Jesus Didn't Say

I'm not preaching this week, but I have some thoughts bubbling on the lectionary:
(you can find the text here: Forgiving 70x7)

Jesus Didn't Say

Jesus didn't say, "Feed the deserving." Jesus said, feed the hungry.
Jesus didn't say, "Clothe the deserving." Jesus said, clothe the naked.
Jesus didn't say, "Welcome the deserving."  Jesus said, welcome the stranger.
Jesus didn't say, "Visit the deserving." Jesus said, visit those who are sick and in prison. And not just those who were wrongfully imprisoned, but those in prison, period.
Jesus didn't say, "Forgive the deserving." Jesus said, to forgive those who hurt you, not just seven times, but seventy times seven.

The rhetoric of today, which is not unlike the rhetoric of Jesus' day, is that if you have problems, particularly problems related to poverty or marginalization, you must have done something to deserve them.  Therefore, by deserving the mess in which you find yourself, you do not deserve the public's help; you are a waste of resources; you have no value.

The thing about forgiveness is that by its very essence, it isn't deserved.

As Christians, we are to love not only our friends but our enemies. We are to risk looking foolish in order to carry out acts of love as we live out the kingdom of God here on earth.  If we are too afraid we might be taken advantage of, if we become too obsessed with only helping those who 'deserve' it, we cannot practice love.  We cannot practice our faith.  Our churches become meaningless, no better than country clubs or 'members only' exclusive societies. Our closed hearts and closed doors create further harm in the lives of those who already hurt.

The foundation of our faith is loving, caring for and forgiving others beyond what they deserve, because we ourselves are already loved and forgiven far more than we will ever deserve.

Enough

Although I'm not preaching this weekend, the Gospel story of the little boy offering up his five loaves and two fishes to feed the crowd of 5,000 has been very much on my mind lately. Let's take a moment to talk about that.

When I was a child at church camp, our pastor read this story and asked us, "What did this actually look like? Imagine this with me: did the bread and fish magically pop up out of nowhere? Where did it come from?" Then he admitted that he kept some of his favorite snack mix in his shirt pocket, where most folks wouldn't know that he had it, but it was something to tide him over if he ended up working late. He imagined that most folks in Jesus' day might not head out to the edge of town, a long walk, without also packing a little extra food along, "just in case." What if that miracle was sharing? Perhaps folks didn't want to admit they also had extra food along, since they were surrounded by a crowd that also might be hungry, and no one person could possibly have enough to go around. However, perhaps as they saw the example of this little boy, as that basket came around, perhaps many people there were inspired to share some of their extra food as well--and what little extra each person had, was really more than enough to meet the needs.

Do you ever look at the world, especially in these past few weeks, and feel overwhelmed at the needs? Topping the news has been the tens of thousands of children fleeing the violence and crushing poverty of Central America. Meanwhile, I've been learning so much about our local homeless and hungry population, and the numbers there are daunting as well: long waiting lists at each of our existing shelters, thirty families with children in just one of the elementary schools who are living in their cars, sixty or more people living under the bridge. Long lines at the food pantry, and too little food to go around.
It would be quite easy for us, either as individuals or as one congregation, to look at it all and say, "we just can't make a difference, we don't have enough in the face of all this need."

Yet I think it is so important to notice what Jesus *didn't* ask, either of the boy or of the disciples. Jesus did not ask anyone to bake all the bread and catch all the fish by themselves. Jesus did not ask anyone to go buy all of the food from the nearby village, which would have cost far too much and been too cumbersome to transport by any one person, or even all twelve disciples--who realized this as well. Jesus didn't even ask the little boy to give up all his meals forever, so that others may be fed. Instead, Jesus simply took that little bit of a snack, and blessed it. Even had there been nothing left over, the boy would have been slightly inconvenienced for a few hours at worst.

Instead of becoming overwhelmed by the sheer amount of need around us, let's just start by asking ourselves: what are our five loaves and two fish? What is something that may actually seem like a little something to us, that could be blessed by Jesus and become something so much more? What can we share in such a way that it does not diminish us, but instead inspires others around us to share as well? On our own, we can only do so much. But working together, each of us sharing our little somethings, and combining those gifts with the whole body of Christ, we may even find ourselves in the midst of miracles.

Peace,
Le Anne

The Letter and the Spirit

Matthew 5:21-37; Deuteronomy 30:15-20; Psalm 119:1-8; 1 Corinthians 3:1-9

(look these up on biblegateway.com or bible.oremus.org.)

Last week, the Gospel raised some uncomfortable questions.  You might remember Jesus’ saying (Matt. 5:17-18) “Do not think that I have come to abolish the law and the prophets.  I have come not to abolish, but to fulfill.  Truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter nor one stroke of a letter will pass from the law until all is accomplished.”  When I read the Gospel for this morning, I really wanted to handle these passages together, because they do sound just a little bit ominous and perhaps even provoke a certain sense of fear—especially these verses about tearing out eyes and cutting off hands and going to hell and so forth.

So what on earth does Jesus mean?  Last week it all sounded so inspiring: Be salt.  Be light.  This week the teachings seem so hard.  So where I would like to start addressing this question is with...Love.

Love is the message of the Gospel and the measure of the law.

What I believe Jesus is trying to say in these texts is that there are plenty of opportunities to merely follow the letter of the law, without putting our heart into it.  Other times, we follow both the letter and the spirit of the law.  Probably more often than not, we even know when we are doing this.  We might call it ‘going through the motions.’  We might wonder what we can get away with, rather than wondering how we might, say, go the extra mile.  Or we might also head to the other extreme, which is becoming legalistic, too committed to the letter of the law to recognize the spirit.

Why do we do this?  Sometimes I think it’s because we’re overwhelmed by all those "opportunities," the long list of choices we have to make every day.  Or perhaps we’re angry or tired, or convinced we know better, or whatever. Sometimes I think it’s because we’re afraid of being hurt if we truly put our heart into something or make ourselves vulnerable to one another. 

And yet, what a relief often comes when we know we have truly put our heart into something, especially the example Jesus gives of going to be reconciled to a person you know you’ve hurt, before making your offering in worship.  This being Valentine’s weekend, it reminds me of an adage that’s kept harmony in our own home:  “You can be ‘right,’ or you can be married.”  And then there’s Jesus' example of adversaries going into court:  you could litigate to the very bitter end, spending all your energy and money in the process—or you could find a way to settle before it gets there…and be able to get on with the rest of your lives.  Anyone who’s been through painful litigation, even a divorce, can probably resonate with that.

And yet, to reconcile or to settle is not to act as if you’ve never caused harm, or been harmed, as the case may be, or as if whatever happened didn’t matter.  Jesus isn’t talking about cheap grace.  Rather, love holds each other accountable to our actions within the life of the community.

Accountability for our actions is also what makes forgiveness possible.  Forgiveness isn’t forgetting, because mere forgetting fails to acknowledge the existence of the law in the first place, or that there was ever a need to be forgiven when we have failed one another.  I would even say that forgetting is harder than forgiving, because somewhere on down the line, something will happen that will bring back that memory, and it will probably still hurt, maybe even with a hurt as fresh and raw as the day it happened.  We probably all have enough of our own examples already.  Forgiving is both acknowledging the truth of events, and loving either one another or even ourselves, enough to let go of that hurt’s grip on the rest of our lives.  In doing so, we choose to truly live.

Now, that’s not easy.  We probably couldn’t fathom doing such a thing as forgiving others, or asking someone else to forgive us, without the help of God, who first forgave us and freed us to forgive one another and to be forgiven.  And even more practically speaking, we need our community around us, to hold us accountable, and to help us through the process of forgiveness, when we have failed to fulfill our obligations to one another.

++

The last few weeks here have been a bit of a blur and today, this final day, and final worship service, and final hour of service to you as your pastor, has come around really rather quickly.  I realized as this day was drawing near that there was no possible way to make all the visits, or phone calls, or even to write all the notes that I would have liked to do.  It would not be possible to follow through on every request, or even every hope for projects I wanted to complete before going.  And I was deeply distressed about not being able to ‘do it all.’

Then, in preparation for today, I read through the liturgy that we’ll be using at the end of the worship service, which brings a prayerful end to our ministry together, and I found it very comforting. 

I realized then what a gift it is in this liturgy that we will use today, to simply ask forgiveness for all the things I could not do.  It is a gift to be forgiven, even in the midst of celebrating and remembering all the things that have been done, the visits and calls made and projects completed and hopes realized and all the good things of these past two years as well. 

And, I realized, that I would have to rely on the Christian community that is present in this place, to care for everyone and help those in need, after today when I am no longer able to do so.  I also realized that I would have to put my trust in God, and in whoever comes to take my place, that the work of ministry and pastoral care will continue.

Paul put it so well when he wrote that one of us might plant and another water, but it is God who gives the growth.  We are each called to our times and means of serving, and we each have gifts through which we may share God’s love, which is the common purpose for everything we do.  I realize today that we may, some of us, not see each other again in this lifetime, but will only be reunited in heaven.  We have been God’s servants, working together; you are God’s servants and God’s building.  I give thanks for you, and for the time we have shared together.  I love you, and I leave you with peace.

Amen.

Hymns:  Thy Word Is A Lamp Unto My Feet, Seek Ye First, We Are One In The Spirit, Make Me A Channel Of Your Peace

Prayers This Week For:

+People of Syria

+All who struggle with the winter weather

+All who are in entrenched conflicts or struggling with relationships

Reconciled in Christ, Called to Be Disciples

Third Sunday After the Epiphany

Isaiah 9:1-4, Psalm 27:1, 4-9; 1 Corinthians 1:10-18; Matthew 4:12-23

(look these up on bible.oremus.org or biblegateway.com)

credit: www.providencecpc.org

These past three weeks we've been following the Gospel story of the beginning of Jesus' public ministry, and the interactions he's had with his long-lost cousin, John the Baptist--who has had quite the public ministry himself, heralding the arrival of the Messiah he did not immediately recognize, and sent his followers to see if he was really 'the One,' then Jesus came out to John to be baptized in the Jordan, and the heavens parted to anoint Jesus for this public ministry.  Next, John began proclaiming Jesus as the Messiah, and sent his own followers to become some of Jesus' first disciples.  And now, John has been arrested, his own public ministry coming to an end, and Jesus begins to proclaim: 'Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has drawn near.'  

The Gospel goes on to say that Jesus went about Galilee teaching the good news of the kingdom of God, and calling more people to become his disciples.

Now, to be honest, even as a pastor, the words, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has drawn near," do not immediately strike me as good news.  Actually, it sounds like maybe slightly scary news.  Maybe you even grew up feeling the same way.  Part of this, I think, is in the word 'repent.'  Repent means to turn away from one thing, and turn towards something else.  

Since the kingdom of heaven is good news, to repent means to turn away from the bad news!  But what bad news could that be?  Given the time and place in which Jesus was speaking, I could imagine several things: believing it's a dog-eat-dog world, that there's not enough to go around, that the future is hopeless, that your past mistakes condemn you to a life of shame; and even just the basic human divisions among religious and ethnic groups and nationalities in the Mediterranean crescent.  Also, there was the military occupation of the Roman empire, the reality of slavery, having your country overthrown and ending up in exile, ongoing wars, and so forth.

The good news, by contrast, is love: God is a loving, involved, forgiving God, and we can live in a world where we treat one another with love!

Now, the very idea that you might love someone outside your own ethnic or religious group, let alone a total stranger, not from your own tribe or town--or even an enemy with some threat of violence towards you, such as a Roman soldier--the very idea is enormously revolutionary!

And it makes all the sense in the world, these past few weeks as we've studied the relationship between John the Baptist and Jesus, and John's followers who are now becoming Jesus' disciples--it makes sense that the followers of John would be suspicious of another traveling teacher coming to town.  After all, in the Greco-Roman world, it wasn't only John the Baptist and Jesus, but hundreds of wandering philosophers spouting advice and making proclamations, usually in exchange for money.  This economic enterprise was so pervasive in the society that even after the death and resurrection of Jesus, even within the Christian community, Paul is still trying to address the problem.  In Corinth, there are divisions among those who have been baptized by different early church leaders.  However, the baptism is in Christ, and the community is in Christ--and this ties back into the story of the original reconciliation of followers between John and Jesus.

That was a long time ago, and yet I think this can be tough for us even today.  This past week has been the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, which is not always the best-publicized Christian festival, but no less necessary.  How often do we say, "I belong to the Presbyterian church, the Lutheran church, the UCC, the Baptists, the Catholics, etc?"  Yet, we belong to the Christian church.  We are one body in Christ.  

That's not to say that there aren't multiple valid ways of teaching and preaching and ministering to one another within the Christian community; not that there aren't multiple versions even of the Gospel stories--each varies from one another at least a little, and really, that's alright. Unity is not uniformity.  Unity is not the absence of difference.  Difference does not have to mean division, retreating into one's own little camps and eyeing anyone else with suspicion.

Yet, it's so easy to fall into this trap, that we have to keep reminding ourselves of the bigger picture, the gift of love, a love large enough to cast out fear.  Love is not naivete; love holds one another accountable, but does not exact revenge or even pettiness.  Love listens, even in times of disagreement.  Love realizes that the other people involved are also children of God.

One last thing.  I've been thinking today about these passages which talk about light:  The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear?  Or, the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light, a light greater than the depths of darkness they have seen in their lifetimes--even such despair that it seemed like the shadow of death, as the Gospel says.

This light is love.  Love transforms the darkness and dispels fear.  Love encourages building bridges, seeking understanding, healing hurts, and reconciling old divisions.  It is not always easy to see the light, and look at each other through the lens of love, but when we do, we are able to forgive.  We let go of our fear, and we might even find joy in love--just as God has first loved us.

Thanks be to God!

Called and Beloved

Isaiah 42:1-9; Psalm 29; Acts 10:34-43; Matthew 3:13-17

(look these up on oremus.bible.org or biblegateway.com)

This Sunday we celebrate the Baptism of Our Lord, and in this congregation specifically, we ordain and install our new Elders and Deacons, two forms of volunteer ministry that are essential to the good function of Presbyterian churches, and our ministry to both congregation and community.  

You might even say that on this Sunday we celebrate servant leadership, as exemplified in this story of Jesus being baptized by John.  John wonders how he is fit to baptize Jesus, who, after all, is the Son of God!  And yet Jesus, leader of all creation, submits to the baptism of John.  

Now, many of you know that I meet with my clergy colleagues each Tuesday to study the Bible and prepare for preaching.  This week, we had a lengthy discussion on this question:  Why baptize Jesus?  After all, John's baptism is for the forgiveness of sins, and Jesus is supposed to be sinless.

Well, to be honest, at the time, we didn't actually come up with any great, inspiring answers.  We were kind of mystified ourselves.  But, here's what I got to thinking since then:

First of all, by submitting to John's baptism, Jesus affirms John's ministry.  John's been out there awhile, in the wilderness, considered maybe a little crazy by some, but also hard at work, helping people, and has by now developed quite a few followers.  Jesus isn't about to 'upstage' John, he's affirming all the good that John has done preparing the way for Jesus' own public ministry.  By affirming John's ministry, Jesus is also perhaps enacting a reconciliation with John's followers.   Remember, over the past few weeks we've heard about John's followers wondering and wrestling over whether Jesus is the one they are to follow. 

Next, let's look at what happens after John baptizes Jesus:  the heavens open, the spirit descends like a dove, and a voice is heard saying, "This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased."  This moment changes the very meaning of Baptism.  John himself said earlier in the Gospel readings, "I baptize with water, but the one who comes after me will baptize with fire and the Holy Spirit."

We baptize infants in our faith tradition, not because we believe they are sinners, but to emphasize God's forgiveness before they can even begin to comprehend their need for it.  We also baptize infants, along with everybody else, to welcome them into the body of Christ, the community of the Holy Spirit.

I imagine that on that day, in the midst of everyone gathered there, doing the daily work of ministry, that these sights and sounds of the heavens opening to announce the beginning of Jesus' public ministry, that it was an absolutely life-changing experience for everyone there.  I imagine it to be a moment of great hope, a little fear perhaps, and many other emotions--and even that daily work of ministering to others or being followers, would never be quite the same.

+ 

Let's return for a moment to the term I used earlier, Servant Leadership.  When we seek to be servant leaders, we submit to one another.  We are not looking out for our own ascent to power or grandiosity.  The servant described in the Isaiah reading today will not break a bruised reed or put out a dimly burning light.

Sometimes in the daily life of the church, these rituals we do of ordination and installation may seem like odd formalities. And yet, in doing them, installing and ordaining to service those who have been chosen by the assembly, we affirm each other's ministries.  We recognize, (especially in Presbyterian life) the equal status held among leaders, despite having different roles: teaching elders (pastors), ruling elders, and deacons.

We are all part of the community of Christ, whether in these roles or others, each with a part to play, and each with gifts to serve.  And we are Beloved, even when, like John, we might not feel quite up to the task.

And no matter what the task, we are certainly never alone.  God is with us, and we are guided by the Holy Spirit, as we seek to follow in Christ's footsteps.

We are called to be servants, but we are so much more than servants.  

We are all beloved children of God. 

Thanks be to God!

Epiphany Sunday Watchword: Resilience

Isaiah 60:1-6; Psalm 72:1-7, 10-14; Ephesians 3:1-12; Matthew 2:1-12
(look these up at biblegateway.com or bible.oremus.org)

Each Epiphany Sunday, our congregation distributes paper cutouts of stars with a 'watchword' for the coming year.  These words are often a character trait or virtue to reflect on throughout the year.  A few speakers volunteer each year to give a brief reflection on what their star has meant to them during the previous year.  This year, the sharing was even more poignant, as we continue to worship off-site while our building is under reconstruction due to flood damage from a burst pipe.

Friends, I might not have volunteered to speak about my word this year, except that given the circumstances our congregation has faced in recent weeks, it seemed so especially appropriate:

Resilience.

Last year when I drew this star, I left it in the shelf of the pulpit, and I have seen it there each week as I've stood to lead worship and preach, with its little reminder throughout thick and thin.  It was there right up until the flood when we had to pack everything away for cleanup and reconstruction to begin.

But before I got up to speak today, I thought I'd better look up the proper definition, and it is:  "the ability to bounce back after adversity or tragedy."

For some people this seems to come naturally, but for most of us, this is learned...through adversity or tragedy.

I also found an article online, "10 Ways To Become More Resilient", which had some pretty good advice about how to do so, and it was also quite fitting for our situation.  In that light, let me share a summary:

1.  Believe in yourself, not out of denial of the problem, but with loving acceptance of everything you are.
2.  Have a sense of purpose.  Find some way to bring something meaningful and positive out of this struggle.
3.  Maintain a strong network of friends to help you keep going even when you get discouraged.
4.  Embrace change.  Those who can be flexible and adapt are more likely to thrive.  Branch out in new directions, even in directions you never thought of before.
5.  Maintain a hopeful outlook. Realize that setbacks are only temporary.
6.  Nurture yourself:  don't forget to eat, sleep, exercise, and nourish your spirit (I might add, pray!)
7.  Develop problem-solving skills.
8.  Establish goals.  It will give you something to help you look, and move, forward.
9.  Don't avoid your problems, but take steps to address them proactively.
10.  Keep building healthy coping skills--you may need them again in the future.

It occurred to me that the wise men must have been very resilient, given the adversity they overcame, traveling across the desert, guided only by a star, running into a political entanglement they hadn't expected, and returning home by another road.  In fact, I've crossed that same desert between Bethlehem and Persia in my former life as a human rights worker, and I know how very difficult the journey is.  However, we had nice new climate-controlled Suburbans, and they had...camels.  In the heat of day, the cold of night, and believe it or not, the rain.  But they made the journey nevertheless, and returned home again.

I thought about my own life, and where I have encountered adversity.  A few years ago in our previous church, we discovered that they hadn't been fully forthcoming with us about their financial situation, and could not afford to pay us.  In fact, in the same week we received the much-hoped-for news that we would be parents again, we also received the news that we were about to be jobless and maybe even homeless.

I won't lie to you.  It was an enormous strain on our family and marriage. And it took an incredible amount of work to ensure our family's survival.  But six months later, in record time for a pastoral call search, we arrived here, to this church, and have sojourned with you a little while, and Sam and Maya were both born healthy and safe.

Now, I have no crystal ball hidden away in my office and I do not know the future any more than anyone here, except that I know from here, we begin again.  The future of this congregation is not lost on the whim of the wind, but is placed in our ability to make decisions and work together, to come back stronger than ever before.  During this time, we must reach out and get help we need from our friends and neighbors around us, to become as vibrant a ministry in this community as ever.

And in all that we do, no matter what we face, God is with us.  The Holy Spirit will guide us.  Now, let's get to work, for we have much to do!  Amen.

Prayers This Week:

--for all who lack shelter from the severe winter weather, especially the cold
--for all who are traveling, that they may be safe
--for all who may lose unemployment benefits
--for all in need of healing, in body, mind, and soul
--for all young people graduating this season and beginning a new chapter in their lives
--for our congregation, as we continue to sojourn away from our church home.