritual retreat. One night during this spiritual retreat, Solomon had a dream in which God appeared and said, ``Ask me for something, Solomon. Ask me for anything, and I'll give it to you'' (1 Kings 3:4-5). It was a generous offer that few people ever get; and Solomon apparently knew he how lucky he was, because his response was both humble and wise: ``God, this job you've given me is a huge responsibility, so give me your servant an understanding mind to govern your people, a mind to discern between good and evil. This is my request'' (1 Kings 3:9). This prayer pleased God so much that God not only gave Solomon wisdom, but also gave Solomon some things he did not ask for, like honor and wealth. Oh yes, Solomon's spiritual life started out extremely well. He wanted to honor God above everything else. He wanted to remain humble before God. He wanted to champion justice and fight evil.

But when Solomon returned to Jerusalem after his spiritual retreat, his good intentions were sidetracked in the rough and tumble world of international relations, national finance, palace politics, and civil religion. We find the first hint of trouble to come in 1 Kings 4, which lists the people and positions in Solomon's governing cabinet. Of the eleven members of this cabinet, four are priests, two are secretaries, and one is a recorder. One commands the army, one oversees lower-level officials in the government, one supervises palace operations, and one is in charge of all forced labor (4:1-6). We might notice three important things about this list of cabinet members. First, the presence of four priests, slightly over one-third of the total, suggests that in this administration religious, military, and political leaders are going to rule together, that a few select religious leaders will have a powerful voice in what the rest of the government does and does not decide to do. This is not a separation of church and state.

The second interesting feature about this list is what it implies about the extraction of resources. This is going be a demanding government that efficiently extracts natural resources from the entire nation and concentrates those resources in the capital city. Gone are the days when ordinary Israelite farmers were able to keep everything they raised for themselves. Now ordinary Israelite farmers will have to pay taxes of meat and grain and precious metals, not to benefit poor households, but to fund lavish living by Jerusalem's elite. Later in chapter 4, we get a detailed list of the food taxes that were required just to feed everyone in the palace: thirty cors of flour, sixty cors of meal, ten fat oxen, twenty pasture-fed cattle, one hundred sheep, plus assorted deer, gazelles, roebucks, and fatted fowland mind you, all that is just one day's worth of food consumed by people in the palace (4:22-23)! In contrast to ordinary farmers for whom meat was an occasional luxury, folks in the palace ate more meat every day than any other type of food.

The third astonishing thing we learn from this list of people in Solomon's cabinet is that a man named Adoniram is in charge of all forced labor. Forced labor! What on earth has this nation come to? Forced labor is slavery! Forced labor is precisely what the Israelites had escaped from in Egypt (Exodus 1:11)! Chapter 5 provides details of this forced labor: 30,000 men from throughout the country were conscripted to work on Solomon's huge and expensive building projects in Jerusalem: 10,000 worked for a month at a time, then went home for two months while the other two shifts of 10,000 worked (5:14). Do the math. This means husbands and fathers were forced to be away from home four months every year, fully one-third of each year. Imagine what that did to family life, not to mention what it did to the family's ability to do all the work at home necessary to raise food. This forced labor went on for decades: the temple itself took seven years to build, then Solomon's new palace took an additional thirteen years to build (6:36, 7:1, 9:10). Then there were six strategically important towns and various unnamed supply depots for the military that we don't know how long it took to build (9:15-19). With these huge, extensive construction projects, it could well be that throughout the forty years he reigned (11:42), Solomon was constantly building and therefore constantly conscripting labor. Never mind that the text carefully insists no Israelite was ever enslaved, but that only resident aliens like the Amorites, Hittites, Perizzites, Hivites, and Jebusites were enslaved (9:20-22). Never mind: it was still slavery, it still counted as oppression, and it was still unjust. How ironic that Solomon, whose own ancestors God had delivered from Egyptian slavery, now in the name of that same God becomes a new pharaoh, acting exactly like those hated pharaohs down in Egypt. Despite his good intentions, the ways of the world had gotten to Solomon.

But there's more. Solomon had 700 wives and 300 concubines, according to the text (11:3). As you know, at this point in Israel's history there was nothing wrong with polygamy as such. It was perfectly acceptable for a man to have more than one wife. In the world of that time it was also normal for kings to make political alliances with a handful of neighboring nations in order to prevent war. Typically the way two kings sealed a political alliance was for each of them to give the other a female member of the royal family to become the other man's wife, on the theory that if the king in the next country over is married to my sister or my daughter, I'm not going to be very eager to start a war against him. So for the sake of political alliances, kings in the ancient near east often ended up having a dozen or so wives who were princesses from neighboring nations. Solomon went right along with this because he wanted to be like all the other kings and fit into the way international relations were then commonly practiced. So a few of his 700 wives came as a result of political marriages.

However, Solomon was an Israelite king who was supposed to be following Israelite laws. 1 Kings 11:2 quotes a law that Solomon was very conveniently ignoring, a law apparently based on Deuteronomy 7:3-4. Let me read it for you: ``You shall not enter into marriage with [foreigners], neither shall they with you; for they will surely incline your heart to follow their gods.'' Now, this law was not aimed against inter-racial or international marriages as such, but against the worship of foreign gods. To word it another way, there's no problem with international marriages as long as both of you worship Yahweh. The problem comes when you, a worshipper of Yahweh, marry someone who doesn't worship Yahweh, because then you and your spouse will forever be at odds about gods. Which god are you going to worship? Which god are you going to have your children worship? Which god will claim your loyalty: the God who made heaven and earth and who sent Jesus Christ, or some other god like wealth or fame or prestige? Solomon fell for it. The text says he started worshipping other gods like Astarte, the goddess of the Sidonians, Milcom of the Ammonites, and so on. His wives' gods became his gods. His wives ``turned away his heart after other gods'' so that ``his heart was not true to the Lord his God'' (11:4). In a significant sense, Solomon lost his faith--that's what we're talking about here--Solomon lost his faith simply because he married people he should not have married.

We must also consider the number: 700 wives! No way could all those wives have been the result of political marriages, for the simple reason that there weren't nearly that many nations to make alliances with. That in turn suggests that Solomon was either greedybehavior that was clearly evident in the economic part of his lifeor that Solomon was lustful. When we also consider his 300 concubines, it's hard to escape the conclusion that sexual lust gripped Solomon like a claw. Indeed, 1 Kings 11:2 notes that Solomon ``clung to these [women] in love.''

I suggest to you that Solomon's core problem was attachmenthe was attached to wealth, attached to meat, attached to grand buildings that made him look important, attached to slave labor, attached to the way international relations were usually conducted, attached to lust, attached to other gods. Solomon had filled his heart so full of attachments that there was little if any room was left for Yahweh, Creator and Sustainer of the world.

Solomon was a wise man. There is no doubt about this, according to the text. When Solomon was a young adult just entering the world of work, God had given him the great gift of telling the difference between good and evil. With acute and perceptive insight, Solomon could peer right into the hearts of other people and tell what was going on inside them. When two women who were fighting over the same baby came to him, Solomon had no difficulty finding the right mother and resolving the dispute (1 Kings 3:16-28). But when it came to his own heart, Solomon apparently could not tell the difference between good and evil. His much celebrated wisdom failed to penetrate his own heart. His wisdom may have benefited other people, but it seemingly did not benefit him.

What defeated Solomon in the end were all his attachments. Pursuing wealth, power, and women dulled his wisdom like dirt dulls window glass. Instead of seeing clearly, he saw badly and inaccurately. The more he surrounded himself with luxury and glory, the duller his eyes became, until they were so fogged by stuff that he could no longer even perceive the depth and the breadth and the tragedy of his own attachments. Solomon's choices so diminished the gift of God's wisdom that in the end wisdom did not do him very much good at all.

I know a woman named Anne whose life took a different path than Solomon's. Anne was born into a poor family and grew up about ten miles from here. With great effort she worked her way through Goshen College and eventually became a nurse. Even when she was a young adult, other people already detected in her the gift of wisdom, the ability to distinguish good from evil. The more mature she became, the more mature became her gift of wisdom, partly because she tried to avoid attachments that would divert her from God. Since she never made a whole lot of money and tried to be content with what she earned, she avoided becoming attached to a number of luxury items. Even so, she was generous with the moderate amount she had. Once I visited her and expressed mild curiosity in one of the books on her shelf. She promptly got up, took the book off the shelf, and placed in my lap saying, ``Here, take it and read it. I don't need it.'' That's that sort of person she wasavoiding attachment by giving thing away at a moment's notice. On the day she died she had very little left in her apartment because she had already given most of it away.

But in her latter years what most impressed us who knew her was wisdom. Couples who were dating would sometimes go to her for counsel on whether or not they should marry. Married couples having a hard time would also go to her for insight. People trying to figure out the call of God for their lives, people wanting help to sort through a problem, people wishing to evaluate a dream for the futureall went to Anne and found wisdom. I have a hunch that when she finally died after a long and fruitful life, God was mighty pleased.

Would you pray with me?

Wise and holy One, sharpen our eyes so we can accurately see the attachments that divert us from you. In Christ you have liberated us from bondage, so let us have no other gods besides you. Amen.

Thomas--april 3 2005.rtf

Sun, 3 Apr 2005 15:50:11 GMT

``Thomas''
Anita Yoder Kehr
April 3, 2005
Easter 2: Psalm 16; Acts 2:14a, 22-32; John 20:29-31; 1 Peter 1:3-9

         Thomas, Thomas… poor guy. He's got quite the reputation; ``Doubting Thomas'' he's called. He's the one who asked for evidence, the one whom Jesus rebuked. What we remember best about Thomas is what we read here in John 20, the story we heard this morning. We use his name when we try to shame people into having more faith: ``Don't be such a Doubting Thomas,'' we say, and we might have a certain amount of disdain for the apparent weakness of his belief. But I think that's simply not fair. We've got way more in common with him than we might like to imagine.
         We can know more about Thomas than what we see in this single story. In fact, we certainly can make more educated guesses about Thomas and his character than we can about Andrew or Thaddeus or Simon the Zealot or some of the others whose names appear in the lists of the disciples. We can make those guesses about the kind of person Thomas was from two other stories in the Gospel of John, stories where Thomas reveals himself by what he says and the way he says it.
         First, there's the story in John 11, when Jesus gets the news that Lazarus is sick. Instead of leaving right away to go back to be with Lazarus, Jesus waits. The disciples probably think he's made the decision not to return to Bethany because it's so close to Jerusalem, a place which is becoming really dangerous for Jesus. The opposition against him is growing, and there are threats to his life. So, two days later, when Jesus suddenly announces that now it's time to go, the disciples don't know what to think! And then when Jesus tries to explain, they can't quite follow anything he's saying as he talks about walking in the light and Lazarus being asleep, but really dead, and needing to go back so that they'd believe. They didn't get it. The only thing that becomes really clear during Jesus' speech is that he intends to go back to that perilous place. So, what does Thomas say? What might you expect ``Doubting Thomas'' to say? Listen: Thomas says to the other disciples, ``Okay, he seems determined to do this, so let's also go with him so that we may die with him .'' (John 11:16) This is not so wishy-washy. This is not so doubtful. Thomas sounds more like courageous and committed to me.
         The second story comes in John 14 at that last Passover supper. Jesus is using this last opportunity to teach the disciples, and once again, they're having a hard time following what he's saying. Peter had tried to get some clarification earlier on in the evening, but the end result of that was Jesus' predicting that Peter would deny him three times before the rooster crowed. And after Peter's interruption, Jesus just went right back to talking: ``Don't let your hearts be troubled,'' he says. ``Believe in God; believe in me. I'm going to prepare a place for you, and I'll come again and take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to the place where I am going.'' Well, they didn't know the place where he was going. And they didn't have any idea about the way to get there! It was all very confusing, very enigmatic. So Thomas just blurted out, ``Lord, we do not know where you are going! How can we know the way?'' Surely, at that moment, Thomas said just exactly what every one of the other disciples was thinking! ``We don't know; how can we know?'' Thomas asked the most urgent, important, and necessary question. He asked it because his desire to follow and to understand was deep and strong. When Jesus replied this time, he is only a little less enigmatic, but what he says is also deep, important, and strong. He says, `` I am the way, the truth, the life… If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.''
         The Thomas of these two stories is committed to Jesus, he takes what he hears literally, and he is very practicalhe's concerned about what he should be doing to serve Jesus. He sure doesn't seem to be very doubtful. While it's not so easy for him to grab hold of the symbolism and imagery that Jesus uses, oh, he really wants to be able to get it. He's willing to ask questions; he wants to understand more. He's faithful, and he believes. So what happens to him when we get to our story for today?
         This story begins on the evening of resurrection day: Jesus has been raised from the dead. Now remember the Easter story from the gospel of John. Mary goes early in the morning to the tomb, only to find it opened. Right away, she runs to find two of the disciples to help her figure out what to do. Those two disciples, Peter and the one whom Jesus loved, run to the tomb, look inside, and then, inexplicably, run away again. Mary stays by the tomb and weeps, and then she meets the risen Christ. After their meeting, she returns and gives the disciples the Good News, but what do they do? When we see them that evening as depicted in today's text, they're gathered in a locked house, cowering for fear of the Jews. Sounds like they've really embraced the idea of the resurrection, right? In Luke's gospel, the disciples' disbelief is clearly spelled out: when the women tell the disciples that they've seen Jesus alive, ``these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them.'' (Luke 24:11) Apparently, all of the disciples needed to have proof. So Jesus, in mercy and love, comes to those doubtful disciples, appearing suddenly within the walls of that locked house, offering them his peace and commissioning them with his Spirit.
         But Thomas was missing from that gathering. When he heard the others talking about what they had seen, he didn't believe them, in the same way that they hadn't believed Mary. Only he blurted out in his passionate grief and despair: ``Unless I see and touch the marks of the nails and the puncture in his side, I will not believe.'' And Jesus, in mercy and love, comes to Thomas eight days later, stretches out his hands, exposes his side, and gives Thomas the evidence he needs in order to believe. What Jesus says to Thomas is this: ``Stop unbelieving but believe.'' This is an invitation, I think, rather than a rebuke. It's an echo of the father described in Mark 9 who asks Jesus to cast the demons from his son: ``I believe! Help my unbelief!'' According to John's text in the original language, Jesus didn't tell Thomas not to doubt, even though that's what our translations say. Instead Jesus invites Thomas to stop his unbelief and allow himself to begin to believe again.
         And what is ``Doubting Thomas's'' response? He cries out a deep, passionate, theological truth that no one else has yet put into words: ``My Lord and my God!'' He recognizes Jesus for who he is, God incarnate, the Word that was with God and was God, the Word that became flesh and lived among us. Last week, Dan reminded us that Martha was the first person in the Gospel of John to recognize that Jesus was the Messiah, the one sent from God. This week, we see Thomas recognize that Jesus is the revelation of God. Martha and Thomas make an unlikely pair of prophets, these two very human humans whom God used to tell the truth about what was really happening.
         Jesus came near to Thomas so that he might believe. Jesus also made a promise, a promise with a little bit of rebuke mixed in, I think, but not as much as we usually assume. Jesus says, ``Thomas, you believe because you have seen me. But others who believe even though they have not seen will also experience my blessing.'' That blessing is for us, the ones who have come after and who believe by faith and not by sight. The blessing is knowing the Messiah, participating in the life of the Spirit as disciples of Jesus Christ, and experiencing with Christ the triumph over death and sin.
         Thomas recognized Jesus because Jesus came close enough so that Thomas had what he needed to believe. The same thing happened to Saul-who-became-Paul: he had heard all the stories but it wasn't until he got thrown to the ground by a flash of light on the Road to Damascus that he was ready to believe. The same thing happened to the man from Ethiopia as told in Acts; he was curious, but he needed someone to explain everything to him and so the Spirit sent Philip. And the same thing happens to each of us. Jesus, in mercy and love, comes near in so many different waysin words spoken and words of Scripture, in music and in creation, by way of other people, through our deepest desires and in our deepest needJesus comes near enough so that we can recognize him and then choose to believe or to cling to unbelief.
         Faith and belief: These are the words and concepts that repeat over and over again in these four Scripture texts we've heard today from Psalms, Acts, John, and 1 Peter, the ones that the lectionary compilers have pulled together to celebrate this second Sunday of Easter. The interesting thing about this collection of Scriptures is that they show different stages of faith and belief. From the Old Testament, there's the psalmist, who praises God for having saved him once and so hopes for and claims God's continuing salvation from Sheol and the Pit. The psalmist probably had very little concept of life after deathhe was a poet using striking images of God's salvation in this lifeand so he could have no idea how his words would be re-cycled centuries later. A reformed coward and empowered apostle, Peter preached to the Pentecost crowd, taking those ancient words and re-interpreting them in light of Christ: there's the promise and here's the fulfillmentDavid's descendent, the Messiah, has been freed for all time from death by the power of God. And there is the foundation for our belief, for our faith.
As for Peter's epistle, the promise of the joy of salvation only makes sense because Peter knew firsthand that appearances deceive. Suffering does not have the last word, although suffering can refine and purify. Peter can now testify to what was real in his own life: a growing, vibrant hope emerging from the experience of new life. Looking back from the vantage point of the resurrection and the gift of the Spirit, knowing that death was not the end of the crucifixion story, Peter recognized and identified God's handiwork in a way that he just couldn't do while he was blustering his betrayal in the temple courtyard before the rooster crowed.
Faith and belief: these are words and concepts that cycle over and over again in our own lives, too. Day by day we grow and ebb in faith, and day by day our ability to believe seems to strengthen or wane. Like Thomas we are sometimes courageous and committed, ready to face anything for the sake of our Lord. Sometimes our desire and our search for truth and for understanding wells up in us and we say, ``Tell us! How can we know?'' And sometimes we are simply skeptical. We want to see God at work in our world, we want to recognize the risen Christ in our midst, we want to feel the breath of the Spirit sustaining our discipleship. Sometimes, though, it is so hard! Sometimes the most we can do is cry out in an act of will, ``I believe! Help my unbelief!'' Sometimes we look back at our own histories like Peter did in his Pentecost sermon and re-interpret what we're seeing, recognizing God's handiwork in the design of our lives: ``Ah! There Christ walked with me! I didn't know it then, but I see it now. And there Christ held me up… and there… and there….'' And sometimes Jesus, in great love and mercy, finds ways in words, people, music, creation, whatever we need to come so near that we can't help but see: hands outstretched, side exposed, evidence of death subsumed in evidence of resurrection. And so we may be sustained in faith, upheld in belief, birthed into newness and rejoicing in a living hope, given an inheritance that is imperishable and unfading.
Was Thomas the Apostle really ``Doubting Thomas''? Maybe, but maybe not. I think we might better name him Thomas the Human, one who was sometimes slow to understand but at other times insightful beyond any of his peers, one who was sometimes fearful but at other times courageously committed and ready to face death without despair, one always loved by Jesus Christ and always called to follow.
And as it is with Thomas the Human, so it is with each of us. We who are believers continue to be a conflictive mixture of redeemed and fallen, transformed and sinful. There are times when our faith is clear and strong, bursting forth in joyous passion, and there are times when we struggle to hold on. Always Jesus loves us and always Jesus calls us…but it's not always so easy to know and to feel that love and that call. The discipline of faith requires us to hang on when things are hard. That discipline teaches us to allow ourselves to be purified by the refining fire of Godremember our learning about the dark night of the soul in these last weeks, one way that God works to rid us of the extraneous junk that skews our relationship with the Holy One. The discipline of faith teaches us to recognize the Christ who accompanies us and works within us. The discipline of faith invites us to trust that the end of the gospel resurrection story echoes again in our own lives and will resound triumphantly in the fullness of time.
One more note before we end: When I got home from the church last night after preparing for today, Eliasour sonasked me if I was going to say anything about the Pope's death. He and I had been watching the Pope's decline and talking about what would happen next in choosing a successor, and I actually called him yesterday afternoon to make sure that he had heard the news. So last night Elias asked me, ``Are you going to say anything,'' and I replied, ``No, I don't think so. I think that someone else will bring it up in the service.'' ``Well,'' he said, ``it's a big deal.'' And it is; the Pope's death is a big deal since he represents a very large portion of Christianity very publicly in the world. What I didn't tell Elias is that I didn't want to talk about the Pope because I didn't want to talk about Terri Schiavo, and in this past week, their dying and their deaths have, in my mind, become inextricably linked. It has been both ironic and interesting to me to listen to the conversationsespecially among Christiansabout death and life and the culture of life (which I hope includes life in its entirety from birth through childhood and into all the stages adulthood until death) in this week following the high and holy celebration of Easter. What does the resurrection of Christ have to say to the complex of questions raised in these weeks? That is my question. Let me say only this: The most poignant comment I heard this week came from a Vatican spokesman yesterday morning when he said that the portals of heaven were opening to admit John Paul II. I remind you: the portals of heaventhe portals to safety and wholeness and healing in the arms of Godare open to all who believe.
Therefore, let us continue to celebrate the reality of Easter this week, and as we celebrate the reality of the living Christ, receive this blessing adapted from 1 Peter. ``By God's great mercy, you have been offered a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. May you gladly receive the imperishable inheritance promised to you, and may you be protected by the power of God through faith for salvation. May you rejoice in your salvation, even in times when it is hard to believe, and may you be refined and purified as you walk in discipleship. May your faith result in praise and glory and honor to God, and may your love for Jesus Christ grow in strength, yielding an indescribable and glorious joy, for you are receiving the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your entire being. Amen''

Foretaste of Heaven March 27 2005 .rtf

Sun, 27 Mar 2005 05:00:00 GMT

Foretaste of Heaven

John 20:11-18
Sermon by Dan Schrock
March 27, 2005
Easter

But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping?" She said to them, "They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him." When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?" Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away." Jesus said to her, "Mary!" She turned and said to him in Hebrew, "Rabbouni!" (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, "Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, 'I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.'" Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, "I have seen the Lord"; and she told them that he had said these things to her. (NRSV)

When Mary Magdalene went to the tomb early in the morning on the first day of the week, she was in a dark night of the soul. Three days before this she and several other women had stood near the cross, watching as Jesus breathed his last. When he died it seemed to these women that the presence of God in their lives had also died. Perhaps it had something to do with the way Jesus treated women, which was not at all like the way most Jewish men treated women. To most Jewish men, women were inferior specimens of humanity. For example, Jewish wives were so subject to their husbands that if a wife burned breakfast, her husband could take a stick and write out on a tablet of wet clay a certificate of divorce which dissolved their relationship right there on the spot. She was not allowed to divorce him, but he could divorce her any time he wished for the slightest provocation. When it came to education, Jewish women were not able to study Torah like men did. When it came to worship, Jewish women were confined to one of the outer courts of the temple in Jerusalem, but all Jewish men could walk one court further inside the temple. Men could get closer than women ever could to the Holy of Holies where God supposedly dwelled. Everybody knew what that meant. It meant men were holier and closer to God than women. Oh yes, men in those days definitely thought women were some sort of sub-species.

But not Jesus. He treated them with greater respect, greater kindness, and greater friendship than the average man. According to the gospel of John, women had a special, unique relationship with Jesus starting all the way back with the woman of Samaria in chapter 4. Do you remember their conversation by the well? She asked him about the theological debate between Jews and Samaritans over where the proper place was to worship God. A typical Jewish man would have abruptly terminated the conversation, refusing to get into any kind of substantive theological discussion with a woman. But Jesus took that woman by the well seriously. He offered her a thoughtful answer. He did not think she and other women were so ruled by their emotions that they were unable to think a rational thought. No, Jesus assumed that she was able to reason through any theological distinction he wanted to make. He believed he could have a meaningful theological conversation with her as well as with any man. The respect with which he treated that woman was one of the reasons she ran back to her village so excited. Perhaps for the first time in her life, a man actually treated her with dignity.

Do you remember the way Jesus treated the woman caught in adultery in chapter 8? Jewish religious leadersat that time all menhad caught her and her lover in the very act of sexual intercourse. Those male religious leaders grabbed her but let him go, which tells you something right there about the double standard that let men off easy and punished women severely. But by the time Jesus was finished with those male religious leaders, every last one of them had slunk off in guilty silence, leaving the woman and Jesus standing alone out in the dusty street. ``I'm not going to condemn you,'' Jesus told her kindly. ``You're free to go back home, and do not sin again'' (8:11).

Do you remember Mary and Martha, and what happened in chapter 11 when their brother Lazarus died? The story comes right out and says Jesus loved those two women (11:5); and once again, just like he did with the woman at the well, he treats Mary and Martha with the utmost respect. When Jesus shows up at their home four days after Lazarus died, Jesus and Martha get into a weighty theological conversation. They talk about the resurrection, for heaven's sake!one of the deepest and most significant theological issues anyone could ever talk about. At the end of that conversation Martha becomes the first person in the book to come right out and confess Jesus to be the Messiah (11:23-27).

Do you remember what Mary did in chapter 12, and what Jesus did in response? On that particular day Jesus was dining at the home of Mary, Martha, and the newly raised Lazarus. While Jesus was eating at the table, Mary came in with a pound of perfume in a jar, worth something like the equivalent of ten months' wages for an average worker. She poured the whole thing on Jesus' feet! His feet, mind you! Judas Iscariot, being the typical Jewish man that he was, complained about her act. ``Wasteful!,'' he fumed. ``Profligate!'' he fussed. ``The money she just dumped on the floor could have done poor folks a lot of good!'' Jesus, however, not being your typical Jewish man, sharply rebuked Judas. ``Leave her alone!'' And you can just imagine how vindicated Mary felt after Jesus said that.

Oh yes, in the gospel of John there is a long and consistent pattern of Jesus treating women with the dignity they deserve. And these women responded to Jesus with outstanding loyalty. On the day Jesus was crucified, most of the Jewish men who fooled themselves into thinking they were faithful disciples had all fled into hiding somewhere in Jerusalem's underground. But four women were there watching and waiting with Jesus to the bitter end: his mother, his aunt, Mary who was married to Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. They were there to show Jesus their loyalty and support. As they watched his tortured dying, their inner anguish doubtless built until it nearly exploded inside them. For them and other women, he had been a unique expression of God's presence in their lives. Treating them with respect, dignity, and friendship, he had modeled a new pattern of relationships between women and men which they had not experienced with any other man. Oh, he was special, all right, tangible proof of God's nearness to women.

So imagine, if you can, the deep spiritual funk that fell on those women when he died. After having such intimacy with God through Jesus, where in the world were they supposed to find intimacy with God now that Jesus was dead and shut up in Joseph of Arimathea's tomb (John 19:38-42)? The most tangible expression of God they had ever known was now torn away from them. It was not their fault at all. It was not anything they did. Without asking their permission, the arrogant forces of empire and male-dominated religion had snatched God from their lives. Now they were bereft. In the middle of their souls stretched a vast, dry wasteland of emptiness. A night of darkness had descended upon their spirits, and they did not know when or how or if it would ever lift.

That was the spiritual state of affairs for Mary Magdalene when she trudged to the tomb early on the first day of the week. It was still dark from the long night when she arrived, but it wasn't too dark for her to see that the tomb's stone doorway was rolled back in its track, leaving the tomb wide open. Mary immediately assumes foul play. She runs back to fetch Peter and the disciple whom Jesus had loved. Peter and the other disciple run to the tomb to see for themselves. They stick their heads inside, see an empty stone ledge with discarded linen wrappings, and then inexplicably return to their homes.

While those two male disciples look and then abruptly leave, Mary Magdalene stands outside the tomb, weeping at this unpredictable, up and down series of events that make her wonder what additional spiritual desolation she would have to go through before she found some inner peace. Still weeping, she bends down to look for the first time inside the low doorway of the tomb. She sees what neither of the male disciples had seen: two angels on the stone that had been Jesus' death ledge, one at the head and one at the foot. ``Why are you crying?'' they kindly ask. ``Because thieves have stolen the body of my Lord,'' she replies, ``and I don't know where to look for it.''

This detail in the story reminds me of my grandfather's actions after his wife, my grandmother, died unexpectedly in a farming accident. Grief nearly undid my grandfather when she died, so that when he arrived at the Lienhart Funeral Home in Wakarusa for the viewing, he ran inside and threw himself onto the casket, sobbing ``Pauline, Pauline, how can I live without you?'' That gets pretty close to the desperate feelings one has in a dark night of the soul; and pretty close, I think, to the feelings Mary Magdalene had.

That is when Mary turns around. There at the doorway of the empty tomb, only angels and used linens inside, tears still dropping off her cheeks, Mary turns around. And there, looking at her right in the eyes, very much alive, is her Lord Jesus. Except she doesn't know it's him. She thinks it's the gardener, the paid help who waters the flowers and trims the bushes.

For the last few Sundays we have been talking about the dark night of the soul, a disconcerting experience of what seems like God's absence. During this sense of God's absence, which may last anywhere from a few months to many long years, we yearn desperately to feel God's presence in our lives again.

This morning I want you to know that eventually the dark night ends. It ends when God has finished burning up all the junk that God was to get rid of inside us, when God has finally finished purifying the part of us that God wants to purify. When God has made us more spiritually whole, which is the moment of God's choosing in God's timing, we experience once again the sweet joy of God's presence. Mind you, God has never actually left us. It's just that now, with us finally purified, we are able to recognize God's presence in ways we never did before. The blinders will be taken away and we are able to see God like never before. The intimacy we feel with God is far deeper and much richer than anything we experienced before or even before thought was possible. All the difficulties we went though in the dark night will be swept away with a divine love so wonderful that we will now think those sufferings were well worth it. On the day when the visceral presence of God returns, God will speak our name, and the speaking of our name will birth in us resurrection. God kindles in us a love so deep and wide that it seems God's whole world is on fire with love. Love for God and others becomes our passion.

After a few minutes of conversation, the man whom Mary Magdalene thinks is the gardener finally speaks her name: ``Mary!'' I don't know for sure what all Mary heard in that moment, but I think she heard chords of love, movements of passion, whole symphonies of excitement. Her Lord had returned to her! No longer dead, but alive! No longer absent, but present! No longer silent, but speaking to her! No longer distant, but closer than the breathing of her own breath! The hills around her were alive with joy! The world was filled with the pulsing, persistent passion of God. Her journey of discipleship had come to a new land of refreshment and delight. She, Mary Magdalene, was given the most complete foretaste of heaven which is possible in this life.

I pray that our Lord will one day favor us all in the same way.

Godforsaken March 20 2005 .rtf

Tue, 22 Mar 2005 17:12:00 GMT

Godforsaken

Mark 15:33-37
Sermon by Dan Schrock
March 20, 2005
Lent 6 (Passion Sunday)

When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. At three o'clock Jesus cried out with a loud voice, ``Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?'' which means, ``My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?'' When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, ``Listen, he is calling for Elijah.'' And someone ran, filled a sponge with sour wine, but it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink, saying, ``Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to take him down.'' Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. (NRSV)

From talking with a number of you this past week, I realize that this series of Lenten worship services has been hard and heavy, particularly the last few Sundays. To hear about the ordinary human suffering that at one time or another affects all of us, to hear about the loneliness and forsakenness of the dark night of the soulthese things are indeed hard and heavy to hear about. They are also hard and heavy to live through, as you can probably imagine.

Because this is hard and heavy, I want you to know that I have experienced what I'm talking about. During this series of seven sermons that ends next Sunday, I am speaking to you from my heart. I have fallen hopelessly in love with God; spent most of my life trying to learn more about God; been rudely awakened by that soft, plush rug coming out from under me; and have gone through the dark night not just once, but four timesfirst when I was a sophomore in college and most recently over the past seven years, with the most intense part of that happening a year ago. What I have attempted to share with you in this series is partly autobiographical, but it's also informed by study, and stories from dozens of other people who have had similar adventures.

Today, however, I do not wish to talk about myself, and I do not wish to talk about the experience of any ordinary human being. I wish to talk about Jesus Christ's own dark night. When Jesus died, he thought God had completely abandoned him. As far as we can tell, during those six hours he hung on the cross he was unable to see God, hear God, feel God, sense God, or believe that God even cared about him. The only prayer his desolate soul could utter consisted of four Aramaic words: ``Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?''

Jesus' personal life of prayer did not start out that way. From the day of his baptism as a thirty-something adult in the Jordan River, Jesus had enjoyed an intimate relationship with God that gave him tremendous satisfaction. Immediately after he came back up out of that muddy river water, he saw the door of heaven thrust open, saw the Holy Spirit fly out of that door straight toward him, felt the soft wings of that Spirit brush his cheeks when it landed on him, and heard a voice booming from heaven's open door: You, Jesus, are my son, my much loved son, and with you I am delighted (1:9-11).

Until he got to the cross, this visceral sense of the Holy Spirit's presence never left Jesus. Jesus saw visible proof of the Spirit's nearness every day of his public ministry. How else but through the Holy Spirit could Jesus confront demons and win (1:21-27)? How else could Jesus clean up scabby skin and make it look soft, smooth, and supple like a baby's, except by the Holy Spirit (1:40-42)? How else could Jesus halt storms in their tracks (4:35-41), stir up life in dead twelve-year-old girls (5:35-42), and break five loaves and two fish into enough pieces to feast five thousand people (6:38-44)? Every time Jesus performed one of these wonderful signs, it verified all over again that he worked in cooperation with God's own Spirit. He and the Spirit were like foot to sandal, like hand to hammer, like words to a song.

Mind you, it wasn't only these dramatic healings and feedings that convinced Jesus the Holy Spirit was with him, through him, and around him. There was also that strange experience on a high mountain which later generations called the transfiguration. The story doesn't say why Jesus climbed up that high mountain in the first place, and why he only took Peter, James, and John with him. But when he arrived at the top his clothes were made whiter than you could bleach them; he had a heart-to-heart chat with Elijah and Moses; and again he heard a voice from the cloud of heaven: This is my Son, my much loved son, so listen to him (9:2-8). What more vindication of God's nearness and blessing and care could you want than that?

Then there was Jesus' private prayer life, which from all available evidence was rich and intimate. The first mention of Jesus at prayer in the gospel of Mark is at 1:35: ``In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed.'' This brief verse tells us much about the way Jesus prayed. First, he got out of bed before sunrise, probably in order to escape other people who were still sleeping, and walked to a place where no one would bother him. Second, the place he chose was deserted and quiet. There were no trains tooting their whistles, no cars speeding by, no airplanes flying overhead. In this deserted place he was not distracted by TVs, radios, stereos, computers, or video games. He was not tempted to look through the kitchen refrigerator for a snack. He was alone in silence with only the natural world around him, and there he prayed. Sometimes he left everyone behind and hiked up a local mountain to pray (6:46). We don't really know what the content of his prayers were, but we do know he addressed God with the Aramaic word abba, which means ``daddy,'' and which suggests that Jesus and God had the strongest possible level of intimacy (14:36).

The evidence therefore shows that throughout most of the gospel of Mark, Jesus felt extremely close to God. He knew that God loved him, that God claimed him, that God worked through him. He talked back and forth with God just as easy as you please. He knew what God wanted and did what God asked. It was a perfect spiritual relationship.

But during the night of his prayer in Gethsemane, that sense of intimacy and support started to disintegrate. Throwing himself on the ground in fear of his imminent arrest, trial, and crucifixion, Jesus explicitly asked God, his own daddy, to take away all the suffering that he knew was headed his way (14:35). And what did Jesus hear back from his daddy in response to this anguished prayer? Nothing! God did not answer. God sat in silence. God refused to intervene, refused to stop the course of events that were now unfolding.

Mark says that as soon as Jesus gave up praying this frustrating prayer, a mob of religious leaders armed with swords and clubs arrived to arrest him. This arrest set in motion a series of ten desertions, betrayals, and sufferings, each of which conveyed to Jesus the depth of his abandonment by others. They happen in rapid succession:

1.       After arresting him, the religious leaders of his own faith haul him off to a kangaroo court (14:43).

2.       All the disciples desert him and flee into hiding (14:50).

3.       Liars accuse him at the trial of things he didn't do (14:56-59).

4.       The priests spit on him and the guards beat him (14:65).

5.       Peter, his favorite disciple of them all, insists he never knew him (14:66-72).

6.       The crowd chooses to give clemency to Barabbas, an acknowledged murderer, and demands that Pilate crucify Jesus (15:6-14).

7.       Pilate caves in to the crowd and unjustly hands Jesus over for crucifixion (15:15).

8.       Roman soldiers flog him and mock him (15:15-20).

9.       From 9:00 AM until evening, Jesus hangs on a cross in public view, stark naked (15:22-25, 42).

10.      Both priests and passersby jeer at him (15:29-30).

In other words, Jesus is abandoned by his religious leaders, his disciples, the crowds who were once so enthusiastic about him, his governor, the local police force, and most of all, by his own daddy. At 3:00 that afternoon, when he had been hanging there for six hours, his final dying prayer was ``Daddy, Daddy, why have you forsaken me?''

If you have ever been taken into a dark night of the soul, or if sometime in the future you are taken into a dark night of the soul, I want you to know something: Jesus got there before you did. He got there before you did. He understands better than you do yourself what the dark night is all about.

Let me put this to you another way. On the day Jesus died, a dark night of the soul entered the heart of God. Darkness moved in to the heart, the very center, of God's own life. This may sound impossible, paradoxical, and logically inconsistent, but it's nevertheless true: at the crucifixion God experienced being abandoned by God. Part of God felt forsaken by other parts of God. Do not suppose for a moment that the other two persons of the Trinity got off scot free when one person of the Trinity felt so abandoned. What happened to God the Son on that day profoundly affected God the Father and God the Spirit. When God grants you or me a dark night, God knowsO, God knows!what it's like not to sense God's presence, what it's like not to be able to pray except in the most dire and desperate words, what it's like not to receive consolation, what it's like not to know how long this thing is going to last, what it's like not to know what is going to happen next. The absence, the void, the emptiness, the dryness, the lossGod has already been there.

Which explains why Jesus went through the dark nightnot to be purified, not to love God more completely, which is the purpose of our dark nights. No, Jesus went through it so that God can identify with us, so that God understands from the inside out what this is like, and can be fully with us in the experience.

When you and I are baptized, we pledge to follow Jesus in discipleship wherever he takes us. The Roman empire collapsed a long time ago, and I don't know of any nation in the modern world that nails naked people to crosses set up in public places. You and I are not likely to get crucified anytime soon. But it is possible that your discipleship and mine could take us into a dark night where we feel terribly abandoned by God. In other words, the dark night is a kind of spiritual crucifixion.

During his dying moments Jesus thought God had forsaken him, but you and I do not think so. No, we say that in the death of Jesus, God engaged the world in a fresh and vigorous way. We say the crucifixion brought God closer to us than God had ever come before. We believe that God intimately engaged us in Jesus' desolation at Golgotha.

This is the great paradox of the dark night of the soul. The feeling of Godforsakenness that we have in the dark night is itself a sign of God's nearness. The sense of abandonment which we feel is itself a sign of God's presence. Our inability to pray is perhaps the most profound praying we've ever done. Our emptiness is a symbol of holy fullness. Our famished desire is actually a feasting or communion at deep levels of our being. Our despair testifies to hope. Our dying prepares for spiritual growth.

People who are in a dark night usually don't like it. But most of them also have this odd conviction that it's just where they need to be right now, that God has led them to this place for a period of time, and that they are being called upon to learn to live with it. They are being called to love the night. Hear me! I did not say called to love suffering. No, called to love the night and what God is doing in the night. They sense that some very important things are happening to them even though they don't know what those things are. And they are right about this. God has led them to this inner experience and God is working at deep levels of their souls for the purpose of transformation, light, and love.

You may be wondering what we can do to get through a dark night, to get it over with and move on with our lives. The answer is not much. Since the dark night is God's doing, God directs the course, length, and intensity of the night. In a dark night there is very little we can do except wait, as painful and as confusing as that waiting sometimes is. Like Jesus, we relinquish ourselves into the care of God, to wait and see what God will do next. That's what Jesus did on the crosshe relinquished himself to God, to wait and see what God would do next.

Let us then wait upon the Lord, you and I, to see what strength and renewal God will give us.

Abandoned by God March 13 2005 .rtf

Tue, 15 Mar 2005 14:45:50 GMT

Abandoned by God

Luke 23:44-49
Sermon by Dan Schrock
March 13, 2005
Lent 5

It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon, while the sun's light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit." Having said this, he breathed his last. When the centurion saw what had taken place, he praised God and said, "Certainly this man was innocent." And when all the crowds who had gathered there for this spectacle saw what had taken place, they returned home, beating their breasts. But all his acquaintances, including the women who had followed him from Galilee, stood at a distance, watching these things. (NRSV)

This Lent we've been talking about movements in the spiritual life. The four we've noticed so far are: being attracted to God, falling in love with God, getting to know God, and getting some rude awakening from God we did not expect. At the end of last week's sermon I mentioned something called the dark night of the soul, which is the experience of being abandoned by God. Today I'd like to describe in more detail what this experience of the dark night of the soul is like.

When we speak about the dark night, let us remember that in fact God never abandons us. In the rhetorical question of Psalm 139:7: ``Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?'' The answer of course, is nowhere. God is everywhere; and no matter what we do or where we go, we live eternally in the presence of God.

However, sometimes it seems that God has abandoned us. In the dark night we sense that God is far away or perhaps nowhere at all in our lives. Spiritual practices that once fed us no longer do so. When we pray, for example, it seems that our words get lost in empty space. When we listen to our favorite pieces of music, they leave us cold. When we try to read the Bible, we find it almost impossible to focus and the words just swim across our eyes. Even if we are able to concentrate on scripture for brief periods of time, the words don't grab us. During worship services it seems that we're sitting inside a fog, unable to see God, hear God, praise God, or connect with God in any meaningful way. Acts of service to others give us little or no satisfaction. In short, our spiritual life is dry. Whatever joy, satisfaction, or consolation we once felt seems to have evaporated. We're living in a spiritual desert. There is no light shining in our souls, and all is darknessor so it seems.

Most Christians, including most Mennonites, do not talk about the dark night of the soul. I've been going to church for 45 years and I don't think I've ever heard a sermon on the dark night. I've never been in a Sunday school class that discussed the dark night. I can't recall reading an article in our church press that talks about the dark night. While some hymns allude to the dark night, few if any explicitly mention it. I'm not really familiar with contemporary Christian music, but my guess is that the dark night is a spiritual topic most contemporary musicians stay away from. John Michael Talbot does have one album on the dark night, The Lover and the Beloved , but I've never heard of anyone singing that music in church.

Despite this churchly silence about the dark night of the soul, I know that quite a few of us, perhaps even most of us, experience it at one time or another in our lives. Members of my family have received a dark night. During casual conversations with other pastors I've mentioned that I've been studying the dark night, and you'd be surprised how many of them immediately want to tell me about their own dark night experiences. I've listened to ordinary congregational members talk about what happened to them in their dark night. For some people the dark night is very intense and very painful, while for others it's more moderate. In some folks it lasts only a few months, while in others it lasts years.

The Bible has many passages on the dark night. So far I've found passages in roughly seventy biblical chapters that give some insight into the dark night. In addition to those seventy chapters, the Bible has at least five whole books that in their entirety deal with a personal or corporate experience of the dark night and its aftermath: Ruth, Job, Song of Solomon, Jeremiah, and Lamentations.

Famous Christians have also experienced the dark night of the soul. Do you remember John Wesley, the founder of Methodism? During his long career as an evangelist in England, John Wesley preached thousands of revival sermons and was instrumental in converting tens of thousands of people to Jesus Christ. You might remember that as a young adult, Wesley had a conversion experience in which he felt his ``heart strangely warmed.'' And yet Wesley went through an intense dark night even though he never admitted it publicly. For most of his life, Wesley declined to talk about his own spiritual life; but in June 1766 he wrote a letter to his brother, Charles, who wrote many famous hymns that Christians still sing today. Let me read for you part of what John Wesley wrote to his brother Charles that day in June 1766:

I do not love God. I never did. Therefore I never believed, in the Christian sense of the word. . . . And yet, to be so employed of God [as a revival preacher] . . . ! I have no direct witness . . . of anything invisible or eternal. And yet I dare not preach otherwise than I do, either concerning faith, or love, or justification, or perfection. . . . I want all the world to come to what I do not know. ¹
Isn't that quite an admission?! ``I want all the world to come to what I do not know.'' Now of course you and I would probably agree that John Wesley really did love God. He devoted his entire life to serving Christ and the church; he was a marvelous example of discipleship. Yet he felt very little inside: no affection for God, no visceral connection with God, no experiential sense of God's presence. At the center of John Wesley's spiritual life was what felt like emptiness.

And then there is Mother Teresa. You surely remember Mother Teresathe famous woman who devoted her life to caring for sick and dying people on the streets of Calcutta, India; who founded a new order of sisters called the Missionaries of Charity that has now spread all over the world; who won the Nobel Peace prize in 1979; and who is hailed by nearly everyone as a modern Christian saint. People admired Mother Teresa's perpetual smile and her belief which she declared over and over again that great joy is to be found in serving the poor for the sake of Jesus.

Did you know that Mother Teresa had a dark night which lasted fifty years? This is perhaps the most astonishing secret of Mother Teresa's life which almost no one knew about while she was still living. But after her death in 1997, the story came out, thanks to some letters she had written which we still have to this day. For the first thirty-eight years of her life, Mother Teresa enjoyed what we normally think of as a warm and vital and living relationship with God. As early as age five, she had fallen in love with God. At age eighteen she dedicated her life to Christian service and joined the Lareto Sisters as a missionary nun to India. Until 1948 when she turned thirty-eight years old, God granted her the gift of a close, intimate relationship. She heard God's voice, felt God's love, and delighted in God's presence. And then, in the final months of 1948, the intense union she had felt with Jesus for more than three decades suddenly ended. She lived for fifty more years, but as far as anyone can tell, she never again felt God's presence close to her. All she felt inside for the last 50 years of her life was separation from God. God seemed absent, heaven seemed empty, and her own internal suffering seemed to count for nothing in God's eyes.

To show you how deep the dark night was for Mother Teresa, let me quote a few sentences from her letters. ``I am told God lives in meand yet the reality of darkness and coldness and emptiness is so great that nothing touches by soul,'' she wrote in one letter. ``I want God with all the power of my souland yet between us there is terrible separation,'' she said in another letter, ``heaven from every side is closed.'' As far as we can tell, the lowest point came in the late 1950s and early 1960s when she wrote: ``I feel just that terrible pain of loss, of God not wanting me, of God not being God, of God not really existing.'' ² Astounding words, don't you think? And yet, let us say very clearly that God really was close to Mother Teresa, really was blessing her, really was leading her along the path of greater spiritual maturity. It's just that Mother Teresa couldn't feel it.

When we enter a dark night, most of us probably think this has happened to us because we've committed some terrible sin. We suppose we must have done something awful to drive God away, and that if we would only get down on our knees and confess, the presence of God would come back to us again. We assume this desolate experience of the dark night is our own fool faultbut that's not so. It is true that sin drives God away and it is true sin can cause a spiritual condition that looks a little bit like a dark night; but sin is not what causes a dark night. Most of us Christians sin most of the time because sin is more or less an on-going condition of life. If you're wondering whether this spiritual desert you're in comes from sin or from a dark night, then ask yourself a simple question: Have you recently begun some new sinful behavior that you didn't used to engage in? If the answer is yes, your desolation is probably due to sin. The right response is to confess your sin and stop engaging in that sin. But if the answer is no, if you honestly cannot think of any new sin in your life, then God has probably given you this desolation. God has probably given you the gift of a dark night.

Another thing we often confuse the dark night with is depression. Even though they appear to be similar, and can in fact overlap a bit, the dark night is different than depression. I've interviewed some dear Christian sisters and brothers about their dark night experiences, and typically they say that when they first entered the dark night, they were caught completely off-guard by it. Why weren't they meeting God in prayer like they did for so many years? Why did their spiritual life suddenly seem like a desert? At first they thought they must have committed some new sin. But since usually they couldn't think of any, they set that explanation aside. Next they wondered if they might be depressed, if maybe they should see a doctor and get some Prozac or Zoloft. But some of these people knew it wasn't depression either. Earlier in their lives a few of them had been diagnosed with depression, had taken medication for it, and knew very well from their own experience what depression is like. But this new experience, they felt, was somehow different than depression. They were probably right. The dark night and depression each have some distinguishing characteristics that the other does not have. Some people may suffer from both depression and a dark night simultaneously, which then calls for careful spiritual discernment. If you think you might be depressed, I hope you see a doctor for a good diagnosis and possible medication. I also want you to know that while I've done a little study on the differences between depression and the dark night, I'm not qualified to diagnose depression. The most qualified people are Christian psychiatrists who also know about the dark night.

A third thing we often confuse the dark night with is laziness. Sometimes our spiritual life feels dead because we haven't been doing anything to feed it. To thrive our soul needs spiritual food just as our body needs protein, carbohydrates, and vitamins. If laziness is the source of your spiritual malaise, then of course feed it with prayer, study, service, and worship! But if a dark night is the source of your spiritual malaise, then I must tell you it won't do any good to pray harder or to serve more people or to attend two worship services each week instead of one. Working harder at your spiritual life will not make the dark night go away. Instead, the best thing to do for a dark night is to ease up and let the Holy Spirit do in you what the Holy Spirit is trying to do. The dark night is a time for silence, spiritual rest, and relinquishment to God.

How do you tell the difference between laziness and the dark night? The difference is desire. If you have no real desire for God, no yearning to recover the closeness you once felt from God, then laziness is probably the source. But if your passion for God burns, if your soul thirsts for God (Psalm 42:2), if you wonder why God has cast you off and hidden from you (Psalm 88:14), if with Jesus you cry out, ``My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?''then very likely God has blessed you with a dark night of the soul.

Yes, blessed you. Loved you and graced you with a dark night. That sounds impossible, doesn't it? But that's really what's going on. In a dark night God doesn't feel close to you at all, but in fact God is close. The dark night is God's gift to help us grow up spiritually. God is weaning us away from lesser things so that we focus on greater things. Think of what happens when a mother wants to wean her infant. She knows the infant shouldn't continue to drink breast milk all its life, so she takes her breasts away from the child and tries to get the child interested in food that will better nourish it in the long runfood like peas and carrots and cherry cobbler. Now the infant does not experience this as a good thing at all. ``What's this glop Mom is trying to put in my mouth (the grob being oatmeal or rice cereal)? I want my milk!'' The infant feels abandoned, that Mom is no longer as close as she once was. This is what God is trying to do with us in the dark night: wean us off lesser spiritual goods, and get us interested in better spiritual goods.

Or think of it this way. God is purifying us, burning up a lot of our spiritual junk so that we're left with a more devoted, single-minded spirit. Some of the junk that God burns in the dark night is residual sin that's been dragging our souls down. Some of the other junk God burns are false ideas about Christian faith. Still other junk set afire are unhealthy expectations about what God will or won't do for us. As a result of the dark night, we become more devoted to God. The dark night intensifies our discipleship and changes us into a more counter-cultural people who are less at ease with our surrounding society. Remember how counter-cultural Mother Teresa was? I think she was so counter-cultural partly because of the dark night.

Now you know why the dark night is so painful. There's a fire inside us! We're getting scorched! And yet this fire is at the same time loving and caring. The fire is God's own Holy Spirit that destroys, transforms, and purifies us. It's a profoundly important movement in the spiritual life.

During that afternoon in Palestine two thousand years ago when the sun's light failed, when darkness descended on the land at noonday, when the male and female disciples watched Jesus die on the cross, I imagine they felt abandoned. Before their eyes, the person who had so vividly given them a sense of God's presence in their lives was suddenly snatched away. They didn't know it then, but when it looked like God was abandoning them, God was actually transforming and purifying them.

Notes

1. Quoted in Stephen Tomkins, John Wesley: A Biography . Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003.

2. Quoted in Richard N. Ostling, ``Mother Teresa Often Felt Abandoned by God,'' The Miami Herald , October 17, 2003; on the web at http://www.montereyherald.com/mld/miamiherald/living/religion/7038650.htm . See also the fine essay by Carol Zaleski, ``The Dark Night of Mother Teresa,'' First Things 133 (May 2003), 24-27; on the web at http://www.firstthings.com/ftissues/ft0305/articles/zaleski.html . The most complete treatment of Mother Teresa's experience is published by ZENIT, the news agency of the Vatican. See Brian Kolodiejchuk, ``The Soul of Mother Teresa: Hidden Aspects of her Interior Life,'' a series of articles published in late 2002; on the web at http://www.cin.org/archives/cinjub/200211/0115.html and at http://www.cin.org/archives/cinjub/200212/0137.html

A Rude Awakening from God March 6 2005 .rtf

Sun, 6 Mar 2005 05:00:00 GMT

A Rude Awakening from God

Mark 10:35-40
Sermon by Dan Schrock
March 6, 2005
Lent 4

James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came forward to him and said to him, "Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you." And he said to them, "What is it you want me to do for you?" And they said to him, "Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory." But Jesus said to them, "You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?" They replied, "We are able." Then Jesus said to them, "The cup that I drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized; but to sit at my right hand or at my left is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared." (NRSV)

So far in this series of Lenten worship services, we've talked about three movements in the spiritual life: being attracted to God, falling in love with God, and getting to know God. Today we explore a fourth spiritual movement, which happens when we are shocked with a reality that does not meet our expectations. There we are, getting to know God, feeling good about our faith, having a wonderful time being a Christian--when God, or life, suddenly yanks the soft, plush rug out from under us.

Look at what happens to James and John. Ever since they first got to know Jesus, they've had a special, privileged relationship with him. In the gospel of Mark, James and John are the third and fourth disciples whom Jesus chooses, right after Peter and Andrew (Mark 1:16-20). By the time we get to chapter 3, it's clear that James and John have moved up in the pecking order to become the second and third most important disciples, right after Peter (3:16-19). From then on they get special treatment. When Jesus brings the daughter of Jairus back to life, only James, John, and Peter get to go along and watch (5:37). When Jesus goes up on a mountain to be transfigured, once again only James, John, and Peter get to go along (9:2). So by the time we get to chapter 10 where today's story is from, James and John are used to all this special treatment. They've come to expect special treatment. They believe that Jesus thinks highly of them. They think they now belong to Jesus' inner circle of friends.

We may feel the same way at various points in our Christian life. We feel that God has been treating us as special peopleand of course to God we are special people! God has many different methods for making us feel unique and loved. One way God can do this is to give us deeply moving experiences of worship or prayer or Bible study. Another way God makes us feel wonderful is through meaningful acts of generosity and service to others. Still another way is by helping us make an important decision that we feel enthusiastic about. When a pattern of this sort of intimacy starts to happen we conclude that God must love us deeplyand we're right about that. God does.

After all the special treatment they've received from Jesus, James and John decide to ask for a favor. Apparently these two brothers have been talking between themselves about this idea. They go to Jesus and say, ``We want you to do us a favor.''

``And what might that be?'' responds Jesus.

``Well, when you come into the glory of your kingdom,'' they reply, ``we want to sit beside you on thrones, one of us on your right side and the other on your left side.''

Now, you know what they're really asking for, don't you? They think Jesus is getting ready to start a new empire. They suppose Jesus is fixing to become a new King David of the nation of Israel; a new Nebuchadnezzar of the Babylonian Empire; a new Darius of the Persian Empire, a new Alexander the Great of the Greek empire. To be fair to James and John, it's easy to see why they would be thinking this. They've spent a lot of time with Jesus. They've seen him miraculously heal blind eyes and broken legs (2:10-11). They've watched him miraculously take a few fish and loaves of bread, and with them feed thousands of people (6:30-44). They've witnessed him miraculously stop storms (4:35-41) and walk on water (6:47-51). They've even seen him single-handedly fight the legions of the Roman army and symbolically defeat them (5:1-13). It seems there's nothing this miraculous man cannot do. Think for a moment like a soldier might think. With his wonderful powers, Jesus could take thousands of sick and blind and lame people, heal all of them, and turn them into an army. Jesus could also change just a little bit of fooda few loaves and fishesinto provisions for the whole army, and ambush the Roman legions by walking his holy army across the sea and catching the Romans by surprise. This miracle worker Jesus obviously has the power of God. He might even be able to wipe out the Romans without losing a single Jew.

Can you imagine what's going on in the heads of James and John? They're having visions of military power, dreams of political glory. When Jesus becomes the new emperor, they want to be his closest advisors. They're trying to out-maneuver the other disciples and grab the #1 and #2 spots in the new cabinet.

Jesus doesn't give James and John a yes or no answer. Instead he responds to their request with a question. ``Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?''

``Oh yeah, no problem,'' they say. ``We can do that.''

They don't understand it yet, but Jesus is has just pulled the rug out from under James and John. He is trying to tell James and John that hanging around him eventually brings us to the cup of suffering and the baptism of dying. Yes, being with Jesus can be highly rewarding, as James and John have already found out thanks to the special way Jesus has treated them so far. They already know that living as a Christian has lots of wonderful, satisfying moments. But now Jesus informs them that being one of his followers will not always be pleasant. Following Christ also takes us into periods of suffering.

If James and John had recalled their own Jewish history, they would have remembered that suffering has normally been part of the lives of God's people. Pick just about any person from the Old Testament and you will find suffering somewhere in his or her life. To be sure, some suffering in the Old Testament happened as a result of sin. But not nearly all of it. Some of the best, holiest, most faithful people in the Bible lived through tremendous suffering that was not their fault at all.

Consider a few of the many examples we could talk about. We're all familiar with the saga of Sarah and Abraham, who for twenty-five years suffered the pain of infertility. Sarah and Abraham were certainly not perfect people; but nowhere does the book of Genesis say their infertility was the result of sin. For reasons hidden in the mind of God, they simply had to wait twenty-five years, and it had nothing at all to do with sin.

Or think about the experience of slavery in Egypt. For many years the Hebrew people suffered as slaves in the Egyptian empire. Not once does either Genesis or Exodus attribute this terrible experience of slavery to Hebrew sin. Slavery was not something the Hebrews brought upon themselves, and it wasn't something God forced them into either. No, slavery happened because the Egyptian empire had an insatiable thirst for military power and national security (Exodus 1:8-14). The source of this sorry mess was Pharaoh, who like many rulers in history abused others to inflate his own power and prestige. So the Hebrew people were not at fault for all the suffering they went through. For many years they probably felt that God was far away and did not care about their plight. Eventually they found out God did care about their plight, but still, they had to wait for many years.

Now consider the tragic case of Naomi in the book of Ruth. You will remember that for a while Naomi's life was fairly good. She had a fine husband and two solid sons. Then disaster struck: her husband Elimelech died and shortly afterward both her sons. These deaths left her in poverty, because as a widow she now had no income and no one to support her. Read the book of Ruth carefully, and you will not find a breath of sin in it anywhere. Naomi suffered severely, but it had nothing to do with sin or injustice. Her suffering just happened.

Remember what happened to Job. The man was completely blameless. Even God says so (Job 1:8). Yet he lost all ten of his children, all of his considerable wealth, and his health, until he was reduced to sitting on a heap of ashes with nothing but a broken piece of pottery to scrape the boils on his skin. After all these disasters his friends did come to sit with him, but they only berated him instead of comforting him. In the book, Job goes through forty-one long and intense chapters of suffering, and yet he was sinless.

Even the prophets suffered. The most interesting case is Elijah, whose missional call from God was to sharply criticize the political rulers of the nation he lived in, confronting them with all their injustices and informing them they will not get away with mocking God (1 Kings 21:17-20). Elijah suffered dearly for this mission. After the showdown on Mount Carmel his physical weariness and spiritual despair were so intense that he pleaded with God to let him die (1 Kings 19:4). These examples and many more we could think of in the Bible illustrate the commonality of suffering among so many of God's people.

Given their miraculous, glorious experiences with Jesus, I can understand why James and John might think Jesus was going to set up an empire and rescue them from the reality of human pain and suffering. But Jesus is not going to do that. He is not going to set up an empire, or at least the kind of empire they have in mind. He is not going to rescue them from suffering. In fact, in a matter of a few weeks Jesus himself will suffer immensely while hanging on the instrument of Roman state terrorism. Jesus will show them, and us, that suffering is normal in the Christian life. And he will demonstrate that suffering can--can--lead to new life, by the grace and power of God.

There are many ways to suffer. We don't need to have nails pounded into our hands and feet in order to suffer. We can suffer because of accidents, illnesses, family troubles, job terminations, and scores of other things. But in the life of prayer there is a particular form of suffering called the dark night of the soul that happens to many of us at some point in our journey of faith. The dark night is the sense that God has forsaken us. It feels like God has abandoned us. It seems that God is no longer communicating with us. We find it difficult, perhaps even impossible, to pray. Worship seems flat and dull. Listening to music or performing music may irritate us. It's like we are living in a spiritual wasteland. Mostly we feel empty. Our spiritual well is dry, and there are no life-giving waters anywhere for us to drink. We desperately yearn for God, but God, it seems, is not here. When we are taken into the suffering of the dark night, it usually comes as a rude awakening. And one of the things we realize about the dark night is that it is not due to some new and terrible sin we've committed.

Today during the second hour I will begin leading an adult class on the dark night that will last for the rest of the quarter. This class will not be like any of the Bible study classes I've taught in the past. Although we'll read some scripture, and although I'll give each household a study manual, it's not primarily a Bible study class. Instead it's a discussion class where we'll mostly talk about what the dark night is like. We'll explore why God gives us dark nights, and what wonderful, loving things God does for us in a dark night. Maybe you already know that you've experienced a dark night; maybe you wonder if you have but you aren't sure; maybe one of your friends or family members has; maybe you're afraid of having a dark night; or maybe you're just curious. Whatever the case may be, you are welcome to the class if you want to come.

So. When has Christ surprised you with an experience you did not expect? Where have you suffered in your life? And how has that suffering shaped your spiritual life?

Learning to Know God February 27 2005 .rtf

Thu, 3 Mar 2005 16:58:01 GMT

Learning to Know God

Matthew 5:1-12
Sermon by Dan Schrock
February 27, 2005
Lent 3

When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying:
"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
"Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
"Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.
"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
"Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
"Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.'' (NRSV)

In this series of worship services for Lent, we've talked so far about two movements in the spiritual life, attraction and love. In the first movement, something about God attracts us. If the relationship continues, we might then fall in love with God. For many of us, this love for God produces one of the most pleasant and exciting times in our spiritual life. God seems so close. It's easy for us to worship, to praise and sing, to serve others. We're in love, and like anyone in love, we eagerly try to please the One we love.

A third movement in the spiritual life is getting to know this person to whom we are attracted, with whom we are in love. We want to become better acquainted. Have you ever watched human lovers in the first flush of passion? They spend every moment together they possibly can. They're always looking each other in the face, holding hands, and sitting on the sofa with their arms around each other. They talk about their likes and dislikes, their hopes and dreams, their family and friends, what's important to them and what's not so important to them. This is an extremely crucial time in the relationship. When people commit themselves to each other for life, they'd better know lots of important things about the other person. Of course no couple ever knows each other completely when they make their commitment, but some of the most important territory had better be covered. This is a time for honest self-disclosure, careful listening, and thoughtful reflection. This honesty, listening, and thoughtfulness should continue throughout the relationship because we never stop learning about the people we're committed to. There are always fresh surprises and important discoveries.

Our relationship with God is a bit like this. There's a lot for us to learn about God. Many of us learn the basics about God in Sunday school during the first 18 years of our lives, but I at least, have found that Sunday school is not enough. Since graduating from high school I've received about seven years of formal education in the things of God: Bible, theology, and so forth. In addition to that formal classroom education, I've been preaching and teaching the Bible almost every Sunday for sixteen years. Every year I read roughly thirty to forty books about the Bible, theology, or church history. I say none of this to brag, but to tell you how little I still know about the ways of God even after all that study! There are vast sections of scripture I have never studied carefully or taught or preached, including Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy; Joshua and Judges; 1 and 2 Chronicles; Proverbs; most of Isaiah and Ezekiel, the bulk of the minor prophets; Ephesians and Colossians; and everything between 1 Timothy and Jude with the exception of Philemon. All those sections of scripture I know very little about. During the twenty-seven years since I was eighteen, I've only managed to seriously study about one-third to one-half of the Bible as measured by pages. In other words, I still have half to two-thirds of the Bible to go! I also admit, to my shame, that I'm not sure I've ever read all of the book of Hebrews. I think I've read the other sixty-five books of the Bible at least once, but Hebrews? I don't think so.

So getting to know God is a life-long adventure. To the day of our death, we keep learning more about what God likes and dislikes, what God's priorities are, what God values and disvalues, what God loves and hates, what's consistent with God and what's no consistent. The more we know these things about God, the more able we are to hear God's voice and to distinguish God's call upon our lives.

When we first fall in love with God, our prayers are filled almost exclusively with words. Many of us will continue using at least some words in our prayers for as long we live, even if we live into our 90s. However, after that first flush of falling in love with God starts to wear off, we may notice a shift in the way we pray. In addition to words, and sometimes instead of words, many people will begin to meditate on God. Meditation is a method of prayer where we use our imagination to reflect on God. (See Psalms 19:14, 49:3, 104:34, and 119:97, 99.) Typically most people will meditate in silence. So our prayers will move a little more in the direction of meditation, and little more in the direction of silence.

Since meditation has many different forms, I'll offer a few examples. You're alone in the car driving somewhere. You start thinking about a short passage from the Biblelet's say Matthew 5:5``Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth'' (NRSV). You begin to wonder about that word meek . Who in my life has recently done something to illustrate meek ? When was the last time I was meek, and how did that affect me and the people around me? What does meekness feel like from the inside? What helps me to be meek? Then maybe you shift your thoughts to the public realm. What would meekness look like in a big city mayor? Has a U.S. president ever been meek? If so, how did he express meekness? All these reflections that you have while driving may sound like daydreaming. Not so. They're really a form of mediation. Meditation is a form of prayer where you let the truths of God take root in your heart and mind.

A second example of meditation is reading a Christian book. The author engages our intellect, our will, and our emotions around a certain topic. The Holy Spirit then uses that book to shape our spiritual life. Consider one of the best-known books ever written by a Mennonite in the English language, the More with Less Cookbook . It's not your typical Christian book. But I suspect it's had a huge influence on the way Mennonites and other Christians think about food. Using the simple strategy of printing little stories right beside the recipes about how people around the world treat food, Doris Janzen Longacre helped hundreds of thousands of people who use that cookbook to consider how our commitment to Christ affects the way we eat, and how the way we eat affects our commitment to Christ. In that book Doris transformed the ordinary work of cooking into a spiritual discipline. Her book taught us cooks how to meditate while we work in the kitchen. In other words, she showed us how to pray at the stove.

Some years ago I was in a small group that practiced a third form of mediation. Each time we met, someone selected a brief Bible passage for us to meditate on, usually only one paragraph long. Then for the next hour we seven people sat together in silence mediating on that passage. I can't speak for the others in that group, but what I noticed is that at the end of the hour that portion of scripture had become a part of me. The Holy Spirit had planted it in my soul; and to this day, the passages we mediated on together still have a special place in my spiritual formation.

A fourth form of meditation is playing or listening to music that nurtures your faith. However, since so many people already do this, I don't need to say more about it.

Whatever form it takes, meditation has three underlying characteristics. First, in meditation we learn to focus on God. I'm sure you've discovered that it's very easy to get distracted while we're praying. While we're trying to be holy and focus on God, our minds will act like wild horses. They'll dash around to all sorts of other topics, like whether it's going to rain today, or how we're going to pay that hospital bill, or the latest flare-up we had with another employee at work. These distractions are normal and we should not be too hard on ourselves when we have them. If you lose focus, simply refocus yourself gently on God. With years of practice, I think you'll discover that it gets easier. You'll be able to focus for longer periods of time. At first it might only be a few minutes, then maybe you can do it for 8 or 10 minutes at a stretch. After some years, and by the grace of God, you might get up to a whole hour or longer. Focusing on God is something we train ourselves to do over time. For most people it's much easier to focus on God when we're in a relatively silent place. Noise distracts us. This explains why so many people who are drawn to meditative prayer are also drawn to silence.

Once while traveling on church work, I stayed overnight at the home of the man who taught woodworking at Central Christian Mennonite High School in Kidron, Ohio. He showed me some of the furniture he made for his houseit was exquisite stuff. And then he said, ``Whenever I work with wood, I have to concentrate on what I'm doing. Power saws can take off one of your fingers in a second. Lose your concentration, and you might lose a finger. So far I still have all ten of my fingers. But at any moment, I could lose one.'' Now I have no idea what this man's life of prayer was like, but I suspect that the concentration he learned in woodworking prepared him for concentrating on God during prayer. Sports can serve a similar function. Sometime watch the intense focus of a major league baseball pitcher on the mound. What you'll see on the pitcher's face is a pretty good example of what you'll see on the face of someone who's truly focused in prayer. The object of concentration is differentthe pitcher is thinking about strikes while the person who prays is thinking about Godbut the process is similar. The first characteristic of meditation, then, is focusing on God.

The second characteristic of meditation is that it relies on love. Mediation is not simply an intellectual exercise. It's not about logically making careful theological distinctions like you might do in a theology class. It's not about analyzing the similarities and differences between Colossians and Ephesians. No, mediation is really about cultivating a relationship with God that is built on love. If you really want to understand God, you will have do it through love and not through ideas. The genius of meditation is to focus on God's love, reflect on God's love, experience God's loveand to offer your love back to God in response. To say it another way, meditation is a place where God's love and our love kiss each other. In mediation we focus on God, yes, but more specifically we focus on God's love, care, and mercy.

The third characteristic of meditation is the sense of inner peace that God gives us when we practice it. Meditation blesses us with a feeling of peace. It's as if God gently massages our souls with healing balm. This is true even when God challenges us to something new and different. We will notice within ourselves peace.

So. When and where do you meditate on the mercies and the majesties, of God? And how have these prayers affected you?

From Attraction to Love February 20 2005 .rtf

Sun, 20 Feb 2005 16:11:34 GMT

From Attraction to Love

John 4:5-29
Sermon by Dan Schrock
February 20, 2005
Lent 2

So he came to a Samaritan city called Sychar, near the plot of ground that Jacob had given to his son Joseph. Jacob's well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon.

A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, "Give me a drink." (His disciples had gone to the city to buy food.) The Samaritan woman said to him, "How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?" (Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans.) Jesus answered her, "If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, 'Give me a drink,' you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water." The woman said to him, "Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us the well, and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?" Jesus said to her, "Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life." The woman said to him, "Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water."
Jesus said to her, "Go, call your husband, and come back." The woman answered him, "I have no husband." Jesus said to her, "You are right in saying, 'I have no husband'; for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!" The woman said to him, "Sir, I see that you are a prophet. Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem." Jesus said to her, "Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews. But the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him. God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth." The woman said to him, "I know that Messiah is coming" (who is called Christ). "When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us." Jesus said to her, "I am he, the one who is speaking to you."
Just then his disciples came. They were astonished that he was speaking with a woman, but no one said, "What do you want?" or, "Why are you speaking with her?" Then the woman left her water jar and went back to the city. She said to the people, "Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?"

In this series of worship services for Lent, we are exploring some of the movements in the spiritual life. Last Sunday I talked about being attracted to Jesus early in our Christian life. Something about Jesus attracts us, making us decide to become a Christian and receive baptism. He makes himself appealing to us and we say yes. This attraction to Jesus is one of the earliest and most necessary movements in our Christian life.

It's a little like courtship between two people. At first there's attraction. A man might initially be attracted to a woman because of the shape of her body or the proportions of her face; and a woman might be attracted to a man by the way he laughs and listens. If the relationship continues, the woman and man could easily fall in love with each other. They move from attraction to love.

It's this movement in the Christian life from attraction to abiding love that I want to talk about today. At some point after we're attracted to Jesus, we're likely to fall in love with him. We become passionate about this wonderful person, a bit like lovers falling in love after they know each other for a while. Falling in love with Jesus makes us feel inspired, enthusiastic, and made over into a new, whole person. Because of all the satisfaction we receive from this relationship, our spiritual life is deeply rewarding.

Christians who are at this point in their spiritual journey tend to talk a lot about Jesus. Their prayers to Jesus are full of words, almost becoming a torrent of words. Have you ever noticed that when two people are in love, they're always talking to each other; and in the rare moments when they're not in each other's company they're always talking about their beloved to other people? One year in college I roomed with a guy who had fallen in love with a woman on campus. Whenever he wasn't with her, talking up a blue streak, he sat around in the dorm endlessly reporting to me all the exciting stuff she said and did, how cute her nose was, how fine she looked walking down the sidewalk, until I could stand it no more. ``Mike,'' I said, ``give it a rest! In a dozen different ways you've already told me how wonderful she is.''

And then there are the people who've been married for thirty years. If you watch them in a restaurant, they usually don't say much to each other. That's partly because they don't have to use words as much as new lovers do. They already know each other well. They know each other so well that a turn of the head, the arching of an eyebrow, or a pursing of the lips speaks volumes. They communicate with each other beyond words.

In a similar way, our life of prayer may change over time. Early in our spiritual journey our prayers often rely heavily on words. We want to express ourselves to Jesus, to tell him what we're thinking and feeling, to pour ourselves out. This is a perfectly normal and natural thing for us to do. Later on in our journey of faith we may not need so many words and will naturally communicate with God in other ways, but here early on words mean a lot to us.

One of the best illustrations of this reliance on words and this movement from attraction to love, is the woman in the fourth chapter of John. One day around noon a woman from the village of Sychar leaves her house with an empty water jar and walks to the local well outside town. As she comes near the well she spies a man sitting on the stone ledgea man who by the looks of him appears to be a Jew. Immediately her back stiffens. A Jewish man, deep here inside Samaritan territory? This is not normal! Why is he here, and what on earth could this mean?

For seven hundred years, Jews and Samaritans had hated each other passionately, even though both of them worshipped the same God, shared some of the same scripture, and were ethnically related. The roots of Jewish-Samaritan rivalry are found in 2 Kings 17; but the most intense rivalry started in 300 BC and then peaked in 128 BC when Jewish troops destroyed the Samaritan temple on Mt. Gerizim. Ever since then, Jews and Samaritans avoided each other as much as possible. So it was highly unsettling to find a Jew resting at a Samaritan well.

Another problem is that she's a woman, he's a man, and there was a long history of people falling in love at wells. Since Jews and Samaritans shared some of the same scripture, this woman and this man both knew the story in Genesis 29 about Jacob and Rachel who first met at a well and soon got married, and the story in Exodus 2 about Moses and Zipporah, who also first met at a well then later married. ¹ By now it was a pattern, a typology in their religious heritage: when a single man and a single woman met at a well, they had a very good chance of falling in love and getting married. To make matters even more tense, this well in John 4 is not just any old well: this is Jacob's well (v. 6), presumably the same well where Jacob first met and first kissed Rachel (Genesis 29:11).

Therefore this encounter in John 4 is full of relational tension. The stakes are high. But this woman really needs some water, so keeps on walking toward that well. After all, this is her turf, this is her village, and this is the well that belongs to her village. She decides to ignore this suspicious Jewish man as best she can, fill her jar quickly, and scurry home.

What happens next takes the woman by surprise. When she arrives at the well the man looks at her calmly and with an even voice says, ``Give me a drink.'' Her plan to ignore him and be ignored by him fails. He says ``give me a drink,'' meaning now she must deal with him carefully so as to navigate through all the tensions in this encounter.

Choosing her words carefully, she replies in a tone to match his, ``Why do you, a Jewish man, ask me, a Samaritan woman for a drink of water?'' In other words, strange man, why are you breaking the social conventions by coming to this well? Why are you bothering me?

The man doesn't answer her question. Instead he shifts the conversation to the level of spiritual metaphor: ``God has a gift for you, woman. A gift of living water. Ask for some.''

She thinks he's talking about literal water. Even though she doesn't understand what he's really talking about, she's intrigued enough to continue the conversation. ``You have no bucket, man, and this well goes down a long way. Living water? What are you talking about? You think you're better than our ancestor Jacob?''

``My living water slakes your thirst forever,'' he replies. ``It calls out to the screams of your spirit. It satisfies your deepest desire. It fills the hole in your soul. It pours down into the depths of your being, and then rises again like a spring gushing up out of you, ceaselessly, perpetually, unendingly, to heal you with love.''

Something stirs inside the woman. The words he speaks, the look in his eyes, the smile on his lipsthey all wet a thirst she barely knew existed, a thirst she suddenly wants very much to satisfy. Intuitively she realizes this is not about romantic love. This is love of another sort, unlike any man ever offered her before, and it attracts her powerfully.

``Sir,'' she blurts out, ``I want it. Your living water. Give it to me. I thirst.''

But oddly, the man dodges her desire, at least for the moment. ``Go get your husband,'' he suggests.

Her eyebrows raise at this. Why in the world is he bringing that topic up?, she wonders to herself. ``I don't have a husband,'' she says flatly.

``Of course you don't,'' he counters. ``You've had five, and the current one is no husband at all.''

The woman now realizes this man truly is unlike any other. How did he know about her tortured marital history? The only way a stranger like him would know about that is if he had information from God.

So she decides to test him with a theological question. ``Since you're so smart, solve a problem for me. We Samaritans say the only place to worship God is here in Samaria, on Mt. Gerizim. You Jews say the only place is in Jerusalem, on the top of your mountain. Who's right?''

For once this man gives a direct answer, demonstrating that he values her as a conversation partner, that her theological question deserves a theological answer. ``Neither,'' he replies. ``Since God is Spirit, God can be worshipped anywhere. The place is unimportant. What's important is the internal integrity of your worship.''

And then comes the most astonishing part of the story. This man tells her a piece of informationher, a Samaritan woman with a questionable reputationwhich he tells to no one else in the gospel of John. In all other times and places, this man is evasive about his identity. Not know. Looking at her full in the face, he announces: ``I am the Messiah.''

This information makes the woman run. Not to flee the Messiah, not to evade him, not to avoid him; but to act for joy. Leaving her empty water jar at the well, she runs back to the village, calling people out of their houses, urging people to halt what they're doing. ``Come and see! There's a man here who knows me thoroughly, who treats me honorably, who takes me seriously, who looks at me compassionately, who satisfies the screams of my spirit, who draws me out of myself so that I might know myself. Come and see!''

So. When have you encountered the living Christ? And how did you fall in love?

Note
1. For Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York: Basic, 1981), 51-58, this sequence illustrates a literary ``type-scene'' that thematically ties several stories together in the biblical canon. Alter does not mention John 4, but crucial features in the story clearly allude to this type-scene tradition.

Attracted to Jesus February 13 2005 .rtf

Sun, 13 Feb 2005 15:49:30 GMT

Attracted to Jesus

Luke 10:30-35
Sermon by Dan Schrock
February 13, 2005
Lent 1

Jesus replied, "A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, 'Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.''' (NRSV)

What first attracted you to Jesus? What was it about Jesus that made you decide to bind your life to his? What appealed to you about becoming a Christian? Why did you agree to be baptized and join the kingdom of God?

Sometimes we are attracted to Jesus in surprising, unexpected ways. One example is how Philip Yancey became Christian. Today Philip Yancey is a well-known evangelical author of books such as What's So Amazing about Grace?, The Jesus I Never Knew , and others. In his book Disappointment with God , Yancey tells the story of his conversion during college. Yancey grew up in a fine Christian home, but always resisted Christ. Despite his resistance, his mother sent him to a Bible college in South Carolina, hoping something good might happen to him at Bible college. But Yancey continued to be stubborn. Here, in his own words, is his story of what happened when he got to college:

``Bible college was for me . . . a breeding ground of doubt and skepticism. I survived by learning to mimic `spiritual' behaviora student had to, in fact, just to get good grades. There was the odious matter of `Christian service,' for instance. The college required each student to participate in a regular service activity, such as street evangelism, prison ministry, or nursing home visitation. I signed up for `university work.'

[What `university work' meant was that] ``every Saturday night I would visit a student center at the University of South Carolina and watch television. I was supposed to be `witnessing' [to the students] of course, and the next week I would dutifully report on all the people I had approached about personal faith. My embellished stories must have sounded authentic, because no one ever questioned them.

``I was also required to attend a weekly prayer meeting with four other students involved in university work. Those meetings followed a consistent pattern: Joe would pray, and then Craig, and Chris, and the other Joe, and then all four would pause politely for about ten seconds [waiting for me to pray. But] I never prayed; and after the brief silence, we would open our eyes and return to our rooms.

``But one February night to everyone's surprise, including my own, I did pray. I have no idea why. I had not planned to. But after Joe and Craig and Chris and Joe had finished, I found myself praying aloud. `God,' I said, and I could sense the tension level in the room rise.

``As I recall it, I said something like this: `God, here we are, supposed to be concerned about those ten thousand students at the University of South Carolina who are going to hell. Well, you know that I don't care if they all go to hell, if there is . . . [a hell]. I don't even care if I go . . . [to hell].'

``You would have to attend a Bible college to appreciate how these words must have sounded to the others in the room. I may as well have been invoking witchcraft or offering child sacrifices. But no one stirred or tried to stop me, and I continued praying.

``For some reason, I started talking about the parable of the Good Samaritan. We Bible college types were supposed to feel the same concern for university students as the Samaritan felt for the bloodied Jew lying in the ditch. But I felt no such concern, I said. I felt nothing for them.

``And then it happened. In the middle of my prayer, just as I was describing how little I cared for our assigned targets of compassion, I saw that story [of the Good Samaritan] in a new light. I had been visualizing the scene as I spoke: an old-fashioned-looking samaritan, dressed in robes and a turban, bending over a dirty, blood-crusted form in a ditch. But suddenly, in the internal screen of my brain, those two figures changed. The kindly Samaritan took on the face of Jesus. The Jew, pitiable victim of a high-way robbery, took on another face tooa face I recognized with a start as my own.

``In a flash I saw Jesus reaching down with a moistened rag to clean my wounds and stanch the flow of blood. And as Jesus bent over, I saw myself, the wounded robbery victim, open my eyes and purse my lips. Then, as if watching in slow motion, I saw myself spit at . . . [Jesus], full in the face. I saw all thatI, who did not believe in visions, or in biblical parables, or even in Jesus. It stunned me. Abruptly, I stopped praying, got up, and left the room.

``All that evening I thought about what had happened. . . . What did it mean? Was it genuine? I wasn't sure, but I knew that my cockiness had been shattered. On that campus I had always found security in my agnosticism. No longer. I had caught a new glimpse of myself. Perhaps in all my self-assured and mocking skepticism I was the neediest one of all.

``I wrote a brief note to my fiancée that night, saying guardedly, `I want to wait a few days before talking about it, but I may have just had the first authentic religious experience of my life.' ¹ Eventually Philip Yancey, on the basis of this arresting conversion experience, did commit himself to Jesus. What attracted him to Jesus was profound mercy and compassion.

What attracted you to Jesus? Why did you sign up for this astonishing adventure that we call Christian faith?

When we first agree to follow Jesus, we have no idea where this journey of faith will take us. It does not matter if we are 15 or 25 or 50 years old when we make that commitment and receive baptism: we simply do not know at the beginning what will happen to us along the journey. Something about this Jesus powerfully attracts us, entices us, invites us; but much about our future with him remains a bit mysterious.

Sure, Jesus will guide us and be like a shepherd for us. But more specifically, what green pastures will he invite us to lie down in? What still waters will he send to restore our souls? What dark valleys will he beckon us to? What meals will he prepare for us to eat with our enemies? In which directions will that rod and staff point? How shall his goodness and mercy pursue us all the days of our lives? We don't know the specifics ahead of time; but we decide we like this guy, or maybe trust this guy, and we wish to follow him wherever.

And yet in general, we do know a few things. For instance, we know that when we commit ourselves to Jesus Christ, he in turn commits himself to us. That means he will not leave or forsake us, no matter what. It also means he gives us his Spirit, which is the Holy Spirit. The same Spirit that descended upon Jesus at his baptism in the Jordan River also descends on us. To my way of thinking, this is one of the most wonderful, astonishing things about Christian faith: we get the same Holy Spirit Jesus had. That means our lives are now forever bound up with Jesus' life. His work is now our work. The shape of his life is now the shape of our life. His patterns and priorities are now our patterns and priorities. And his end will also be our end.

Here on the first Sunday of Lent, let us be frank with each other about where we are going to end up on this Lenten journey. We are going to end up on the cross, because that's where Jesus ends up. For a while Jesus will walk around the Palestinian countryside, having a jolly good time providing wine for wedding parties, mending lame legs, giving hope to poor people, making people think about things they never thought of before, and all the rest. But eventually God leads Jesus to Jerusalem, where during one dark night at a place called Gethsemane he prays alone and in desperation. A few days later he ends up on a cross, in physical agony and spiritual anguish, feeling that God, his own guide and shepherd and parent, has utterly forsaken him. At the end of his life, Jesus has what Christians will later call the dark night of the soul, which is the experience of feeling that God has abandoned you. Jesus' dark night on that cross was so intense that according to Matthew, Mark, and Luke, the earth was shrouded in darkness from noon until 3:00 in the afternoon. Now you and I know God did not really abandon Jesus on that cross. But still, it felt to Jesus like abandonment. To him it felt like God had fled.

Because you and I were baptized into Christ, our lives are now bound up with the life of Jesus. Baptism is our link with him. We may not want to admit it, but being baptized into Christ means that we too may very well experience a dark night of the soul at some point during our Christian life. Oh no, the leading superpower of the time may not arrest us as it arrested Jesus, and we may not end up on a literal cross as he did. For us the dark night may look a little different than it did for Jesus. The details will not be identical. But the substance will be similar. If during our journey of discipleship Jesus chooses to lead us into a dark night, as God chose to lead Jesus into a dark night, then we too will experience this sense of being abandoned by God. Again, God does NOT really leave us, but sometimes it may appear to us that God has.

Many Christians experience a dark night at some point in their lives. For some people this experience is fairly moderate, while for others it's intense. We Mennonites almost never talk about the dark night, even though it happens to quite a few of us. During this Lenten series, with the permission of the Worship Commission, we will be exploring this strange yet life-giving spiritual condition called the dark night. We will discover that contrary to the way it seems when we're in the middle of it, the dark night is actually a gracious, loving gift from Christ that changes us in huge ways to be more like him.

That's where we're headed with Jesus this Lent, to the dark night of prayer. But we're not there just yet. Today we're still at the beginning of our journey of faith, with what attracts us to Jesus and makes us want to follow him wherever he goes. And no matter what happens to us along the way, we can be sure we will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

So what was it that attracted you?

Notes
1. Philip Yancey, Disappointment with God: Three Questions No One Asks Aloud (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1988), 305-308.

Health Care in the Early Church January 23 2005 .rtf

Sun, 23 Jan 2005 13:43:56 GMT

Health Care in the Early Church
Matthew 25:31-36
January 23, 2005
Health Care Access Sunday

"When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. Then the king will say to those at his right hand, 'Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.''' (NRSV)

At the final judgment, one of the standards Jesus will use to evaluate which nations go into eternal fire and which nations go into eternal life is the standard of health care. Nations who provide health care will receive eternal life at the end of history. Nations who refuse access to health care will receive eternal fire at the last judgment (25:41-46). At least that's what this provocative, astounding text asserts. This passage does not talk about the final judgment of individual human beings like you and me, but about the final judgment of nations . The nations of the world will be judged by how they treat the sick, the hungry, the imprisoned, the poor.

Last Sunday I talked about the health care plan that Jesus offered to sick people in Palestine. I described how the leaders of the Roman empire, numbering only 1-2% of the population, created an economy that benefited them but few other people. People in the empire were chronically malnourished which in turn lead to widespread illness. A major chunk of Jesus' ministry was simply offering access to good health care that was otherwise denied to ordinary people.

Since Jesus took health care so seriously, the early church knew it also had to take health care seriously. Today I want to talk about the health care ministry that the early church offered to its own members and to unchurched people in the empire. And I want to focus on a period of early church history we rarely talk about: the period immediately after the New Testament was written. The period of our focus is roughly from 100 AD to about 350 AD, when the Roman empire was still very much in control and the church was still trying to figure out how to be the church in this alien empire. But we're not going to start the story with health care. Instead we're going to start this story with church growth because in the early church, numerical growth and health care went hand-in-hand.

In the first years of the early church, say around the year 40, the number of Christians was perhaps about 1,000. Yet by the year 350 there were perhaps 33 million Christians. In order to go from 1,000 Christians to 33 million Christians in 310 years requires a growth rate of 40% per decade. We know that rate of growth is sustainable over the long term because the Mormans have been doing it for the last hundred years. ¹ The question is how the early church managed to grow that rapidly.

There are many reasons why Christians grew rapidly in the first three centuries. For example, we grew rapidly because we gave status and respect to women, which almost no one else in the Roman empire was doing. Women found us very attractive and quickly became members. ² Another reason we grew is that cities in the Roman empire were notoriously wracked by riots and ethnic conflict. We said people of all ethnic backgrounds are welcome in the church, and if you don't know how to get along with people of other ethnic groups, we'll teach you how to get along. That was terribly appealing to a lot of people. ³ A further reason for growth is that we were a tightly-knit communal organization that essentially out-organized and out-strategized every other organization in the ancient world, including the Roman empire itself. We knew how to build community better than anyone else, and outsiders wanted to be a part of that.

But there is another crucial reason for the astonishing success of our faith in the early years: we grew because we took care of sick people.

In normal times, the health of most people in the empire was quite poor. People lived in cities with crowded, unsanitary conditions that were ripe for the spread of infectious disease. But things got worse during epidemics. In the year 165 AD, a devastating epidemic, probably smallpox, swept through the Roman empire. It first appeared in the army commanded by general Verus which was fighting along the eastern boundary of the empire. From the east the epidemic spread to the rest of the empire. Some medical historians suspect that this epidemic was the first appearance of smallpox in the Western world. In any case, the epidemic lasted fifteen years and wiped out between one-fourth and one-third of the empire's population. The mortality rate was so high that the emperor, Marcus Aurelius, spoke of caravans of carts and wagons hauling dead bodies out of cities. So many people died that whole cities and villages were simply abandoned. Eventually the emperor caught the disease and died in office. ⁴

As if that epidemic was not enough, in the year 251 a new and equally nasty epidemic again swept through the empire. This time the culprit was probably measles. Once again, a fourth to a third of people in the empire died. At the height of this epidemic, 5,000 people a day died in the city of Rome. Presumably the death rates were so high because people had never before been exposed to these diseases and therefore had no immunity.

As you might guess, these epidemics caused all sorts of havoc. With family members and friends dying right and left, a lot of people were terrified of catching these diseases and dying too. During epidemics many healthy people just abandoned sick people, even their own family members, and left them to die. During the second epidemic, Dionysius, the Christian bishop of Alexandria, Egypt, described how the pagans behaved. He wrote:

At the first onset of the disease, [the pagans] pushed the sufferers away and fled from their dearest, throwing them into the roads before they were dead and treating unburied corpses as dirt, hoping thereby to avert the spread and contagion of the fatal disease. ⁵

The good bishop knew what he was talking about. In both these epidemics, it wasn't just friends and family members who abandoned the sick, it was also pagan priests and doctors. During the second epidemic, Galen, the famous doctor who wrote a number of medical papers that we still have today, and who had a reputation for successfully treating patients no other doctor could heal, fled to the countryside when the epidemic came to the city of Rome. ⁶

But most of the Christians did not behave like these pagans. Christians stayed right where they were and took care of the sick. At the height of the epidemic, around Easter 260, Bishop Dionysius wrote a letter to all the Christians in Alexandria. In the letter he pays tribute to the heroic nursing efforts of local Christians, many of whom caught the disease while caring for the sick, and who eventually died. He writes:

Most of our brother [and sister] Christians showed unbounded love and loyalty, never sparing themselves and thinking only of one another. Heedless of danger, they took charge of the sick, attending to their every need and ministering to them in Christ, and with [those who were dying] departed this life serenely happy; for thy were infected by others with the disease, drawing on themselves the sickness of their neighbors and cheerfully accepting their pains. Many [Christians], in nursing and curing others, transferred their death to themselves and died in their stead.... The best of our brothers [and sisters] lost their lives in this manner, [including] a number of presbyters, deacons, and laypeople.... ⁷

Do you hear the contrast between the way pagans responded to disease and the way Christians responded? During horrible epidemics Christians behaved radically different than everybody else. Instead of running away from the epidemics they stayed. Instead of spurning the sick, they nursed them. Instead of treating other human beings as disposable trash, they loved pagans as fellow children of God.

The question you're probably asking is, so what? Did it really matter that Christians behaved differently during these epidemics, that they cared for the sick instead of abandoning them and leaving town? After all, even the smartest Roman doctors had no idea how to treat these strange diseases, since no one at the time knew anything about bacteria or viruses. So what difference could Christian nursing care possibly make?

The answer is that is made a huge difference. In extreme situations basic nursing care can greatly reduce mortality. Simply making sure sick people have enough food and water gives those too weak to fend for themselves a chance to recover instead of dying. Conscientious nursing, even without medication, can potentially cut the mortality rate by two-thirds or more.

Let's play with a few numbers to see how this works. Suppose that on average 30% of the pagan population is dying without benefit of nursing care. If you're a pagan, that means 3 out of every 10 people you know, including your own friends and family members, are dying. These are staggering losses.

But suppose you're a Christian. You belong to a community of faith that nurses all sick members with water and food. If simple nursing care cuts the general mortality rate of 30% by two-thirds, then only 10% of your Christian acquaintances are dying, just 1 in 10. Although that's still pretty terrible, it's a lot better than losing 3 in 10.

Look at this another way. You live in a town of 10,000 people when one of these epidemics strikes. We'll say that before the epidemic there were 40 Christians and 9,960 pagans. When the epidemic comes, Christians care for each other but the pagans don't. When the plague is over, Christians have lost 10% of their number and pagans 30% of their number. That means that Christians now number 36 and pagans 6,972. You see what's happening? In a town of 10,000, Christians have lost 4 people, but pagans have lost 2,988 people. The relative percentage of Christians is going up while the relative percentage of pagans is dropping precipitously.

Now the pagans are watching all of this and notice that not nearly as many Christians are dying. They can tell the difference between a 30% and a 10% mortality rate. Pagans begin to realize it's in their own self interest to become Christian. But there's more. We know that Christians were also giving nursing care to pagans, not just to fellow Christians. So in gratitude for saving their lives and receiving such kindness, many pagans wanted to become Christian for reasons beyond self-interest. High rates of conversion to Christian faith was the result. Therefore in both relative and real numbers, the Christian population rose while the pagan population declined, all because Christians offered simple but effective health care during epidemics. ⁸

Christians believed things that no one else in the empire believed. They believed that God was love, and that God wanted them to love other people. Recall those words from Matthew 25:

For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was sick and you visited me.... Truly I tell you, as you did it to one of the least of these, you did it to me.

These were revolutionary ideas in the ancient world. In none of the pagan religions did the gods love humans or ask their followers to love other people. Love and mercy were unique to Christian faith. ⁹ But it was about more than just love. It was also about eternal life. For Christians it did not matter if they died nursing the sick because they knew that eternal life was waiting for them after death. Pagans had no such belief in life after death. Christians could willingly offer their lives because they knew something better was waiting for them on the other side of death.

So the ministry of health care was a major reason why Christianity outlasted the Roman empire and left paganism in the dust. Of course the early church was too small to nurse everyone in the empire who got sick. Christians had neither the people power nor the financial resources for that. But they did what they could in their own communities, in their own towns and cities, for their own neighbors and fellow Christians.

Only the federal government can provide a comphrensive solution to the health care crisis now facing the United States. But meanwhile there are things the church can do. Perhaps this story from the early church will help us to imagine a response for our time and place, so that at the end of time Christ will say, ``Come, you that are blessed . . . inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world . . . eternal life'' (Matthew 25:34,46).

Notes
1.       Rodney Stark, The Rise of Christianity: How the Obscure, Marginal Jesus Movement Became the Dominant Religious Force in the Western World in a Few Centuries (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996), 7.
2.       Stark, 95-128.
3.       Stark, 213.
4.       Stark, 76.
5.       Quoted in Stark, 83.
6.       Encyclopedia Britannica 2000, ``Galen of Pergamum.''
7.       Quoted in Stark, 82.
8.       Stark, 88-91.
9.       Stark, 211-212.

When the Empire Makes You Sick January 16 2005 .rtf

Sun, 16 Jan 2005 16:29:23 GMT

When the Empire
Makes You Sick

Matthew 4:23-25
Sermon by Dan Schrock
January 16, 2005

Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people. So his fame spread throughout all Syria, and they brought to him all the sick, those who were afflicted with various diseases and pains, demoniacs, epileptics, and paralytics, and he cured them. And great crowds followed him from Galilee, the Decapolis, Jerusalem, Judea, and from beyond the Jordan. (NRSV)

During the New Testament period, the Roman empire was making people sick. Physically sick and psychologically sick. The oppression, domination, and economic greed of the empire's rulers were making ordinary people in the empire sick. ¹

To understand how this happened, let us recall a few things about Roman society. As you know, the Roman empire was not a democracy, but an empire, ruled by one emperor who had enormous power. When Jesus tells his disciples that ``the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over [other people] and their great ones are tyrants over them'' (Matthew 20:24), he knew precisely what he was talking about. The empire was constructed so that a tiny group of people at the very top lorded it over everyone else. This group of people at the top, the upper class, made up only 1-2% of the empire's total population, but held all the important positions in government. ² Almost everyone else belonged to the lower class. Historians are not sure whether the Roman empire had a middle class, but all agree that if there was a middle class, it was tiny, perhaps only a few percentage points of the total population. ³

So the empire basically had two social classes: a tiny upper class with vast wealth and complete political power, and a huge lower class, about 90-95% of the population, that was poor and powerless. If you were poor and powerless, you had no say in how the empire was run. You could not vote, because there were no elections. You could not contact your senators, because the Roman senators did not represent you. Neither the emperor nor any of his underlings cared what you thought or how you felt about things, as long as you obeyed their commands.

Since there were no elections, the emperor and the rest of the upper class stayed in power because they controlled the army. During the first century, the emperor had around 28 legions of soldiers under his command. ⁴ Each legion had roughly 5,000-6,000 soldiers, with a similar number of additional auxiliary troops. This means the empire supported somewhere between 280,000 and 336,000 soldiers. These legions were scattered around the empire's hot-spots, usually at the borders, but were designed to be highly mobile. They not only fought outsiders, but also acted as the empire's police force. If people misbehaved, the legions marched in and did whatever it took to suppress dissent, including crucifying large numbers of people if necessary.

The legions also made sure people paid their taxes. Since there was no uniform tax code, it's hard to say precisely what the rate of taxation wasit varied from region to region and city to city. At minimum the aggregate tax rate was 30% and sometimes went as high as 70%. ⁵ Suppose you were an ordinary peasant who farmed an acre or two of land. You paid several different kinds of taxes. First, you probably paid a poll tax on yourself and on each member of your family. Second, you likely paid rent to some rich person who owned the land you farmed. Most land was owned by the upper classes, so if you wanted to farm it you had to pay rent. Third, you paid a tax on all the food you grew. Fourth, if you were Jewish you paid taxes to support the temple and its employees. Fifth, you paid transportation taxes. Whenever you transported your crops, you paid tolls every time you crossed a river, a bridge, or a provincial boundary. And at each crossing you paid multiple tolls. You paid a toll on yourself, a toll on the crops you were hauling, a toll for the cart you were hauling them in, and still another toll for the animal pulling your cart. After paying all these taxes you could of course keep whatever was left, but remember that you had to save some of your crops for seed or breeding stock for the following year. By the time you also factored in the inevitable losses to rodents and insects during storage, and you might be left to live on as little as 20% of your original crop. ⁶

Some of the taxes you paid to the empire were taxes in kind, that is, you handed over a set percentage of your barley crop, your wine production, or whatever. After you gave your crop to the empire, what happened to it? Where did all that food go? Well, the rich ate some of it, but mostly they turned around and sold it at exorbitant prices to poor people who lived in the cities. In this way, the rich got a triple benefit: they took crops without paying for them, ate whatever they wanted for free, and then sold the rest at high prices to city folk who couldn't raise their own food. The rich then spent their profit on expensive palaces and clothes, and on funding a strong military.

What we have, then, is an imperial system where the people who raised the food had to give most of it away to the rulers, while the people who lived in cities had to pay high prices for food sold in the market. It's easy to guess the result: massive malnutrition throughout much of the empire. Farmers didn't have much food left to eat, while city folk often could not afford to buy the food as they wanted to eat.

As any doctor will tell you, malnutrition makes the human body far more vulnerable to diseases of every kind. Chronically malnourished bodies simply don't have strong immune systems to fight bacteria and viruses, or to heal broken bones and other injuries. As a result, sickness was rampant. It's probably not an exaggeration to say that most people were sick a good bit of their lives. We know that life expectancy was very low, perhaps an average of 30-40 years for men, and due to the dangers of childbirth, perhaps only 20-30 years on average for women. Certainly some people lived much longer, but we're talking about average life expectancy.

Therefore for ordinary people in the Roman empire, the two biggest issues were getting enough food to eat, and trying (without much success) to stay healthy. To put it bluntly, the Roman imperial system was bad for your health. ⁷

Now we can understand why Jesus spent so much of his ministry doctoring sick people. Offering people access to good health care was a huge part of Jesus' ministry. SomeoneI no longer remember whoonce said that about 30% of the material in the gospels focuses on healing sick people. They were sick because the policies and practices of the Roman empire were making them sicker than they might have been otherwise.

So far we've been focusing on physical sickness and the malnutrition that made people more susceptible to illness. But what about mental diseases? In our text from chapter 4, Matthew explicitly says that Jesus healed ``every disease and every sickness among the people'' (v. 23), and in the next verse specifically names ``demoniacs'' and ``epileptics.'' Today we believe epilepsy is caused by malfunctioning nerve cells in the brain. People in the first century, however, believed epilepsy was caused by demon possession. We find an example in Matthew 17, where Jesus heals a boy with epilepsy by casting out a demon that had been living in him (vv. 14-18).

In the first century a whole range of mental illnesses was attributed to demon possession. People then believed that demons from the spirit world sometimes invaded human beings, controlled those human beings, and caused them to do all sorts of unusual things like have seizures, scream in a loud voice, or say outrageous things. In the worldview of the first century, the chief of all demons was the devil. Besides functioning as the chief of all demons, the devil also had another important role. According to Matthew 4:8-9 and Luke 4:5-7, the devil controls all kingdoms and nations of the world. The Greek word used here for kingdom can just as easily be translated as empire . So in Matthew and Luke's theology, the spiritual power behind empires is not the God of heaven and earth, but the devil. In a sense the devil controls the Roman empire, and in collaboration with the empire dominates people's lives and makes them sick. What we have then is oppression in two overlapping parts: the Roman empire oppresses ordinary people through military occupation, outrageous tax rates, and hunger; the devil and his subordinate demons simultaneously oppress the psycho-spiritual lives of people.

We are now ready to assemble this into a larger picture. According to Matthew (and also according to Mark and Luke, who share this theology with Matthew), demonic forces collaborate with empires to oppress ordinary poor people. ⁸ The visible signs of this oppression are military occupation, excessive taxation, ostentatious consumption by the upper 1-2% of the population, chronic malnutrition, widespread sickness, and demon possession. Succinctly put, demonic empire is bad for your health.

With this in mind, we can now see the ministry of Jesus in a new light. In response to overwhelming oppression by the combined forces of devil and empire, Jesus offers ordinary people a comprehensive health care package. Listen to this long list of conditions that Jesus covers in his health care plan. He provides physical health care for ailments like skin disease (Matthew 8:1-4), paralysis (8:5-13, 9:2-8, 12:9-14), fevers (8:14-15), hemorrhaging (9:20-22), blindness (9:27-31, 20:29-34), and speechlessness (9:32-34). He provides mental health care for ailments like demon possession (8:28-34) and epilepsy (17:14-18). In the face of massive malnutrition, he prepares free lunches for large crowds (14:13-21, 15:32-39). In response to outrageously high taxes, he demonstrates God's ability to provide for people's needs from unexpected places (17:24-27). To counteract hopeless debt, he asks lenders to forgive loans (18:23-35). When rich people ask what they should do with their wealth, Jesus suggests they give it away (19:16-22). To counteract the evil of military occupation, he inspires people to creative acts of nonviolent resistance (5:41). ⁹ Instead of killing enemies, he helps people to love enemies (5:43-48). He refuses to take anybody else's life, but instead offers his own life (16:21-23, 17:22-23, 20:17-19, 26:47-56). Rather than imitating the empire's practice of dominating others, he asks people to serve each other (20-25-28).

Every time Jesus puts one of these health care provisions into practice, he liberates people from the empire's various oppressions. At heart, the health care ministry of Jesus gives ordinary people access to God's liberation. Jesus offers a new kind of physical, mental, and spiritual health unavailable anywhere else. In other words Jesus not only saves us from our personal sins, he also saves us from the demonic evil which lies behind empire.

Jesus was so interested in providing health and wholeness to other people that he willingly relinquished his own life. He did not insist on using up every health care measure in an effort to live as long as he possibly could. He did not believe his own life was worth every possible and heroic effort to preserve it. According to Matthew 26:53, Jesus could have asked God to send twelve legions of angels to prolong his life. He had the option of choosing heroic measures, but he did not take them. No, when death came near he accepted it. His death gave other people access to God's healing and wholeness. ¹⁰

In next Sunday's sermon I will talk about how the early church continued the healing ministry of Jesus by offering their neighbors access to health care that was otherwise denied to them. In particular I will talk about what the early church did during several epidemics that swept through the Roman empire. During these epidemics members of the church risked their own health and their own lives to offer health care to othersjust as Jesus did. It's a story I think you'll find very interesting because it also explains why the early church grew at such a phenomenal rate. But more on that next Sunday.

Notes

1.       In a general way this sermon relies on the substantial strand of New Testament scholarship which in recent years has started to uncover the massive conflicts between the early church and the Roman empire. For treatments of Jesus v. empire, see Warren Carter, Matthew and the Margins: A Sociopolitical and Religious Reading (Maryknoll: Orbis, 2000), and Matthew and Empire: Initial Explorations (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2001); K.C. Hanson and Douglas E. Oakman, Palestine in the Time of Jesus: Social Structures and Social Conflicts (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998); and Richard A. Horsley, Jesus and Empire: The Kingdom of God and the New World Disorder (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003).

For treatments of Paul v. empire, see Richard A. Horsley, ed., Paul and Empire: Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1997), and Paul and Politics: Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2000). In the latter volume N.T. Wright, one of the most highly respected New Testament scholars now working in the English language, asserts that one of the ``most exciting developments today in the study of Paul and his thought'' is the conflict between Paul's gospel and the claims of the Roman empire (160).
2.       Carter, 11.
3.       K.C. Hanson, ``The Galilean Fishing Economy and the Jesus Tradition,'' on the web at http://www.kchanson.com/ARTICLES/fishing.html
4.       http://www.roman-empire.net/army/army.html#ageaugustus
5.       Carter, 18.
6.       Hanson and Oakman, 114; Bruce J. Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh, Social-Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 134.
7.       Carter, 71.
8.       Neither space nor time permit me to demonstrate in this sermon how the gospel of Mark portrays the collaboration between demonic forces and the Roman empire, although any interpreter whose eyes are open should be able to see the obvious connection in Mark 5:1-20 hinging on the word ``legion.'' For a treatment of this theme see Chad Myers, Binding the Strong Man: A Political Reading of Mark's Story of Jesus (Maryknoll: Orbis, 1988), 190-194.
9.       See Walter Wink, ``Neither Passivity nor Violence: Jesus' Third Way,'' in Willard M. Swartley, ed., The Love of Enemy and Nonretaliation in the New Testament (Louisville: Westminister/John Knox, 1992), 102-125.
10.      See the Mennonite Church USA's ``A Prospectus on Health Care Access,'' April 17, 2003, lines 215-217.

More than A Genealogy January 2 2005 .rtf

Tue, 4 Jan 2005 18:47:00 GMT

More than a Genealogy

Matthew 1:1-17
Sermon by Dan Schrock
January 2, 2005

An account of the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah, the son of David, the son of Abraham.
Abraham was the father of Isaac, and Isaac the father of Jacob, and Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers, and Judah the father of Perez and Zerah by Tamar, and Perez the father of Hezron, and Hezron the father of Aram, and Aram the father of Aminadab, and Aminadab the father of Nahshon, and Nahshon the father of Salmon, and Salmon the father of Boaz by Rahab, and Boaz the father of Obed by Ruth, and Obed the father of Jesse, and Jesse the father of King David.
And David was the father of Solomon by the wife of Uriah, and Solomon the father of Rehoboam, and Rehoboam the father of Abijah, and Abijah the father of Asaph, and Asaph the father of Jehoshaphat, and Jehoshaphat the father of Joram, and Joram the father of Uzziah, and Uzziah the father of Jotham, and Jotham the father of Ahaz, and Ahaz the father of Hezekiah, and Hezekiah the father of Manasseh, and Manasseh the father of Amos, and Amos the father of Josiah, and Josiah the father of Jechoniah and his brothers, at the time of the deportation to Babylon.
And after the deportation to Babylon: Jechoniah was the father of Salathiel, and Salathiel the father of Zerubbabel, and Zerubbabel the father of Abiud, and Abiud the father of Eliakim, and Eliakim the father of Azor, and Azor the father of Zadok, and Zadok the father of Achim, and Achim the father of Eliud, and Eliud the father of Eleazar, and Eleazar the father of Matthan, and Matthan the father of Jacob, and Jacob the father of Joseph the husband of Mary, of whom Jesus was born, who is called the Messiah.
So all the generations from Abraham to David are fourteen generations; and from David to the deportation to Babylon, fourteen generations; and from the deportation to Babylon to the Messiah, fourteen generations. (NRSV)

Most people ignore this genealogy at the beginning of Matthew. It seems so long, so boring, so irrelevant. But actually, these opening verses have a crucial purpose. This genealogy is Matthew's first confrontation with the Roman empire. In the gospel of Matthew there will be many more confrontations with the empire, but this is the first.

For most people today genealogies are just an interesting hobby. Not so among Jews in the first century. Jews were passionate about genealogies because that's one way you determined what kind of person you were. If you had the right genealogy, you were respected. If you had the wrong genealogy, well, you weren't quite so respected.

According to Matthew, Jesus has one of the best genealogies around, perhaps the best you could get, because he's descended both from Abraham, the original chosen and blessed Jew, and also from King David, the most beloved king the nation of Israel ever had. That means Jesus inherited the best blood you could get. Like Abraham, Jesus is chosen and blessed. Like King David, he's royalty. This is the first thing Matthew wants us to keep in mind: that Jesus is chosen and blessed royalty. He is great and exalted.

The second thing we notice about this genealogy is that Matthew tells us some important things about salvation history. He divides this genealogy into three parts of 14 generations each. Actually, Matthew fudges things a little to make them come out this neatly. When you read this list of names carefully and compare them with history in the Old Testament, you'll discover not everything lines up. An example. In verse 4, Aram (or Ram if you have an NIV Bible) is the only person to appear for 400 years of biblical history. ¹ There were many more people who lived during those 400 years, but Matthew only mentions one of them. There are other discrepancies here too.

But these discrepancies are not a problem, because Matthew is not trying to write factual history. He's trying to write theological history, to tell us something about the way God saves the world. Take the first set of names in verses 2-6 that begins with Abraham and ends with King David. This is the period of history when God called an ordinary nomad named Abrahama run-of-the-mill sheep and goat farmer with no special skills, prestigious education, or outstanding intelligenceand made that guy and his descendants into a community of very special people. God took those ordinary farmers and fashioned them into a peculiar people with a special identity.

Take the second set of names in verses 6-11 that begins with King David and ends with Jechoniah. This is the period of history when kings ruled the nation of Israel. The best king of them all was David, the first one on the list. David wasn't perfect by a long shot (just remember his adultery with Bathsheba and his attempt to cover it up with murder), yet nonetheless Dave was by all accounts a king in love with God who lived modestly and cared about the poor. After David, however, the kings basically went downhill. True, Josiah was a bit of an exception (2 Kings 22:1-23:30), but an exception that proved the rule. Most of them ignored God's job description for rulers, which is to help the weak and the needy (e.g., Psalm 72).

In a way, David's son Solomon started the whole downhill trajectory of these kings. Solomon imposed stiff taxes on his fellow Israelites, not to benefit the weak and needy in the country, but to build expensive buildings in the capital city and to support his huge royal court in lavish style (1 Kings 4:20-28). He forced the people of his own country into a new kind of slavery to build all those grand buildings (1 Kings 5:13). And then in an effort to placate his 700 hundred wives and 300 concubines, he allowed them to import the worship of new gods (1 Kings 11:1-10). Under the rule of such kings, the whole national life deteriorated. Since King Solomon did it, his subjects thought they could do it too. After watching the king carry on the way he did, they decided they also wanted to get rich the same way he did: by being selfish and oppressing others (Amos 6, Jeremiah 22:13-17). They also started worshipping other gods because after all, the king was doing it. You will remember that God was patient with this nonsense for a long time, warning them again and again they were headed for trouble, but hardly anybody listened. Finally God had enough of the whole mess. God rustled up the Babylonian army and sent them over to wreck the Israelite nation (Jeremiah 52:1-30). In this way God stopped the foolhardy experiment of letting the chosen people turn themselves into a nation like all the other nationsan experiment God was not in favor of when people first proposed the idea (1 Samuel 8:4-22).

Matthew's gospel was written for Christians who knew their Bible well. Simply by naming that long list of mostly failed kings in the second section of the genealogy, Matthew deftly communicates his theological point: that national rulers mostly make national mischief, failing their job descriptions far more often than they fulfill them. Trusting national leaders to do God's will is mostly an exercise in frustration and failure. If God is going to save people, God will have to find some other way to do it than through human rulers.

The third section of Matthew's genealogy, found in verses 12-16, covers the 580 years of Jewish history from the Babylonian destruction of Jerusalem to the birth of the Messiah. This is the period of exile, when Jews were scattered all over the Middle East, living under the domination of one empire after another, each of which held power for a short while then quickly collapsed when a new empire came around: first the Babylonian empire, then the Persian empire, the Greek empire, and now in Matthew's day, the Roman empire.

These three sections of the genealogy sketch three periods of theological history which have now all ended. The first period of wandering around as simple nomadic farmers ended when King David came to power. The second period, that of the monarchy, ended when the Babylonian empire destroyed Jerusalem. And now the third period has ended too, with the birth of Jesus the Messiah. That means that a new, fourth period of theological history is beginning. In the birth of Jesus, God is starting something new. The rest of the gospel shows that this new thing is a new group of people who follow Jesus.

According to Matthew, this new group of people stand over and against the Roman empire. They are an alternative to the empire. The first century Roman empire was huge, powerful, and constantly in people's face. How in your face was it? Think of Christmas. We have just finished another Christmas season in this country. You know how ubiquitous Christmas is during the month of December: lights, trees, carols, parties, cards, Christmas sales, and all the rest. You can't go anywhere or do anything without Christmas being in your face. Historians of the first century say that's how the Roman empire was: it was always in your face wherever you looked. ²

Every day people in the empire were bombarded by its massive efforts to make them go along with the empire's view of reality. They heard imperial propaganda about the emperor's ability to provide ``peace and security'' (1 Thessalonians 5:3). When they walked through their local city they saw statues of the emperor in a god-like pose; they passed temples on the street corner devoted to the emperor's worship, they were interrupted by processions in the emperor's honor winding their way through the streets; they watched athletic games played in his honor; they saw rich people making lavish gifts in the emperor's name for the construction of public buildings; they read stone inscriptions glorifying his deeds; they heard speeches praising the emperor's accomplishments; and they carried coins in their pockets with the emperor's image and slogans.

In short, the empire's propaganda asserted that Rome was the only reality. According to the empire, if anything good was going to happen the empire would have to do it. People in Rome said the empire was the most marvelous thing that ever happened to the world. They said Rome provided peace from war, security from terrorists, and a booming economy. In reality, however, the empire did not live up to its rhetoric and slogans. Instead of making peace, the empire started wars. Instead of offering security from terrorists, the empire terrorized people it didn't like by crucifying them. Instead of creating an economy which benefited everyone, the empire created an economy that mostly benefited the people at the top and that relied on massive amounts of slave labor. With 1 of every 4 people in the empire being a slave, the Roman economy was a slave economy that overtly oppressed 25% of its workforce.

The early Christians were not stupid. They saw right through this imperial rhetoric that tried to make everyone believe what was in fact not true. Notice what Matthew does in the opening verses of his gospelor actually what he does not do: he never mentions the Roman empire. Not one word about this massive, overwhelming empire that pervaded the lives of everybody in the first century. The genealogy asserts that God's work in the world happens through the people of Israel, not through the Roman empire. The genealogy says God blesses the world through Abraham and his descendants, not through the Roman emperor and his policies. It asserts that God is sovereign, not the gods of the empire. It declares that Jesus is worthy of worship, not the emperor. You catch what's going on in this genealogy? Matthew is using great craft and skill to present an alternative to the empire. His genealogy pops holes in the empire's outrageous rhetoric. ³
In other words, Matthew's genealogy is a carefully crafted exercise in political dissent. And this is not the end of it, either. In artful ways, the rest of Matthew's gospel continues to deconstruct the empire's false claims, to illustrate the deep problems inherent in the empire's ways, and to demonstrate the superiority of God. For instance, in chapter 2, Matthew shows how King Herod, the empire's chief representative in Palestine, stops at nothing to keep his own political power, even if that means murdering all the infants in a village (1-18). In chapter 4, the devil offers Jesus all the kingdoms of the world if Jesus will just bow down and worship him. Of course Jesus flatly refuses to worship the devil, but the point we often miss is that the devil is not lying: all the kingdoms of the world are in fact his to give. Matthew infers, in other words, that the devil is the real power behind all kingdoms and nations, including the Roman empire (8-10). ⁴ A little later in chapter 4, Jesus proclaims that people should ``Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near'' (4:17). The Greek word for kingdom is basileia , which can also be translated as reign or empire . So we could just as easily translate 4:17 as ``Repent, for the empire of heaven has come near.'' ⁵ In a social and political context where Rome claims to be the only empire in town, those are highly subversive words. Here at the beginning of his public ministry, Jesus in effect asks people to repent of their allegiance to Rome. Once people have repented of that allegiance, he then asks them to join him in creating an alternative community, called the church (16:18, 18:15-17).

There are many more examples like these that show Matthew wants his readers to practice nonconformity to Rome so they can instead conform to Jesus the Messiah. If we had time this morning, we could talk about some of the other political criticisms Matthew works into his gospel: how Jesus' healing of sick people indirectly faults the empire's health care system; how in chapter 8 the exorcism of demons into pigs lampoons one of Rome's finest set of soldiers, the Tenth Fretensis Legion; how in chapter 17 Jesus reframes the question about paying Roman taxes so that the act of paying taxes really becomes a way of thumbing your nose at Rome; how in chapter 21 Jesus' triumphal entrance into Jerusalem models a nonviolent alternative to the emperor's military victory parades; how in chapter 27 the trial and death of Jesus symbolically overthrow the Roman empire; how in chapter 28 the resurrection becomes a sign of God's victory over Rome; and in the same chapter, how Jesus uses the great commission to assert his supreme authority over all kingdoms, empires, and nations.

It all starts with the genealogy in chapter 1, where Matthew invites us to begin looking at the world with a new pair of glasses. The political realities of the nations are passing away; and in Jesus the Messiah, God is creating a new world. The question is, do you see it?

Notes
1.       M. Eugene Boring, The Gospel of Matthew . NIB. (Nashville: Abingdon, 1995), 129.
2.       Richard A. Horsley, ed., Paul and Empire: Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 1997), 21.
3.       Warren Carter, Matthew and Empire: Initial Explorations (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2001), 77-78.
4.       Carter, 62-63.
5.       Carter, 62-63.

MYF Charlotte Report

Sun, 24 Jul 2005 15:45:21 GMT

No Sermon ths Sunday.

The MYF led the service today, singing songs and sharing out of their experience at Charlotte 2005. They also played a 5 minute summary video done for the denomination and a short PowerPoint with photos of our youth group's experience.

A Prophet s Reward June 26 2005 .rtf

Sun, 26 Jun 2005 18:13:17 GMT

A Prophet's Reward (June 26, 2005)
Jeremiah 27:1-29:14; Mathew 10:32-42
Sermon by Anita Yoder Kehr
         In my opinion, the hardest part of parenting is setting and maintaining proper boundaries. That is, with the exception of potty training which has no redeeming value except that it ends, the hardest part of parenting is setting and maintaining proper boundaries. The questions about boundaries and discipline are almost infinite! What rules do you set down for your children? When are you flexible, and when do you hold firm? How much do you let the practices of other families influence yours? What do you do when you are advised that you're too strict…or too lenient? (We heard both of those!) How do you speak to your children truthfully about things that are hard for them to hear? I clearly remember thinking a number of years ago, ``I am so tired of pulling back on the reins of these children! Can't I just let go?'' But of course, I couldn't. Love for the children required that I hold on.
         The story that Joan told this morning about Jeremiah and Hananiah is an example of love holding on. It is the centerpiece of a three-chapter confrontation between Jeremiah and the prophets, priests, and king of Judah, in chapters 27, 28 and 29. Their on-going conflict swirls around the differences in what they believe about God's intentions. By this time in history, Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon had already captured Jerusalem. He had sent a number of influential citizens, along with many of the temple vessels, into exile in Babylon. As chapter 27 begins, however, Judah and the neighboring states also under subjugation to Babylon evidently thought they saw some weakness in Nebuchadnezzar. Delegates from Edom, Moab, Ammon, Tyre, and Sidon gathered together in Jerusalem, and although Scripture doesn't say just exactly what they were doing, it appears as if they were trying to figure out a way to liberate themselves from the rule of conquering Babylon.
         So what did Jeremiah do? Jeremiah made for himself a yoke made of straps and bars, and he put it on his back. Then he sent messages to each of the delegations which said, in effect, ``God intends for each of you to be under the yoke of Babylon. If you resist, you will die. If you submit, you will live. Don't listen to anyone who tells you differently, even if they say that they are speaking for God. God, who is creator of all things, can decide to give whatever to whomever and this is what is going to happen.'' All along, Jeremiah had been warning the people of Judah to live in obedience to their covenant to worship God alone, to amend their ways and act justly, to end their oppression of the alien, the orphan, and the widow. But, they evidently hadn't listened very well. And so now, Jeremiah says, they and all those neighboring countries must bear the yoke of submission to Babylon.
         Now think very carefully about Jeremiah's message and imagine how it must have sounded, especially to the leaders of Judah. This just couldn't be true. In fact, how could it be true? They were the chosen people of God; they were a nation blessed by God. Jerusalem is God's own city. And aren't God's promises of steadfast love and protection both sure and everlasting? And to top it all off, God would never use someone like Nebuchadnezzar to fulfill divine intention. For the prophets and priests of Judah to believe Jeremiah's message they would have to re-think their whole theology, their whole understanding of God.
         So Hananiah steps forward as defender of the faith to challenge Jeremiah. He prophesies using the same wording that Jeremiah used, ``Thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel,'' only the content of his message is completely opposite to Jeremiah's. God, Hananiah says, will break the yoke of Babylon within two years. All of the people will return, including the exiled king Jehoiakim, and all the vessels for temple worship will be returned to their rightful place.
         After Hananiah finished, Jeremiah paused, and then replied thoughtfully, ``I hope that's the way it goes. Go ahead and pray that way. But remember the prophets of the past. They tell the hard word. They don't say things just because people want to hear them. They speak the truth. As for those who paint pictures of rosy futures, let's see what really happens.''
Hananiah's powerfully symbolic response to Jeremiah is to take the yoke from off of Jeremiah's back, break it, and proclaim that God's will is to break the yoke of King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon from the neck of all the nations within two years. At this, our text says, ``The prophet Jeremiah went his way.''
Sometime later, a new word of the Lord came to Jeremiah, andas alwaysJeremiah was obedient in speaking the truth. So he found Hananiah and said, ``You broke the wooden yoke, but in its place, God will forge bars of iron, and that yoke will lie on the neck of all these nations and they will serve Nebuchadnezzar. God has not sent you, Hananiah, but you will be sent off the face of the earth because you have led the people to believe in a lie.'' And Hananiah was, indeed, sent off the face of the earth within two months for offering the people comfort instead of challenging their sin and disobedience. He was guilty of insufficient truth telling. He was guilty of insufficient love.
         Soon afterward, Jeremiah wrote a letter to the exiles in Babylon. His message is consistent with his earlier word to the people, but it's also a word of truthful comfort. Jeremiah says in chapter 29, ``Settle down where you are because you're going to be there for awhilefor seventy years. Build houses, plant fields, marry and have children. Not only that, but do the best you can to make the place where you're living a good place; pray for it; seek its welfare and you'll experience it as your own welfare.'' Jeremiah continues with a promise: ``You will get to go back to Jerusalem when God allows it. There is a limit to how long God will use Nebuchadnezzar. Here is what the Lord says, `I know the plans I have for you, … plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope. Then when you call upon me and come and pray to me, I will hear you. When you search for me, you will find me; if you seek me with all your heart. I will let you find me, …and I will restore your fortunes and gather you from all the nations and all the places where I have driven you, …and I will bring you back…[says the Lord of hosts].'' (Jeremiah 29:11-14)
         The story of Hananiah and Jeremiah is one of the lectionary texts for today. Another one is from Matthew 10 (read verses 40-42) . These verses come at the end of Jesus' lecture to his disciples before he sends them out on their missionary journey. They seem to imply a promise of help and reward along the way, as well as reward for those who help them. But these verses follow some hard truths. Beginning around verse 32 of chapter 10, Jesus lays out in stark terms just what it means to be his disciple: Being a disciple means acknowledging the truth of Jesus in the face of skepticism. It means that divisions will likely open up in families and communities among those who believe different things. It means picking up the full weight of the suffering of the cross and carrying it. It means seeking the way of God rather than seeking the way of self-fulfillment. It means emptying oneself and letting go of what isn't intended by God. It means listening for God's truth and then speaking it. It means living like an exile in this world, an exile whose true home is within the reign of God that has already begun but is not all the way here yet, seeking the welfare of the place where we live but never forgetting where we belong.
         These are not easy words. They are, in fact, part of the teachings of Jesus known as ``the hard sayings.'' There are no promises of peace and security here; instead there is promise of the opposite. And so, I wonder. Just exactly what is the reward of a prophet? According to Jeremiah, the test of a prophet is whether or not the word she speaks comes to pass. According to Jeremiah's life story, the end of a prophet might be his persecution, ostracism, and loneliness. So, does the reward of a prophet only come for sure after death, in living eternally in the presence of God? I don't think so; I think that there's more. I think that one reward of a prophet is the certain experience and knowledge of the presence of God throughout this life that imparts sufficient love to see and speak God's truth to others.
         It seems to me that prophecytruth-tellingmust be born out of sufficient love. The love of God comes first because it is only by loving God that we can hear what God wants us to say . We love God by listening to Scripture, by listening in prayer, by listening and testing in the community of faith. We love God by following, by becoming disciples. As we follow, we learn to know God more deeply, and as we learn to know Godto love Godmore deeply, we can follow more closely. Or so says Hans Denck, an early Anabaptist leader.
We also love God by honoring God's freedom. One reason Hananiah and his companions got so turned around was because they believed that they knew what there was to know about God: chosen people, chosen land, steadfast love, no Nebuchadnezzar. They boxed God up and lived according to the boxat least part of the box. They seemed to have been more laissez-faire about remembering their end of the covenant. They also forgot that God is always free to choose to do as God chooses, even to use someone like Nebuchadnezzar to fulfill intended purposes. God is beyond boxes. Now God did not turn away from the promises of chosen people, chosen land, and steadfast love, but because ofin service tothat steadfast love, God used Nebuchadnezzar as a tool to draw the people back into right worship and covenant faithfulness.
         When it comes time to actually speak the truth, that act, too, must be born out of love, out of love for those to whom the truth is spoken. And I don't mean wishy-washy love that causes us to say whatever the other wants to hear regardless of whether it is the right thing for the other to hear. My ever-present temptation is to say the thing that will soothe and reassure; I want to comfort and to protect the relationship at all costs. This is a temptation, however, because it is not always the loving thing to do. True love does what is best for the other. God let Nebuchadnezzar subdue Judah because the people needed to be called back to faithfulness. Jeremiah interpreted the events truthfully because of his own love for the people. Jeremiah was known as the weeping prophet because of his grief in the disobedience of Judah and because of what would happen as a result. Jesus himself mourned over Jerusalem and cried out his longing to gather them in as a hen gathers her brood. Neither Jeremiah nor Jesus delighted in telling hard truths to those who listened. Their words were not birthed in anger or in condescension or in destructiveness but rather they flowed from love. Love tells the truth because the truth is what allows us to see and respond to God's loving calls for repentance and obedience and grace. Love does what is best for the other, just as most parents try to do what is best for their children, even though sometimes it is hard. Love requires hanging on, and God gives strength sufficient for what's needed.
         When we first moved to San Antonio, we met a woman whose name was Faith Lytle. She was actively involved in many of the peace and justice groups that operated in the city, but we first learned to know her because of her involvement at Inner City Development, where Bryan's Voluntary Service assignment was. We really didn't know her very well then, although we got to know and love her swimming pool. Every summer, she and her husband would go to Chautauqua, New York. While they were gone, their pool was open for use by many, many people. It was a wonderful place to cool off on hot summer afternoons, and it was one of the places we made sure to visit when we were on our sabbatical trip two years ago.
         Later on during our time in San Antonio, Faith's husband, Bill, became the interim pastor at our Mennonite Church there. Bill had been moderator of the national Presbyterian Church and a long-time pastor at one of the larger downtown congregations. He knew a lot about a lot of things and was very wise. When he came to our little church, though, he was respectful and careful. He wanted to know how Mennonites did things and he didn't want to impose his expectations on us. He listened and spoke carefully. He is the kind of pastor I aspire to be.
         In early May of this year, Faith died from a recurrence of cancer. Last week, Bill stopped by in Goshen on his way back to Chautauqua, this time without his long-time love and companion. Some of us who knew Bill and Faith from our time in San Antonio gathered at Cris and Marilyn Torres's house to visit with him. During that visit, Bill shared with us about Faith's funeral, in particular a piece that Faith had written in 1985, after her first bout with cancer and in response to book that she had just read about a Nazi death camp. These written reflections were read at Faith's funeral, and I want to share some of them with you. Faith wrote:
         ``While reading [this book], I kept feeling, `I am no different from the ``good'' Poles or Germans who knew what was going on and did nothing to stop the slaughter.' I knew Blacks were being treated sub-humanly. I knew Vietnamese children were being burned alive by our napalm bombs. I know right now that peasants are being murdered in El Salvador and our government is planning to `punish' Nicaragua, but my protests consist of feeble letters, small checks, hurried prayers, and going to peace meetings…. I'm scared and I play it safe. I put my comfort and safety before the lives of the powerless. I am ashamed. I plead for mercy and forgiveness from my Creator, the One who put this terrible conscience within me and then gave me the freedom to do with it what I will!
         I am choosing to do something helpful, but not much. It [seems] a weak choice…
         …I have suffered innocently…. We all suffer. No one escapes. [But] we can choose how we will deal with it….
         …I gave up on Godmore than once. But, at the moment I truly hit bottom, at the moment when I least expected or deserved it, God came to me. It was …in a small, empty cabin on top of [a] mesa. The physical, very present, over-powering force of God filled up the room and I was released from despair. I cannot and will not deny that event, which is quite impossible to describe, but which proves to me that nothing can separate me from eternal love.
         So, I can choose not to believe, but I'd rather believe than not. I'd rather have some faith than no faith, a little hope than no hope, some capacity to forgive than no forgiveness. I may be wrong about God. The Holocaust would seem to prove me wrong. Evil appears to be winning outtruth and justice have few takers. It is easy to give up on life. Except that for some unknown, all mysterious, unreasonable reason, I have been given the gift of faith. There never has been a time when it wasn't there for me to accept because it's a free gift…. Life is better lived in faith.''
         Faith Lytle told the truth about her experience with God. She told the truth about the lies of the world she lived in. She did what she could to witness against them, even though she did not think she did enough. She did not ignore the prompting of her God-given conscience. She lived without hubris and with great generosity. She was, I believe, a person motivated by sufficient love to tell the truth. And her reward? She knew the reality of the eternal love of God.
         In our time, as in the time of Jeremiah, lies and distortions abound. There is oppression of the most vulnerable. There is arrogance about human capacity. There is deep-rooted racism. There is plenty of God-boxing going on. But, in our time, as in the time of Jeremiah, the faithful are still called to truthfulness. We are called to speak the truth about the movement of God in this world with love as motivation, means, and goal. Remember: ``God so loved the world that he gave his only Son…. [And] God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world but in order that the world might be saved through him.'' (John 3:16-17) Go from here, speaking the truth and holding on with sufficient love.

What in the World Is Going On July 10 2005 .rtf

Sun, 10 Jul 2005 18:12:17 GMT

Silence August 7 2005.rtf

Dan Schrock — Thu, 11 Aug 2005 18:11:42 GMT

Silence

1 Kings 19:11b-13a
Sermon by Dan Schrock
August 7, 2005

Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the L ORD , but the L ORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the L ORD was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the L ORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave . (NRSV)

Late one night when I still lived on a farm, Roger and I took a walk. Roger was a friend of mine who lived in Chicago and had driven down to visit me here in Indiana. Since Roger had spent most of his life in large cities such as San Francisco, New York, and Chicago, I suggested that we get a taste of the country by going out for a walk that night.

Roger readily agreed, and so he and I went for a walk down Roosevelt Road, a gravel road that cut through part of our farm. At the time, Roosevelt Road had no houses on it for a stretch of two full mileson both sides of the road, for two blessed miles, there were only fields and woods. Even during the daytime, you hardly ever saw a car on that road, and during the nighttime it was a safe bet you'd have the road entirely to yourself.

So down Roosevelt he and I strolled, at about midnight. Since the sky was mostly clear, and since there was no light pollution, we had a lovely view of the moon and the stars. Roger was in awe of it all, because as a city dweller he had almost never seen such a grand view of the nighttime sky before.

Suddenly he put his hand on my shoulder and said, ``Dan, stop! Stop and listen!'' So we stood still for a while and listened. At first I wasn't sure what I was supposed to be listening to. Far away in the distance I could hear a car traveling down some country road, but beyond that I heard nothing.

It turns out that's precisely what Roger wanted me to hear. Finally he said, ``The silence! Isn't it wonderful? It's almost perfectly quiet, with no sound anywhere except that far-away car. Most of my life I've been searching for silence, for a truly still and peaceful place where I can hear God and hear myself.''

Since that late-night walk, I've thought often about Roger's search for enough silence to hear God and hear himself. Roger was a world-class harpsichordist, and as one who made his living from music, Roger knew that music has meaning only in the context of silence. Before a piece of music begins, there must be at least a little silence, however brief, to set the music off against all the other sounds which preceded it. And after the music stops, once again there must be a little silence to distinguish the music from what happens afterward. If a concert hall or a congregational worship service were constantly filled with notes, a particular piece of music would have no definition, no clear, distinct beginning and ending. It would just be continuous noise.

As you know, the world has become a very noisy place. Add up all the people who now live in this world, plus all the engines and machinery we have, and it's not hard to see that the world is probably noisier than it has been in any previous point in history. Just consider all the machines: cars, trucks, and motorcycles; airplanes and helicopters; chain saws and weed whackers; motorboats and jet skis; snowmobiles and snow blowers; tractors and combines; and last but hardly least, the lumbering 3,000 horsepower trains that snake through Goshen multiple times a day. Silence is a hard thing to come by.

One day this summer, I went to the hardware store downtown to buy some hoses. As I walked along Main Street, several semi trucks rolled by. They were so loud I tried to cover my ears with my hands to shut out the noise. But it didn't really work; the trucks were too loud. Even if you happen to live in a relatively quiet neighborhood, as we do, the quiet is often shattered by someone starting up a lawn mower engine, which for the next hour or so dominates the airwaves. Even when the owner shuts the thing off, some other neighbor will likely start his mower engine. It makes me wonder why so many engines are so noisy. Couldn't someone design more effective mufflers, or better yet, quieter sources of power?

Our engines aren't the only thing that shatter silence: so do our words. Again, I would guess that we are assaulted by more words in the course of a day than people were at any previous point in history. Think of all the advertising on TV and radio. Think of all the signs thrust in our faces along any commercial strip. Think of all the books, newspapers, magazines, flyers, posters, internet sites, e-mails, and postal mail that most of us see every day. We move around in an ocean of words, and even if the words are only printed and not spoken out loud, they still rattle around inside our brains, filling us with images, ideas, and emotions.

It seems to me that church life is getting more wordy. When I began working as a pastor in Columbus, Ohio, our church had just one side of one half page of printed announcements, because that's all the space we needed. As the years went by, we had more announcements, and more wordy announcements. Soon we had to print a full page of announcements, and when even that wasn't enough, we finally went to two full-sized sheets of paper, printed front and back. In ten years' time, we were using eight times as much printed space for announcements as we had been using before.

I find most worship services to be very wordy. Go to virtually any church, and in almost every part of a worship service, somebody is talking: the worship leader, the song leader, the children's storyteller, the scripture reader, the pastoral pray-er, the sharers, and the announcers. Of course in this church I'm a huge part of the problem because in sermons I talk non-stop for twenty minutes. For 75 to 90 minutes, we hear, speak, and sing a torrent of words. Usually the only time in the whole service someone is not talking or singing is during the offertorybut that, of course, is not silent either, since someone is playing music.

Of course we must use words some of the time. Not only are words one of the major ways we communicate with each other, but they're also one of the ways God communicates with us. God's Word, we believe, comes to us through scripture and prophets and most centrally of all, through Jesus. So sometimes words are good and necessary. But in order to hear God's Word, we have to listen, and in order to listen, we have to be silent. I, at least, cannot hear God unless I first shut my mouth and find a quiet place to listen. If I talk non-stop, if I fill my life with noisy engines and TV and radio and music and an endless stream of books and newspapers, how I am ever going to hear the speech of God?

For about three or four thousand years, the people of God have known that certain kinds of spiritual growth happen only if we are silent. The spiritual need for silence is one of the oldest and most consistent affirmations in the Jewish and Christian traditions. ``For God alone my soul waits in silence,'' says Psalm 62:1. For at least three reasons, we wait for God in silence.

First, people of God know that our tongues easily get us into trouble. Notice your own experience. How many times have you said something in a committee meeting, an e-mail, or a casual conversation that you later regretted? Now think of how many times you've regretted keeping silent. If you're like me, the ratio of regret is something like 10 to 1. Many times I've been sorry for something I said, but rarely have I been sorry for keeping silent.

Of course during an injustice or an emergency, we must speak. It would be a sin to stand by in silence while child or spouse abuse is happening, or to be silent when someone has just had a heart attack and needs an ambulance. The Bible itself recognizes the necessity of speech in these emergency situations. When the Persian empire plans to commit genocide in the book of Esther, Mordecai bluntly tells the queen: ``If you keep silence at such a time as this . . . you and your family will perish'' (4:14). Mordecai is rightsilence in the face of evil is no virtue at all, and speaking out is one way to counteract evil.

Yet speaking is not always beneficial. The book of James points out that our tongue is like a fire that easily gets out of control and burns us badly (3:5-12). When you say something hurtful to someone, of course you can apologize; but you can't entirely undo whatever hurt your words have caused. Speech is a huge responsibility for good or ill, and sometimes we can avoid certain kinds of evil if we simply remain silent.

A second spiritual benefit of silence is that we come to understand ourselves more accurately. Occasionally I meet people who seem to have a tiny motor attached to their mouththey talk virtually non-stop. Apparently they share every thought that pops into their minds. Quite a few of those same people also seem rather shallow, as if there's not much richness or depth to them. They don't seem to understand their own souls very well, and I wonder if the ceaseless chatter might be an escape from the hard and frightening but necessary work of getting to know yourself. Some of the most dangerous people I know are pastors who, as far as I can tell, do not understand themselves very well. They're always talking, always going, always doing a whirlwind of activity, and they don't sit still long enough to become familiar with themselves. If you don't know yourself, I am not sure you should be in one of the helping professions. If you want to understand yourself so as to help other people, I think silence is a necessary ingredient.

A third benefit of silence, perhaps the most important one of all, is that we can hear God better. God tends to have a quiet voice that we simply cannot hear when other things get too loud. Consider some biblical examples. One is Moses, who grew up in the hustle and bustle of the Egyptian capital. Then he fled, and in adulthood spent a lot of time in the silence of the Midianite wilderness where he took care of sheep. Only after he had been there in that silence for many years, listening and listening until the silence became an old friend, did Moses hear God sending him back to the center of Egyptian civilization (Exodus 2 and 3).

The second example is Elijah. If you read all the stories about Elijah in 1 Kings, it's hard to escape the conclusion that he spent a lot a time, perhaps most of his life, in silence before God. Elijah appears out of nowhere in chapter 17, announces the coming of a drought, then immediately withdraws to the Wadi Cherith, where he apparently lives alone and in silence. After his triumph over the prophets of Baal on Mt. Carmel, Elijah withdraws again, this time to Mt. Horeb, to see what God might want him to do next. We heard that story a bit ago. A huge wind blew, cracking mountains and busting up rocks into little pieces (19:11). The noise must have been terrible. But God was not in all that racket, says the text. Then came an earthquake, with all the noise an earthquake can create. Next came a fire, crackling and roaring and maybe toppling treesbut God was not in either the earthquake or the fire. It wasn't until all that racket settled down into sheer silence that Elijah finally sensed the presence of God, a moment so holy that Elijah wrapped his face in humility. It was out of this silence that Elijah heard God assure him that his faithfulness was not futile, and to gather himself up and go anoint some new leaders (19:15-18).

As far as we can tell, John the Baptist was also nurtured on silence. He grew up in a small Judean village like most other children (Luke 1:39-40); but at some point after becoming an adult, John left village life for the quiet of the wilderness. We don't know how long he lived out there chomping down locusts dipped in honey, but it was long enough to shape him into a radical, counter-cultural person capable of delivering some real zingers to the religious and political establishment of his day.

An old saying has it that we should speak only when we can improve upon the silence. Moses, Elijah, John the Baptist, and many other women and men in Christian history have spent a lot of time being silent before God, listening, pondering, reflecting, trying to understand. And when they finally did speak out of this rich silence, do you know what happened? Their words changed the world.

Here and there in our world, you can find places of silence. I hope you will find one of those places, and from that silence hear some words that will change the world.

Communion--Liberation August 21 2005 .doc