**Note - Due to the impending hurricane, services at Emanuel are cancelled for Sunday August 28. Please make appropriate preparations and stay safe.**
(Scriptures:Exodus 3:1-15, Romans 12:9-21, Matthew 16:21-28)
Genuine Love
St. Francis of Assisi is probably one of the most venerated Roman Catholic saints. Born to a wealthy family, he felt a strong call from God to give up his worldly possessions, to live in poverty, and to serve the poor. He felt a strong connection to nature and once preached to a flock of birds. During the Crusades, he sought to make peace with Muslim Sultan of Egypt. His life was characterized by a deep desire to pattern his life as closely as possible to that of Jesus Christ.
We are continuing with Paul’s teaching in Romans. Remember last week, we read about offering ourselves as a living sacrifice, about being transformed by the renewal of our minds. We spoke of how this transformation is a gradual process, the work of a lifetime, that we should not be surprised to encounter obstacles to our transformation within us and outside us. This process of transformation is a lifelong process of letting go of our attachments to the world and its ways of doing things, and letting God remake us into the new creation God would have us be.
Paul’s lofty phrases in last week’s reading may leave us asking – what does this transformation look like? How will we know when God is at work within us? What will our transformed lives look like? And so in today’s reading Paul gives us some very tangible, down to earth, brass tacks, nitty-gritty, rubber-hitting-the-road pictures of what the new life in Christ looks like.
“Let love be genuine…. love one another with mutual affection, outdo each other in showing honor.” Eugene Peterson paraphrases this opening phrase “Love from the center of who you are….discover beauty in everyone.” Another translation says, “Don’t just pretend you love others. Really love them.” And if we really love others, we will love them with our actions as well as with our words.
“Hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good.” A word of caution here: the verse says to hate what is evil, not to hate people who are evil. In our society – and even in the church – it’s easy, all too easy, to designate some persons – Muslims, gays and lesbians, atheists – as being beyond the reach of God’s love, as people whom we’re allowed, even encouraged, to hate, or, as in the words of one presidential candidate, saying that this group or that group of persons is “of Satan” - but that is absolutely *not* what this verse is telling us to do. We are to love everyone, not just our friends, but our enemies, not just those who help us, but those whose actions hurt us. We are not qualified to know what plans God has in mind for those around us, or where they are on their spiritual journey. We are on the invitation committee, inviting others to the new life in Christ, not the selection committee to determine who’s saved and who’s damned. No human being is qualified to say that any person or group of persons is “of Satan” – in fact, that line of thought has the potential to lead to blasphemy against the Holy Spirit, attributing God’s work, the work of God’s Spirit in the lives of our neighbors, to Satan. Yes, we should hate what is evil – our culture of greed and selfishness in which the rich get richer and the poor get trampled, the gun violence that ruins so many lives in Philadelphia, our society’s neglect of the crumbling public housing and urban schools in which young people lose hope for a better tomorrow – we should hate these cirumstances, and oppose them, and pray and work to change them. But under no circumstances are we to hate other human beings. Under no circumstances.
And Paul goes on, “Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.” We need a quality of faith which will keep on keeping on even through times of discouragement – like Father McNamee in North Philadelphia, whom I mentioned last week, slogging through day after difficult day, year after impossible year in serving one of the poorest parishes and neighborhoods in the region.
Paul continues – “Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly; do not claim to be wiser than you are. Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God; for it is written, "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord." No, "if your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink; for by doing this you will heap burning coals on their heads." Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” Here we see that there are no limits on those to whom we should show love. Those who persecute us we should bless, those whom we count as enemies we are to feed them and give them something to drink. We are not to repay the evil of other with evil of our own, but are to overcome evil with good. The principle of an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind. We cannot use the devil’s weapons to overcome the devil. Someone must act in love to break the cycle of escalating hatred and abuse – and as Christians, we are called to be that someone.
This is what Jesus was talking about, in different words, in today’s Gospel reading. Remember last week that Peter had claimed Jesus as the Messiah, the son of the Living God. So far so good. But then Jesus began to elaborate on what that would mean for himself – suffering, death, but on the third day resurrection. In response to Peter’s objection, Jesus told the disciples that they, like Jesus, must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow him. To take up the cross and follow Jesus means to deny ourselves, to let go of our own projects and priorities in favor of the work of God’s kingdom, to let go of our own comfort in favor of serving those in need whom God sends our way. To take up the cross means to love our enemies, to bless those who persecute us, to respond with love to abuse from others – as Jesus did. We must avoid giving non-Christians opportunity to say, as Gandhi was quoted, “I like your Christ. I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.” If we are disciples of Christ, there should be at least some faint resemblance between our lives and the life of the Christ we claim to follow.
None of this is easy. This genuine love Paul calls us to show is not weak and sentimental. It’s a durable love that goes on even when people are at their very worst – just as God continued to love the world that sent Jesus to the cross.
I’ll close with these words from the prayer of St Francis, which captures the essence of today’s readings:
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury,pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen
*************
Friday, August 26, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Transformed
(Scriptures: Exodus 1:8 – 2:10, Romans 12:1-8, Matthew 16:1-30)
Over the course of the summer, I’ve been re-reading the book “Diary of a City Priest” by Roman Catholic priest Fr. John McNamee. The book was made into a movie several years ago – perhaps some of you saw it? Fr. McNamee was pastor of St Malachy’s church at 11th & Master Street in North Philadelphia, near Temple University, before his retirement a few years ago. His book recounts his struggle to minister, day after discouraging day, year after exhausting year, to an impoverished neighborhood in which hardly any Roman Catholics live; the challenge of making his home in a neighborhood overwhelmed by poverty, substance abuse, violence. His book is a series of short but memorable vignettes about his interactions with his neighbors, and for me, many of the most memorable have to do with the seemingly incessant requests for help he receives – in the form of phone calls from neighborhood people who are overwhelmed with life and need a sympathetic ear, in the form of constant knocks on the door of the church from people from the nearby projects seeking food, or a few dollars to help pay for SEPTA passes and such. In his book, Father McNamee sometimes expresses second thoughts about his life choices – the celibate, often lonely life of a priest rather than the comforts of wife and family, the disconnect and distance between his ministry amid North Philadelphia’s devastation and the pomp and ceremony of Philadelphia’s hierarchy, the “official” church.
Father McNamee’s book came to my mind as I considered the words of today’s reading from Paul’s letter to the church at Rome. Paul’s words at the beginning of our reading, which I’ve included in the bulletin as this morning’s focus verse, have a way of grabbing our attention: “I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.” Living sacrifice – yikes! We may be tempted to stop reading and change the subject right there, but I want to try to persuade all of us not only to keep reading, but to take Paul’s words to heart.
Paul’s words – “present your bodies as a living sacrifice” – may seem extreme, over-the-top, fanatical, freakish even. But I’d like to point out Paul’s opening words: “I appeal to you therefore….” Therefore. Paul appeals to his readers to present their bodies as living sacrifices, as a response to his words that precede this reading. What words would these be?
Those words of Paul, which Paul makes the basis for his appeal, tell of God’s incredible love, God’s incredible grace toward sinners, Jew and Gentile alike, the incredible affirmation that there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, the incredible affirmation that neither death, not life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. And then Paul speaks of God’s grace in cutting off dead branches in order to graft the Gentiles – that would be us - into the tree of faith. Grace. Grace! Paul’s letter, up to this point, has been a recounting of God’s persistent, overwhelming grace toward humankind and all creation.
So, with today’s reading, we have God’s life-giving grace, within us and all around us, that surrounds us in everything we do – therefore – how can we help but respond with praise and thanksgiving! And not only thanksgiving, but – to borrow a word from my colleague the Rev. Scott Bohr at the Presbyterian church – thanks-living. Thanks-living – living a life of worship and service, in gratitude to all that God has done for us.
Now Philadelphia isn’t always known for expressions of gratitude. During an Eagles game some 40 years ago, the fans booed a volunteer pressed into service at the last minute to play Santa Claus during halftime, and that reputation – as boo-birds, as the city that boos Santa Claus - has defined Philly sports fans, and Philadelphians in general, ever since. So perhaps in Philadelphia, getting to gratitude may take an extra dose of divine intervention. But Paul’s got that covered as well: he tells us not to be conformed to the world, but to be transformed by the renewing of our minds. To be transformed – why? So that we may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. It’s only through the transforming power of God that we can even know God’s will, let alone try to live our lives in accordance with it.
With transformed minds, we are able to see ourselves with sober judgment, not as living for ourselves, but as part of something beyond ourselves, the body of Christ, of which we are all members, with different gifts and different functions. God has given each of us different gifts for service, to be used, not for ourselves, but for others.
The phrase “living sacrifice” may conjure visions of some dramatic act of heroism, but the reality may look more like small, daily acts of sacrifice – the sacrifice parents make to raise their children, the sacrifice adult children make to look after aging parents - the sacrifices of time and resources that many people have made over many years so that we are able to carry on the ministry of Emanuel Church to this day. It involves letting go – letting go of our pride, letting go of our priorities, letting go of our time and resources – not insisting on our own way, but letting go and letting God’s will prevail. It may look like the ministry of Father McNamee at St Malachy’s – daily acts of visiting the sick, listening on the phone to those who are overwhelmed by life, giving to those who ask for a can of food or a few dollars for carfare - less dramatic than running into a burning building to rescue someone, but exhausting just the same. It is in these daily acts of self-sacrifice, this daily life as a living sacrifice, that God transforms us so that we are no longer conformed to the world’s pattern, but instead to the will of God.
This transformation does not come quickly or easily. Very few people experience the instantaneous transformation of being knocked off our horse and being transformed from Saul into Paul. Most often, the process of transformation, the process of God’s renewing our mind, comes slowly and gradually over time. We may find ourselves taking three steps forward and two steps back. We may hit periods of discouragement. Father McNamee writes, of his own experience:
“Several times recently, people have said they don’t know how I do it, day after day, year after year in such an impossible landscape. Well, this is how I do it – poorly. I falter; I fail; I scream. I upset myself so that sleep will be uneasy….For myself, accept the fact that I am going to perform poorly often enough.”
And yet, even with his sense of his own incompleteness and limitation, Father McNamee’s book ends with a note of quiet grace. At the end of his book, which he wrote in the waning days of the year, Father McNamee writes, of his wrestling with his faith:
“When one experiences faith as so illusive, so fragile, one might have to cling more surely, and the fragile hold keeps one close and humble….Holding on so desperately at least makes me hold on, makes me aware that we have here no lasting place, gives me a healthy sense of my own need.
So. I close the book on this year with no sense of anything finished or even ongoing. It looks like still another year is given me, and I have little light, except that I should continue to be where I am and do what I am doing, only to do it more generously and patiently.”
In the words of our hymn earlier today, “Jesus, I my cross have taken, all to leave, and follow Thee.” May we at Emanuel live our lives in the shadow of Christ’s cross, offer our lives as living sacrifices, in service to neighbor and worship of God. Amen.
***********************
Please join us at Emanuel Church on September 18 to celebrate our 150th anniversary. Worship is at 10 a.m., followed by lunch and social hour. www.emanuelphila.org
Over the course of the summer, I’ve been re-reading the book “Diary of a City Priest” by Roman Catholic priest Fr. John McNamee. The book was made into a movie several years ago – perhaps some of you saw it? Fr. McNamee was pastor of St Malachy’s church at 11th & Master Street in North Philadelphia, near Temple University, before his retirement a few years ago. His book recounts his struggle to minister, day after discouraging day, year after exhausting year, to an impoverished neighborhood in which hardly any Roman Catholics live; the challenge of making his home in a neighborhood overwhelmed by poverty, substance abuse, violence. His book is a series of short but memorable vignettes about his interactions with his neighbors, and for me, many of the most memorable have to do with the seemingly incessant requests for help he receives – in the form of phone calls from neighborhood people who are overwhelmed with life and need a sympathetic ear, in the form of constant knocks on the door of the church from people from the nearby projects seeking food, or a few dollars to help pay for SEPTA passes and such. In his book, Father McNamee sometimes expresses second thoughts about his life choices – the celibate, often lonely life of a priest rather than the comforts of wife and family, the disconnect and distance between his ministry amid North Philadelphia’s devastation and the pomp and ceremony of Philadelphia’s hierarchy, the “official” church.
Father McNamee’s book came to my mind as I considered the words of today’s reading from Paul’s letter to the church at Rome. Paul’s words at the beginning of our reading, which I’ve included in the bulletin as this morning’s focus verse, have a way of grabbing our attention: “I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.” Living sacrifice – yikes! We may be tempted to stop reading and change the subject right there, but I want to try to persuade all of us not only to keep reading, but to take Paul’s words to heart.
Paul’s words – “present your bodies as a living sacrifice” – may seem extreme, over-the-top, fanatical, freakish even. But I’d like to point out Paul’s opening words: “I appeal to you therefore….” Therefore. Paul appeals to his readers to present their bodies as living sacrifices, as a response to his words that precede this reading. What words would these be?
Those words of Paul, which Paul makes the basis for his appeal, tell of God’s incredible love, God’s incredible grace toward sinners, Jew and Gentile alike, the incredible affirmation that there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, the incredible affirmation that neither death, not life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. And then Paul speaks of God’s grace in cutting off dead branches in order to graft the Gentiles – that would be us - into the tree of faith. Grace. Grace! Paul’s letter, up to this point, has been a recounting of God’s persistent, overwhelming grace toward humankind and all creation.
So, with today’s reading, we have God’s life-giving grace, within us and all around us, that surrounds us in everything we do – therefore – how can we help but respond with praise and thanksgiving! And not only thanksgiving, but – to borrow a word from my colleague the Rev. Scott Bohr at the Presbyterian church – thanks-living. Thanks-living – living a life of worship and service, in gratitude to all that God has done for us.
Now Philadelphia isn’t always known for expressions of gratitude. During an Eagles game some 40 years ago, the fans booed a volunteer pressed into service at the last minute to play Santa Claus during halftime, and that reputation – as boo-birds, as the city that boos Santa Claus - has defined Philly sports fans, and Philadelphians in general, ever since. So perhaps in Philadelphia, getting to gratitude may take an extra dose of divine intervention. But Paul’s got that covered as well: he tells us not to be conformed to the world, but to be transformed by the renewing of our minds. To be transformed – why? So that we may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. It’s only through the transforming power of God that we can even know God’s will, let alone try to live our lives in accordance with it.
With transformed minds, we are able to see ourselves with sober judgment, not as living for ourselves, but as part of something beyond ourselves, the body of Christ, of which we are all members, with different gifts and different functions. God has given each of us different gifts for service, to be used, not for ourselves, but for others.
The phrase “living sacrifice” may conjure visions of some dramatic act of heroism, but the reality may look more like small, daily acts of sacrifice – the sacrifice parents make to raise their children, the sacrifice adult children make to look after aging parents - the sacrifices of time and resources that many people have made over many years so that we are able to carry on the ministry of Emanuel Church to this day. It involves letting go – letting go of our pride, letting go of our priorities, letting go of our time and resources – not insisting on our own way, but letting go and letting God’s will prevail. It may look like the ministry of Father McNamee at St Malachy’s – daily acts of visiting the sick, listening on the phone to those who are overwhelmed by life, giving to those who ask for a can of food or a few dollars for carfare - less dramatic than running into a burning building to rescue someone, but exhausting just the same. It is in these daily acts of self-sacrifice, this daily life as a living sacrifice, that God transforms us so that we are no longer conformed to the world’s pattern, but instead to the will of God.
This transformation does not come quickly or easily. Very few people experience the instantaneous transformation of being knocked off our horse and being transformed from Saul into Paul. Most often, the process of transformation, the process of God’s renewing our mind, comes slowly and gradually over time. We may find ourselves taking three steps forward and two steps back. We may hit periods of discouragement. Father McNamee writes, of his own experience:
“Several times recently, people have said they don’t know how I do it, day after day, year after year in such an impossible landscape. Well, this is how I do it – poorly. I falter; I fail; I scream. I upset myself so that sleep will be uneasy….For myself, accept the fact that I am going to perform poorly often enough.”
And yet, even with his sense of his own incompleteness and limitation, Father McNamee’s book ends with a note of quiet grace. At the end of his book, which he wrote in the waning days of the year, Father McNamee writes, of his wrestling with his faith:
“When one experiences faith as so illusive, so fragile, one might have to cling more surely, and the fragile hold keeps one close and humble….Holding on so desperately at least makes me hold on, makes me aware that we have here no lasting place, gives me a healthy sense of my own need.
So. I close the book on this year with no sense of anything finished or even ongoing. It looks like still another year is given me, and I have little light, except that I should continue to be where I am and do what I am doing, only to do it more generously and patiently.”
In the words of our hymn earlier today, “Jesus, I my cross have taken, all to leave, and follow Thee.” May we at Emanuel live our lives in the shadow of Christ’s cross, offer our lives as living sacrifices, in service to neighbor and worship of God. Amen.
***********************
Please join us at Emanuel Church on September 18 to celebrate our 150th anniversary. Worship is at 10 a.m., followed by lunch and social hour. www.emanuelphila.org
Monday, August 15, 2011
God's Inclusive Love (by the Rev. Dr. Michael W Caine)
(Scriptures: Isaiah 56:1-8, Matthew 15:21-28)
Note: On August 14, Pastor Dave did a pulpit exchange with the Rev. Dr. Michael W. Caine, pastor of Old First Reformed UCC at 4th & Race Streets. Below is Michael's sermon at Emanuel UCC.)
Our story today, about who can be, who is entitled to be at the table, is in between two miraculous feeding stories.
In the middle of the 14th chapter, we have Matthew’s version of the feeding of the 5000. You know that story-- where a great multitude of people --5000 men, not to even number, much less count the women and children-- has come out to a deserted place to hear and be healed by Jesus. When it got late, the disciples suggest Jesus should send all these people away, as they will need food and nothing is available for such a crowd in the middle of nowhere. Jesus takes the 5 loaves and 2 fishes; everyone is fed; 12 baskets of peices are left over.
The 15th chapter ends with another miraculous feeding, known as the feeding of the 4000. Similar to the first-- Jesus has compassion on the crowd; the disciples can’t imagine there could be food in the desert to feed such a multitude; after everyone’s been fed, there are baskets of leftovers. You might think that it’s a slightly altered version-- or in an oral culture, a differently remembered variant-- of the first feeding story.
But there’s importance in the details-- 4000 fed; 7 loaves and a few fish; and 7 baskets of broken pieces left over.
But before we get to that. The story we are given for today. Matthew 15:21-28. Alongside of the parable of the Laborers and the Hours, this might be my favorite Gospel passage.
A Canaanite woman cries out to Jesus to heal her daughter. That’s not so out of the ordinary. How many people came to Jesus seeking healing for themselves, their loved ones or acquaintances? And the daughter is healed-- just a day in the life of our Savior.
But in between the mother’s cry and daughters’ healing, there are some jarring details.
First of all, there’s the identity of this woman, a Canaanite woman. Matthew’s choice of the word “Canaanite” is important. By the time of Jesus, people were no longer called “Canaanites.” That was an old label, from the days when the Israelites were in the wilderness. eyeing the promised land, to take it from “the Canaanites.”
But In Jesus’ or Matthew’s day, the name was no longer on the map. It’d be like referring to New York as “New Amsterdam” or Cleveland “the Northwest Territories.”
In other words, Matthew uses “Canaanite” on purpose: his very pointed point is that this woman is “other.” She’s not just foreign. She’s also the enemy.
Neither Jesus nor we should be surprised at that... he’s left his own neighborhood; he’s in enemy territory, the region of Tyre and Sidon, home base for this woman and her people. Not where Jews lived. She is of a people who were historically enemies of the Jews.
And if we encountered her passionate pleas, even right here in church, we’d probably judge her strange too. She keeps begging Jesus in this loud voice to heal her daughter who is tormented by a demon.
We’re UCC, we don’t pray like that. Or play like that. Demons aren’t part of our religious pantheon. And even our prayers--- truth be told, when life gets really hard, we too may beg God sometimes, but in a quieter, more private way.
But this mother, she’s desperate and comes out shouting: “Have mercy on me!”
But, church, there’s more: in Jesus’ day, women did not speak to unknown men in public. Actually, women didn’t really speak to men outside of their families. Well, some women did, but custom suggested that only prostitutes acted in such a brazen, forward way.
Isn’t that what we do with people who are different? Disapprove, add a negative value judgement to what makes them different; leave them morally suspect?
Maybe Matthew means for us to remember another women mentioned earlier in his story... Rehab, the prostitute who is named in Jesus’ genealogy in the first chapter of Matthew. Rehab, too, was a Canaanite. What’s a Canaanite prostitute doing in Jesus’ family tree?
The disciples don’t want to think about such questions. They want nothing to do with such women: “Send her away!” they tell Jesus. The same response when faced with thousands of hungry people. “How can we handle their needs; send them away, Lord.”
But this time, surprisingly, Jesus also advocates dismissal. He too is unwilling to help. This woman may not be Jewish, but she calls out to Jesus in language of the Jewish prayer: “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David.” But Jesus isn’t fooled or swayed by her use of familiar language. In his understanding, this woman has nothing to do with him, no claim on him. He does not answer her at all.
This isn’t Jesus at his best, church. Or at least, it’s Jesus on a bad day, when he agrees with the disciples’ wish that she’d just go away. Only the disciple’s request-- that Jesus send her away-- gets him to respond. He now adds to their sentiment, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.”
But our Canaanite woman, she isn’t backing down easily. She’s right in his face now. She’s not going anywhere, and Jesus isn’t shying away from a confrontation either. Here’s a recipe for something happening.
Then Jesus goes right to the dogs. He answers her, “It’s not right to take what is meant for the children of God and throw it to the dogs.”
Ouch. No soft, loving Jesus here. Our tradition teaches Jesus was both “fully God” and “fully human.” And Jesus’ humanity, usually it’s appealing. That our holy One can also be that much like us.
But not this human! ...because this human, he’s neither approachable nor particularly godly. Instead, he comes off as rough and arrogant. Narrow, just plain mean, racist.
Does this sound like the Jesus you know, the Jesus you trust, the Jesus we worship?
I’ve not been sent for your people; I only minister to my own kind.
Or
God’s love is for some, not others.
Or
You people are dogs.
Matthew doesn’t clean up this story or touch up his picture of Jesus.
I suspect that’s important for us. We probably don’t want to say it in church even half as loud as the Canaanite woman was begging for mercy, but we all have someone we doubt God’s love stretches far enough to reach. Each of us rests assured that Jesus came to us and our kind before coming to... you fill in the blank... “those people” or “that kind of person.”
But, like I said, our Canaanite sister... she’s not backing down. Maybe she’s just feisty and stubborn. Or is it the fight in mom with a dying daughter? Or could it be that somewhere deep inside of her, God’s assured her, deeply, unquestioningly, of her worth-- in ways Jesus hasn’t even imagined yet.
“Yes, Lord,” she retorts, “yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”
I imagine at this point, Jesus, hearing her chutzpah, feeling the sting of her insight against his short-sightedness and prejudice... Jesus must have smiled. At her wisdom and grace under pressure. At how she’s seen something about God that she’s just shown him.
“Woman, great is your faith!”
Her faith does have an expansiveness to it. She’s speaking the truth, perhaps a truth she’s know a long time, even all along. There’s no reason to believe Jesus is about to reward her for a conversion experience she’s having.
Jesus is the one who’s heart and mind are being transformed. Letting our bible stories speak together, I can almost imagine him putting together these various episodes:
The children have been fed. 5000 men besides the women and children. And there were 12 baskets of pieces left over. That was my lesson... illustration really-- to the disciples and everyone else gathered there... that the love of God promises abundance that meets every need.
And, this sister, foreign as she may to my faith, understands my teachings better than I do!
The conversion of faith wasn’t the Canaanite woman’s but Jesus’ who was converted that day to a larger vision of the commonwealth of God. Jesus saw and heard a fuller revelation of God in the voice and in the face of the Canaanite woman.
How do I know this? Here’s where we need to get back to the two food-multiplication stories that Matthew uses to bookend the Canaanite woman’s story.
The second feeding story happens where Jesus encountered this woman. Meaning, Jesus is now multiplying loaves and fishes for non-Jews-- 4000 men are fed -- besides women and children. And there are 7 baskets left over. 7, the number, in the Bible, of wholeness, completeness-- in this context signifying inclusion of all the nations.
After the first food-multiplication-miracle, 12 baskets are left over-- there’s food enough for all 12 tribes of Israel. But in this second food-multiplication-miracle, 7 baskets left after Jesus fed Gentiles promises God’s got food enough for all the nations.
The Canaanite woman teaches Jesus that “others” deserve more than crumbs. Jesus learns her lesson, and his ministry changes, expands... After this point in Matthew’s Gospel, he understands his mission to go further than the boundaries of Israel.
If Jesus could be changed, can’t we also? Surely God’s love is enough to offer all children more than crumbs?
Note: On August 14, Pastor Dave did a pulpit exchange with the Rev. Dr. Michael W. Caine, pastor of Old First Reformed UCC at 4th & Race Streets. Below is Michael's sermon at Emanuel UCC.)
Our story today, about who can be, who is entitled to be at the table, is in between two miraculous feeding stories.
In the middle of the 14th chapter, we have Matthew’s version of the feeding of the 5000. You know that story-- where a great multitude of people --5000 men, not to even number, much less count the women and children-- has come out to a deserted place to hear and be healed by Jesus. When it got late, the disciples suggest Jesus should send all these people away, as they will need food and nothing is available for such a crowd in the middle of nowhere. Jesus takes the 5 loaves and 2 fishes; everyone is fed; 12 baskets of peices are left over.
The 15th chapter ends with another miraculous feeding, known as the feeding of the 4000. Similar to the first-- Jesus has compassion on the crowd; the disciples can’t imagine there could be food in the desert to feed such a multitude; after everyone’s been fed, there are baskets of leftovers. You might think that it’s a slightly altered version-- or in an oral culture, a differently remembered variant-- of the first feeding story.
But there’s importance in the details-- 4000 fed; 7 loaves and a few fish; and 7 baskets of broken pieces left over.
But before we get to that. The story we are given for today. Matthew 15:21-28. Alongside of the parable of the Laborers and the Hours, this might be my favorite Gospel passage.
A Canaanite woman cries out to Jesus to heal her daughter. That’s not so out of the ordinary. How many people came to Jesus seeking healing for themselves, their loved ones or acquaintances? And the daughter is healed-- just a day in the life of our Savior.
But in between the mother’s cry and daughters’ healing, there are some jarring details.
First of all, there’s the identity of this woman, a Canaanite woman. Matthew’s choice of the word “Canaanite” is important. By the time of Jesus, people were no longer called “Canaanites.” That was an old label, from the days when the Israelites were in the wilderness. eyeing the promised land, to take it from “the Canaanites.”
But In Jesus’ or Matthew’s day, the name was no longer on the map. It’d be like referring to New York as “New Amsterdam” or Cleveland “the Northwest Territories.”
In other words, Matthew uses “Canaanite” on purpose: his very pointed point is that this woman is “other.” She’s not just foreign. She’s also the enemy.
Neither Jesus nor we should be surprised at that... he’s left his own neighborhood; he’s in enemy territory, the region of Tyre and Sidon, home base for this woman and her people. Not where Jews lived. She is of a people who were historically enemies of the Jews.
And if we encountered her passionate pleas, even right here in church, we’d probably judge her strange too. She keeps begging Jesus in this loud voice to heal her daughter who is tormented by a demon.
We’re UCC, we don’t pray like that. Or play like that. Demons aren’t part of our religious pantheon. And even our prayers--- truth be told, when life gets really hard, we too may beg God sometimes, but in a quieter, more private way.
But this mother, she’s desperate and comes out shouting: “Have mercy on me!”
But, church, there’s more: in Jesus’ day, women did not speak to unknown men in public. Actually, women didn’t really speak to men outside of their families. Well, some women did, but custom suggested that only prostitutes acted in such a brazen, forward way.
Isn’t that what we do with people who are different? Disapprove, add a negative value judgement to what makes them different; leave them morally suspect?
Maybe Matthew means for us to remember another women mentioned earlier in his story... Rehab, the prostitute who is named in Jesus’ genealogy in the first chapter of Matthew. Rehab, too, was a Canaanite. What’s a Canaanite prostitute doing in Jesus’ family tree?
The disciples don’t want to think about such questions. They want nothing to do with such women: “Send her away!” they tell Jesus. The same response when faced with thousands of hungry people. “How can we handle their needs; send them away, Lord.”
But this time, surprisingly, Jesus also advocates dismissal. He too is unwilling to help. This woman may not be Jewish, but she calls out to Jesus in language of the Jewish prayer: “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David.” But Jesus isn’t fooled or swayed by her use of familiar language. In his understanding, this woman has nothing to do with him, no claim on him. He does not answer her at all.
This isn’t Jesus at his best, church. Or at least, it’s Jesus on a bad day, when he agrees with the disciples’ wish that she’d just go away. Only the disciple’s request-- that Jesus send her away-- gets him to respond. He now adds to their sentiment, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.”
But our Canaanite woman, she isn’t backing down easily. She’s right in his face now. She’s not going anywhere, and Jesus isn’t shying away from a confrontation either. Here’s a recipe for something happening.
Then Jesus goes right to the dogs. He answers her, “It’s not right to take what is meant for the children of God and throw it to the dogs.”
Ouch. No soft, loving Jesus here. Our tradition teaches Jesus was both “fully God” and “fully human.” And Jesus’ humanity, usually it’s appealing. That our holy One can also be that much like us.
But not this human! ...because this human, he’s neither approachable nor particularly godly. Instead, he comes off as rough and arrogant. Narrow, just plain mean, racist.
Does this sound like the Jesus you know, the Jesus you trust, the Jesus we worship?
I’ve not been sent for your people; I only minister to my own kind.
Or
God’s love is for some, not others.
Or
You people are dogs.
Matthew doesn’t clean up this story or touch up his picture of Jesus.
I suspect that’s important for us. We probably don’t want to say it in church even half as loud as the Canaanite woman was begging for mercy, but we all have someone we doubt God’s love stretches far enough to reach. Each of us rests assured that Jesus came to us and our kind before coming to... you fill in the blank... “those people” or “that kind of person.”
But, like I said, our Canaanite sister... she’s not backing down. Maybe she’s just feisty and stubborn. Or is it the fight in mom with a dying daughter? Or could it be that somewhere deep inside of her, God’s assured her, deeply, unquestioningly, of her worth-- in ways Jesus hasn’t even imagined yet.
“Yes, Lord,” she retorts, “yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”
I imagine at this point, Jesus, hearing her chutzpah, feeling the sting of her insight against his short-sightedness and prejudice... Jesus must have smiled. At her wisdom and grace under pressure. At how she’s seen something about God that she’s just shown him.
“Woman, great is your faith!”
Her faith does have an expansiveness to it. She’s speaking the truth, perhaps a truth she’s know a long time, even all along. There’s no reason to believe Jesus is about to reward her for a conversion experience she’s having.
Jesus is the one who’s heart and mind are being transformed. Letting our bible stories speak together, I can almost imagine him putting together these various episodes:
The children have been fed. 5000 men besides the women and children. And there were 12 baskets of pieces left over. That was my lesson... illustration really-- to the disciples and everyone else gathered there... that the love of God promises abundance that meets every need.
And, this sister, foreign as she may to my faith, understands my teachings better than I do!
The conversion of faith wasn’t the Canaanite woman’s but Jesus’ who was converted that day to a larger vision of the commonwealth of God. Jesus saw and heard a fuller revelation of God in the voice and in the face of the Canaanite woman.
How do I know this? Here’s where we need to get back to the two food-multiplication stories that Matthew uses to bookend the Canaanite woman’s story.
The second feeding story happens where Jesus encountered this woman. Meaning, Jesus is now multiplying loaves and fishes for non-Jews-- 4000 men are fed -- besides women and children. And there are 7 baskets left over. 7, the number, in the Bible, of wholeness, completeness-- in this context signifying inclusion of all the nations.
After the first food-multiplication-miracle, 12 baskets are left over-- there’s food enough for all 12 tribes of Israel. But in this second food-multiplication-miracle, 7 baskets left after Jesus fed Gentiles promises God’s got food enough for all the nations.
The Canaanite woman teaches Jesus that “others” deserve more than crumbs. Jesus learns her lesson, and his ministry changes, expands... After this point in Matthew’s Gospel, he understands his mission to go further than the boundaries of Israel.
If Jesus could be changed, can’t we also? Surely God’s love is enough to offer all children more than crumbs?
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Gathered and Gathering
(Scriptures: Isaiah 56:1-8, Matthew 15:21-28)
Note: Pastor Dave did a pulpit exchange with the Rev. Michael Caine, pastor of Old First Reformed United CHurch of Christ in center city Philadelphia. Pastor Michael preached at Emanuel, and Pastor Dave preached at Old First. Below is Pastor Dave's sermon at Old First:
************
It’s a great joy to be back at Old First. These days, I serve a congregation in Philadelphia’s Bridesburg neighborhood, where Michael is preaching this morning – and so I’m here. I see lots of familiar faces – which brings great comfort – and lots of unfamiliar faces, which gives me a great deal of hope for the Old First’s future.
I don’t get here much these days, but I keep up with things to some extent via the weekly E-pistles from Michael, with the links to various current events and topics of interest. A year or two ago, I attended, along with many here, focus groups whose intent was to name those communities who might be especially responsive to Old First’s message of welcome: young post-college professionals, families with young children, the LGBT community, and those who have been turned off by past experiences of church. Given the number of unfamiliar faces I see here this morning, your message of welcome is getting through – to people who are a part of your target communities, and to those who aren’t, but still feel called to make Old First their spiritual home. Thanks be to God!
Who is our target population? Or, in a broader sense, “Who’s welcome in the Lord’s house? Who’s welcome to come here and encounter God in worship?” This question is one with which all churches struggle. Generally answers to this question fall along two contrasting lines. On one hand, there’s often a tendency, especially in times of change and tension, to circle the wagons, to maintain strong and well-defined boundaries, to protect the community by keeping unwelcome strangers out, lest they disrupt the congregation’s fragile equilibrium. Countering that is the Gospel call to extend welcome and Christian love to all. I was struck by a statement on Old First’s website: “Everyone new who walks in the door changes who we are.” For some churches, that statement is a threat, bringing tension and anxiety. For Old First, it’s an expression of hope.
This question of when to circle the wagons in order to protect the community, vs. when to welcome the stranger and the sojourner, is a question with which the church has struggled from its earliest days. Could Gentiles become Christians without first becoming Jews? Could women have leadership roles in the church, or should they be silent and save their questions for when they were home with their husbands? More recently, during America’s first century of independence, could slaves become Christians? Who is welcome in the Lord’s house?
And these very questions – “When do we maintain strong community boundaries? When do we welcome outsiders?” - are questions Isaiah is addressing in today’s Old Testament reading. Isaiah was addressing the Jews who had returned from exiles in Babylon. They had come home to Jerusalem with such high hopes. But things had gotten bogged down; it had taken so long to get the Temple reconstruction project off the ground. Beyond that, there was the question of who would be welcome in the Temple once it was built. After all, the Jews had lived in Babylonian exile for 50 years. The younger returnees had no memory of the Temple; for many, Hebrew was a second language, or even a foreign language. Some of the exiled Jews had married foreign wives. Some of their men had held positions of trust in the Babylonian leadership – at the high cost of becoming eunuchs. Who’s welcome to assist with rebuilding the Temple, and when it’s built, who’s welcome to worship there?
From its earliest days, God’s word offered guidelines about who was included and who was excluded from the family of faith. Of course, circumcision was a sign of the covenant, a sign of inclusion in the community. But there were other restrictions. Some of these are found in the 23rd chapter of Deuteronomy: “No male whose privates have been maimed or cut off shall be admitted to the assembly of the Lord. No Ammonite or Moabite, nor their descendents even to the tenth generation, shall be admitted to the assembly.” It’s not that such persons were entirely excluded from living in the same town or village as the Jews; indeed, Deuteronomy 24 specifically offers protection to resident aliens. But it was a limited welcome, a welcome that stopped at the Temple door.
After the return from Babylon, many community leaders used such guidelines as justification to circle the wagons, to maintain strict boundaries on the worshipping community. Zerubbabel, who led one of the early groups of returnees, was adamant that only Jews could participate in rebuilding the Temple. Ezra and Nehemiah, who spearheaded much of the rebuilding of Jerusalem, led a national rite of purification before resuming worship in the Temple. As part of this purification rite, Jewish men were commanded to divorce and send away any foreign wives. The message from these leaders was clear: the purity and integrity of the community had to be preserved, lest the community go astray once again and be sent into yet more decades of exile, perhaps even permanent exile. Anyone and anything foreign to the community had to go – and they’d best be careful not to let the door hit ‘em on the way out!
Isaiah sent a different message. He remembered that God had not only promised to make Abraham a great nation, but had also promised that this great nation would be a blessing to other nations – remember, God told Abraham “in you all the families of the earth will be blessed.” Again and again, Isaiah invokes the promise that the nations would come to Judah to learn of God: “Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.” “Foreigners shall build up your walls, and their kings shall minister to you.” Those whom Ezra and Nehemiah saw as a threat, Isaiah saw as a potential source of blessing.
In today’s reading, Isaiah specifically lifts up two groups: eunuchs, and foreigners, both of whom see themselves as being disowned by God’s family, cut off from the community of faith. You could say these are Isaiah’s target population in this passage, analogous to Old First’s desire to reach out to those who have had bad experiences with church. It was not uncommon for monarchs in the nations surrounding Israel to place eunuchs in positions of trust in their royal courts – for example, they could be trusted to guard the royal harem – and doubtless this was the experience of some who had gone into exile in Babylon. In Isaiah’s time, reproduction and perpetuation of the family name were considered paramount obligations – especially during the return from exile, when those returning were trying to retrace their family lineage. To die childless was considered a crushing misfortune, for your family name would die with you. And, of course, eunuchs were powerless to father children to carry on the family name. From that narrowly focused point of view, what were they good for? Why are they here. They felt like they were just taking up space. Well might they say, in despair, “I am just a dry tree.”
But, says Isaiah, the Lord offers words of encouragement: “Thus says the Lord: To the eunuchs who keep (or hold fast) to my Sabbath, who choose those things in which I delight, and who seize my covenant, I will give within my house and within my walls a monument and a name that shall not be cut off. So those for whom the possibility of continuing the family lineage was “cut off”, would be given a monument and a name that would not be “cut off.” In other words, that while their family lineage or family name may be “cut off” from the standpoint of bearing sons, within the Lord’s house, their monument and name will not be cut off, but rather will last forever, built into the very walls of the house of the Lord, never to be removed. A monument and a name that would last forever, built into the very walls of the house of the Lord – that’s what God promised those eunuchs who despaired that their family name would end with them.
God makes a similar promise to the “sons of that which is foreign” who join themselves to the LORD (the Hebrew word for “join” is also sometimes used to say “borrow” or “loan”; the sense may be “those who put themselves on perpetual loan to the Lord”), to minister to Him, and to love the name of the LORD, to be His servants, every one who keeps from profaning the sabbath, and hold fast my covenant; even them will I bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful in my house of prayer: their burnt offerings and their sacrifices shall be accepted upon my altar; for my house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples Those who thought they would be separated from God by reason of their foreignness, can instead come with celebration, with joy, to God’s holy mountain. They can come - not just to stand in the back near the door, but to be welcomed into the center of the family of faith, rejoicing that their sacrifices, their worship, will be accepted – indeed, will be welcomed.
The section concludes with verse 8, which literally translates as something close to “The Lord God, who gathers those banished from Israel, still gathers to those already gathered.” So God, who gathered those banished from Israel when Isaiah’s words were written, was still gathering last year, and was still gathering last month, was still gathering yesterday, while you were doing laundry – and is gathering today, right this minute - and will be gathering tomorrow. God gathered you, and God gathered me, and God is still gathering people to God’s holy mountain, still making God’s house a house of prayer for all peoples. For all peoples! Not just for some.
We see God’s ongoing action of gathering people in our Gospel reading this morning, in which Jesus encounters a Canaanite woman with a prayer request. In our Gospel reading, we literally see Isaiah’s words come true. On encountering the Canaanite woman, not only the disciples, but even Jesus himself is initially torn between the impulse to circle the wagons and the impulse to reach out, between the imperative to maintain purity and the imperative to extend love. Initially, responding from the traditional stance of maintaining separation, he tells his woman, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” Jesus had a target population for his ministry, and Canaanite women weren’t part of it. Because of the woman’s persistence, however, Jesus came to rethink and expand his sense of mission, expanded the target population of his ministry.
This choice of strong walls or open doors is one with which Old First is well-acquainted – and Old First is making faithful choices, thanks be to God. Our church’s moves, amid demographic changes, from 4th & Race to 10th & Wallace and later to 51st and Locust reflected the congregation’s recognition that the target population of its ministry was not the population surrounding the church building. Old First literally chased its desired target population from one end of Philadelphia to the other. Faced in the 1960’s with the need for yet another move, Old First made a different choice this time, a choice, not to follow its target population out into the suburbs, but to return to our original home, open our doors, and welcome those whom God has gathered and sent our way.
In the United Church of Christ, one of the UCC national office’s favorite bumper-sticker phrases in recent years has been “God is still speaking.” But for this morning’s purposes, I’d like to change that a bit, to say, “God is still gathering.” God is still gathering, still gathering us, still gathering our friends, still gathering our neighbors, and still gathering lots of folks we’ve never met into God’s house of prayer for all people.
One of my frequent reminders to my congregation in Bridesburg is that, “God has appointed us to the invitation committee, not to the selection committee.” So let’s welcome all those whom God has gathered, and is gathering, and will gather in the years that remain to us and to our congregation. May God grant that Old First will continue to live into Isaiah’s vision of being a “house of prayer for all people”
.
“Thus says the Lord God, who gathers the outcasts of Israel, ‘I will gather others to them beside those already gathered.’” Those whom God gathers, let us not scatter. Those whom God gathers, let us welcome. Let us give thanks and praise to God who gathered us, and let us give thanks and praise to God for all whom God will gather in days to come. Amen.
Note: Pastor Dave did a pulpit exchange with the Rev. Michael Caine, pastor of Old First Reformed United CHurch of Christ in center city Philadelphia. Pastor Michael preached at Emanuel, and Pastor Dave preached at Old First. Below is Pastor Dave's sermon at Old First:
************
It’s a great joy to be back at Old First. These days, I serve a congregation in Philadelphia’s Bridesburg neighborhood, where Michael is preaching this morning – and so I’m here. I see lots of familiar faces – which brings great comfort – and lots of unfamiliar faces, which gives me a great deal of hope for the Old First’s future.
I don’t get here much these days, but I keep up with things to some extent via the weekly E-pistles from Michael, with the links to various current events and topics of interest. A year or two ago, I attended, along with many here, focus groups whose intent was to name those communities who might be especially responsive to Old First’s message of welcome: young post-college professionals, families with young children, the LGBT community, and those who have been turned off by past experiences of church. Given the number of unfamiliar faces I see here this morning, your message of welcome is getting through – to people who are a part of your target communities, and to those who aren’t, but still feel called to make Old First their spiritual home. Thanks be to God!
Who is our target population? Or, in a broader sense, “Who’s welcome in the Lord’s house? Who’s welcome to come here and encounter God in worship?” This question is one with which all churches struggle. Generally answers to this question fall along two contrasting lines. On one hand, there’s often a tendency, especially in times of change and tension, to circle the wagons, to maintain strong and well-defined boundaries, to protect the community by keeping unwelcome strangers out, lest they disrupt the congregation’s fragile equilibrium. Countering that is the Gospel call to extend welcome and Christian love to all. I was struck by a statement on Old First’s website: “Everyone new who walks in the door changes who we are.” For some churches, that statement is a threat, bringing tension and anxiety. For Old First, it’s an expression of hope.
This question of when to circle the wagons in order to protect the community, vs. when to welcome the stranger and the sojourner, is a question with which the church has struggled from its earliest days. Could Gentiles become Christians without first becoming Jews? Could women have leadership roles in the church, or should they be silent and save their questions for when they were home with their husbands? More recently, during America’s first century of independence, could slaves become Christians? Who is welcome in the Lord’s house?
And these very questions – “When do we maintain strong community boundaries? When do we welcome outsiders?” - are questions Isaiah is addressing in today’s Old Testament reading. Isaiah was addressing the Jews who had returned from exiles in Babylon. They had come home to Jerusalem with such high hopes. But things had gotten bogged down; it had taken so long to get the Temple reconstruction project off the ground. Beyond that, there was the question of who would be welcome in the Temple once it was built. After all, the Jews had lived in Babylonian exile for 50 years. The younger returnees had no memory of the Temple; for many, Hebrew was a second language, or even a foreign language. Some of the exiled Jews had married foreign wives. Some of their men had held positions of trust in the Babylonian leadership – at the high cost of becoming eunuchs. Who’s welcome to assist with rebuilding the Temple, and when it’s built, who’s welcome to worship there?
From its earliest days, God’s word offered guidelines about who was included and who was excluded from the family of faith. Of course, circumcision was a sign of the covenant, a sign of inclusion in the community. But there were other restrictions. Some of these are found in the 23rd chapter of Deuteronomy: “No male whose privates have been maimed or cut off shall be admitted to the assembly of the Lord. No Ammonite or Moabite, nor their descendents even to the tenth generation, shall be admitted to the assembly.” It’s not that such persons were entirely excluded from living in the same town or village as the Jews; indeed, Deuteronomy 24 specifically offers protection to resident aliens. But it was a limited welcome, a welcome that stopped at the Temple door.
After the return from Babylon, many community leaders used such guidelines as justification to circle the wagons, to maintain strict boundaries on the worshipping community. Zerubbabel, who led one of the early groups of returnees, was adamant that only Jews could participate in rebuilding the Temple. Ezra and Nehemiah, who spearheaded much of the rebuilding of Jerusalem, led a national rite of purification before resuming worship in the Temple. As part of this purification rite, Jewish men were commanded to divorce and send away any foreign wives. The message from these leaders was clear: the purity and integrity of the community had to be preserved, lest the community go astray once again and be sent into yet more decades of exile, perhaps even permanent exile. Anyone and anything foreign to the community had to go – and they’d best be careful not to let the door hit ‘em on the way out!
Isaiah sent a different message. He remembered that God had not only promised to make Abraham a great nation, but had also promised that this great nation would be a blessing to other nations – remember, God told Abraham “in you all the families of the earth will be blessed.” Again and again, Isaiah invokes the promise that the nations would come to Judah to learn of God: “Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.” “Foreigners shall build up your walls, and their kings shall minister to you.” Those whom Ezra and Nehemiah saw as a threat, Isaiah saw as a potential source of blessing.
In today’s reading, Isaiah specifically lifts up two groups: eunuchs, and foreigners, both of whom see themselves as being disowned by God’s family, cut off from the community of faith. You could say these are Isaiah’s target population in this passage, analogous to Old First’s desire to reach out to those who have had bad experiences with church. It was not uncommon for monarchs in the nations surrounding Israel to place eunuchs in positions of trust in their royal courts – for example, they could be trusted to guard the royal harem – and doubtless this was the experience of some who had gone into exile in Babylon. In Isaiah’s time, reproduction and perpetuation of the family name were considered paramount obligations – especially during the return from exile, when those returning were trying to retrace their family lineage. To die childless was considered a crushing misfortune, for your family name would die with you. And, of course, eunuchs were powerless to father children to carry on the family name. From that narrowly focused point of view, what were they good for? Why are they here. They felt like they were just taking up space. Well might they say, in despair, “I am just a dry tree.”
But, says Isaiah, the Lord offers words of encouragement: “Thus says the Lord: To the eunuchs who keep (or hold fast) to my Sabbath, who choose those things in which I delight, and who seize my covenant, I will give within my house and within my walls a monument and a name that shall not be cut off. So those for whom the possibility of continuing the family lineage was “cut off”, would be given a monument and a name that would not be “cut off.” In other words, that while their family lineage or family name may be “cut off” from the standpoint of bearing sons, within the Lord’s house, their monument and name will not be cut off, but rather will last forever, built into the very walls of the house of the Lord, never to be removed. A monument and a name that would last forever, built into the very walls of the house of the Lord – that’s what God promised those eunuchs who despaired that their family name would end with them.
God makes a similar promise to the “sons of that which is foreign” who join themselves to the LORD (the Hebrew word for “join” is also sometimes used to say “borrow” or “loan”; the sense may be “those who put themselves on perpetual loan to the Lord”), to minister to Him, and to love the name of the LORD, to be His servants, every one who keeps from profaning the sabbath, and hold fast my covenant; even them will I bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful in my house of prayer: their burnt offerings and their sacrifices shall be accepted upon my altar; for my house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples Those who thought they would be separated from God by reason of their foreignness, can instead come with celebration, with joy, to God’s holy mountain. They can come - not just to stand in the back near the door, but to be welcomed into the center of the family of faith, rejoicing that their sacrifices, their worship, will be accepted – indeed, will be welcomed.
The section concludes with verse 8, which literally translates as something close to “The Lord God, who gathers those banished from Israel, still gathers to those already gathered.” So God, who gathered those banished from Israel when Isaiah’s words were written, was still gathering last year, and was still gathering last month, was still gathering yesterday, while you were doing laundry – and is gathering today, right this minute - and will be gathering tomorrow. God gathered you, and God gathered me, and God is still gathering people to God’s holy mountain, still making God’s house a house of prayer for all peoples. For all peoples! Not just for some.
We see God’s ongoing action of gathering people in our Gospel reading this morning, in which Jesus encounters a Canaanite woman with a prayer request. In our Gospel reading, we literally see Isaiah’s words come true. On encountering the Canaanite woman, not only the disciples, but even Jesus himself is initially torn between the impulse to circle the wagons and the impulse to reach out, between the imperative to maintain purity and the imperative to extend love. Initially, responding from the traditional stance of maintaining separation, he tells his woman, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” Jesus had a target population for his ministry, and Canaanite women weren’t part of it. Because of the woman’s persistence, however, Jesus came to rethink and expand his sense of mission, expanded the target population of his ministry.
This choice of strong walls or open doors is one with which Old First is well-acquainted – and Old First is making faithful choices, thanks be to God. Our church’s moves, amid demographic changes, from 4th & Race to 10th & Wallace and later to 51st and Locust reflected the congregation’s recognition that the target population of its ministry was not the population surrounding the church building. Old First literally chased its desired target population from one end of Philadelphia to the other. Faced in the 1960’s with the need for yet another move, Old First made a different choice this time, a choice, not to follow its target population out into the suburbs, but to return to our original home, open our doors, and welcome those whom God has gathered and sent our way.
In the United Church of Christ, one of the UCC national office’s favorite bumper-sticker phrases in recent years has been “God is still speaking.” But for this morning’s purposes, I’d like to change that a bit, to say, “God is still gathering.” God is still gathering, still gathering us, still gathering our friends, still gathering our neighbors, and still gathering lots of folks we’ve never met into God’s house of prayer for all people.
One of my frequent reminders to my congregation in Bridesburg is that, “God has appointed us to the invitation committee, not to the selection committee.” So let’s welcome all those whom God has gathered, and is gathering, and will gather in the years that remain to us and to our congregation. May God grant that Old First will continue to live into Isaiah’s vision of being a “house of prayer for all people”
.
“Thus says the Lord God, who gathers the outcasts of Israel, ‘I will gather others to them beside those already gathered.’” Those whom God gathers, let us not scatter. Those whom God gathers, let us welcome. Let us give thanks and praise to God who gathered us, and let us give thanks and praise to God for all whom God will gather in days to come. Amen.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
That Sinking Feeling
(Scriptures: Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28, Romans 10:5-15 Matthew 14:22-33)
One of the joys of my day job in accounting is that my boss has an endless stream of - accountant jokes. (It’s ok, he’s an accountant too. It’s ok when accountants make fun of ourselves.) For example, what’s the difference between an introverted accountant and an extroverted accountant? An introverted accountant looks at his shoes when he talks to you. An extroverted accountant looks at your shoes when he talks to you. How do you pick an accountant out of line up? Easy - It’s the guy wearing both a belt and suspenders….just to be sure his pants stay where they’re supposed to. All of which is to say that, while accountants are not known for their sparkling social skills, they – we - are legendary for being cautious, for doing what we can to anticipate everything – to use the words of Donald Rumsfeld, “the known knowns, the known unknowns and the unknown unknowns” - that could threaten the financial stability of their employer.
While Jesus told a parable about an accountant – remember the parable of the unjust steward – these days, it would be the parable of the Enron accountant – and while Jesus had a tax collector, Matthew, along his followers, today’s Gospel reading is not about Matthew the tax collector but Peter the fisherman. The outlook of an accountant and the outlook of a fisherman of Jesus’ day could not be more different. For an accountant, doing one’s job is all about being accurate about the things that are known, and being cautious in estimating the things that can’t be pinpointed. Accountants don’t like to take risks. However, for a fisherman, if he isn’t willing to take some risks, in getting into the boat and putting out into water, he and his family aren’t going to eat. And from the record of the Gospels, it appears that Peter and the other disciples were willing to take risks. More than once, the Gospels tell us of the disciples being caught on water in violent storms – I suppose it would be considered an occupational hazard.
Today’s Gospel reading is one of those times when the disciples were on the sea in rough water. Jesus had sent the disciples off in the boat to return to Genesseret, then went by himself up the mountain to pray. Meanwhile the disciples were fighting the wind and waves, and it was in the wee hours of the morning. Jesus comes to the boat, walking on the water, and the disciples start freaking out, thinking they were seeing a ghost. And Jesus told them not to be afraid. Peter, still not sure, told Jesus, “if it’s you, command me to talk on the water.” And Jesus, probably smiling a bit, went along with Peter – “ok, Peter, get out of the boat.” And, amazingly enough, Peter stepped out of the boat and started walking on the water toward Jesus – until, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the waves and felt the wind whipping around him. He started to sink, and cried out for Jesus to save him. Of course, Jesus was there to catch him, and said to Peter, “you of little faith – why did you doubt?”
Why do we doubt? The church has often been compared to a boat, to an ark, a place of refuge for God’s people on the rough seas of life. Sometimes, though, we behave more like accountants than sailors; rather than leaving shore and taking a chance on the boat – and ourselves – getting bounced around, we’d rather keep the boat on shore, and content ourselves with painting the hull – and maybe sing some songs about sailing while we’re puttering around. We want to focus inward, caring for our building, caring for ourselves, taking care of our own. And it’s no great challenge to trust in Jesus when our feet are planted on solid ground, when our lives are humming along predictably. But Jesus calls us to get into the boat, and push out into the water. We want to focus on maintenance, but Jesus calls us to mission. He wants us, as the church and as individual believers, to actually go places and do things in his name.
So, ok, we’re on the water. We may need to adjust a bit – get over our seasickness, take some Dramamine if we need to – and the boat rises and falls, and we need to get our sea legs, adjust to walking on a deck that’s bobbing up and down, and there are occasional jolts – but, ok. We’re in the church. We’re doing mission. We’ve moved from being accountants to being sailors, and sailing is a good bit riskier than bookkeeping – but we’ve adjusted. We’ve learned to trust Jesus through the normal rise and fall of the waves.
But then there are times in all of our lives when the wind really starts whipping and the waves come crashing onto the deck of the ship. We wonder if God has forgotten about us. Or maybe God was never there to begin with – maybe it was our own voice we heard, telling us to leave shore. We feel ourselves taking on water, and we panic! What’s going to happen to us? We may be so terrified, so freaked out, that even when Jesus comes to be present with us, we don’t recognize him.
When Jesus calls, “it is I, do not be afraid” – what is our response? Remember that as long as Peter kept his focus on Jesus, he was safe, even out of the boat, doing something seemingly crazy, walking on the water. It was when Peter was distracted by the wind and waves going on around him that he panicked again, and began to sink. And of course Jesus didn’t let Peter drown, but reached out a hand to catch him.
By focusing on God, even when the wind and waves are swirling around us, we can find a calm place within us, a place that the wind and waves can’t touch. Even when our circumstances turn against us, when all that was once familiar to us seems strange and threatening, God does not abandon us.
Remember the story of Joseph that was our Old Testament reading. Joseph, who was his father’s favorite, became the object of his brothers’ jealousy. Joseph was taken from the security of his family and ended up in, of all places, Egypt. And yet, even in that strange place, Joseph kept faith with God, and God watched over him. In fact, Joseph was able to provide for his brothers in time of famine. At the end of his life, Joseph was able to tell his brothers, “what you meant for evil, God meant for good.” Like the Apostle Paul, we can affirm that “no one who believes in God will be put to shame.” Like the Apostle Paul, even when the wind and waves are swirling around us, even when all that we know has turned against us, we, like Paul, can affirm that “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.” Come what may, let us look to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was waiting endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and is now seated at the right hand of the throne of God. Amen.
****************************
Please climb on in and take a seat at Emanuel United Church of Christ on Sundays at 10 a.m. We're on Fillmore St (off Thompson). www.emanuelphila.org
One of the joys of my day job in accounting is that my boss has an endless stream of - accountant jokes. (It’s ok, he’s an accountant too. It’s ok when accountants make fun of ourselves.) For example, what’s the difference between an introverted accountant and an extroverted accountant? An introverted accountant looks at his shoes when he talks to you. An extroverted accountant looks at your shoes when he talks to you. How do you pick an accountant out of line up? Easy - It’s the guy wearing both a belt and suspenders….just to be sure his pants stay where they’re supposed to. All of which is to say that, while accountants are not known for their sparkling social skills, they – we - are legendary for being cautious, for doing what we can to anticipate everything – to use the words of Donald Rumsfeld, “the known knowns, the known unknowns and the unknown unknowns” - that could threaten the financial stability of their employer.
While Jesus told a parable about an accountant – remember the parable of the unjust steward – these days, it would be the parable of the Enron accountant – and while Jesus had a tax collector, Matthew, along his followers, today’s Gospel reading is not about Matthew the tax collector but Peter the fisherman. The outlook of an accountant and the outlook of a fisherman of Jesus’ day could not be more different. For an accountant, doing one’s job is all about being accurate about the things that are known, and being cautious in estimating the things that can’t be pinpointed. Accountants don’t like to take risks. However, for a fisherman, if he isn’t willing to take some risks, in getting into the boat and putting out into water, he and his family aren’t going to eat. And from the record of the Gospels, it appears that Peter and the other disciples were willing to take risks. More than once, the Gospels tell us of the disciples being caught on water in violent storms – I suppose it would be considered an occupational hazard.
Today’s Gospel reading is one of those times when the disciples were on the sea in rough water. Jesus had sent the disciples off in the boat to return to Genesseret, then went by himself up the mountain to pray. Meanwhile the disciples were fighting the wind and waves, and it was in the wee hours of the morning. Jesus comes to the boat, walking on the water, and the disciples start freaking out, thinking they were seeing a ghost. And Jesus told them not to be afraid. Peter, still not sure, told Jesus, “if it’s you, command me to talk on the water.” And Jesus, probably smiling a bit, went along with Peter – “ok, Peter, get out of the boat.” And, amazingly enough, Peter stepped out of the boat and started walking on the water toward Jesus – until, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the waves and felt the wind whipping around him. He started to sink, and cried out for Jesus to save him. Of course, Jesus was there to catch him, and said to Peter, “you of little faith – why did you doubt?”
Why do we doubt? The church has often been compared to a boat, to an ark, a place of refuge for God’s people on the rough seas of life. Sometimes, though, we behave more like accountants than sailors; rather than leaving shore and taking a chance on the boat – and ourselves – getting bounced around, we’d rather keep the boat on shore, and content ourselves with painting the hull – and maybe sing some songs about sailing while we’re puttering around. We want to focus inward, caring for our building, caring for ourselves, taking care of our own. And it’s no great challenge to trust in Jesus when our feet are planted on solid ground, when our lives are humming along predictably. But Jesus calls us to get into the boat, and push out into the water. We want to focus on maintenance, but Jesus calls us to mission. He wants us, as the church and as individual believers, to actually go places and do things in his name.
So, ok, we’re on the water. We may need to adjust a bit – get over our seasickness, take some Dramamine if we need to – and the boat rises and falls, and we need to get our sea legs, adjust to walking on a deck that’s bobbing up and down, and there are occasional jolts – but, ok. We’re in the church. We’re doing mission. We’ve moved from being accountants to being sailors, and sailing is a good bit riskier than bookkeeping – but we’ve adjusted. We’ve learned to trust Jesus through the normal rise and fall of the waves.
But then there are times in all of our lives when the wind really starts whipping and the waves come crashing onto the deck of the ship. We wonder if God has forgotten about us. Or maybe God was never there to begin with – maybe it was our own voice we heard, telling us to leave shore. We feel ourselves taking on water, and we panic! What’s going to happen to us? We may be so terrified, so freaked out, that even when Jesus comes to be present with us, we don’t recognize him.
When Jesus calls, “it is I, do not be afraid” – what is our response? Remember that as long as Peter kept his focus on Jesus, he was safe, even out of the boat, doing something seemingly crazy, walking on the water. It was when Peter was distracted by the wind and waves going on around him that he panicked again, and began to sink. And of course Jesus didn’t let Peter drown, but reached out a hand to catch him.
By focusing on God, even when the wind and waves are swirling around us, we can find a calm place within us, a place that the wind and waves can’t touch. Even when our circumstances turn against us, when all that was once familiar to us seems strange and threatening, God does not abandon us.
Remember the story of Joseph that was our Old Testament reading. Joseph, who was his father’s favorite, became the object of his brothers’ jealousy. Joseph was taken from the security of his family and ended up in, of all places, Egypt. And yet, even in that strange place, Joseph kept faith with God, and God watched over him. In fact, Joseph was able to provide for his brothers in time of famine. At the end of his life, Joseph was able to tell his brothers, “what you meant for evil, God meant for good.” Like the Apostle Paul, we can affirm that “no one who believes in God will be put to shame.” Like the Apostle Paul, even when the wind and waves are swirling around us, even when all that we know has turned against us, we, like Paul, can affirm that “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.” Come what may, let us look to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was waiting endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and is now seated at the right hand of the throne of God. Amen.
****************************
Please climb on in and take a seat at Emanuel United Church of Christ on Sundays at 10 a.m. We're on Fillmore St (off Thompson). www.emanuelphila.org
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
