02/24/2013 ~ Second Sunday in Lent ~ Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18; Psalm 27; Philippians 3:17-4:1; Luke 13:31-35 or Luke 9:28-36, (37-43a).
THE READING
Genesis 15:1b-12, 17-18 [ILV] ~ INTRODUCTION: The rituals explored in this passage are rituals of covenant, the great promise of God to humanity. Abram and Sarah are the vehicles through which the promises God makes are made to humanity. Hear now this reading as it is found in that portion of the Torah we have come to know as Genesis.
...the word of Yahweh came to Abram in a vision:
“Fear not, Abram!
I am your shield;
I will make your reward very great.”
[2] Abram said, “My Sovereign, my God, what good are these blessings to me, so long as Sari and I continue childless? My only heir is a foreigner, Eliezer of Damascus, who lives in my household. [3] Because you have given me no offspring,” Abram continued, “an attendant born in my house will be my heir.”
[4] Then the word of Yahweh, God, came to Abram. God said, “This one shall not be your heir. No one but your very own flesh and blood shall be your heir.” [5] Then God took Abram outside and said, “Look up at the sky and count the stars, if you can! As many as that— so shall your descendants be.” [6] And Abram believed Yahweh; and God reckoned it to Abram as righteousness.
[7]Yahweh then said to Abram, “I am God who brought you from Ur of the Chaldeans, to give you this land as a possession.”
[8] Abram asked, “Sovereign God, how am I to know I shall possess it?”
[9] God answered, “Bring me a heifer, a goat and a ram, each three years old and a turtledove and a young pigeon.” [10] Abram brought all these, cut them in half and placed each half opposite the other. But Abram did not cut the birds in two. [11] Then birds of prey flew down on the carcasses but Abram drove them away.
[12] Now, as the sun was about to set, a deep trance fell upon Abram. And a deep and terrifying darkness enveloped him.
[17] When the sun had set and it was dark, a smoking barrier, a fire pot, and a flaming torch appeared. These passed between the halves of the sacrifices. [18] On that day Yahweh, God, made a covenant with Abram, saying, “To your descendants I give this land, from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates,....”
THE SERMON
God of the Covenant
“On that day Yahweh, God, made a covenant with Abram,....” — Genesis 15:18.
Abram knew it was a dream. He was absolutely sure of it. Yet, he could not seem to wake up. His feet felt like they were suspended above the ground, floating, and he could not touch it. Something, he knew not what, was holding him in the air.
And then there were stars. He was surrounded by stars. They swirled around at a dizzying speed and lit the landscape below, that untouchable ground. He could see the moon more clearly than he ever imagined it could be seen. He reached out toward it with a hand and it skittered away, just out of reach.
And then there were torches. He was being carried along, floating through a pathway with torches on each side. Sparks sprayed out from each of them. He wondered if he would be burned by the cinders, but none seemed to come anywhere near the center of the path where he floated.
He could smell something. Was something burning? No. It was not that kind of smell. It did smell odd, though. He felt something. It felt like... hair. Was it Sari? Was it his wife?
He reached out to try to touch the hair. Yes. It was there. It was real. Suddenly he was wide awake. A fog lifted from his eyes. He realized he was lying on the ground next to Jamal, his camel.
He also realized the odd smell was nothing more than hair. It was Jamal, his camel. He also realized the hair was Jamal, his camel. The camel, his transportation for lo these last several years, was sitting on the ground, feet tucked in and he, Abram, was stretched out on the ground next to it. (Slight pause.) He spit, trying to get rid of a bad taste. Jamal snorted and then, as camels are wont to do, Jamal spit also. (Slight pause.)
Abram stood. The sun had just barely pushed its way over the Eastern horizon, so morning had, indeed, come. He reflected on what was still vivid about the dream while wondering what had happened to the night. Where had it gone? Why was there so much he did not remember? Why was there so much he did remember?
“Well, Jamal, where are we, anyway?” he asked the dromedary as he stood in front of it, staring into its eyes. “Where do you think we are? Where were we last night? Did we spend the whole night together? Did we spend the whole night right here? Do you remember what happened? I think I might remember. But I’m not sure I can quite explain it.”
Jamal said nothing, made no noise. And, yes, Abram knew Jamal was not going to be forthcoming about what had happened, whatever had transpired sometime in the middle of the night.
Abram also realized that what might be the most important fact to consider was he had spent the night in the desert and had not made it back to the camp where his family was. He knew his wife, Sari, would not be pleased.
Feeling, perhaps, old or at least a little worn, Abram climbed on the back of Jamal and touched the animal on its neck. The camel stood.
Tired, he leaned back and did not pay much attention to the trip, did not pay attention to where Jamal was going, confident the beast knew the way back to the camp. Toward mid-day Jamal started to make deep, guttural sounds. That’s when Abram knew they were getting close to home and slid off the animal, onto the ground.
He could hear the sounds of children. He could hear laughter. A baby was crying also. Abram came over a crest and could see Sari, tending a pot on a fire. He ran forward shouting, “Sari! Sari!” She ignored him.
He ran up and stood in front of her. “Sari! I’m here. I’m home!”
“Where were you? Were you partying again? You didn’t come home all night! I was worried sick.”
“I’m here now.”
“I have just about had it, you know,” was her reply. “You leave. You don’t tell me you are going. You don’t tell me where you are going. And I don’t like your friends. They drink too much wine. It’s not good.”
Defensively Abram said, “No. It was not them. I was not with them. I have not seen them in days, in weeks. They are just fair weather friends and I know that.”
“So who were you with?” she sneered. (Pause.) “No! It was not that one again, was it?” (Pause.)
Abram looked down at the ground. “You know, I really wish you would not call Yahweh, ‘that one.’”
“And what else should I call that one, this God you talk about? Have I every seen ‘that one?’”
Abram winced at the question. “No. But you have heard Yahweh,” he said.
“No. You hear Yahweh. I do not. I hear birds. I hear neighbors. I hear children. I hear the workers in our camp. I hear the wind. I hear the pots bang when they are lifted on and off the fire. I sometimes even hear laughter. But you! You! You hear voices. You hear this Yahweh.”
Having said the name Yahweh, she spit. It landed on a hot rock near the fire. It sizzled. (Slight pause.) “What,” she asked, “do you have to say for yourself?”
“Can I tell you what happened last night?”
He could feel her dark eyes looking right through him. “Do you think it will help?”
“No,” he answered. “But I need to say it.” (Pause.)
“So...?”
“Well, you are right. It was Yahweh.” (Slight pause.)
“And...?”
“And God said our reward would be great.” (Slight pause.)
“Right. Look, Abram, I love you. I went with you. I left the comforts of our great city, Ur. I left family and friends. I trekked with you across the plains. We became nomads together. Much to my surprise we have done well. But we remain childless.”
“Yes,” said Abram, “but Yahweh made a promise. My ‘own flesh and blood shall be’ my heir. And God had me look at the stars and said ‘...count the stars, if you can! As many as that— so shall your descendants be.’”
“And then... and then... Yahweh made a covenant with me. There was a sacrifice— a heifer, a goat, a ram, a turtledove, a young pigeon. I simply prepared it. Yahweh, God, eternal— God alone— God ratified the covenant with flame. If birds of prey have not yet devoured the carcasses, I can take you to see the remains. I can take you to where the making of covenant happened right now.” (Slight pause.)
Sari laughed. She went on laughing for some time. (Slight pause.) When she finished laughing, she glowered at him. “And you believed.”
Abram was silent and once more looked at the ground. (Slight pause.) “No. It is more than belief. I trusted. I trust God. After all, a covenant is about trust. It’s about who you trust. You said it yourself. You said you went with me, left the comforts of our city, left family and friends, trekked with me across the plains. We became nomads together.”
Abram continued, “That all may have been, as you said, because of love. But it goes beyond love to the place called trust. Perhaps covenant is where love and trust become intertwined, inseparable, eternal. Perhaps that is what really makes a covenant: trust and love wrapped in one. These are eternal.” (Pause.)
Sari was silent and looked at the ground. (Slight pause.) “Well, yes. Trust and growth and peace and respect and longing and joy and wisdom and freedom and hope and knowledge and understanding and love— all these are eternal. All these make covenant.”
“All these are eternal. All these make covenant,” repeated Abram.
“And you trust Yahweh, God,” said Sari.
“Yes,” said Abram. “I trust Yahweh, God.” (Slight pause.)
“Well,” said Sari, holding out a hand, “let’s get out of the sun.”
And hand in hand they walked together past Jamal, who was resting under a tree, snorting and spitting. Abram and Sari waked together in covenant and in trust and in growth and in peace and in respect and with longing and in joy and in wisdom and in freedom and in hope and in knowledge and in understanding... and in love. They walked toward their tent, hand in hand, to get out of the noonday sun. Amen.
02/24/2013
United Church of Christ, First Congregational, Norwich, New York
ENDPIECE: It is the practice of the Pastor to speak after the Closing Hymn, but before the Congregational Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said: “Theologian Walter Brueggemann has said this: ‘Covenant (and, therefore, true spirituality), consists on learning the skills and sensitivities that include both the courage to assert self and the grace to abandon self to another.’ In short, covenant is not possible unless you recognize the needs of others.”
BENEDICTION: “Let our hearts take courage. Our God meets us where our needs rest. God is our shelter and shield. God’s blessings outnumber the stars. Let us go on our way with Christ as our companion. And may the peace of Christ, which surpasses understanding, keep our minds and hearts in the companionship and will of the Holy Spirit, this day and forever more. Amen.”
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Sunday, February 17, 2013
02/17/2013 ~ First Sunday in Lent ~ Deuteronomy 26:1-11; Psalm 91:1-2, 9-16; Romans 10:8b-13; Luke 4:1-13.
Distinctions
“For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek— all have the same Creator, rich in mercy towards those who call.” — Romans 10:12a.
If you hang around me long enough you will hear me say this— something I say all the time at Bible Study, occasionally from the pulpit and I once even said it at a Rotary meeting. “Church has a dirty little secret. Churches are, largely, sociologically gathered institutions, not theologically gathered institutions.”
A short way of saying this would be: like people worship with like people. And, as I also often say, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. rephrased the phenomena of like people worshiping with like people better than anyone else. King said: “The worship hour on a Sunday morning is still the most segregated hour in America.” I think it’s unlikely churches which are exclusively African American in their make up would be a part of the landscape unless sociology was a part of the picture.
All that is well and good, but what is the point of saying churches are sociologically gathered institutions? And why do I say it with some regularity? And what does making a statement which says churches are sociologically gathered say about the theology of church? (Pause.)
Actually, the point of saying churches are sociologically gathered is a theological stand in one very real and crucial sense. The point of saying it is to name it. If you cannot name it, you will never know it’s there. Hence, naming it is very good theology, since any good theology deals with reality. And this sociological fact is a reality.
Indeed, the reality of this sociological fact can get in the way of a relationship with God. But if we don’t know the sociology is there, if we cannot name it, see it, we can’t even begin to cope with the thought that this might be harmful in the context of the local community of faith. (Pause.)
Now that having been said, let me presume you did you notice the Roman Church was in the news this week. For the first time in 598 years a sitting Pope will abdicate. I took a poll among the Pastors who were at the Ash Wednesday ecumenical service. None of us wanted the job. (Slight pause.)
I take that back. The Rev. Ms. Nancy Hale did want to volunteer but also thought that possibility presented other and obvious complications. (Slight pause.)
In fact, I recently said to a friend that today, as it embarks on the election of a new Pope, the Roman Church may be at the same kind of crossroads it was at in the year 1516. 1516 is, of course, the year before Martin Luther tacked 95 Thesis to the door of the Wittenberg Cathedral. In theory, this act was the beginning of the Protestant Revolution. In reality, the Protestant Revolution started the day after Pentecost, but that’s a whole different sermon. I won’t go there.
So, going along with the idea that Protestant Revolution did start in 1517, there is something Americans don’t understand about the Protestant Revolution. As one of my seminary professors said: “At least nominally, America is a Protestant country. So we do not understand that the Protestants lost the Protestant Revolution.”
To come to the conclusion that Protestants lost the Protestant Revolution, all you have to do is look at a map of Europe 50 years after Luther tacked those 95 Thesis to the door of that cathedral. What do you see? You see the Roman Church held sway over more land, had more people who maintained allegiance to Rome and those lands and those people possessed much greater wealth than the Protestant areas. They won. But in part because of the Reformation, a whole lot of different churches now dot the landscape.
So, occasionally, I will field a question which asks ‘why are there so many churches?’ Often my response comes back to the premise I initially stated this morning: like people worship with like people. The bottom line is we break out into tribes.
However, another but related answer as to why there are so many churches should not be that hard to figure out just based on the Biblical text. Go to the New Testament. What do you find? There is no unity of opinion and there certainly is nothing like “one church.” That never existed. That is a myth.
Let me illustrate this premise. These are the opening words of the Gospel we have come to know as Luke. (Quote:) “Many others have undertaken to compile a narrative, an orderly account of the events that have been fulfilled among us, exactly as those happenings were handed on to us by those who were original eyewitnesses and ministers of the Word. I too, after investigating everything carefully from the beginning, decided to set down in writing an orderly account,... so that you may know the truth concerning the things about which you have been instructed.” [1]
Well, if we translate that into modern language, the modern vernacular, here is what it might sound like. “Hey! Listen!! A couple of other dudes— too many if you ask me— have written accounts of the life of Jesus. They got it all wrong.”
“So now, I’m going to write my version which is, of course, the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. And boy, not only is my version of the story right, but are those other guys who wrote different versions of this stupid, or what?!” (Slight pause.) Can you say: “like people worship with like people?” (Slight pause.) Can you say: “differences.” (Slight pause.)
And we find these words in the work known as Romans: “For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek— all have the same Creator, rich in mercy towards those who call.” (Slight pause.)
One of my commentaries on the assigned readings for today says this (quote:) “The season of Lent always brings the church back to the basics, to issues that are bedrock and essential. It is no time for marginal matters that linger about the periphery, but is for those topics and experiences that lie close to the heartbeat of the faith.”
“The texts of Lent force us to reflect on where we— as communities and as individuals— stand in relation to the center, and then they invite a process of self-examination, repentance, forgiveness and a new life.” [2] (Slight pause.)
I want to unpack two words in that commentary. First, the word ‘repentance,’ contrary to populist belief, ‘repentance’ does not mean feeling sorry. ‘Repentance’ means turning our lives toward God. Please note: ‘repentance’ does not means turning our lives over to the church, which is only an institution. ‘Repentance’ is about us and God.
Second, ‘forgiveness’— forgiveness is not primarily about forgiving someone else. Forgiveness is primarily about forgiving ourselves. Unless we know how to live with ourselves, we will never discover how to live with others. Unless we know how to live with ourselves, we will never discover how to live with others.
Having unpacked those words, that brings me back to the basics mentioned in the commentary. The basic question for us in Lent, the basic question Paul is posing for us in Romans is simple. Where do we, as communities and as individuals, stand in relation to the center? Where do we, as communities and as individuals, stand in relation to God? (Slight pause.)
If we stand as one people— in Paul’s words, if we stand as neither Jew nor Greek— then we stand in a relationship with God and one another. Are we all friends? Probably not. We are all very different with different tastes, different backgrounds and sometimes (dare I say it?) even different sociology.
But we all can and should stand as one people, equal before God. It is in that way, standing before God as one, that we can truly celebrate our differences and our unity.
I was reminded of that Wednesday night as we gathered for an Ash Wednesday Service. Pastors and members of the United Church of Christ, the First Baptist Church, Christ Lutheran Church, the Broad Street United Methodist Church and Emmanuel Episcopal Church stood as one before God in worship.
Did we, as we gathered, have differences? Yes. It is likely we would agree on everything? No. But did we stand as one before God? Yes. We worshiped God together, as one. (Slight pause.)
So, what is the season of Lent about? It is about who we are and identifying who we are. It is about recognizing who our neighbor really is and understanding we are not members of separate tribes.
It is about who God is— and when I think about it: God who is, and trying to wrestle with that— who God is and trying to wrestle with that. It is about standing as one before God and being humble enough to do that. It is, hence, about a process of self-examination, repentance, forgiveness and a new life. Amen.
02/17/2013
United Church of Christ, First Congregational, Norwich, New York
ENDPIECE: It is the practice of the Pastor to speak after the Closing Hymn, but before the Congregational Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said: “Our thought for meditation in the bulletin today was from Joan D. Chittister, a member of the Benedictine Sisters of Erie, Pennsylvania, an author and a speaker: ‘Lent is not a ‘penitential season.’ Lent is a ‘growing season.’ It is a reminder that we need to see this time of year but perhaps all year as a time when growing in our relationship with God and one another needs to be nurtured.”
BENEDICTION: God heals and restores. God grants to us the grace and the talent to witness to the love God has for us. Let us be ready as we go into the world, for we are baptized in the power of the Spirit. And may the peace of Christ, which surpasses understanding, keep our minds and hearts in the companionship and will of the Holy Spirit, this day and forever more. Amen.
[1] Luke 1:1-4, Inclusive Language Version, with the reference to Theophilus omitted.
[2] Texts for Preaching (the Electronic Version) on the commentary for this Sunday, the First Sunday in Lent, Year ‘C’.
Distinctions
“For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek— all have the same Creator, rich in mercy towards those who call.” — Romans 10:12a.
If you hang around me long enough you will hear me say this— something I say all the time at Bible Study, occasionally from the pulpit and I once even said it at a Rotary meeting. “Church has a dirty little secret. Churches are, largely, sociologically gathered institutions, not theologically gathered institutions.”
A short way of saying this would be: like people worship with like people. And, as I also often say, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. rephrased the phenomena of like people worshiping with like people better than anyone else. King said: “The worship hour on a Sunday morning is still the most segregated hour in America.” I think it’s unlikely churches which are exclusively African American in their make up would be a part of the landscape unless sociology was a part of the picture.
All that is well and good, but what is the point of saying churches are sociologically gathered institutions? And why do I say it with some regularity? And what does making a statement which says churches are sociologically gathered say about the theology of church? (Pause.)
Actually, the point of saying churches are sociologically gathered is a theological stand in one very real and crucial sense. The point of saying it is to name it. If you cannot name it, you will never know it’s there. Hence, naming it is very good theology, since any good theology deals with reality. And this sociological fact is a reality.
Indeed, the reality of this sociological fact can get in the way of a relationship with God. But if we don’t know the sociology is there, if we cannot name it, see it, we can’t even begin to cope with the thought that this might be harmful in the context of the local community of faith. (Pause.)
Now that having been said, let me presume you did you notice the Roman Church was in the news this week. For the first time in 598 years a sitting Pope will abdicate. I took a poll among the Pastors who were at the Ash Wednesday ecumenical service. None of us wanted the job. (Slight pause.)
I take that back. The Rev. Ms. Nancy Hale did want to volunteer but also thought that possibility presented other and obvious complications. (Slight pause.)
In fact, I recently said to a friend that today, as it embarks on the election of a new Pope, the Roman Church may be at the same kind of crossroads it was at in the year 1516. 1516 is, of course, the year before Martin Luther tacked 95 Thesis to the door of the Wittenberg Cathedral. In theory, this act was the beginning of the Protestant Revolution. In reality, the Protestant Revolution started the day after Pentecost, but that’s a whole different sermon. I won’t go there.
So, going along with the idea that Protestant Revolution did start in 1517, there is something Americans don’t understand about the Protestant Revolution. As one of my seminary professors said: “At least nominally, America is a Protestant country. So we do not understand that the Protestants lost the Protestant Revolution.”
To come to the conclusion that Protestants lost the Protestant Revolution, all you have to do is look at a map of Europe 50 years after Luther tacked those 95 Thesis to the door of that cathedral. What do you see? You see the Roman Church held sway over more land, had more people who maintained allegiance to Rome and those lands and those people possessed much greater wealth than the Protestant areas. They won. But in part because of the Reformation, a whole lot of different churches now dot the landscape.
So, occasionally, I will field a question which asks ‘why are there so many churches?’ Often my response comes back to the premise I initially stated this morning: like people worship with like people. The bottom line is we break out into tribes.
However, another but related answer as to why there are so many churches should not be that hard to figure out just based on the Biblical text. Go to the New Testament. What do you find? There is no unity of opinion and there certainly is nothing like “one church.” That never existed. That is a myth.
Let me illustrate this premise. These are the opening words of the Gospel we have come to know as Luke. (Quote:) “Many others have undertaken to compile a narrative, an orderly account of the events that have been fulfilled among us, exactly as those happenings were handed on to us by those who were original eyewitnesses and ministers of the Word. I too, after investigating everything carefully from the beginning, decided to set down in writing an orderly account,... so that you may know the truth concerning the things about which you have been instructed.” [1]
Well, if we translate that into modern language, the modern vernacular, here is what it might sound like. “Hey! Listen!! A couple of other dudes— too many if you ask me— have written accounts of the life of Jesus. They got it all wrong.”
“So now, I’m going to write my version which is, of course, the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. And boy, not only is my version of the story right, but are those other guys who wrote different versions of this stupid, or what?!” (Slight pause.) Can you say: “like people worship with like people?” (Slight pause.) Can you say: “differences.” (Slight pause.)
And we find these words in the work known as Romans: “For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek— all have the same Creator, rich in mercy towards those who call.” (Slight pause.)
One of my commentaries on the assigned readings for today says this (quote:) “The season of Lent always brings the church back to the basics, to issues that are bedrock and essential. It is no time for marginal matters that linger about the periphery, but is for those topics and experiences that lie close to the heartbeat of the faith.”
“The texts of Lent force us to reflect on where we— as communities and as individuals— stand in relation to the center, and then they invite a process of self-examination, repentance, forgiveness and a new life.” [2] (Slight pause.)
I want to unpack two words in that commentary. First, the word ‘repentance,’ contrary to populist belief, ‘repentance’ does not mean feeling sorry. ‘Repentance’ means turning our lives toward God. Please note: ‘repentance’ does not means turning our lives over to the church, which is only an institution. ‘Repentance’ is about us and God.
Second, ‘forgiveness’— forgiveness is not primarily about forgiving someone else. Forgiveness is primarily about forgiving ourselves. Unless we know how to live with ourselves, we will never discover how to live with others. Unless we know how to live with ourselves, we will never discover how to live with others.
Having unpacked those words, that brings me back to the basics mentioned in the commentary. The basic question for us in Lent, the basic question Paul is posing for us in Romans is simple. Where do we, as communities and as individuals, stand in relation to the center? Where do we, as communities and as individuals, stand in relation to God? (Slight pause.)
If we stand as one people— in Paul’s words, if we stand as neither Jew nor Greek— then we stand in a relationship with God and one another. Are we all friends? Probably not. We are all very different with different tastes, different backgrounds and sometimes (dare I say it?) even different sociology.
But we all can and should stand as one people, equal before God. It is in that way, standing before God as one, that we can truly celebrate our differences and our unity.
I was reminded of that Wednesday night as we gathered for an Ash Wednesday Service. Pastors and members of the United Church of Christ, the First Baptist Church, Christ Lutheran Church, the Broad Street United Methodist Church and Emmanuel Episcopal Church stood as one before God in worship.
Did we, as we gathered, have differences? Yes. It is likely we would agree on everything? No. But did we stand as one before God? Yes. We worshiped God together, as one. (Slight pause.)
So, what is the season of Lent about? It is about who we are and identifying who we are. It is about recognizing who our neighbor really is and understanding we are not members of separate tribes.
It is about who God is— and when I think about it: God who is, and trying to wrestle with that— who God is and trying to wrestle with that. It is about standing as one before God and being humble enough to do that. It is, hence, about a process of self-examination, repentance, forgiveness and a new life. Amen.
02/17/2013
United Church of Christ, First Congregational, Norwich, New York
ENDPIECE: It is the practice of the Pastor to speak after the Closing Hymn, but before the Congregational Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said: “Our thought for meditation in the bulletin today was from Joan D. Chittister, a member of the Benedictine Sisters of Erie, Pennsylvania, an author and a speaker: ‘Lent is not a ‘penitential season.’ Lent is a ‘growing season.’ It is a reminder that we need to see this time of year but perhaps all year as a time when growing in our relationship with God and one another needs to be nurtured.”
BENEDICTION: God heals and restores. God grants to us the grace and the talent to witness to the love God has for us. Let us be ready as we go into the world, for we are baptized in the power of the Spirit. And may the peace of Christ, which surpasses understanding, keep our minds and hearts in the companionship and will of the Holy Spirit, this day and forever more. Amen.
[1] Luke 1:1-4, Inclusive Language Version, with the reference to Theophilus omitted.
[2] Texts for Preaching (the Electronic Version) on the commentary for this Sunday, the First Sunday in Lent, Year ‘C’.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
SERMON ~ 02/10/2013 ~ Seeing But Silent
02/10/2013 ~ Last Sunday Before Lent ~ Known in Some Traditions as the Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany ~ Known in Some Traditions as the Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time ~ Known in Some Traditions as Transfiguration Sunday ~ Exodus 34:29-35; Psalm 99; 2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2; Luke 9:28-36, (37-43a).
Seeing But Silent
“Then from the cloud came a voice that said, ‘This is my Own, my Chosen; listen!’ When the voice had finished speaking, they saw no one but Jesus standing there. The disciples kept silent, telling nothing of what they had seen at that time to anyone.” — Luke 9:35-36.
Mary Oliver has won the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize. The New York Times describes her as (quote): “far and away, America’s best-selling poet.” Given the snow event which obviously effected others more than us— to be clear, I have no interest in diminishing the trouble it caused for some— but given the snow event which obviously did not effect us as much as it effected others, I thought it appropriate to start my comments with a poem by Mary Oliver. It is called White Eyes. (Slight pause.)
In winter / all the singing is in / the tops of the trees / where the wind-bird // with its white eyes / shoves and pushes / among the branches. / Like any of us // he wants to go to sleep, / but he’s restless— / he has an idea, / and slowly it unfolds // from under his beating wings / as long as he stays awake / But his big, round music, after all, / is too breathy to last. // So, it’s over. / In the pine-crown / he makes his nest, / he’s done all he can. // I don’t know the name of this bird, / I only imagine his glittering beak / while the clouds— // which he has summoned / from the north— / which he has taught / to be mild, and silent— // thicken, and begin to fall / into the world below / like stars, or the feathers / of some unimaginable bird // that loves us, / that is asleep now, and silent— / that has turned itself / into snow. (Slight pause.)
That is certainly a different take on winter weather than snow-mageddon style predictions— some of which are accurate and some of which are not— it is different than the snow-mageddon predictions the media tends to give us these days. Indeed, what has always impressed me about snow is not the clamor nor the disruption it causes— and it can and sometimes does cause those.
What impresses me about snow is the silence. You see, I think one hears rain. But one feels snow.
I remember playing in the snow when I was a child. I remember building snow castles, snow forts on the streets of Brooklyn, fortified positions from which we threw snowballs at kids across the street or at unsuspecting adults who passed by. In some ways the point was to make noise.
But all that happened after it had stopped snowing, when the sun was out. It was the aftermath. I remember once looking out the window of my house for hours in the depth of night as better than a foot of snow fell gently, softly, silently.
Then, as the snow was not quite finished, I threw on a coat and rushed out the door into the dark of that night, into the middle of what had been just hours earlier a busy street filled with traffic. Now it was simply a deserted field of snow. I did a belly flop and pretended I could swim my way to the other side.
But again, I remember the silence of it all. That, I think— the silence— is what Oliver’s poem captures so well.
I also think we live in a society which likes noise. Therefore, we turn the silent snow, snow which is meant to be felt not heard, we turn snow into noise before it even happens. And so, we predict snow-mageddons. (Slight pause.)
And these words are from the work known as Luke/Acts in the section commonly called Luke: “Then from the cloud came a voice that said, ‘This is my Own, my Chosen; listen!’ When the voice had finished speaking, they saw no one but Jesus standing there. The disciples kept silent, telling nothing of what they had seen at that time to anyone.” (Slight pause.)
As was mentioned when today’s readings were introduced, these are both stories of theophanies— theophany— an experience of the real presence of God. [1] It was also said the Christmas story is a theophany. Indeed, I think one point we miss as we read Scripture is it’s filled with theophanies— experiences of the real presence of God and descriptions of the experience are repeated over and over.
After all, what else is the Christmas story about but an announcement of the in-breaking of God into our world? That is a theophany by any definition.
And so, the church goes from the theophany of Christmas into the Season of Epiphany, a season which proclaims the revelation of God by its very name and then ends the season with the story— the specific story— of yet another theophany, the Transfiguration. It is a way to say this is a prime message found in Scripture. So Scripture is, indeed, constantly telling us and telling us and telling us yet again that the experience of God is real.
Scripture actually constantly tells us not just that the experience of God is real. Scripture tells us God is real. (Slight pause.)
The language we use to tell that story, to tell others about the presence of God, matters not. The content matters not. Telling the story with exactness or even artfully is not the point. The point is to tell the story.
And point of the story? God is real. God is present among us. God is working in our lives. God is a part of our lives.
Hence, in making the point that God is real, the Transfiguration is one of the more fascinating stories of a theophany in all Scripture. The way I see it, several things make it so, make it fascinating. First, the voice of God says: “listen!”
In the era the New Testament was first heard, any Jew would have recognized this word, “listen,” as an echo of the Shema, the great commandment. “Hear, O Israel, Yahweh, our God, is one.”
This explains an understanding of the early church concerning the person of Jesus. Jesus is one with God. Further, this one word— “listen”— underscores the meaning in this passage and declarers there should be no mistake when it comes to understating that meaning. The story is a theophany.
Second, we have this (quote): “The disciples kept silent, telling nothing of what they had seen at that time to anyone.” (Slight pause.) In a telling of the same story but as it is found in another Gospel, Jesus instructs the disciples to keep silent. In this version Jesus says nothing.
So, in this telling they keep silent on their own. Why? Were they overwhelmed? Did they not understand? We are not told in the text.
I, myself, like to think the event we call the Transfiguration is both silent and demands silence— there is no noise in the background— it is silent and demands silence— so we can listen. I also think the voices we hear about in the story are more felt than heard.
So, in that sense, I think this is also true of our own experiences of God. God is more felt than heard. We may eventually put words to that experience. But unless we feel God, we do not hear God and we cannot, then, put our own voice to that experience.
This is one reason our denomination, the United Church of Christ, is on such solid ground in saying “God Is Still Speaking.” Our claim is that God speaks not because we discern words but because we experience God. Our claim is that God is real. Our claim is God is present among us. God is working in our lives. God is a part of our lives. (Pause.)
Arguably the greatest play ever written was Hamlet by William Shakespeare. Just before Hamlet dies, he makes a request of his best friend, Horatio. “If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart / Absent thee from felicity awhile, / And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, / To tell my story.” (Sight pause.)
Tell my story. It is the request of a dying friend to testify to his reality. And that is where we struggle. If God is real for us, if God is working in our lives, if God is a part of our lives, if we experience God, can we, do we, tell the story?
To be clear: for those of us reticent to voice what we think about God, how God feels to us, I am not confining telling about our experience of God to mere language. Actions often do speak louder than words. And there are many ways to speak. (Slight pause.)
So, what is a theophany about? It is about the experience of the real presence of God. (Slight pause.) Well, what is your experience of the real presence of God? And how are you willing to share it in whatever way you are called, in whatever way you can? Amen.
02/10/2013
United Church of Christ, First Congregational, Norwich, New York
ENDPIECE: It is the practice of the Pastor to speak after the Closing Hymn, but before the Congregational Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said: “A pastor friend of mine recently posted on Facebook a cartoon of two people standing in an airport. One has a “tee shirt” on. The shirt is emblazoned with the words: ‘Let’s talk about Jesus.’ The caption has the one person saying to the other: ‘I figure this way no one will talk to me for the entire flight.’ But remember, telling the story is not and should not be confined to only to language. Language might prove to be inadequate.”
BENEDICTION: God heals and restores. God grants to us the grace and the talent to witness to the love God has for us. So let us live in the light God offers. And, therefore, let us be ready as we go into the world, for we are baptized in the power of the Spirit. And may the peace of Christ, which surpasses understanding, keep our minds and hearts in the companionship and will of the Holy Spirit, this day and forever more. Amen.
[1] The readings used were the ones assigned by the Lectionary from Exodus and Luke.
Seeing But Silent
“Then from the cloud came a voice that said, ‘This is my Own, my Chosen; listen!’ When the voice had finished speaking, they saw no one but Jesus standing there. The disciples kept silent, telling nothing of what they had seen at that time to anyone.” — Luke 9:35-36.
Mary Oliver has won the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize. The New York Times describes her as (quote): “far and away, America’s best-selling poet.” Given the snow event which obviously effected others more than us— to be clear, I have no interest in diminishing the trouble it caused for some— but given the snow event which obviously did not effect us as much as it effected others, I thought it appropriate to start my comments with a poem by Mary Oliver. It is called White Eyes. (Slight pause.)
In winter / all the singing is in / the tops of the trees / where the wind-bird // with its white eyes / shoves and pushes / among the branches. / Like any of us // he wants to go to sleep, / but he’s restless— / he has an idea, / and slowly it unfolds // from under his beating wings / as long as he stays awake / But his big, round music, after all, / is too breathy to last. // So, it’s over. / In the pine-crown / he makes his nest, / he’s done all he can. // I don’t know the name of this bird, / I only imagine his glittering beak / while the clouds— // which he has summoned / from the north— / which he has taught / to be mild, and silent— // thicken, and begin to fall / into the world below / like stars, or the feathers / of some unimaginable bird // that loves us, / that is asleep now, and silent— / that has turned itself / into snow. (Slight pause.)
That is certainly a different take on winter weather than snow-mageddon style predictions— some of which are accurate and some of which are not— it is different than the snow-mageddon predictions the media tends to give us these days. Indeed, what has always impressed me about snow is not the clamor nor the disruption it causes— and it can and sometimes does cause those.
What impresses me about snow is the silence. You see, I think one hears rain. But one feels snow.
I remember playing in the snow when I was a child. I remember building snow castles, snow forts on the streets of Brooklyn, fortified positions from which we threw snowballs at kids across the street or at unsuspecting adults who passed by. In some ways the point was to make noise.
But all that happened after it had stopped snowing, when the sun was out. It was the aftermath. I remember once looking out the window of my house for hours in the depth of night as better than a foot of snow fell gently, softly, silently.
Then, as the snow was not quite finished, I threw on a coat and rushed out the door into the dark of that night, into the middle of what had been just hours earlier a busy street filled with traffic. Now it was simply a deserted field of snow. I did a belly flop and pretended I could swim my way to the other side.
But again, I remember the silence of it all. That, I think— the silence— is what Oliver’s poem captures so well.
I also think we live in a society which likes noise. Therefore, we turn the silent snow, snow which is meant to be felt not heard, we turn snow into noise before it even happens. And so, we predict snow-mageddons. (Slight pause.)
And these words are from the work known as Luke/Acts in the section commonly called Luke: “Then from the cloud came a voice that said, ‘This is my Own, my Chosen; listen!’ When the voice had finished speaking, they saw no one but Jesus standing there. The disciples kept silent, telling nothing of what they had seen at that time to anyone.” (Slight pause.)
As was mentioned when today’s readings were introduced, these are both stories of theophanies— theophany— an experience of the real presence of God. [1] It was also said the Christmas story is a theophany. Indeed, I think one point we miss as we read Scripture is it’s filled with theophanies— experiences of the real presence of God and descriptions of the experience are repeated over and over.
After all, what else is the Christmas story about but an announcement of the in-breaking of God into our world? That is a theophany by any definition.
And so, the church goes from the theophany of Christmas into the Season of Epiphany, a season which proclaims the revelation of God by its very name and then ends the season with the story— the specific story— of yet another theophany, the Transfiguration. It is a way to say this is a prime message found in Scripture. So Scripture is, indeed, constantly telling us and telling us and telling us yet again that the experience of God is real.
Scripture actually constantly tells us not just that the experience of God is real. Scripture tells us God is real. (Slight pause.)
The language we use to tell that story, to tell others about the presence of God, matters not. The content matters not. Telling the story with exactness or even artfully is not the point. The point is to tell the story.
And point of the story? God is real. God is present among us. God is working in our lives. God is a part of our lives.
Hence, in making the point that God is real, the Transfiguration is one of the more fascinating stories of a theophany in all Scripture. The way I see it, several things make it so, make it fascinating. First, the voice of God says: “listen!”
In the era the New Testament was first heard, any Jew would have recognized this word, “listen,” as an echo of the Shema, the great commandment. “Hear, O Israel, Yahweh, our God, is one.”
This explains an understanding of the early church concerning the person of Jesus. Jesus is one with God. Further, this one word— “listen”— underscores the meaning in this passage and declarers there should be no mistake when it comes to understating that meaning. The story is a theophany.
Second, we have this (quote): “The disciples kept silent, telling nothing of what they had seen at that time to anyone.” (Slight pause.) In a telling of the same story but as it is found in another Gospel, Jesus instructs the disciples to keep silent. In this version Jesus says nothing.
So, in this telling they keep silent on their own. Why? Were they overwhelmed? Did they not understand? We are not told in the text.
I, myself, like to think the event we call the Transfiguration is both silent and demands silence— there is no noise in the background— it is silent and demands silence— so we can listen. I also think the voices we hear about in the story are more felt than heard.
So, in that sense, I think this is also true of our own experiences of God. God is more felt than heard. We may eventually put words to that experience. But unless we feel God, we do not hear God and we cannot, then, put our own voice to that experience.
This is one reason our denomination, the United Church of Christ, is on such solid ground in saying “God Is Still Speaking.” Our claim is that God speaks not because we discern words but because we experience God. Our claim is that God is real. Our claim is God is present among us. God is working in our lives. God is a part of our lives. (Pause.)
Arguably the greatest play ever written was Hamlet by William Shakespeare. Just before Hamlet dies, he makes a request of his best friend, Horatio. “If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart / Absent thee from felicity awhile, / And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, / To tell my story.” (Sight pause.)
Tell my story. It is the request of a dying friend to testify to his reality. And that is where we struggle. If God is real for us, if God is working in our lives, if God is a part of our lives, if we experience God, can we, do we, tell the story?
To be clear: for those of us reticent to voice what we think about God, how God feels to us, I am not confining telling about our experience of God to mere language. Actions often do speak louder than words. And there are many ways to speak. (Slight pause.)
So, what is a theophany about? It is about the experience of the real presence of God. (Slight pause.) Well, what is your experience of the real presence of God? And how are you willing to share it in whatever way you are called, in whatever way you can? Amen.
02/10/2013
United Church of Christ, First Congregational, Norwich, New York
ENDPIECE: It is the practice of the Pastor to speak after the Closing Hymn, but before the Congregational Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said: “A pastor friend of mine recently posted on Facebook a cartoon of two people standing in an airport. One has a “tee shirt” on. The shirt is emblazoned with the words: ‘Let’s talk about Jesus.’ The caption has the one person saying to the other: ‘I figure this way no one will talk to me for the entire flight.’ But remember, telling the story is not and should not be confined to only to language. Language might prove to be inadequate.”
BENEDICTION: God heals and restores. God grants to us the grace and the talent to witness to the love God has for us. So let us live in the light God offers. And, therefore, let us be ready as we go into the world, for we are baptized in the power of the Spirit. And may the peace of Christ, which surpasses understanding, keep our minds and hearts in the companionship and will of the Holy Spirit, this day and forever more. Amen.
[1] The readings used were the ones assigned by the Lectionary from Exodus and Luke.
Monday, February 4, 2013
SERMON ~ 02/03/2013 ~ Imperfect Knowledge
02/03/2013 ~ Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany ~ Known in Some Traditions as the Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time ~ Jeremiah 1:4-10; Psalm 71:1-6; 1 Corinthians 13:1-13; Luke 4:21-30 ~ COMMUNION SUNDAY.
Imperfect Knowledge
“Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things and has the power to endure all things. Love never ends.” — 1 Corinthians 13:7-8a.
I need to start today’s comments with a question. (Slight pause.) What does it meant to be a Christian? (Slight pause.)
Does being a Christian mean one assents to a set of beliefs or precepts? (Slight pause.) I’ll come back to that. (Slight pause.)
I have mentioned dozens of times that my late mother joined a convent— she was a nun— but dropped out of the order before taking her final vows. I’ve also mentioned my late father taught at a Jesuit High School for the vast majority of his working life.
While it might, therefore, seem like I went into the family business, I think a major effect of this was the friendships I made. You see, clergy— especially Jesuits— were my friends when I was growing up. Indeed, I remember when I was 18 or 19 a Jesuit friend invited me and a couple of my friends to dinner at a rectory in Greenwich Village to meet a friend of his.
That friend was the activist, Philip Berrigan. Philip and his more famous brother Dan got on the FBI 10 most wanted list for involvement with the peace movement.
They were both prosecuted for being among the so called Catonsville Nine and the so called Baltimore Four. One James Mengel, a U.C.C. pastor, was a part of the Baltimore Four. Perhaps my background is closer to home than it might seem on the surface. (Slight pause.)
So, what does it meant to be a Christian? Does it mean one assents to a set of beliefs? (Slight pause.)
Recent polls say 20 percent of Americans make a claim to be “spiritual but not religious.” Reverend Lillian Daniel, pastor of the First Congregational Church in Glen Ellyn, a Chicago suburb, has published a book on the topic. This the title: When “Spiritual But Not Religious” Is Not Enough: Seeing God in Surprising Places, Even the Church.
People tell you they find God in sunsets, she says, but anyone can find God in a sunset. Finding God in the flawed human community and in a tradition bigger than you with people who may not reflect God back to you in your own image— that’s remarkable.
An equal opportunity critic, Daniel also levels criticism at church members, like those who say a quarterback has been blessed by God for scoring a winning touchdown. Surely Christians are praying just as hard on other football teams. Did God ignore them? Or did they just pray the wrong way?
There are also Christians who do disgusting things like burn copies of the Qur’an. These behaviors should be an embarrassment to people of faith, says Daniel. (Slight pause.)
What does it meant to be a Christian? Does it mean one assents to a set of beliefs? (Slight pause.)
A colleague recently said when the Nicene Creed was issued— and in some ways the Nicene Creed is a list of beliefs— when the Nicene Creed was issued, that started the downfall Christianity. People assented to that list, said my friend, and it was the beginning of the end for Christianity.
I suggested that is not at all what happened at the Council of Nicaea. You see, thinking of the Creed as a list of beliefs did not happen until about thirteen centuries after it was written— around the time of the Enlightenment. So, what did the Creed mean when it was written if it is not a list of beliefs?
The Latin word we translate as ‘I believe,’ credo, does not mean a list of intellectual beliefs. Credo means something to which I give my heart. (Slight pause.)
Another colleague recently said he wished the age of dogma would give way to the age of dialogue, discussion. Discussion, after all, rests on mutual respect for diverse opinions and those who hold them. Discussion means reserving the right to be wrong.
However, we live in an era when opinions do not seem to allow for space or allow for respect. Positions taken are the end of discussion. And facts are ignored when they do not conform to opinion. There are some who even like this world of easy absolutes, a world which permits no nuance, no compromise, no differences, a world of dogma. (Slight pause.)
So, what does it meant to be a Christian? Does it mean one assents to a set of beliefs? And are those beliefs narrow? (Slight pause.)
Now, there is a difference between dogma and doctrine. Dogma is either what you decide you will believe and that you will allow for nothing else and/or Dogma is what someone else decides will be believed and you buy into it, allowing for nothing else.
Doctrine, on the other hand, is an explanation of belief. Therefore, doctrine relates back to the Latin credo. Doctrine is something to which we might give our heart, something we can love, especially since it is our explanation.
And I think, for Paul, not belief but love is the prime issue. That is because, for Paul, what we believe is encompassed by and in a relationship with God. So, he talks about love. And love is not about a list of beliefs.
Indeed, how does Paul talk about love? By making the obvious argument: knowledge is imperfect. Or, in modern terms, why do we insult someone when we say they are a ‘Know It All?’ We inherently recognize, as did Paul, that knowledge is imperfect, incomplete.
But Paul’s position also states that, because knowledge is imperfect, incomplete, so too it is with love. Love is imperfect, incomplete, flawed.
But, having said that, Paul also insists love can be perfect, can be complete. How? Again, in today’s terms, what Paul says is that we humans are and need to see ourselves as beings of sacred worth— beings of sacred worth.
If we see ourselves beings of sacred worth, then love can be imperfect even as we seek the perfect. How? God, who is perfect, loves us. God sees us as beings of sacred worth, despite imperfection, despite our flaws. And God wants to be in covenant with us.
Indeed, this is how Paul restates the ancient covenant God has made with humanity (quote): “Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things and has the power to endure all things. Love never ends.” (Slight pause.)
So, what does it meant to be a Christian? Does it mean one assents to a set of beliefs? No. It means one assents to love. Amen.
02/03/2013
United Church of Christ, First Congregational, Norwich, New York
ENDPIECE: It is the practice of the Pastor to speak after the Closing Hymn, but before the Congregational Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said: “There is a story that goes around about a fairly local personality, Carl Sagan. He lived just over in Ithaca. The story may well be apocryphal, but it’s the story that goes around. He was a fairly well known agnostic and he and a colleague were in a discussion and he offered all kind of proof to his colleague that God did not exist. And then his colleague said, ‘So, Carol, does love exist?’ And he because a little flustered. His colleague said, ‘Can’t prove that, either, can you?’”
BENEDICTION: Through God’s grace, by being attentive to God’s will, our deeds and our words will change our world for we will discover ways to proclaim release from the bondage of narrowness. Let us seek the God of Joy whose wisdom is our God. Let us go in peace to love and serve God. Amen.
Imperfect Knowledge
“Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things and has the power to endure all things. Love never ends.” — 1 Corinthians 13:7-8a.
I need to start today’s comments with a question. (Slight pause.) What does it meant to be a Christian? (Slight pause.)
Does being a Christian mean one assents to a set of beliefs or precepts? (Slight pause.) I’ll come back to that. (Slight pause.)
I have mentioned dozens of times that my late mother joined a convent— she was a nun— but dropped out of the order before taking her final vows. I’ve also mentioned my late father taught at a Jesuit High School for the vast majority of his working life.
While it might, therefore, seem like I went into the family business, I think a major effect of this was the friendships I made. You see, clergy— especially Jesuits— were my friends when I was growing up. Indeed, I remember when I was 18 or 19 a Jesuit friend invited me and a couple of my friends to dinner at a rectory in Greenwich Village to meet a friend of his.
That friend was the activist, Philip Berrigan. Philip and his more famous brother Dan got on the FBI 10 most wanted list for involvement with the peace movement.
They were both prosecuted for being among the so called Catonsville Nine and the so called Baltimore Four. One James Mengel, a U.C.C. pastor, was a part of the Baltimore Four. Perhaps my background is closer to home than it might seem on the surface. (Slight pause.)
So, what does it meant to be a Christian? Does it mean one assents to a set of beliefs? (Slight pause.)
Recent polls say 20 percent of Americans make a claim to be “spiritual but not religious.” Reverend Lillian Daniel, pastor of the First Congregational Church in Glen Ellyn, a Chicago suburb, has published a book on the topic. This the title: When “Spiritual But Not Religious” Is Not Enough: Seeing God in Surprising Places, Even the Church.
People tell you they find God in sunsets, she says, but anyone can find God in a sunset. Finding God in the flawed human community and in a tradition bigger than you with people who may not reflect God back to you in your own image— that’s remarkable.
An equal opportunity critic, Daniel also levels criticism at church members, like those who say a quarterback has been blessed by God for scoring a winning touchdown. Surely Christians are praying just as hard on other football teams. Did God ignore them? Or did they just pray the wrong way?
There are also Christians who do disgusting things like burn copies of the Qur’an. These behaviors should be an embarrassment to people of faith, says Daniel. (Slight pause.)
What does it meant to be a Christian? Does it mean one assents to a set of beliefs? (Slight pause.)
A colleague recently said when the Nicene Creed was issued— and in some ways the Nicene Creed is a list of beliefs— when the Nicene Creed was issued, that started the downfall Christianity. People assented to that list, said my friend, and it was the beginning of the end for Christianity.
I suggested that is not at all what happened at the Council of Nicaea. You see, thinking of the Creed as a list of beliefs did not happen until about thirteen centuries after it was written— around the time of the Enlightenment. So, what did the Creed mean when it was written if it is not a list of beliefs?
The Latin word we translate as ‘I believe,’ credo, does not mean a list of intellectual beliefs. Credo means something to which I give my heart. (Slight pause.)
Another colleague recently said he wished the age of dogma would give way to the age of dialogue, discussion. Discussion, after all, rests on mutual respect for diverse opinions and those who hold them. Discussion means reserving the right to be wrong.
However, we live in an era when opinions do not seem to allow for space or allow for respect. Positions taken are the end of discussion. And facts are ignored when they do not conform to opinion. There are some who even like this world of easy absolutes, a world which permits no nuance, no compromise, no differences, a world of dogma. (Slight pause.)
So, what does it meant to be a Christian? Does it mean one assents to a set of beliefs? And are those beliefs narrow? (Slight pause.)
Now, there is a difference between dogma and doctrine. Dogma is either what you decide you will believe and that you will allow for nothing else and/or Dogma is what someone else decides will be believed and you buy into it, allowing for nothing else.
Doctrine, on the other hand, is an explanation of belief. Therefore, doctrine relates back to the Latin credo. Doctrine is something to which we might give our heart, something we can love, especially since it is our explanation.
And I think, for Paul, not belief but love is the prime issue. That is because, for Paul, what we believe is encompassed by and in a relationship with God. So, he talks about love. And love is not about a list of beliefs.
Indeed, how does Paul talk about love? By making the obvious argument: knowledge is imperfect. Or, in modern terms, why do we insult someone when we say they are a ‘Know It All?’ We inherently recognize, as did Paul, that knowledge is imperfect, incomplete.
But Paul’s position also states that, because knowledge is imperfect, incomplete, so too it is with love. Love is imperfect, incomplete, flawed.
But, having said that, Paul also insists love can be perfect, can be complete. How? Again, in today’s terms, what Paul says is that we humans are and need to see ourselves as beings of sacred worth— beings of sacred worth.
If we see ourselves beings of sacred worth, then love can be imperfect even as we seek the perfect. How? God, who is perfect, loves us. God sees us as beings of sacred worth, despite imperfection, despite our flaws. And God wants to be in covenant with us.
Indeed, this is how Paul restates the ancient covenant God has made with humanity (quote): “Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things and has the power to endure all things. Love never ends.” (Slight pause.)
So, what does it meant to be a Christian? Does it mean one assents to a set of beliefs? No. It means one assents to love. Amen.
02/03/2013
United Church of Christ, First Congregational, Norwich, New York
ENDPIECE: It is the practice of the Pastor to speak after the Closing Hymn, but before the Congregational Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said: “There is a story that goes around about a fairly local personality, Carl Sagan. He lived just over in Ithaca. The story may well be apocryphal, but it’s the story that goes around. He was a fairly well known agnostic and he and a colleague were in a discussion and he offered all kind of proof to his colleague that God did not exist. And then his colleague said, ‘So, Carol, does love exist?’ And he because a little flustered. His colleague said, ‘Can’t prove that, either, can you?’”
BENEDICTION: Through God’s grace, by being attentive to God’s will, our deeds and our words will change our world for we will discover ways to proclaim release from the bondage of narrowness. Let us seek the God of Joy whose wisdom is our God. Let us go in peace to love and serve God. Amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)