(Today's Readings: Genesis 15:1-12,17-18 Philippians 3:17-4:1 Luke 13:31-35)
They're baaaaaack! I'm sure you've seen them in a store near you - Peeps! These marshmallow-like little critters appear every spring, in pastel colors like yellow, pink, and more recently orange, lavender, blue, and green. Created by the Just Born company in Bethlehem, PA, enough of these little critters are eaten each spring to circle the globe, according to the company website. And they have a following of fans who, not content just to eat them, use them in arts and crafts. Scientists at Emory University experimenting on Peeps, wanting to learn if the Peeps will dissolve in water or sulfuric acid, learned that almost nothing will dissolve Peep eyes. There are even websites devoted to conspiracy theories involving Peeps. After all, we have no idea what they’re peeping about, ever so quietly, as they nuzzle against one another in neat little rows inside those boxes.
Believe it or not, the Peeps actually do have something to do with today’s Gospel text. In our reading from Luke, we catch a glimpse of Jesus as he is making his way from Galilee to Jerusalem. The Pharisees warn Jesus that Herod Antipas, son of Herod the Great, whom we read about during the Christmas accounts of the Wise Men, and every bit as nasty, wants to kill him. The Pharisees here play an ambivalent role – are they being friends to Jesus by warning him of impending danger, or are they supporting Herod in his efforts to silence Jesus? Or maybe some of both? In any case, Jesus sounds distinctly unimpressed. “Go and tell that fox” – not a flattering description of Herod, who probably saw himself more as a lion – a fox is an annoyance, not a source of terror – “go and tell that fox for me that I’m casting out demons and curing people today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work.” Regardless of Herod’s threats, Jesus is going to go steadily about his business. And his business, his mission, is leading him to Jerusalem, where he fully expects to be killed. “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you. And I tell you, you will not see me until the time comes when you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.’”
On the surface, it’s a harsh saying of Jesus. But beneath the harshness is God’s fierce, protective love for humanity, for us. Jesus gives voice to God’s desire to shelter us as a hen gathers her brood under her wings. While it’s been decades since I’ve spent any significant time around a farm, we’re told that, in case of attack by animals or a threat from nature such as a fire, a mother hen will, along with using its beak and claws in defense, will put its own body between its chicks – its peeps – and the outside threat. The fox can kill the hen; the mother hen may die, but with her body between the chicks and the fox, underneath her body the chicks may survive. It’s a striking image – God as mother hen – and yet it’s what Jesus ultimately did as he offered himself on the cross, putting his own body between us and the destruction with which our sin threatens us.
We see this fierce, protective love of God in our other readings as well. Paul, writing to the saints at Philippi, seeks to strengthen their faith, to help them stand firm despite being surrounded by a culture that doesn’t share their values. While his words are harsh toward those he deems as enemies of the cross of Christ– “their end is destruction” - we also can feel Paul’s passionate care for his followers at Philippi – “Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and my crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved.”
And in our reading from Genesis, Abram is lamenting that he and his wife Sarai are still at this time childless. Abram, who is childless and with his wife is far along in years seems himself as the end of his family’s line, and his household slave Eliezer as his heir. He feels, in a sense, that he and his family line have been abandoned by God. But God reassures him – not his household slave, but Abraham’s own son. God leads him outside and directs his attention to the heavens. “Count the stars, if you are able to count them. So shall your descendents be.” Abram believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness.
Abram believed God. As we continue our Lenten journey with Jesus toward the cross, we are also asked to believe God, to trust in the fierce, protective love of God. What we may read in Scripture as God’s anger, is the anger of a mother or father who sees their child inadvertently – or maybe even willfully - do something dangerous and life threatening, the anger of a mother or father who says “don’t ever do that again” while at the same time breathing a prayer of gratitude, “thank God you’re ok.”
Jesus wept over Jerusalem – Jerusalem where the Temple stood, Jerusalem where the Temple authorities were sure that God was present, but still a place which had stoned prophets in the past and in which Jesus will be crucified. This passage has been used in the past as a basis for anti-Semitism, but it’s important to remember that Jesus himself was a Jew, as were the prophets of whom Jesus speaks who had previously been stoned in Jerusalem – so we are listening into a conversation within Judaism, Jewish prophets and a Jewish Messiah criticizing the Jewish establishment and trying to point to a better way. Like a mother hen, Jesus speaks of God’s longing to gather the Jerusalem religious establishment under God’s protective wings. While we may see them as terrifying opponents, in God’s eyes they are like frightened chicks running in the opposite direction, peeping in terror.
Jesus wept over Jerusalem. I suspect there is much in our society – and in the church - that would cause Jesus to weep as well. I believe Jesus would weep over a society that with its words is quick to give lip service to God, but in its deeds betrays its primary commitments to material wealth and military power. I believe Jesus would weep over a church that often mimics and supports the ways of the world instead of offering an alternative, that tries to portray Jesus, not as the mother hen protecting the vulnerable, but as an angry farmer with a shotgun blasting away at anything that moves. And yes, a farmer with a shotgun would make much quicker work of the fox then a mother hen would. But that’s not the Jesus of the Gospels – and while I firmly believe that Jesus will come again in power and glory, that day has not yet come, and until then we are to walk as Jesus did, with humility, not arrogance. Paul in Philippians speaks of this in Philippians, in words that are as true now as they were then: For many – I would add both outside and inside the church - live as enemies of the cross of Christ; I have often told you of them, and now I tell you even with tears. Their end is destruction; their god is the belly; and their glory is in their shame; their minds are set on earthly things. But our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself. Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved. How often has Jesus desired to gather us together – all of us here, and all of those not here who never expect to darken the doorstep of a church, all of those in power, and all of those who are powerless - as a hen gathers her brood under her wings.
Let us not set our minds on earthly things, for our citizenship is in heaven. May we stand firm in the Lord, who loves us and longs for us. And may we here at Emanuel, where our name tells us that God is with us, reach out to our friends, our neighbors, to all who are in need, gathering others to the Lord, who seeks to gather us, and gather them, and gather all humanity, under sheltering wings. Amen.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Lent Begins
Jesus answered [the devil], “It is written, “Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.” Luke 4:7, quoting Deut 6:13, 10:20
The 1988 movie “The Last Temptation of Christ”, produced by Martin Scorcese and starring Willem Dafoe as Jesus, was – and in some circles still is - a source of great controversy. Church groups vehemently protested the film, and it is still banned in some countries. The crux of the controversy – the “last temptation” of the film – was for Christ to come down off the cross, marry Mary Magdalene, and live a normal family life. In the final scene, Jesus resists this temptation and dies on the cross, with the final words “it is accomplished.”
On this first Sunday in Lent, we journey with Jesus into the wilderness as he is confronted by temptation three times. In one sense, the experience is unique to Jesus – as the beloved Son of God, he was tempted in ways that on the surface seem alien to us. But in another sense, we face versions of these same temptations every day.
We’re told (in Luke 4:1-13) that, immediately after his baptism, the Holy Spirit drove Jesus into the wilderness. The devil tempted Jesus to turn stones into bread, to worship the devil in exchange for earthly power over all the kingdoms of the world, to jump off the pinnacle of the Temple and provoke God into saving him. In response to these temptations, Jesus refers to the primacy and the sovereignty of God – “man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds out of the mouth of God. Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only. Do not put the Lord your God to the test.”
Jesus’ time in the wilderness was a time of discernment, of seeking guidance for the way forward – of discerning his mission, discerning why God sent him. What would Jesus’ life teach his followers about God the Father. The three temptations are short cuts that, on the surface, made perfect sense, but would have derailed Jesus’ ministry before it had started. He was tempted to turn stones into bread – to use his relationship with God to meet his own needs, rather than the needs of humanity. The temptation to jump off the pinnacle of the temple is a temptation to make his ministry about spectacles and showy miracles to draw attention to himself – Jesus as magician. While Jesus indeed did miracles of feeding and healing, these miracles were focused on meeting the needs of others, of freeing others from Satan’s bondage, not to draw attention to himself – and the Gospels often record Jesus as telling the recipients of his miracles to keep the miracles a secret. The temptation to gain power to rule the world, at the price of worshiping Satan, is a temptation to gain earthly power – for the best of intentions, of course – but bypassing the day-to-day experiences of human limitation and weakness that would face Jesus every day of his ministry, bypassing the betrayal and arrest in the garden of Gethesemane, bypassing the unjust hearings before religious and secular authorities, bypassing the mockery of the soldiers, bypassing the cross. This is the temptation that produces Hitlers and Stalins, produces genocides – when indulged by the church, produces Inquisitions and witch hunts - the temptation to pursue power at all costs, regardless of the human suffering inflicted on others. So great was Jesus’ trust in God, so great was Jesus’ love for humanity, so great was his love for each one of us, that he resisted these temptations, these short-cuts of instant gratification that would instantly have made an end to Jesus’ work of salvation.
In the wilderness, Jesus came to know, more profoundly than ever, the magnitude of his mission of bringing salvation to humanity, the insidious power of Satan’s opposition – and the profound love of God that never let him, and never lets us, to our own devices. As it was for the children of Israel, the wilderness was a place of testing for Jesus. We know from Scripture that the ancient Hebrews often failed the test of the wilderness, often gave into temptation, often doubted God’s power and God’s love. And Jesus’ temptations were put in ways that raised these same doubts – “if you are the Son of God. If. Are you really the Son of God? If so, prove it.” The temptations even quoted Scripture for the purpose of twisting it, quoting from Psalm 91 – which we read responsively today – a beautiful song of trust in God, and turning it into a challenge to force God to come out and show his power, to strut his stuff.
In the wilderness, Jesus came to know, more clearly than ever, who God is and why God had sent him. The season of Lent, into which we have now entered, is a chance to share something of Jesus’ wilderness experience – to pull back from the noise and clutter and distraction and busy-ness of our daily lives and experience closer communion with God. Traditional Lenten practices such as fasting or “giving something up for Lent” are ways to put aside the things we use to numb or distract or distance ourselves from God – in Barbara Brown Taylor’s words, to give up our pacifiers – and experience more fully our daily dependence on God. Others, rather than giving something up for Lent, take on something new for Lent – enter into a spiritual practice such as meditation or keeping a spiritual journal. And, of course, here in Bridesburg, we draw closer to God and our neighboring congregations by means of sharing in the Wednesday night Lenten services. This coming Wednesday’s service will be here at Emanuel at 7 p.m., and I encourage everyone to attend if you possibly can.
In our individual lives and in our gathered life as Emanuel United Church of Christ, we will face lesser versions of the same temptations that Jesus faced. Just as we learn to resist the those late night TV advertisements for weight loss pills and exercise machines and kitchen gadgets that promise instant results – let the buyer beware - we are called by God to overcome temptations to make our individual lives and our congregational life about meeting our own needs, about taking short-cuts and avoiding discomfort – temptations to reduce our faith in Jesus to a private, warm fuzzy feeling in our heart, with no effect on the quality of our lives or our relationships to God and neighbor. Our United Church of Christ statement of faith speaks of God calling us into God’s church to accept the cost and joy of discipleship, and it’s a package deal – we don’t get one without the other.
After his baptism, the Holy Spirit drove Jesus into the wilderness. And despite all the ways in which we distract ourselves, all our pacifiers, there is still a restlessness – because, in the words of St Augustine, God has made us for himself, and our hearts are restless until we find our rest in Him. Therefore, in the words of the letter to the Hebrews, let us lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. Amen.
The 1988 movie “The Last Temptation of Christ”, produced by Martin Scorcese and starring Willem Dafoe as Jesus, was – and in some circles still is - a source of great controversy. Church groups vehemently protested the film, and it is still banned in some countries. The crux of the controversy – the “last temptation” of the film – was for Christ to come down off the cross, marry Mary Magdalene, and live a normal family life. In the final scene, Jesus resists this temptation and dies on the cross, with the final words “it is accomplished.”
On this first Sunday in Lent, we journey with Jesus into the wilderness as he is confronted by temptation three times. In one sense, the experience is unique to Jesus – as the beloved Son of God, he was tempted in ways that on the surface seem alien to us. But in another sense, we face versions of these same temptations every day.
We’re told (in Luke 4:1-13) that, immediately after his baptism, the Holy Spirit drove Jesus into the wilderness. The devil tempted Jesus to turn stones into bread, to worship the devil in exchange for earthly power over all the kingdoms of the world, to jump off the pinnacle of the Temple and provoke God into saving him. In response to these temptations, Jesus refers to the primacy and the sovereignty of God – “man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds out of the mouth of God. Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only. Do not put the Lord your God to the test.”
Jesus’ time in the wilderness was a time of discernment, of seeking guidance for the way forward – of discerning his mission, discerning why God sent him. What would Jesus’ life teach his followers about God the Father. The three temptations are short cuts that, on the surface, made perfect sense, but would have derailed Jesus’ ministry before it had started. He was tempted to turn stones into bread – to use his relationship with God to meet his own needs, rather than the needs of humanity. The temptation to jump off the pinnacle of the temple is a temptation to make his ministry about spectacles and showy miracles to draw attention to himself – Jesus as magician. While Jesus indeed did miracles of feeding and healing, these miracles were focused on meeting the needs of others, of freeing others from Satan’s bondage, not to draw attention to himself – and the Gospels often record Jesus as telling the recipients of his miracles to keep the miracles a secret. The temptation to gain power to rule the world, at the price of worshiping Satan, is a temptation to gain earthly power – for the best of intentions, of course – but bypassing the day-to-day experiences of human limitation and weakness that would face Jesus every day of his ministry, bypassing the betrayal and arrest in the garden of Gethesemane, bypassing the unjust hearings before religious and secular authorities, bypassing the mockery of the soldiers, bypassing the cross. This is the temptation that produces Hitlers and Stalins, produces genocides – when indulged by the church, produces Inquisitions and witch hunts - the temptation to pursue power at all costs, regardless of the human suffering inflicted on others. So great was Jesus’ trust in God, so great was Jesus’ love for humanity, so great was his love for each one of us, that he resisted these temptations, these short-cuts of instant gratification that would instantly have made an end to Jesus’ work of salvation.
In the wilderness, Jesus came to know, more profoundly than ever, the magnitude of his mission of bringing salvation to humanity, the insidious power of Satan’s opposition – and the profound love of God that never let him, and never lets us, to our own devices. As it was for the children of Israel, the wilderness was a place of testing for Jesus. We know from Scripture that the ancient Hebrews often failed the test of the wilderness, often gave into temptation, often doubted God’s power and God’s love. And Jesus’ temptations were put in ways that raised these same doubts – “if you are the Son of God. If. Are you really the Son of God? If so, prove it.” The temptations even quoted Scripture for the purpose of twisting it, quoting from Psalm 91 – which we read responsively today – a beautiful song of trust in God, and turning it into a challenge to force God to come out and show his power, to strut his stuff.
In the wilderness, Jesus came to know, more clearly than ever, who God is and why God had sent him. The season of Lent, into which we have now entered, is a chance to share something of Jesus’ wilderness experience – to pull back from the noise and clutter and distraction and busy-ness of our daily lives and experience closer communion with God. Traditional Lenten practices such as fasting or “giving something up for Lent” are ways to put aside the things we use to numb or distract or distance ourselves from God – in Barbara Brown Taylor’s words, to give up our pacifiers – and experience more fully our daily dependence on God. Others, rather than giving something up for Lent, take on something new for Lent – enter into a spiritual practice such as meditation or keeping a spiritual journal. And, of course, here in Bridesburg, we draw closer to God and our neighboring congregations by means of sharing in the Wednesday night Lenten services. This coming Wednesday’s service will be here at Emanuel at 7 p.m., and I encourage everyone to attend if you possibly can.
In our individual lives and in our gathered life as Emanuel United Church of Christ, we will face lesser versions of the same temptations that Jesus faced. Just as we learn to resist the those late night TV advertisements for weight loss pills and exercise machines and kitchen gadgets that promise instant results – let the buyer beware - we are called by God to overcome temptations to make our individual lives and our congregational life about meeting our own needs, about taking short-cuts and avoiding discomfort – temptations to reduce our faith in Jesus to a private, warm fuzzy feeling in our heart, with no effect on the quality of our lives or our relationships to God and neighbor. Our United Church of Christ statement of faith speaks of God calling us into God’s church to accept the cost and joy of discipleship, and it’s a package deal – we don’t get one without the other.
After his baptism, the Holy Spirit drove Jesus into the wilderness. And despite all the ways in which we distract ourselves, all our pacifiers, there is still a restlessness – because, in the words of St Augustine, God has made us for himself, and our hearts are restless until we find our rest in Him. Therefore, in the words of the letter to the Hebrews, let us lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. Amen.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Love Made Visible
(Note – Services at Emanuel United Church of Christ were canceled due to the condition of the roads around Emanuel Church and the lack of cleared parking spots, so I’m “preaching” by way of the blog this week.)
“Then from the cloud came a voice that said, ‘This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!’” Luke 9:35
This Sunday, February 14, Christians may be celebrating two different events. Per the liturgical calendar, it is Transfiguration Sunday, the last Sunday before Lent, when Peter, James, and John were granted a glimpse of Jesus in his glory, a glimpse of Him as he truly was. At the same time, per our desk calendar, Sunday is Valentine’s Day, when those blessed with a relationship are encouraged to say “I love you” to their beloved by way of cards, flowers, candy, perhaps a romantic dinner. It may seem a bit odd to include both the Transfiguration and Valentine’s Day in the same sermon, but the two occasions have this in common, that love – romantic love, God’s love for humanity – is lifted up, becoming visible in a way not experienced on a day-to-day basis.
Per today’s Gospel account in Luke 9:28-43, Jesus took Peter, James and John to a mountain to pray. While we don’t know what time of day it was, the Gospel says that the three disciples were “weighed down in sleep,” so some scholars think that this may have happened at night or very early morning. Luke tells us that suddenly, while Jesus was praying (and while the disciples struggled to stay awake), the appearance of Jesus’ face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white (the parallel account in Mark 9 says, “such as no one on earth could bleach them”). Suddenly Moses and Elijah are seen “in glory” talking to Jesus about his impending suffering and death in Jerusalem. Luke tells us that the three disciples saw all this. Peter, “not knowing what he said,” tells Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah.” Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud came a voice, “This is my Son, my Beloved; listen to Him.” Then the vision ended, and the three were alone with Jesus once again.
Celtic or Irish Christians speak of “thin places” in which the separation between heaven and earth is thin, almost translucent, when God seems especially close. The Transfiguration could be said to be one such “thin place”. Peter, James, and John had lived with Jesus, traveled with him, eaten with him, saw him every day. Yet at the Transfiguration, they saw Jesus in a new way. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that they got a glimpse of Jesus as he really was. Moses and Elijah represent the law and the prophets, the sacred Scriptural tradition of God’s people as expressed in what Christians call the Old Testament, testifying to the saving work that Jesus would accomplish by His death and resurrection. Peter wants to capture the moment, make it last, by offering to build three huts or booths so that Moses and Elijah can hang around a while with Jesus. But, as is often the case, the glimpse of Jesus’ divine glory is fleeting. They hear a voice telling them to listen to Jesus, the beloved of God, and then they are alone with Jesus once again. They will soon travel back down the mountain, where Jesus will be prevailed upon to heal a child possessed by a demon which the other disciples were unable to cast out. The vision of glory is fleeting, and Jesus and the three disciples find themselves back in their day-to-day lives.
The Transfiguration may seem like a one-time event that, while dazzling, happened a long time ago, and may seem to have little bearing on our day-to-day lives. And yet, I think many of us catch glimpses of the divine that, while they’re not as overpowering as the Transfiguration, give us new perspective and new strength to continue on with our daily lives. These encounters with the divine may come in Sunday worship, or in encounters with nature’s beauty. They may also come from time to time in our relationships with a spouse or partner or close friend. Our culture has made Valentine’s Day almost hopelessly sentimental and even commercial – it’s big business for the greeting card companies and florists and makers of chocolates – and yet there is still something worthwhile about pulling back from our day-to-day lives to value and give thanks for those we love and who love us. Daily living with one we love may lead us to take our beloved for granted. There is value in taking moments – and not only on Valentine’s Day – to remember the circumstances that brought the relationship together, to give thanks for the beloved, to see and to value that person in a way that can become lost in the grind of daily life, perhaps – as the voice told the disciples – to listen – not just nod our head and smile, but really listen – to her or to him.
Peter wanted to capture the moment of the Transfiguration, and make it last, but he and James and John soon enough found themselves making their way down the mountain, back to their daily ministry with Jesus. Later this week, we will enter the season of Lent, beginning with Ash Wednesday, when we remember that we are dust, and to dust we will return. Luke tells us that the three disciples did not speak of the Transfiguration with the other disciples. But the vision undoubtedly gave them perspective and strength that carried them through the days ahead. As we enter Lent, may we remember and give thanks for the significant relationships in our lives, and for those times in which God has been especially present with us. Most of all, may Lent be a season in which we listen – really listen, to the voice of Jesus, the beloved of God, to the voice of God’s spirit in our lives. Amen.
“Then from the cloud came a voice that said, ‘This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!’” Luke 9:35
This Sunday, February 14, Christians may be celebrating two different events. Per the liturgical calendar, it is Transfiguration Sunday, the last Sunday before Lent, when Peter, James, and John were granted a glimpse of Jesus in his glory, a glimpse of Him as he truly was. At the same time, per our desk calendar, Sunday is Valentine’s Day, when those blessed with a relationship are encouraged to say “I love you” to their beloved by way of cards, flowers, candy, perhaps a romantic dinner. It may seem a bit odd to include both the Transfiguration and Valentine’s Day in the same sermon, but the two occasions have this in common, that love – romantic love, God’s love for humanity – is lifted up, becoming visible in a way not experienced on a day-to-day basis.
Per today’s Gospel account in Luke 9:28-43, Jesus took Peter, James and John to a mountain to pray. While we don’t know what time of day it was, the Gospel says that the three disciples were “weighed down in sleep,” so some scholars think that this may have happened at night or very early morning. Luke tells us that suddenly, while Jesus was praying (and while the disciples struggled to stay awake), the appearance of Jesus’ face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white (the parallel account in Mark 9 says, “such as no one on earth could bleach them”). Suddenly Moses and Elijah are seen “in glory” talking to Jesus about his impending suffering and death in Jerusalem. Luke tells us that the three disciples saw all this. Peter, “not knowing what he said,” tells Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah.” Then a cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud came a voice, “This is my Son, my Beloved; listen to Him.” Then the vision ended, and the three were alone with Jesus once again.
Celtic or Irish Christians speak of “thin places” in which the separation between heaven and earth is thin, almost translucent, when God seems especially close. The Transfiguration could be said to be one such “thin place”. Peter, James, and John had lived with Jesus, traveled with him, eaten with him, saw him every day. Yet at the Transfiguration, they saw Jesus in a new way. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that they got a glimpse of Jesus as he really was. Moses and Elijah represent the law and the prophets, the sacred Scriptural tradition of God’s people as expressed in what Christians call the Old Testament, testifying to the saving work that Jesus would accomplish by His death and resurrection. Peter wants to capture the moment, make it last, by offering to build three huts or booths so that Moses and Elijah can hang around a while with Jesus. But, as is often the case, the glimpse of Jesus’ divine glory is fleeting. They hear a voice telling them to listen to Jesus, the beloved of God, and then they are alone with Jesus once again. They will soon travel back down the mountain, where Jesus will be prevailed upon to heal a child possessed by a demon which the other disciples were unable to cast out. The vision of glory is fleeting, and Jesus and the three disciples find themselves back in their day-to-day lives.
The Transfiguration may seem like a one-time event that, while dazzling, happened a long time ago, and may seem to have little bearing on our day-to-day lives. And yet, I think many of us catch glimpses of the divine that, while they’re not as overpowering as the Transfiguration, give us new perspective and new strength to continue on with our daily lives. These encounters with the divine may come in Sunday worship, or in encounters with nature’s beauty. They may also come from time to time in our relationships with a spouse or partner or close friend. Our culture has made Valentine’s Day almost hopelessly sentimental and even commercial – it’s big business for the greeting card companies and florists and makers of chocolates – and yet there is still something worthwhile about pulling back from our day-to-day lives to value and give thanks for those we love and who love us. Daily living with one we love may lead us to take our beloved for granted. There is value in taking moments – and not only on Valentine’s Day – to remember the circumstances that brought the relationship together, to give thanks for the beloved, to see and to value that person in a way that can become lost in the grind of daily life, perhaps – as the voice told the disciples – to listen – not just nod our head and smile, but really listen – to her or to him.
Peter wanted to capture the moment of the Transfiguration, and make it last, but he and James and John soon enough found themselves making their way down the mountain, back to their daily ministry with Jesus. Later this week, we will enter the season of Lent, beginning with Ash Wednesday, when we remember that we are dust, and to dust we will return. Luke tells us that the three disciples did not speak of the Transfiguration with the other disciples. But the vision undoubtedly gave them perspective and strength that carried them through the days ahead. As we enter Lent, may we remember and give thanks for the significant relationships in our lives, and for those times in which God has been especially present with us. Most of all, may Lent be a season in which we listen – really listen, to the voice of Jesus, the beloved of God, to the voice of God’s spirit in our lives. Amen.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Deep Water
When [Jesus] had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” Simon answered, “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.” When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break. Luke 5:4-6
One of my more challenging – sometimes even traumatic - experiences growing up was learning how to swim. My parents signed me up for swimming lessons when I was in grade school, but I never quite had the knack for staying afloat for any length of time – usually I would cling to the side of the pool with a white-knuckle death grip, yelling, “I won’t let go and you can’t make me!” By high school I could at least float – sort of – but when I was growing up, frequent asthma attacks made swimming a fairly dicey proposition, and so I rarely ventured beyond the shallow end of the pool. It wasn’t until college that I really learned to swim at all well. One of the requirements for graduating from Penn State was being able to stay afloat in the water for some period of time, like 10 or 15 minutes. During the test I had an asthma attack about 3 minutes in, and so I got stuck taking a remedial swimming class. I can’t say it was ever my favorite course – I ended up taking it during winter term my first year there, and Penn State winters can get mighty cold, and my next class was a 15 minute walk across campus, by which time I had icicles in my hair. But I did finally learn to swim and even to dive – which you don’t want to do in the shallow end of the pool – and gained enough confidence that the thought of being in water over my head no longer gave me recurring nightmares.
Our Gospel reading today has a story, not about swimming, but about fishing in deep water. In one sense it’s a very specific story about the call of Peter and several of the other early disciples. But in a sense, it may be our story as well, if we have ears to hear.
We’re in Luke’s gospel, still quite early in Jesus’ earthly ministry, just after he received a less-than-enthusiastic response from his hometown synagogue. Having somehow avoided being thrown off a cliff by the folks in his hometown, he went to the Lake of Genessaret to teach. There the crowds were so enthusiastic that he went out in the lake in a boat to teach, so that the crowds wouldn’t press in on him. Having concluded his lesson, he asked Simon to put out into the deep water and let down his nets for a catch. Simon said, probably sighing and rolling his eyes and shaking his head, “we’ve been fishing all night long and caught nothing – but – ok, if you say so.” Down went the nets – and along came the fish, huge numbers of them, so that Simon and his friends could hardly get them into the boat without getting swamped. Simon, at this point in his life, was no theologian, but he knew a miracle when he saw one, and said to Jesus, “go away from me, for I’m a sinful man.” Jesus told Peter, “from now on you’ll be catching people.” And Peter and his friends left their boats behind and followed Jesus.
In a sense, all three of our readings – from Isaiah, I Corinthians, and Luke, involve appearances of God to human beings. The prophet Isaiah was in the temple on one occasion, when he had a vision of the Lord, high and lifted up, surrounded by angels singing praise. Similar to Simon’s reaction to the miraculous catch of fish, Isaiah immediately becomes overwhelmed with a sense of his own guilt and unworthiness to be in God’s presence – “I am a man of unclean lips, among a people of unclean lips, and I have seen the Lord.” An angel touches a piece of coal to his lips, and proclaims him cleansed of sin. Then, in response to God’s call, Isaiah says, “Here I am! Send me!”
It has been said that this account of the call of Isaiah is the pattern for our form of worship. We begin worship with the call to worship and a song of praise and adoration in God’s presence. Aware of our unworthiness to stand in God’s presence, we confess our sin and receive the assurance of God’s pardon. We then give thanks and through the hymns, sermon, and prayers are prepared for service. An acronym or memory aid is the word ACTS – A C T S – adoration, confession, thanksgiving, service. That’s the basic pattern for what we do here on Sunday. Isaiah’s encounter with the Lord, high and lifted up, prepared him for his prophetic ministry. Paul’s vision of the resurrected Christ on the Damascus road turned his life around. Everything he had previously lived for, all that he had previously held dear, he was willing to let go, count as loss, in order to respond to the vision of Christ, so he went from persecuting the church to being perhaps the greatest evangelist and witness to the Risen Christ. Peter’s encounter with Jesus set the pattern for the rest of his life – “from now on you’ll be catching people”. And as we encounter God weekly in worship, and encounter God daily through prayer and meditation and reading of Scripture and Christian fellowship, God prepares us for lives of service to God and neighbor.
Sometimes, in our personal lives, our lives with our families, our careers, our volunteer work in the community, our life together here at Emanuel, Jesus may call us to go into the deep water and let down our nets for a catch. And we may have questions, may even resist. We may fear getting in over our head. “I’m just one person! We’re just a small church! We can’t take all that on!” In the same way that I clung to the side of the pool when I was growing up, we may cling to what seems safe and familiar and say, “I won’t let go and nobody – not even God - can make me!” But if we’re unwilling to let go of the side of the pool, unwilling to risk venturing into the deep water and letting down our nets for a catch, if we insist on staying stuck where we are, we risk cutting ourselves off from the future God has planned for us. We risk stagnation, risk growing older without growing wiser, risk dying without ever having truly lived. So, really, we have choices not between risk and safety; but a choice of which risks we are willing to take.
I’m reminded of one of the great stories of this congregation – The Rev. Emanuel Boehringer’s founding of what would become Bethany Children’s Home. Heartbroken by his encounters with dying Civil War veterans who asked, “what will become of my children,” Boehringer began caring for orphans of civil war veterans. Emanuel Church had only existed for a few years, and we were quite a small congregation, only a few dozen at that point. But Rev. Boehringer and his wife were true to the vision God had given them. And, yes, there was quite a cost; the strain of the undertaking may well have hastened Rev. Boehringer’s death. But the Boehringers were willing to go into the deep water and let down their nets, were willing to stake all they had on the vision God had given them, and God honors their past faithfulness to this very day.
“Who will go for us?” God asks. “From now on you will be catching people”, says the risen Christ. “God’s grace toward us is not in vain”, says the Spirit. To all these calls, may we respond, “Here I am. Send me. Here we are, the gathered congregation of Emanuel United Church of Christ. Here we are. Send us.” Amen.
One of my more challenging – sometimes even traumatic - experiences growing up was learning how to swim. My parents signed me up for swimming lessons when I was in grade school, but I never quite had the knack for staying afloat for any length of time – usually I would cling to the side of the pool with a white-knuckle death grip, yelling, “I won’t let go and you can’t make me!” By high school I could at least float – sort of – but when I was growing up, frequent asthma attacks made swimming a fairly dicey proposition, and so I rarely ventured beyond the shallow end of the pool. It wasn’t until college that I really learned to swim at all well. One of the requirements for graduating from Penn State was being able to stay afloat in the water for some period of time, like 10 or 15 minutes. During the test I had an asthma attack about 3 minutes in, and so I got stuck taking a remedial swimming class. I can’t say it was ever my favorite course – I ended up taking it during winter term my first year there, and Penn State winters can get mighty cold, and my next class was a 15 minute walk across campus, by which time I had icicles in my hair. But I did finally learn to swim and even to dive – which you don’t want to do in the shallow end of the pool – and gained enough confidence that the thought of being in water over my head no longer gave me recurring nightmares.
Our Gospel reading today has a story, not about swimming, but about fishing in deep water. In one sense it’s a very specific story about the call of Peter and several of the other early disciples. But in a sense, it may be our story as well, if we have ears to hear.
We’re in Luke’s gospel, still quite early in Jesus’ earthly ministry, just after he received a less-than-enthusiastic response from his hometown synagogue. Having somehow avoided being thrown off a cliff by the folks in his hometown, he went to the Lake of Genessaret to teach. There the crowds were so enthusiastic that he went out in the lake in a boat to teach, so that the crowds wouldn’t press in on him. Having concluded his lesson, he asked Simon to put out into the deep water and let down his nets for a catch. Simon said, probably sighing and rolling his eyes and shaking his head, “we’ve been fishing all night long and caught nothing – but – ok, if you say so.” Down went the nets – and along came the fish, huge numbers of them, so that Simon and his friends could hardly get them into the boat without getting swamped. Simon, at this point in his life, was no theologian, but he knew a miracle when he saw one, and said to Jesus, “go away from me, for I’m a sinful man.” Jesus told Peter, “from now on you’ll be catching people.” And Peter and his friends left their boats behind and followed Jesus.
In a sense, all three of our readings – from Isaiah, I Corinthians, and Luke, involve appearances of God to human beings. The prophet Isaiah was in the temple on one occasion, when he had a vision of the Lord, high and lifted up, surrounded by angels singing praise. Similar to Simon’s reaction to the miraculous catch of fish, Isaiah immediately becomes overwhelmed with a sense of his own guilt and unworthiness to be in God’s presence – “I am a man of unclean lips, among a people of unclean lips, and I have seen the Lord.” An angel touches a piece of coal to his lips, and proclaims him cleansed of sin. Then, in response to God’s call, Isaiah says, “Here I am! Send me!”
It has been said that this account of the call of Isaiah is the pattern for our form of worship. We begin worship with the call to worship and a song of praise and adoration in God’s presence. Aware of our unworthiness to stand in God’s presence, we confess our sin and receive the assurance of God’s pardon. We then give thanks and through the hymns, sermon, and prayers are prepared for service. An acronym or memory aid is the word ACTS – A C T S – adoration, confession, thanksgiving, service. That’s the basic pattern for what we do here on Sunday. Isaiah’s encounter with the Lord, high and lifted up, prepared him for his prophetic ministry. Paul’s vision of the resurrected Christ on the Damascus road turned his life around. Everything he had previously lived for, all that he had previously held dear, he was willing to let go, count as loss, in order to respond to the vision of Christ, so he went from persecuting the church to being perhaps the greatest evangelist and witness to the Risen Christ. Peter’s encounter with Jesus set the pattern for the rest of his life – “from now on you’ll be catching people”. And as we encounter God weekly in worship, and encounter God daily through prayer and meditation and reading of Scripture and Christian fellowship, God prepares us for lives of service to God and neighbor.
Sometimes, in our personal lives, our lives with our families, our careers, our volunteer work in the community, our life together here at Emanuel, Jesus may call us to go into the deep water and let down our nets for a catch. And we may have questions, may even resist. We may fear getting in over our head. “I’m just one person! We’re just a small church! We can’t take all that on!” In the same way that I clung to the side of the pool when I was growing up, we may cling to what seems safe and familiar and say, “I won’t let go and nobody – not even God - can make me!” But if we’re unwilling to let go of the side of the pool, unwilling to risk venturing into the deep water and letting down our nets for a catch, if we insist on staying stuck where we are, we risk cutting ourselves off from the future God has planned for us. We risk stagnation, risk growing older without growing wiser, risk dying without ever having truly lived. So, really, we have choices not between risk and safety; but a choice of which risks we are willing to take.
I’m reminded of one of the great stories of this congregation – The Rev. Emanuel Boehringer’s founding of what would become Bethany Children’s Home. Heartbroken by his encounters with dying Civil War veterans who asked, “what will become of my children,” Boehringer began caring for orphans of civil war veterans. Emanuel Church had only existed for a few years, and we were quite a small congregation, only a few dozen at that point. But Rev. Boehringer and his wife were true to the vision God had given them. And, yes, there was quite a cost; the strain of the undertaking may well have hastened Rev. Boehringer’s death. But the Boehringers were willing to go into the deep water and let down their nets, were willing to stake all they had on the vision God had given them, and God honors their past faithfulness to this very day.
“Who will go for us?” God asks. “From now on you will be catching people”, says the risen Christ. “God’s grace toward us is not in vain”, says the Spirit. To all these calls, may we respond, “Here I am. Send me. Here we are, the gathered congregation of Emanuel United Church of Christ. Here we are. Send us.” Amen.
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