Give Us a New Name!

Give Us a New Name!

John 20:19-31

What’s in a name? Does it really matter what we are called? Anyone been called the wrong name lately– even if the person didn’t mean any harm by it? Such a situation can bring out all the frustrations in our bodies, can’t it? The names we give ourselves and we are given by others are important and often change the trajectories of our lives.

Start a conversation with an expectant parent who just found out the gender of their child and you’ll find one obsession on their minds: the name. No wonder expecting parents often time spend hours flipping through those “1001 Names” books, looking for just that right “feel” of a name for their new son or daughter. They want to give their child the best and most meaningful name they can. Names matter!

As for me, even though my name is one that is popularly shortened or modified, I’ve never liked being called anything other than Elizabeth. Even though I hear names of others sometimes that sound pretty or more interesting than my own and even went through a phase in college where I wanted to be addressed as Liz (but it never stuck)—Elizabeth is just who I am, like it or not. I imagine many of you might feel the same about your name as well. We are who we are called.

But, beyond the names we are all given at birth, we are also given descriptive names  that often say a lot about who we are too. We might have been known as the “the smart one” or the “pretty one” or the “athletic one.” We cling to these positive descriptions of our selves– claiming their complete worth, shaping our becoming through all our growing up years.

Then, there are those names which speak to our less than stellar moments which stick to us like post-its that we can never seem to find a way to get off our backs, no matter how hard we try. Names like “the cry baby”, “the dumb blond” or even “the black sheep of the family” follow us too. Even though these names come to us sometimes because of one person’s moment of stupidity or insensitivity, such names haunt us in pain and frustration any time we recall them. We always remember the time when we were called ___ as much as we’d like to forget.

In our gospel lesson for this morning, we are met by a disciple of Christ who also has a name lurking around him, although he is never called this by Jesus or anyone else in the text. You all know his name. If I say Thomas, you think________. (Doubter) It’s hard to complete a sentence with Biblical Thomas in it without the name, doubter descriptor isn’t it?

We remember Thomas by this famous scene in John’s gospel of Thomas refusing to believe that Jesus was risen until he saw and put his finger the marks of the nails in his hands and in his side.

Even though scripture gives him another name Didymus which means literally “The Twin,” we don’t think of Thomas by the name his momma provided; rather, we call Thomas: Thomas the Doubter or the Doubting One. And while Thomas’ nickname: the Doubter was much better than the other disciple we have nicknamed: Judas as the Traitor, I imagine that if I did a pre-sermon quiz this morning, few of us would rank Thomas in among our top five on a “Best of Jesus’ Disciples” list.

We remember Thomas for his name of “doubter.” Because of his moment of doubt as recorded in John, Thomas would be remembered for his failure, not his later moment of belief.

But, I offer you this morning that in calling Thomas the doubter and dismissing his significance from the gospel means we are really missing an opportunity to get to know this faith hero and a confession of faith that we as resurrection people can model our church after. Maybe, we need to give Thomas a new name in history.

Let’s first consider the scene. On Easter evening, the disciples (minus Judas who has died and Thomas who is for some unknown reason away from them) are locked in a room scared out of their pants, hoping that the religious leaders won’t come to arrest and crucify them like they did to Jesus.

Mary Magdalene knocks on their door sometime that afternoon and to tell them what seems like a ridiculous story. She claims she had “seen the Lord” alive at the tomb.

Yet the disciples are seemingly unmoved by her testimony and continue to stay locked in their upper room. And then when evening falls, the risen Christ comes and stands in the midst of the disciples saying “Peace to you.” Jesus SHOWS them his hands and his side and breathes on them the gift of the Holy Spirit and departs yet again.  It was quite a moment of resurrection before their eyes.

The obvious problem is that Thomas is not there. Thomas does not see Jesus. And when he returns and hears the great story of what has transpired, he makes a particular request in verse 25:

“Unless I see in his hands the print of the nails, and place my finger in the mark of the nails, and place my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

I stop here to point out that while Thomas asked for proof, to see Jesus’ wounds for himself: he only wanted a viewing of what the other disciples had already seen. It was not more “doubtful” than any of the other of the 10.

In fact, it is important to note that the disciples had received similar testimony from Mary Magdalene before seeing Jesus for themselves but didn’t believe just like Thomas.

So, if we were playing the blame game, we would need to call out all of the disciples as doubters. Thomas was not alone in wanting to see for himself.

As the story continues we realize that a week later all of the disciples (including Thomas) were again the room with the doors shut. Jesus comes to speak explicitly to Thomas. What is most interesting about this part of our text is the interchange between Jesus and Thomas after proof is offered—notice with me again verse 27. Jesus tells Thomas to “Reach out your hand and put in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” A better translation of the last part of this verse would read: “Do not be unbelieving but believing.” To which Thomas replies in complete belief saying: “My Lord and My God.”

And, I dare say  in this confession that a transformative work took place Thomas: he was a new man, empowered by the fact that his faith came from not merely seeing Jesus, but professing his fully name.

And in these five words, Thomas makes the greatest confession of Christ found in all the entire Gospel of John, saying not only that Jesus was Lord, but that he was God incarnate! In fact, this is the only time any disciple of Christ “gets” him enough to link his identity with God. Thomas, thus, provides the Gospel of John with its bookend.  Just as the gospel began with the statement: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God,” Thomas rightly names Jesus as the Word, God who was and is the great I AM. And in naming Jesus as God, Thomas gave the church a  statement of faith, saying what it meant to have life in the resurrection power of Jesus’ name. Who are we asked to call the Resurrected one? My Lord and My God! Just as Thomas did!

Consider the rest of the story taken from one chapter over in John 21. We find Thomas again at a crucial moment of faith. He’s out fishing with the boys when Jesus comes to meet them. Through being there, Thomas became one of the key witnesses at this crucial appearance final appearance of Jesus in the book. Thomas gets a second chance. Moreover, according to historical tradition, Thomas goes on to proclaim this name of Jesus throughout his life. He becomes a Christian missionary in India in fact, risking his life to bring the gospel to those who had never heard.

Thus, in the case of Thomas— how he NAMED Christ in our text for today became not only a catalyst for the message of the John’s Gospel to go forth but his personal sense of mission too. Thomas received power from the name of Jesus that empowered his own name, his own life and his own purpose for living.

As people of the resurrection, how is our confession of Jesus as Savior and as Lord– just as Mary modeled before us this morning– going to change our names too? How might our association, our dependence on the name of Jesus shape everything we say and do as a community?

In a small North Carolina town where I once served as a pastoral intern in seminary, I once overheard a conversation that struck a nerve in me and I’ve never forgotten. At a local diner, two men sharing a relaxed conversation over a cup of coffee. I was “trying” to study my Greek verb flash cards two booths away for an upcoming exam, but got distracted.

I knew the first gentleman in the booth. He was a regular attendee at my church, though he didn’t remember meeting me. I began to listen in when the second gentleman loudly offered to the first that he hadn’t been to church in years. Going on to say with a big bite of a donut in his mouth: “There’s no difference between membership at a church and country club.”

“How so?” my church member asked.

The non-church attendee said both groups had dining halls were people gathered to eat.

Both had Sunday worship services of sorts- the churches in sanctuaries and the country clubs on the golf courses (singing praises to the best golfers of the day).

And who serves in leadership positions, he said, at each often have a lot to do with race and family position– “For you just don’t go to any church or any country club and become President,” he noted. “There’s a selective process.” And he concluded by offering, “So why do you want me to come to your church again? I think the country club route would be more fun and without the guilt.”

And in response, my church member said nothing. And said nothing. My jaw dropped a little as I observed the silence.

(Silently, I cheered the church member on in my head, trying to give him messages of delightful things to say about how much he loved our gatherings (and my sermons of course), what a difference a relationship with Jesus had made in his life, and how I knew being part of a church community had brought him closer to his wife and his grandkids who recently joined the choir)

But, none of my seminal messages worked it seemed. Finally, the gentleman who was my church member spoke and added that the golf course did sound more fun so he might try it out the next Sunday. What???

As part of the internship, I shared weekly mentoring sessions with the senior pastor. I couldn’t wait to tell him about what I heard at the diner. I expected the pastor to respond in outrage to what I’d heard, promising me that he’d put on his holy high shoes and give the congregation a talking to about their evangelism practices the next Sunday. But, he didn’t seem as outraged as I had hoped. And he didn’t start condemning the congregation from the pulpit the next week either. But he did tell me that he’d have a special message to offer.

But, he got into the pulpit the next week claimed one simple point: Jesus is Lord.

He said that naming Jesus as Lord was what we as a church needed to keep claiming and claiming and claiming again for why it was we did everything. He challenged us all to take this name– even if it was brand new for some of us– and place it as a banner over all aspects of our lives.

When nursery workers changed diapers, washed little hands and played with play dough  in children’s Sunday School, do so in the name of Jesus being Lord.

When volunteers show up to clean the gutters or wash the pews on church work days, do so in the name of Jesus being Lord.

When we sing hymns, and pray prayers and give our tithes and our offerings, do so in the name of Jesus being Lord.

When we decided what to make, prepared and set out our covered dishes for church lunches, do so in the name of Jesus being Lord.

And say it with me, whatever we do and wherever go in the future as a community, we do so with the name of Jesus as Lord going first.

And what wisdom this was! To join for worship each Sunday in the name of Christ, we are given an entirely way of existing in this community which speaks to EVERYTHING that we do.

And while sure, there will always be those who “don’t get it” who don’t understand why centering ourselves in God and in community is worth it, we keep going. We keep teaching the children. We keep washing the windows. We keep making the Sunday meals. We keep saying the name. We keep professing Jesus as Lord, in the footsteps of our dear brother Thomas, believing, trusting that this confession of faith connects us now and forevermore with the resurrection power we need in this world to make a difference.

Today, the cry of our hearts must be Lord: “Give Us a New Name.” For there is no other way than in the name of Christ that we or our church can go forward in God’s mission to the world. Our own name just won’t do. So, come Lord Jesus, give us your name, a name new to some of us for the first time, and to others of us a name we’ve forgotten. Come and teach us how to live in unity with one another as claim together this hour that you are Lord.

AMEN.

I am the Lord

Promise in the Night Lenten Series: I am the Lord

Isaiah 43:1-7 with Mark 14:43-46, 53-62

This morning as we begin our conversation together about this week’s promise in the night– Jesus saying to us, “I am Lord.” I think it might be good if you are willing to work with me here for us to take a time out and talk to each other before I get into the main ideas of what I would like to share with you. So this is what I need you to do. Make sure you are sitting next to somebody. No one is allowed to sit in a pew by themselves. If you are a guest visiting with us, know that our church is quite informal and friendly (like I hope you’ve experienced already today), so we welcome you to participate in this discussion with us too.

And this is what I want you to share as you feel comfortable with one another: “Who is Jesus? And what does Jesus mean to you?” Share your answer to this question in a small group of 2 or 3 sitting close beside you. If there is anything I know about Washington Plaza, it is that you don’t have trouble being honest with one another, especially when it comes to matters of faith. So, in this spirit of “there is no wrong answer” I invite you to share with one another right now, “Who is Jesus? And what does Jesus mean to you?” (SHARING)

I hope that as you shared with your neighbors, you learned something about them that maybe you didn’t know before. . .  The question of “Who is Jesus?” is central to the gospel passage we find ourselves in this morning. For, just as we have been preparing for the past two Sundays as we read of the plot Judas set into motion to turn Jesus over to the chief priests, at this juncture of Mark 14 starting with verse 53, it is all happening.

 The elders of the religious councils have come to Jesus with swords and cubs and have taken Jesus into custody. And though there seems to be little credible evidence against him, with everything said against him appearing to be hearsay, Jesus is put on trial. In this trial, he is accused of the most serious of religious crimes at the time. He says he’s the Son of God.

Look with me at Jesus’ exact response in verse 62 of Mark 14. After Jesus was asked, “Are you the Christ, the Son of the Blessed one?” He responds by saying, “I am . .. And you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of the Mighty One and coming on the clouds of heaven.”

If Jesus wanted to beat around the bush and speak in politically correct language of the time, this was not the way to go. In a culture that held so much respect for the name of God— not even writing out all the letters when putting God’s name on paper– saying that you were “the Christ” was heresy.

Let me be clear here when I say, that it is this very confession: “I am the Christ” that led to his death.

Though centuries of strained Christian/ Jewish relations and a lot of Judas haters out there who want to place the blame on a the Jewish people as a whole or on the one bad apple disciple– these players in the drama played minor, very minor roles in the larger drama of what God was doing in the life of Jesus.

Because in the end, Jesus came to this dreadful juncture of his life for one simple reason. He said he was Lord. This dark night was ALL about Jesus’ Lordship. The chief priests, the whole Sanhedrin council and Judas for that matter were simply players in the story (and the players could have been anybody) who helped to illuminate this truth: Jesus was Lord.

Can you imagine how dark this night of betrayal, arrest, and interrogation must have been for Jesus?

Can you imagine how lonely he must have been?

Can you imagine how abandoned Jesus must have felt by those he trusted the most?

Can you imagine how Jesus’ human nature desperately wanted to call upon the bands and bands of angels and archangels and strike down all who sought to speak wrongly of him?   But at the same time,  his heart burst in compassion for those misguided in truth?  What a conflicted, hurt and deserted place Jesus was in!

Where was the hope? Where was the promise for the night? Where was the light?

If we turn over to our Old Testament lection for today, what we find are words of comfort for a group of people, who like Jesus, found themselves in an unfortunate situation.  All was not right with their world either.

The children of Israel lived in Babylon in exile, and had lived there for a very long time. The prophet exhorts them: soon they’d be asked to go back to their homeland, even as they’d grown quite comfortable in this foreign country. They’d be asked to deal with the ways in which they’d fallen short of God’s best for them. They’d have to face up to their own darkness, the blindness of their own hearts. And, they’d be forced to make changes for the journey that awaited them. 

And while the word of the Lord could have been harsh and accusatory, it’s not the promise we hear as chapter 43 of Isaiah opens. For the promise begins in the shift of how the Israelites were addressed: “BUT NOW, thus says the Lord, he  created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.”

And what follows are some of the most beautiful words of comfort in scripture– words that I wrote down and put on the wall of my bedroom as a teenager to get me through some difficult times– words that I often read now at every funeral I preach in an effort to speak words of comfort to mourners– words that speak of God’s promise to walk with us even in the darkness of dark nights.

Look with me at verse two: the Lord says, “When you pass through the waters I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through the fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.”  WHY? Because we are told, “For I am the Lord your God.”

Such is a promise full of dramatic metaphors which illustrate God’s promise to walk with us no matter what situations we find ourselves in.

What is most interesting to me about this passage is what it doesn’t say about the journey of faith.

It doesn’t say that we won’t pass through rivers. It doesn’t say that we won’t walk through fires. It doesn’t say that flames won’t get anywhere near us. Though most of us would like to assume that if we just try hard and love well and live the best life we can that life’s darkness nights won’t find us, Isaiah’s promise of prophecy does not guarantee us this at all. In fact, if we have found ourselves deep in rivers or in the middle of fires, or feeling as though our lives are going to crumble at any moment, then we are in good company. We are well acquainted with what it means to be a human being– just as Jesus experienced on his dark night too.

But even though our lives are full of troubles and there will be moments when the nights of winter seem long and unending– we receive a hopeful promise. Jesus is Lord.

And not just any Lord– a word that might be scary to our independent sentiments of a society. But a Lord who loves us unconditionally, a Lord who pledges to be in our lives no matter what, a Lord who holds out joy for us when it seems to be the emotion we fear we’ll never experience again.

Look with me at verse four, “Because you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you , I give people in return for you, nations in exchange for your life.”

It’s a love letter for a particular people, a love letter from a God who wants to show forth the light of the good news. I am the Lord.

I don’t know where you are in your journey of faith this day– believer growing, eager to go deeper in your faith, skeptic standing on the sidelines not ready to say you believe in this Jesus story yet, or somewhere in between, but I dare say wherever we find ourselves this morning, we’ve ALL had experiences where we’ve experienced God’s presence with us, especially in difficult times.  (For it seems our awareness of God seems to be softened to receive most memorably when we hit a place of helplessness, lostness, or even feeling as though our lives are so bad “that there’s no place to go but up.”)

For me, one such time when I felt God’s presence with me came when I was on my first trip out of the country to Africa as a freshman in college. Alone, I traveled to spend three weeks with some missionary friends of our family. Eager to experience the culture of some new nations and to be with folks I thought at the time were some of “God’s best people on earth” (i.e. the American missionaries) I boarded the plane and set out for what I thought would be a life-changing adventure.

However, the trip turned out completely not as I expected. These missionaries, I admired from afar, turned out not to be the welcoming bunch I hoped they’d be– to me a young adult hoping to follow in their footsteps one day. None of them really seemed to care to get to know me at all. The missionaries were among some of the most rude, selfish-centered and arrogant people I’d ever met. You could imagine how crushed I was. All my dreams for a career in international service felt ruined. There was no way I’d want to work in a community like this! What in the world, was I then going to do with my life? And did I even want to follow this God?

But, in spite of the unfortunate turn of events, grace found me. This grace came from two women, whom I don’t even remember their names anymore who I worked alongside as I taught at Bible camp during one of the weeks I spent with the American missionaries. These two women, from the US like me, but in particular, came with the purpose solely of teaching some of the missionary’s kids while their parents sat in meetings. And, I have to say, if I ever met an angel on earth, I know it was these two women, who said they were from Alabama. They nurtured me, welcomed me to teach with them and showed me through their actions that I was not as alone as I felt at the time. God spoke through me and my broken spirit at the time to say, “I am the Lord; and it is going to be ok.” I don’t know if I would have made it back home in one piece if it weren’t for these two women.

In the same way, one of the things I hear most often from you, even those of you who still have great doubts about your faith and wonder if you are a Christian at all, is that you’ve experienced God’s presence in dark times of your life. You’ve had experiences where you’ve encountered this promise in the night of “Fear not, for I am with you.” You’ve received comfort from something you can’t explain in rational terms. You’ve experienced what you can only call the divine. And these are moments that we remember.

But the thing is that though many of these experiences are impactful in the moment, our memory as a human race is short. How quick we are to forget! How quick we are to doubt! How quick we are to throw up our hands in disgust, wondering why we find ourselves drowning in rivers again, feeling as though we have no life-preserver to help get ourselves to shore!

Such is why today’s promise in the night is so important. Jesus is Lord. For in fact it is the promise, if we remember nothing, I mean absolutely nothing else about the Christian life, it is the promise we need. Because knowing and believing that Jesus is Lord changes EVERYTHING about our personal lives, about our life together as a church and about our outlook for the future.

And because Jesus is Lord as we walk this journey in community, everything begins to look different. We get out of our pettiness, our focus completely on ourselves, and we look up to the one who is the Lord.

When we are figuring out who is bringing what for coffee teams on Sunday morning and how to clean the tables, we remember: “Jesus is Lord.”

When we are choosing what color to paint our walls in our bedroom with our spouse and really want to strangle him or her for their tacky taste, we remember: “Jesus is Lord.”

When we are deciding if we will buy just one more thing at the mall or make our pledge to the church- we remember: “Jesus is Lord.”

When we find ourselves bickering and then not speaking to a dear friend for weeks– we remember: “Jesus is Lord.”

When quick fire backs of anger seem more enticing than going the extra mile in life– we remember: “Jesus is Lord”

When folks slander us, speak ill of us for reasons we know are untrue – we remember: “Jesus is Lord”

And, most of all when we find ourselves in bleak situations when we wonder how in the world we are going to get out of bed and face another day, we remember what? “Jesus is Lord.”

For this promise in the night or in the day or in the in between can make all the difference in our lives my friends. For when we get out of the framework of this life is about me, me, and more just me, we realize that though the road of following the Lord may be rocky and though the journey may be long, we have this larger truth in which to cling. And what is it? Jesus is Lord.

AMEN

I Will Remember You

Promises in the Night Lent Sermon Series

I Will Remember You: Genesis 9: 8-17 with Mark 14:10-21

Can you remember the last time you got forgotten, left out of something you should have been included in or felt altogether betrayed by someone you trusted?Anyone experience such this week? There can be no more lonely feeling when someone acts without concern for your feelings, especially in a public forum.

And, if we were to take time this morning and share such stories, all of our tales would be different. But, there would be one thing in common and that is, we all have “I was not remembered” stories. Somehow being mistreated by those who love us most happens to be part of what it means to be human– a world where all is not as it should be.

And, certainly Jesus– as we examine his life as it was lived here on earth– 100% identifies with us in his shared humanity. Though he was called, “Emmanuel, God with us,” Jesus was not a man immune from some of life’s deepest pains of betrayal.  He certainly knew what it was like to feel left out.

In the gospel lesson we heard read at the beginning of the service this morning, taken from Mark 14, we read of one such moment in Jesus’ life when he experienced a great loss. And it is in the moment  of our text that we begin to see Jesus’ dark night of the soul unfold.

For three years of learning, of traveling and of serving alongside of him, Jesus particularly chose each companion for the journey. No choice was random. No choice was made without care. No choice came from Jesus simply picking just anybody he saw when he woke up one morning.  No, there was a greater plan. Each disciple came to the super 12 dream team with just the right gifts for the tasks at hand. And most of all, when Jesus called each, he loved each one. He loved them so much that he desired to take the time to invest in their lives in a deep way.  In particular, with the disciple, Judas, Jesus trusted him enough to make him the chair of the finance committee– a great responsibility.

And it would be Judas, a leader among the group,who went to the chief priests and promised to help plot Jesus’ death. (And we all know that dreadful things can happen when money and power begin to mix). No loyalty. No remorse. No gratitude for all that Jesus had done for him. Simply, Judas, a close friend would betray him. Therefore, Jesus’ last supper with his followers, a meal that we remember and celebrate to this day, would become tainted by Jesus’ words of, “I tell you the truth, one of you will betray me– one who is eating with me.”

Hear this: Jesus did not even get his last supper in peace– even death row prisoners get better than this! Judas– not a naysayer in the crowd, not a haughty religious teacher, not even a Roman solider, but one of Jesus’ beloved sitting around his supper table turned against him. Betrayal ran deep. It was a dark night. It was a very dark night indeed for Jesus.

Over the course of the next couple Sundays throughout the season of Lent, we’re going to sit with Jesus in some of these very dark moments. We’ll do this to see what we all can uncover about the “nights” in our lives too. 

We began this conversation, if you were able to make it, almost two weeks ago at our Ash Wednesday service. We began by sitting in the darkness. Realizing that as we turned out the lights and sat in the pitch dark, past sun down, that even in a sanctuary with little natural light– there was still light. Even if light was faint or seemingly small– light was still with us.

With this metaphor as a guide for us today and for the next couple of weeks, let’s ask ourselves, as we sit with Jesus in this moment of betrayal, is there any hope for us in such similar experiences? Or are there times in our lives when we are simply screwed and without hope at all?

Using our Old Testament lesson as our “promise text” for today, let’s uncover how in the most desperate of life-destroying places, we serve a God who says to us always, “I will remember you.”

What we get as we dive into the lection taken from Genesis 9, is the happy ending of a story which I believe most of us know.  When I say, Noah you say, “ark?” Right? If we spend any time in church as children, the Noah story is one that we most certainly learn if not from popular culture or even the recent movie, Evan Almighty.

In the “kids version” of this Bible tale, we learn that God loved Noah and though he was going to send a flood to destroy the whole world, Noah and family would receive protection.  Not only was Noah’s family saved, but 2 by 2 of every living creature. For their salvation, they all piled into the ark the length of several football fields that Noah and his sons had built for this grand adventure of faith. It’s a sweet story about God’s love for those who love him back. The end, right?

Well, the more you and I really dig into this text, the more, I can imagine that you’d say like me that Noah is no Bible story for kids. It’s no Bible story that is all about the beautiful murals that we paint on church nurseries. Genesis 6-8 are chapters of the Bible that we should actually place age limit on before teaching it. For within, it’s a pretty scary tale of divine anger, abuse, destruction and eventually of new beginnings– if we can stomach it long enough to get to the end.

And this is the real story: for much as creation began with God’s desire to “make man in God’s own image” and to be in relationship with a beloved creation called man and woman– things did not go as planned in those early years of the earth. God wasn’t very happy. No, God was not happy at all.

No need to watch soap operas, for in fact, Genesis 3 through 6, gives you all the juicy drama you need of creation not exactly respecting their Creator. Man began to hate woman. Woman began to hate man. Sons became jealous of one another and lives were taken in anger.  Everyone on the earth began to do what was right in their own eyes. God’s grand plan of peace, harmony and love all was awry. You could say in fact, that God felt betrayed. What God expected from humanity, what God longed for in humanity simply was not.

And, so we see God becoming angry– a view of God that we often don’t like to admit or even talk about is there– saying to Noah in Genesis 6:13, “I am going to put end to all people, for the earth is filled with violence because of them.”

Yes, we read of a very direct God who wants creation gone. It was not a game. No, not a game at all. We hear words of regret that creation happened at all by our Creator.”What a mess has come of my world! Why did I need humanity in the first place?” God says. Scary words, if you ask me.

And, so the flood waters come and they come. And, after the 40 days and nights of rain, we learn that only Noah, his family and the ark full of animals is left on the earth.  But this is the grace: the flood becomes the re-creation moment for God to get the do-over.  God is up for trying again.

Theologian Elizabeth Webb writes this about the state of things after the flood waters begin to reside, saying this: “All of creation is given a new beginning, a new opportunity to live in the harmony that God intended. Note, however, that this new beginning is also a continuation; God does not create new beings, but begins anew with a remnant of the beings created in the beginning.”

And these are the new beginning words scripture tells us came from God in verse 8 of Genesis chapter 9, “As for me, I am establishing my covenant with you and your descendants after you, and with every living creature that is with you, the birds, the domestic animals and everything animal of the earth with you. . . . I will establish my covenant with you, that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.”

And so an agreement between two parties (God and humanity) for  God not do something ever again is established.  We call this agreement a covenant. And, while there will be other covenant giving moments as the story of scripture goes with folks like Abraham, it is important to note here how unique and special this particular covenant was. And, not for the obvious reasons of this covenant coming with a sign– a rainbow in the sky– but because of what was asked of humanity in this covenant making story.

And the answer is nothing. God asks man and woman to do nothing in return as this covenant was made. God will do all the work. It’s not a conditional covenant, an “if/ then” promise that we will see later on in the history of the nation of Israel, but with Noah and all of us– it is an eternal covenant. The “I will never send a flood to destroy the earth again” promise is a statement that God is making and says will be kept forever. Forever.

Hear this again, only God has a responsibility. Only God.  Which is a another way of God saying to all of us, “Ok, human beings, in my effort to be in relationship with you in the future, I am not going to go the route of total destruction again. I am going to work with you. I am going to be with you. And no matter how many different ways I have to try and no matter how suborned and disobedient you become toward me, I am going to keep at it. I am going to keep pursing you. Why? Because I love you. And, I won’t let you go.”

Several weeks ago, as several of you might know from reading my blog, I sat glued to the television set for four hours as singer Whitney Houston’s funeral went on and on. In this “world goes to church” sort of experience CNN broadcasted the entire service without commercial interruption. As the memorial came to a close as a family friend, Marvin Winans, offered a homily. Though I struggled to follow his train of thoughts at points, one message of he offered mourners has stuck with me ever since. In referring to some words of the Apostle Paul when he writes that God shall supply all of our needs according to God’s riches and glory in Christ Jesus– Pastor Winans says, God is telling you today, just as he told Whitney over and over in her life, “I’ve got this.” “I’ve got this and so you don’t have to worry about the rest.” Just trust me. “I’ve got this.”

And, I think in many ways, this is what God was saying to all humanity in the covenant making of the rainbow– “I’ve got this. I promise you. I will stay in relationship with you my beloved children no matter what.” Every time you look up at the sky and see a rainbow, know that “I’ve got this.”

What balm, then this is to our weary selves who are sitting in the dark, crawling in the dark, wandering in the dark if God had lost God’s mind– like I’m sure Noah and family felt as they de-boarded the ark that day. That to us, that to all of us, God promises this eternal good: “I will be in relationship with you. I will remember you, no matter what.”

It’s hard to accept such a light into the dark parts of our lives, isn’t it? Because it is rare if ever that we receive such a gift of a promise kept that we are remembered, that we are loved,  that we are seen  even when it feels that everyone else has tossed us away and thrown us aside. Even our most beloved friends and family sometimes turn their backs on us. If it happened to Jesus, it most certainly will happen to us.

But, “I will remember you” is the promise that God offers us today– a promise as bright as a radiant rainbow on an afternoon of summer rain. It’s a promise that no matter how abandoned we feel, no matter how dead our most important dreams seem, and no matter how dense the fog is around us that we couldn’t possibly even stand without help– God will remember us.

God will guide us to light. And, no we are not going to have to stay in the darkness forever. For we serve a God made known through Jesus Christ– who too once cried out from the cross, “My God, My God why have you forsaken me?” and rose to life on the third day.

And, what a gift to our Lent waiting in the dark this year. Because if you know anything about the dark nights of betrayal– often it is at these low points of our own lives that we can’t even fathom moving an inch. But, we need not worry. God is with us and says what? “I will remember you.”

Today we have the opportunity to eat of this supper that the Lord persevered through– even as it was that night for Jesus that a friend became an enemy– and eat of the bread and drink of the cup, that our Lord drank. For we are remembered forevermore.

Let us taste and see that the Lord is good as we go to the table.

AMEN

Reconsidering Joseph: the Forgotten One

Love That Binds Us Together: Matthew 1:18-25

This week I was putting up Christmas decorations around our home and time came for my favorite part: arranging the nativity.  Though some preachers I know take Advent to the extreme (I know you think I’m one of them, but trust me, I am not) and refuse to have Mary, baby Jesus or even the Wise Men placed in the manager scene before Christmas begins, I find it perfectly acceptable put them all out before the occasion.

 Kevin and I got a nice set of individual pieces from an aunt and uncle of mine as a wedding gift, but I have to say, that it wasn’t until this, my fourth time of putting them out did I notice something was missing. 

There was baby Jesus. There was Mary. There was a shepherd (though sadly only one). There was an angel. And there were even three Wise Men.

But, no Joseph. So, I asked Kevin, “Are we missing Joseph? Did something happen to him two moves ago? Did we leave him in Maryland?” “Nope, “he said, “I don’t think we’ve ever had a Joseph.”

“No, Joseph? What is going on??”  My nativity just didn’t seem right.

Recently, a dear friend of mine who recently had a baby was asked by a local congregation in the city that she lives to be a part of the drive-thru living nativity.

With her daughter less than 2 months old, and the church without enough newborns on its membership roles to cover the multi-evening event,  the baby girl was desperately needed to staff an important role: Baby Jesus to ensure the play’s success. 

When I asked about details, I inquired what my friend would be up do during the hour play. Would she watch nearby? Of course, she said, she would not leave her baby alone on the hay so the director made arrangement for her to be staffed as Mary. She would be on site in case baby girl (aka Jesus) cried and needed to be nursed or needed a diaper changed.  Mary and baby’s relationship was crucial to the show going on.

 But what about her husband? “What was he going to be doing during the afternoon?” I asked. Though any man would have worked just fine, her husband was told he could tag along in costume as well, playing Joseph, but only if he really wanted. If not, other fill-ins would be easy to find. 

I don’t think dear ole Dad was feeling the love of the event with a part that was so replaceable.

Of all characters to be left out if one had to go in our Christmas plays and pageants, Joseph, I guess is the one we could most easily do without.

In Luke’s account of the naivety that we all almost know by heart, Joseph doesn’t have any lines. If Joseph was looking for a script from the Biblical text, he’d have trouble knowing what to say or do. For all we know is that he is called to census in his hometown of Bethlehem which is how Mary ended up giving birth to Jesus in this small town. He’s not wrapping the baby up in those nonexistent clothes. He’s not coming to worship or bringing gifts. He’s not treasuring all of these things in his heart. He makes no grand gestures or tries to upstage anyone. He’s just simply there. This is all.

However, if we read the less popular, but still important version of the birth story from Matthew’s gospel, we find just the opposite,  Joseph playing a leading role: crucial to the operation Son of God comes to earth mission going on without a glitch. Though not given a huge speaking part, what we learn is the how Joseph’s response to both Mary’s pregnancy and the birth illuminates how It is love that binds us together in Jesus Christ: yes, all of us, even the strangest of us all.

When Mary is found to be “great with child” according to Jewish law, Joseph had every obligation to divorce with his fiancée if he knew the child was not his.  Sure, he could have scoffed off the Jewish law if he wanted and pretended without cause, but the Matthew writer who is always concerned with the Jewish point of view, tells us that Joseph was not your high holidays kind of Jew, he was a righteous man. And being a righteous man, a man who didn’t want to bring this young girl and her family any more hardship than she would already experience with a divorce to their name, he came up with the plan to divorce her without any bells and whistles. And to ensure that Mary and her unborn child were not killed out of it– as the law says that stoning her was an option.

And in his “seeking to the right thing” ways of life this “quiet divorce” plan seemed like a good plan. It was his lovingly way of both following what he thought God wanted (the law) and what was in the best interest of Mary (the law).  For God and the law were one in the same at the time.

But, then everything changed one night when he went to sleep.

I don’t know how many of you have dreams on a regular basis that you remember.  While this is something I personally struggle with (actually remembering), I know that it is a spiritual practice of many of you and is in line with the Biblical narrative of how God works in this world to deliver deep truths to us, often truths that are deeper than we are able to consciously understand in the daytime.

Such was true for the life of Joseph. Though we are not told by Matthew if hearing from God was something that Joseph regularly paid attention to or ever experienced before or after this event, there was something I can imagine that was quite powerful about this dream that Joseph not only heard in the quietness of his own heart but felt so strongly about it that he later widely shared this encounter (so we could read it for ourselves today).

So, while Joseph had made up his mind of what he was going to do, of what righteous looked like to him. God had other plans. Actually much bigger plans.

Upon hearing God’s plans, he was not to be concerned, but to believe Mary– to take to heart the message that had been told to her from the angel Gabriel. 

Indeed the child that was growing within her, was not his, but was the Lord’s doing. And, because this baby was of the Lord, Joseph needed to embrace the babe as such, welcoming him into his life, into his family, into his history, as Joseph would do with any other child of his that might come in the future.

(I am not male pastor as you can tell. And the following which I am about to say seemingly would come better from a male voice, but in this case today, I’ll just have to do).

 While amazing, life-change and awe-inspiring news this was in a dream, I can only imagine how hard it was for Joseph to accept it. And, with Mary soon delivering a baby who was not technical “his,” I can imagine the ego of Joseph deflated just a little. Especially in a culture where family heritage was everything, especially with identity attached to any offspring that is a part of what it means to be a “man,” learning that “Yes, the baby in Mary is not your child, but love him anyway” was tough as I believe it would be for any man today. 

How hard it was to stand by his self-descriptor of “righteous man”  or “godly man” when God as the sperm donor came along!  For it wasn’t like he had anyone to talk to about such an experience among his hometown friends– this God and this Emmanuel was too weird for any sort of reasonable explanation.  No one had heard this before.

But, in obedience to the word of the Lord that he knew in his gut that he had heard, he decides to keep Mary as his wife and “adopt” Jesus as his son.

He stays to be the one Mary needed  to lean on as she soon will undergo the pains of childbirth.

He stays to fulfill the prophecy that the Messiah would be coming from his family line.

He stays because he cares for Mary, even if they were having the craziest spiritual experience they’d ever heard of, and with both of them on the same page, the needed to find encouragement from one another to stick with it.

He stays because by his sheer presence– even if he doesn’t say a thing– he provides the protection Jesus will need to grow up, mature and fulfill the reason his was born in the first place.

Joseph stays because though easily left out of nativity scenes or Christmas plays or even forgotten by us regular church goers, his love for God, his love for Mary and his love for Jesus is what binds this story together. Without his love, there would be glory of Christmas morn that we will celebrate next Sunday. Though not cast in a traditional role, though not cast in a role he had originally wanted or planned for, the story could not go on without Joseph’s realization of God’s love shinning upon all of them in the days leading up to the birth of Christ.

Recently, Carolyn Reith was helping out the Outreach committee in gathering pictures for the new design of our church website which will be live early in January (yay!).  You might have noticed her drawing groups of you all to the side, taking your snapshot– even if you wanted your picture taken or not.

Several weeks ago, when viewing the pictures that Carolyn sent over the church office of all of you, I couldn’t help but feel struck by our diversity as a congregation. At first glance, each of the individual shots of you all didn’t seem like you all would fit in an organization together, much less a church family. We are all so different!

Yet, when talking about how much I liked these pictures and showing them to a friend, I realized what the reason is for our community working here– why after years of trials and changes to the Plaza and so on, we’ve stuck together. And the reason is love.

We’ve been bound together by our love for God and for one another. And even when someone new has come into the mix as we hope happens regularly, we like Joseph, seem to be the kind of people who see the bigger picture of humanity in it all– treasuring the sight of God even in the strangest of situations that present themselves here.

But, if I were to end my story here, I would be remiss, because as good as we are at loving, church, we have a growing edge with the last part of the sermon title for this morning “that binds us together.” For yes, as a community, when I look back over the past year, I see countless, numerous, overwhelming examples of how we’ve loved each other, but what I don’t always see in our midst are examples of how we’ve been bound together in our love.

For if we are going to follow the example of Joseph this day and make room in this the 4th Sunday of Advent for more love in our lives, we’ve got to think more closely about sticking closer together.  And this is what I mean:

Like Joseph, when times get tough, when life gets rocky, our first response needs to be of sharing, clinging, staying put instead of running away.

Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, a seminary classmate of mine from Duke, writes in his book the Wisdom of Stability, how easy it is in a culture such as our to be lured away by the promise of a better offer. We think things are always better somewhere else, with someones else. Yet, he talks about how what the gospel witness needs more of comes in packages of permanency, unconditional presence and not hitting the road, leaving a church or a community when people get on your nerves (for inevitability they will!).  

Not only do we need to stay put more often, but as we stay put, we need to ground ourselves in community life making giving and receiving here a priority. 

I’d be remised if I didn’t say to the Christmas only crowd this morning, how much we’d love to see you in January. 

I’d also be remised if I didn’t say to the regulars around here that sticking together means that we’ve got to spend more time together. Sure, we are all busy. Sure, this town where we live runs like nobody sleeps and thus we often  we don’t really either. But if we are going to be a community that makes room for the Christ child, just as Joseph did, then we have to start investing in one another outside of Sunday mornings.

This is what real, love, my friends is all about in the first place. Love is not short-tempered. Love does not keep record of wrongs. Love does not leave when feelings are hurt. Love stays. Love protects. Love, God’s love, is what binds us together.

When I think about all that we’ve been preparing for this Advent season. Our “What’s coming?” preparations of hope, peace, joy and now today, love, it’s love that I know our community need the most to have a bright future for the new year.  Didn’t the Apostle Paul once say about love, “Now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”

Thank goodness then, as we prepare to welcome on Saturday night, Christmas Eve, the babe called Emmanuel, God with us, born for us, we welcome the one who taught what love truly meant for Jesus was love incarnate. And, by following him, we can learn to love one another.

AMEN

Authority that Speaks for Itself

Authority that Speaks for Itself

Matthew 21:23:32

Trust and politicians don’t seem to go in the same sentence, do they? John Quiton once said, “Politicians are people who, when they see light at the end of the tunnel, go out and buy some more tunnel.”

For even as we spent time this morning in our prayer, praying for peace and wisdom for our elected leaders, often it is our first reaction when we think of those in “authority” over us, is not to respect them. For as Doug Larson, once said, “Instead of giving politicians the keys to the city, it might be better to change the locks” we agree whole heartedly.

Just as one recent public survey poll reported, over 60% (and with the percentages on the rise all the time) don’t trust governmental leaders to do what they say tey are going to do, we are a people (and for good reason of course) who have distasteful sentiments of those who claim “authority” in any area over us.  And such is also true of those in positions of religious leadership too.

It’s no conscience that when I say, preacher, many of you have images come to mind of sex scandals–Tim Haggard the evangelical pastor who could never admit he was gay– money laundering scandals, Jimmy Swaggered and his trail of tears, or even of crazy cult scandals–images of Jim Jones and the deadly kool-aid which are all engrained in our memory.  All this to say, we are a distrustful people, after all the evil that has been done in the name of “God told me to do this.”

But, this is what I really want you to hear today: I think God wants us all of us to go home sell everything we have as quickly as possible and return to the church in 3 days and give all the money to me so that I can grow our church into a great empire . . .

(This is where you are supposed to say, “Yeah right. No way, Pastor and laugh me out of the sanctuary this morning)

But, even as what I just said was completely a joke, I think our issues with those claiming absolute authority over us, is as much about our shared experiences of watching the corruption of power manifest before our eyes as it is our own sense of feeling threatened by those who seem to suggest special knowledge over us. We are all Americans after all– the land where everyone’s voice and vote is supposed to be heard as much as anyone else. In this church, we are Baptists after all– where we are firm believers in the priesthood of all– that I have no more of a direct line to pray and hear from God as you do. Simply put, authority is not one of our favorite words.

When we begin to look at our Gospel reading for this morning, we encounter a group of the religious establishment who was both skeptical and threatened by the authority Jesus was seeming to stake his ministry on.  For in this religiously saturated culture, much like ours, the chief priests and the elders had not seen anything like the clarity of thought and boldness of action in this man who called himself Jesus.

The story goes that Jesus has just made the religious leaders of the day really mad. On this third and final visit to Jerusalem, Jesus not only stirs up the crowd by his triumphant entry, as palm branches were waved over the shouts of “Hosanna, hosanna, blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord” but Jesus did the unthinkable. He went into their more sacred of sacred places, the temple and placed judgment on a common practice– the buying and selling of goods in the temple courts.

It wasn’t just the act of turning over the tables in the temple courts that upset the religious leaders so much– it was the fact that Jesus had the guts to do this with such unashamed authority. Jesus dared to touch ancient Judaism’s sacred cow if you will, order of religious practice calling the temple, HIS Father’s house.

And this is where the story before us in our text for today begins the narration.  Look with me at verse 23: “When Jesus entered the temple, the chief priests and the elders of the people came to him as he was teaching, and said, ‘By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?”

I guess, in a roundabout way, this was a nicest question they could ask Jesus in public and keep up appearances. I bet they really wanted to say something to Jesus like, “Who in the hell do you think you are coming in here and trying to make us look bad?”

But, alas, they question Jesus’ authority to speak and act as he does for the sheer reason that they want to get into a debate with him and make him look bad.  They want to know the name of his teacher, basically because as one commentator writes, “If you can identify someone’s teacher, then you can better grasp what they ‘re about. [Or,] more to the point, they are prepared to counter any and all claims to human authority
with their own authority.”

But, Jesus, being the smart guy that he was does not find himself trapped in this series of questionings. No, Jesus directs the teachers of the law by asking his own counter question in verse 25: “Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin?”

We get to listen in on the internal monologue of the religious leaders and learn that they didn’t want to pick sides.

As we hear the thoughts of these folks, we learn that they were the definition of what we like to speak of in modern times as political correctness.

They knew they couldn’t say that John the Baptist, the precursor to Jesus, had authority from heaven– because it would bring into question why John’s ministry wasn’t supported by them. And, they also knew they couldn’t say that John the Baptist’s authority came from himself— because they knew that there were many John fans in the gathered audience.

So, Jesus gets them to vocalize what was the TRUTH in their hearts: they didn’t want to stake a claim on Jesus.

While you and I might find the details of this passage confusing– I have to admit that I really admire the gutsiness of Jesus to speak truth to those in power and to bring out the reality of what was really going on in the hearts and minds of those gathered around him. Jesus was forcing the religious leaders to say, “This I believe” (though we realize that this is something that they will not do).

We all understand how difficult this is, right?

To begin a conversation with “This I believe” is often a top our fear list– because if we say we know something for sure, even if we say it in
passing, it’s something that others can hold us accountable to.

In particular, more than saying we believe gravity holds us to the earth or the sun will rise and set each day, it’s even more frightening for some of us to begin a conversation with “I believe in Jesus, as God’s Son” because we know if we do, we could seriously offend others. We might make a fool of ourselves. We might even find ourselves with great disappointment in our hands after Jesus doesn’t act in our lives as we hope
he might.

On Wednesday Night, those of us gathered at the Amazing Grace book study, we ventured into this conversation topic of what it means to say that we believe in Jesus.

It is an easy temptation, we noted to not want to fully commit our lives to Jesus with the excuse of “I’m not perfect enough yet” or “I don’t know
enough yet.” We think because we can’t say with our mouths “I believe in Jesus” and talk intelligently about it, then we aren’t worthy enough to
be a Christian.

With the class, I relayed the story of one of my first pastoral visits I made during my tenure as pastor at Washington Plaza. Grandison Jones made an appointment to meet with me, wanting to get to know me better and talk about one of my latest sermons.

When I asked him to tell me about his church and religious background, he said I needed to know about all of the years he spent in church choirs, especially in the Episcopal church in his early years.

As he described this experience of how much he enjoyed singing and how moving choir music was for his soul, he told me there was a turning point for him that changed the direction of his spiritual life. He was singing one day, he said with the choir, and after the sermon, there came a point, as it was done every Sunday when the congregation said together the Apostle’s Creed.

Saying this creed or a statement of faith that generations of Christians had claimed as a summary statement of belief, was something that Grandison noted that he had recited every week previously, but this particular week he thought to himself, “Grandison Jones, you don’t believe a word of that you are saying, so why don’t you stop just going through the motions of repeating it.”

I think this was one of the first stories that Grandison related to me– may he rest in peace now– because he wanted to shock me a little and see how I reacted to him, to see if he would still be welcome in the church even with all of his questions.

But if you had the privilege of knowing Grandison, you know that a man who was here with a smile on his face, beating even Ernie and Dave to church on many Sundays (which is hard to do, you know), was a person who wasn’t far from faith.  He built by hand the pulpit on which I preach
from this morning and lived out many acts of service that were rarely seen and not done for the purpose of showing off or somehow getting ahead in any way among the ranks of church leadership. But yet even up until the days of his death, it was hard for him to say with his words, “I believe in Jesus.” In fact, I don’t ever remembering hearing him saying this at all.

Yet, in this struggle to understand what it means to stake a claim of belief on Jesus– asking ourselves do we have to make faith statements or do we have to show faith in our actions– Jesus informs our thinking here with a parable.

“A man had two sons. He went to the first and said, ‘Son go and work in the
vineyard today.’ He answered, ‘I will not’; but later he changed his mind and
went. The father went to the second [son] and the said the same; and he
answered, ‘I go, sir.’; but he did not go. Which of the two did the will of his
father?  They said, ‘the first.”

In this story, we find an appreciation by Jesus of the struggle of belief– while the first son says in the beginning, “No I won’t go” in the end this
is the son who changes his mind and does as his father asks while the second son speaks loudly at first– sure I’ll go but whose actions don’t follow
through.

From this parable I gather that authority, according to Jesus rests in actions. Why did he want people to follow him? And for his future disciples, how would he want them to make known his authority?

This is not to say that Jesus didn’t care about words and the confessions they can make, but words, he knew would never be the whole story. For Jesus, his a mission that was never about proving himself through particular words or wielding political power or even being able to pass a test which said he had the proper knowledge of the Torah.  It was always about simply being who he was, for the authority on which his life’s
work rested would simply speak for itself.

So, today, I ask you not what do you believe, but who are you? Whose are you? On what authority are you resting your life?  What do our actions show about the fruits of the spirit– love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness and so on appearing the world ? What do our actions show about what we really believe in our hearts, even if can’t yet say the words aloud? Didn’t St. Francis of Assisi once say, “Preach the gospel at all times and if necessary use words?”

I am not saying that words of faith aren’t important. I’m not saying that professing “Jesus as Lord” is not something that we should learn to
say together. I’m not saying that we should throw out altogether the historic words of the Creeds (as we said together earlier in the service), that our forefathers and mothers in the faith have shared together.

But, what I am saying today is let us shy away from Jesus because we can’t say yet what we think are all the “right words.”  Let us affirm together the journey that each of us are now. Let us commit together anew to allow the life and work of Jesus to soak into your daily life with no checklist of what this journey looks through the ups and down and twists and turns. Knowing that as we stay on the journey, it becomes just a little easier
every step, every day, every week, every year to follow Jesus both in actions and words.

So, let us join our voices and sing, I have decided to follow Jesus– such is something I could imagine that Grandison, even Grandison would cheer us on in singing this day– as he’s conversing with Jesus as we speak, asking him now all his questions.

Let us keep following this day.

AMEN