July 22, 2018 ~ Proper 11 ~ 16th Sunday in Ordinary Time ~ Ninth Sunday after Pentecost ~ 2 Samuel 7:1-14a; Psalm 89:20-37; Jeremiah 23:1-6; Psalm 23; Ephesians 2:11-22; Mark 6:30-34, 53-56 ~ VBS Kick-off Service.
Teaching Sheep?
“And so when Jesus went ashore, there was a crowd waiting; and the Rabbi felt compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. So then Jesus began to teach them many things.” — Mark 6:34.
I would place a bet what I am about to say is true for many of us. There are people in our lives with whom we have a connection and the only way I have of describing that connection is it is in some way ethereal.
What does that mean? Again a description— sometimes this kind of connection means when that other person is in pain we feel it. It’s a long story and I will not get into it now but I had that kind of connection with my grandfather, my father’s father.
There are other kinds of connections too. Here’s one: it’s when you fully understand what another person says, as they say it. But even that kind connection, one grounded in communication, is in some way ethereal.
That’s the kind of connection I had with one of my professors at Bangor Theological Seminary, Dr. Ann Johnston. Ann was a fascinating individual. A Roman Catholic nun, she held a Ph.D. in Hebrew Scriptures, was fluent in ancient Hebrew and was, despite being a Roman Catholic nun, teaching at a Main Line Protestant Seminary.
Ann and I had similar backgrounds which perhaps made connections possible on a number of levels. There was the obvious one. She was Roman Catholic. I came to maturity, was raised in that tradition. But she also grew up in New York City, as did I.
She has a sibling who lives in the Saranac Lake area, as do I, so we both know what that neck of the woods is about. In any case, for reasons beyond me— although I think at least some of the aforementioned background must have played into it— we understood one another, we communicated on many levels.
Let me tell story about that. Any student graduating from High School and attending college should visit a school in which they have an interest, meet a professor or two. It’s also wise for a prospective seminary student to visit a seminary, meet a professor or two. And so, I visited Bangor Seminary where I had a chat with Ann.
Not a fifteen minutes into our discussion— and this was the first time we ever met— she tilted her head a little to the side and said, “Joe, I think you need to be ordained.” My memory to say nothing of my brain was immediately thrust back about fifteen years to when the Rev. Carol Anderson, the second woman officially ordained a priest in the Episcopal Church and my pastor, said to me, “Well Joe, when are you going to become a priest?”
Back to my relationship with Ann— I suppose the bottom line is we could hear what one another said clearly. Here’s an example of that.
Ann would give verbal instructions as to what she might want to see in a given assignment, a paper. Once, she came into the classroom looking chagrined.
She announced nearly everyone in the class was going to have to re-do the paper we had all handed in a week before. She apologized, said since so many of us had not returned a paper she deemed adequate, it must have been her fault. She must have given poor instructions.
She then told us she had written extensive comments on the papers she was handing back in the hope this would help. At that point she went around the room handing back papers with comments scrawled across the sheets.
She had said, however, not all the papers needed to be redone. She said nearly everyone was going to have to re-do the paper.
When she gave me my paper at the top of the first page I found scrawled in red the grade of A+. She made some other comments throughout the text, as she always did. But the A+ stopped me cold.
I never had the nerve to ask Ann what it was I did right. I have always, however, attributed the success of that paper to the fact that when she said something I heard it fully. We connected on some level beyond any logical explanation. (Slight pause.)
We hear these words in Mark: “And so when Jesus went ashore, there was a crowd waiting; and the Rabbi felt compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. So then Jesus began to teach them many things.” (Slight pause.)
For me the story I just told about Ann Johnston and myself raises three questions. First, does one study with a professor, a teacher, or does one study under a teacher? I think that answer is evident. Unless you work together, work with a teacher, deep learning will not be accomplished.
Learning is, you see, not about acquiring a set of facts. Facts are often readily available. Learning is discovering how to think, not what to think.
And it is a mistake for a student or a teacher to think learning is like filling an empty gas tank. Any student, even the youngest, comes to any learning situation with knowledge and experience. So learning is not filling a tank. It’s designing a new one.
Second, what can you learn from a professor, a teacher? Surely there are limitations, no matter how solid the personal connection. Yes, there are limitations, especially if we’re talking about how to think. I’ve always said you learn what you can from a given teacher. You leave the rest, what cannot learn from that teacher, behind.
From the perspective of the student that means you first need to understand how you think, your methods and patterns of thinking, before you can learn different methods and patterns of thinking with which a teacher might help you. It is, of course, hard to break out of current methods and patterns. However, I would suggest when you do get to those new patterns of thinking is when learning truly begins.
The last question I want to raise is, I hope, obvious. What kind of effort, what kind of involvement is necessary on the part of the student?
That brings me to the story we heard about Jesus, the disciples and the crowd who followed them to a remote, deserted place. I think we too often read this story with Twenty-first Century eyes and we, therefore, miss something vital.
We presume Jesus, the teacher, is the sole driver of the story. What we miss is how the crowd is involved, drives the story, the eagerness of each individual in the crowd, their willingness, their journey to that remote, deserted place. For me that willingness to go to a remote, deserted place tells us something different, something new, a new way of thinking, a new way of life, is being sought by these people.
So, let me repeat something I said earlier. Learning is not about acquiring a set of facts. Learning is about discovering— eagerly discovering— how to think, not what to think.
And that’s another Twenty-first Century mistake we make as we read this the story. We assume Jesus, the disciples, the teachers, are merely dispensers of facts.
No! After all, what is Christianity about? Is Christianity about a set of facts? Or is it about a new way of life, a new way of thinking, a new way to think about the call of God on our lives and the call of God on the life of the world?
Is Christianity about the Realm of God, the Dominion of God being present to us and about our participation in the Realm of God, the Dominion of God here and now? Is Christianity about being empowered to live into that Realm, that Dominion, that new way of thinking, or is it simply an ability to spout facts, recite Bible verses? (Slight pause.)
In a couple minutes we will invite those who have volunteered to be leaders in the Vacation Bible School, Rolling River Rampage, forward. We shall pray with them. They shall pray with us. I ask that you hold them and the lives they will touch in your hearts and prayers as they help the participants in this year’s journey of learning.
But I also ask that you understand what education is really about. It’s not about facts. Yes, facts are important. But how you think about facts is more important. Frankly, I believe if there is any deficit in Twenty-first Century thinking it is our lack of critical thinking.
How so? We do not seem to realize Christianity isn’t about facts. Christianity is about our involvement in seeking a new way of thinking, a new way of life. Christianity is about being empowered to live into the Realm of God, the Dominion of God. Christianity is about God Who invites us to a new way of thinking, a new way to see life.
This new way of thinking and seeing life is called covenant love— love of neighbor, love of God. And from what I see and hear in Twenty-first Century society, love of neighbor, love of God would appear to me to be in short supply. So, indeed, love of neighbor, love of God is, for Twenty-first Century society, a new way to think, a new way to see life, a new way for us to understand God is present with us— here, now. Amen.
07/22/2018
United Church of Christ, First Congregational, Norwich, New York.
A Union Service with the First Baptist Church of Norwich, the VBS Kick-off Service.
ENDPIECE: It is the practice of the Pastor to speak after the Closing Hymn, but before the Choral Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said: “The text from Mark says the people (quote:) ‘...were like sheep without a shepherd.’ But again our Twenty-first Century way of thinking does not understand what’s happening here. The text also says the people needed a shepherd. A shepherd is not someone who dominates and orders others around. A shepherd is someone who guides, helps. Jesus is a shepherd, a guide, a teacher who helps us to seek new ways of thinking, new ways of seeing the Realm of God, the Dominion of God.”
BENEDICTION: This is the blessing used by natives of the islands in the South Pacific: O Jesus, please be the canoe that holds me up in the sea of life. Please be the rudder that keeps me on a straight path. Be the outrigger that supports me in times of stress. Let Your Spirit be the sail that carries me though each day. Keep me safe, so that I can paddle on steady in the voyage called life. God of all, bless us all so we may have calm seas, a warm sun and clear nights with star filled skies. Amen.
Sunday, July 22, 2018
Sunday, July 15, 2018
SERMON ~ July 15, 2018 ~ “The Plumb Line”
July 15, 2018 ~ Proper 10 ~ Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time ~ Eighth Sunday after Pentecost ~ 2 Samuel 6:1-5, 12b-19; Psalm 24; Amos 7:7-15; Psalm 85:8-13; Ephesians 1:3-14; Mark 6:14-29 ~ Service in the Founders’ Room.
The Plumb Line
“This is what the Sovereign, Yahweh, showed me: God was standing beside a wall built with a plumb line, with a plumb line in hand. / “what do you see, Amos,?” Yahweh, God asked. / And I said, “A plumb line.” — Amos 7:7-8a
In January of 1961, January 6th to be exact, my family moved into what was for us a new house. I was 13 years old.
I can name the date with great accuracy for two reasons. January 6th is the Feast of the Epiphany. The Epiphany is sometimes referred to as “Little Christmas.” It’s more often and commonly referred to as the feast which celebrates the arrival of the Magi, in popular culture called “Three Kings Day.” My mother called it “Little Christmas.”
I think she called it “Little Christmas” because of her religious, very Catholic upbringing. The Magi brought gifts and hence, for her at least, it was “Little Christmas.” But what really made this “Little Christmas” on that day for my mother is she was now in a new house and she repeated over and over numerous times this was a Christmas for her.
As an aside, perhaps what is more important about the story of the Magi is it relates the birth of the Messiah as now and newly being proclaimed to the gentiles— gentiles that would be us largely. So it’s neither the Magi nor the gifts which are significant. That’s my point: it’s the proclamation to the gentiles.
There is a second reason I can identify that date in January with some accuracy. I know we were in that new house exactly two weeks later on the day John Fitzgerald Kennedy was inaugurated, January 20th, 1961. And I know I was in that new house because that’s where I watched the inauguration. I need to add my very Catholic parents, despite being Eisenhower Republicans, felt a real sense of pride that Kennedy, the first and so far the only Catholic President, had been elected.
However, January 20th, 1961 was on a Friday that year and I was in the seventh grade. So, why was I not in school? Why was I watching the inaugural?
You may remember this: here had been a major East Coast snow storm and all the schools in New York City were closed for the day. And, since Kennedy was a Catholic, I am quite sure this 13 year old altar boy I felt getting that day off because of a snowstorm was a gift from God. So that year there was also a “Little Christmas” for me.
Back to this new house. The bathroom had a sink which was simply attached to the wall— no legs. And there was no cabinet underneath so there was no storage space under it. You could see the drain pipe.
The following Summer my mother came up with a project for me. She asked me to build a rolling cabinet which could be pulled in and out and would fit under that sink, a place where she could store cleaning supplies.
I have no idea where she found the plans for how to make a rolling cabinet— in case you did not know, there was no Internet in 1961 where you could search for how to make a cabinet— but she found plans for a rolling cabinet which would go under a sink. The plans were quite specific as to what materials were needed— lumber, wheels— it even the recommended a kind of paint for the outside of the cabinet.
What the plans did not have was any measurements since all sinks are different. They told you how to measure but the exact measuring, itself, was left up to the builder which in this case was me. In measuring I, effectively, set the standards by which the cabinet was built.
And, having made the measurements, I got to work. Measuring was, of course, important since the cabinet did have to fit under the sink. Too tall, it would not fit under; too short, there would be too much space around the edge and things might randomly fall in to it; too wide and it may not have had the same issues but neither it would have looked right.
I became very familiar with a tape measure and a carpenter’s level, a bubble level. I needed the level because I had make sure the thing did not just fit but that it rolled evenly.
If there is any lesson I learned in the several days it took me to put this together it was the importance of measuring. Measuring sets up standards, especially when the plans leave the measuring up to you.
I am proud to say not only did I successfully complete that project but the cabinet was there until the bathroom got re-built some 20 years later. (Slight pause.) Well, two weeks ago in my comments I told you a story that I once taught class of second graders. This week I let you know I built a rolling cabinet. Who knows what I might say next? (Slight pause.)
And these words are in the work known as Amos: “This is what the Sovereign, Yahweh, showed me: God was standing beside a wall built with a plumb line, with a plumb line in hand. / “what do you see, Amos,?” Yahweh, God asked. / And I said, “A plumb line.” (Slight pause.)
In the original texts the prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures are sometimes referred to as “seers.” Why? They were believed to be able to see things, perceive things, others could not.
Indeed, some prophets in ancient Israel appear to have been identified as such because they had paranormal experiences in the context visions. Both then and now this is someone who sees what is transcendent, beyond the obvious.
Clearly Amos sees things others do not. In this case Amos sees God at a wall built with a plumb line holding a plumb line— a plumb line— a string with a weight, an instrument used to provide an even reference line. It’s an ancient measuring device used to keep things straight and level.
I therefore think one question for us becomes what is being measured? Is it the people of Israel? Is it us? I think neither.
I say neither even though the text makes it clear the Israelites failed when being measured. That failure is not the point. They fail because a comparison is being made. So the real question is ‘a comparison to what?’ (Slight pause.)
I want to suggest the plumb line and the wall represent a standard. What is the standard to which God invites us? The standard is love. And in theory at least, justice needs to and should flow from love.
Indeed, I think we miss this too often: justice must flow from love. We miss this because we see justice as being one sided. We speak in terms of ‘my justice’ or ‘our justice,’ as if we’re setting up sides. But the place to which God invites us is love of all and therefore justice for all.
Further, I would argue justice is not singular. My justice, alone, can never be a fullness of justice because justice cannot be possessed. I would argue justice can happen only in community and through community. So what do I mean, justice can happen only in community? (Slight pause.)
I think this is obvious: society, even the church, cannot guarantee equal outcomes. On the other hand, I think equal outcomes do not necessarily constitute true justice. That’s one reason I use the word equity. I think we are called to do what we can to ensure equity.
Further and unfortunately, too often people view their own opportunity as dependent on domination over others. Domination over others ignores equity and the standard called love.
All that brings me back to my building a cabinet. Measuring, as I did with the cabinet, is important. Standards need to be both attained and maintained. For me, in the wall and in the plumb line, what Amos saw has to do with identifying a standard.
The standard of God is love. And I say both all justice and justice for all flows from love— all justice and justice for all flows from love. Therefore, our problem can be twofold: we sometimes fail to identify that standard. We sometimes fail to maintain that standard. (Slight pause.)
Earlier I said the cabinet and the cabinet I built lasted twenty years. Let me address two things about that. First, the plans I had placed in my hands for measuring tole me how to do it but did not tell me what the measurements were. God places the measuring— a measuring which is determined by love— in our hands. If that doesn’t frighten you nothing will.
Second, wear and tear does deteriorate cabinets. Wear and tear has the same effect on standards, ethics.
So guess what? We have exactly the same problem as the Israelites— determining the standards and, maintaining the standards— maintaining the standards— our ethical behavior. And here’s a reality: sometimes we do O.K.; other times we fail miserably. Why?
Well, I think we can learn something from the ecstatic visions of Amos. I maintain that for Amos love and justice are one. But seeing love and justice as intertwined is, I think, something with which we moderns have a hard time.
Indeed and to be a little secular about it, in a reference to the type of government our nation has, theologian Reinhold Niebuhr, all the way back in the mid-twentieth Century said the capacity for justice makes democracy possible. The inclination to injustice makes democracy necessary.
In that same vein, let me turn to the writer of the Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson and the Second Continental Congress. I’ve referenced this from the pulpit before.
We all remember the opening lines of the Declaration which say there are self-evident truths. We are endowed by our Creator with unalienable rights, among them are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. And we are enamored with those words.
But I’ve always maintained the most important words of the Declaration are not the opening words. The closing words are the most important.
(Quote:) “...for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor.”
And I define that— the pledging of lives, fortunes and sacred honor— as communal covenant. You’ve heard me say that word ‘covenant’ thousand of times probably. So, by the way— covenant— that flows from love also. And love?— that’s the standard. But don’t fool yourself; it is neither an easy standard nor is it a simple standard. Amen.
07/15/2018
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 Choral Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said: “I am sure most of us have seen a classic New Yorker type cartoon with a scraggy looking bearded man in a robe carrying a sign predicting the apocalypse. ‘The end of the world is coming.’ I stumbled across a good one this week with a scraggy looking bearded man in a robe carrying a sign. The sign said, ‘The world is not coming to an end. Therefore, you must suffer along and learn to cope.’ And that is part of the issue, is it not? Things are not perfect. But we are called to do what we can to help things be more perfect.”
BENEDICTION: Let us, above all, surround ourselves with the perfect love of God, a love which binds everything together in harmony. And may we love God so much, that we love nothing else too much. May we be so in awe of God, that we are in awe of no one else and nothing else. Amen.
The Plumb Line
“This is what the Sovereign, Yahweh, showed me: God was standing beside a wall built with a plumb line, with a plumb line in hand. / “what do you see, Amos,?” Yahweh, God asked. / And I said, “A plumb line.” — Amos 7:7-8a
In January of 1961, January 6th to be exact, my family moved into what was for us a new house. I was 13 years old.
I can name the date with great accuracy for two reasons. January 6th is the Feast of the Epiphany. The Epiphany is sometimes referred to as “Little Christmas.” It’s more often and commonly referred to as the feast which celebrates the arrival of the Magi, in popular culture called “Three Kings Day.” My mother called it “Little Christmas.”
I think she called it “Little Christmas” because of her religious, very Catholic upbringing. The Magi brought gifts and hence, for her at least, it was “Little Christmas.” But what really made this “Little Christmas” on that day for my mother is she was now in a new house and she repeated over and over numerous times this was a Christmas for her.
As an aside, perhaps what is more important about the story of the Magi is it relates the birth of the Messiah as now and newly being proclaimed to the gentiles— gentiles that would be us largely. So it’s neither the Magi nor the gifts which are significant. That’s my point: it’s the proclamation to the gentiles.
There is a second reason I can identify that date in January with some accuracy. I know we were in that new house exactly two weeks later on the day John Fitzgerald Kennedy was inaugurated, January 20th, 1961. And I know I was in that new house because that’s where I watched the inauguration. I need to add my very Catholic parents, despite being Eisenhower Republicans, felt a real sense of pride that Kennedy, the first and so far the only Catholic President, had been elected.
However, January 20th, 1961 was on a Friday that year and I was in the seventh grade. So, why was I not in school? Why was I watching the inaugural?
You may remember this: here had been a major East Coast snow storm and all the schools in New York City were closed for the day. And, since Kennedy was a Catholic, I am quite sure this 13 year old altar boy I felt getting that day off because of a snowstorm was a gift from God. So that year there was also a “Little Christmas” for me.
Back to this new house. The bathroom had a sink which was simply attached to the wall— no legs. And there was no cabinet underneath so there was no storage space under it. You could see the drain pipe.
The following Summer my mother came up with a project for me. She asked me to build a rolling cabinet which could be pulled in and out and would fit under that sink, a place where she could store cleaning supplies.
I have no idea where she found the plans for how to make a rolling cabinet— in case you did not know, there was no Internet in 1961 where you could search for how to make a cabinet— but she found plans for a rolling cabinet which would go under a sink. The plans were quite specific as to what materials were needed— lumber, wheels— it even the recommended a kind of paint for the outside of the cabinet.
What the plans did not have was any measurements since all sinks are different. They told you how to measure but the exact measuring, itself, was left up to the builder which in this case was me. In measuring I, effectively, set the standards by which the cabinet was built.
And, having made the measurements, I got to work. Measuring was, of course, important since the cabinet did have to fit under the sink. Too tall, it would not fit under; too short, there would be too much space around the edge and things might randomly fall in to it; too wide and it may not have had the same issues but neither it would have looked right.
I became very familiar with a tape measure and a carpenter’s level, a bubble level. I needed the level because I had make sure the thing did not just fit but that it rolled evenly.
If there is any lesson I learned in the several days it took me to put this together it was the importance of measuring. Measuring sets up standards, especially when the plans leave the measuring up to you.
I am proud to say not only did I successfully complete that project but the cabinet was there until the bathroom got re-built some 20 years later. (Slight pause.) Well, two weeks ago in my comments I told you a story that I once taught class of second graders. This week I let you know I built a rolling cabinet. Who knows what I might say next? (Slight pause.)
And these words are in the work known as Amos: “This is what the Sovereign, Yahweh, showed me: God was standing beside a wall built with a plumb line, with a plumb line in hand. / “what do you see, Amos,?” Yahweh, God asked. / And I said, “A plumb line.” (Slight pause.)
In the original texts the prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures are sometimes referred to as “seers.” Why? They were believed to be able to see things, perceive things, others could not.
Indeed, some prophets in ancient Israel appear to have been identified as such because they had paranormal experiences in the context visions. Both then and now this is someone who sees what is transcendent, beyond the obvious.
Clearly Amos sees things others do not. In this case Amos sees God at a wall built with a plumb line holding a plumb line— a plumb line— a string with a weight, an instrument used to provide an even reference line. It’s an ancient measuring device used to keep things straight and level.
I therefore think one question for us becomes what is being measured? Is it the people of Israel? Is it us? I think neither.
I say neither even though the text makes it clear the Israelites failed when being measured. That failure is not the point. They fail because a comparison is being made. So the real question is ‘a comparison to what?’ (Slight pause.)
I want to suggest the plumb line and the wall represent a standard. What is the standard to which God invites us? The standard is love. And in theory at least, justice needs to and should flow from love.
Indeed, I think we miss this too often: justice must flow from love. We miss this because we see justice as being one sided. We speak in terms of ‘my justice’ or ‘our justice,’ as if we’re setting up sides. But the place to which God invites us is love of all and therefore justice for all.
Further, I would argue justice is not singular. My justice, alone, can never be a fullness of justice because justice cannot be possessed. I would argue justice can happen only in community and through community. So what do I mean, justice can happen only in community? (Slight pause.)
I think this is obvious: society, even the church, cannot guarantee equal outcomes. On the other hand, I think equal outcomes do not necessarily constitute true justice. That’s one reason I use the word equity. I think we are called to do what we can to ensure equity.
Further and unfortunately, too often people view their own opportunity as dependent on domination over others. Domination over others ignores equity and the standard called love.
All that brings me back to my building a cabinet. Measuring, as I did with the cabinet, is important. Standards need to be both attained and maintained. For me, in the wall and in the plumb line, what Amos saw has to do with identifying a standard.
The standard of God is love. And I say both all justice and justice for all flows from love— all justice and justice for all flows from love. Therefore, our problem can be twofold: we sometimes fail to identify that standard. We sometimes fail to maintain that standard. (Slight pause.)
Earlier I said the cabinet and the cabinet I built lasted twenty years. Let me address two things about that. First, the plans I had placed in my hands for measuring tole me how to do it but did not tell me what the measurements were. God places the measuring— a measuring which is determined by love— in our hands. If that doesn’t frighten you nothing will.
Second, wear and tear does deteriorate cabinets. Wear and tear has the same effect on standards, ethics.
So guess what? We have exactly the same problem as the Israelites— determining the standards and, maintaining the standards— maintaining the standards— our ethical behavior. And here’s a reality: sometimes we do O.K.; other times we fail miserably. Why?
Well, I think we can learn something from the ecstatic visions of Amos. I maintain that for Amos love and justice are one. But seeing love and justice as intertwined is, I think, something with which we moderns have a hard time.
Indeed and to be a little secular about it, in a reference to the type of government our nation has, theologian Reinhold Niebuhr, all the way back in the mid-twentieth Century said the capacity for justice makes democracy possible. The inclination to injustice makes democracy necessary.
In that same vein, let me turn to the writer of the Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson and the Second Continental Congress. I’ve referenced this from the pulpit before.
We all remember the opening lines of the Declaration which say there are self-evident truths. We are endowed by our Creator with unalienable rights, among them are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. And we are enamored with those words.
But I’ve always maintained the most important words of the Declaration are not the opening words. The closing words are the most important.
(Quote:) “...for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor.”
And I define that— the pledging of lives, fortunes and sacred honor— as communal covenant. You’ve heard me say that word ‘covenant’ thousand of times probably. So, by the way— covenant— that flows from love also. And love?— that’s the standard. But don’t fool yourself; it is neither an easy standard nor is it a simple standard. Amen.
07/15/2018
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 Choral Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said: “I am sure most of us have seen a classic New Yorker type cartoon with a scraggy looking bearded man in a robe carrying a sign predicting the apocalypse. ‘The end of the world is coming.’ I stumbled across a good one this week with a scraggy looking bearded man in a robe carrying a sign. The sign said, ‘The world is not coming to an end. Therefore, you must suffer along and learn to cope.’ And that is part of the issue, is it not? Things are not perfect. But we are called to do what we can to help things be more perfect.”
BENEDICTION: Let us, above all, surround ourselves with the perfect love of God, a love which binds everything together in harmony. And may we love God so much, that we love nothing else too much. May we be so in awe of God, that we are in awe of no one else and nothing else. Amen.
Sunday, July 8, 2018
SERMON ~ July 8, 2018 ~ “Stumbling Blocks”
July 8, 2018 ~ Proper 9 ~ 14th Sunday in Ordinary Time ~ Seventh Sunday after Pentecost ~ 2 Samuel 5:1-5, 9-10; Psalm 48; Ezekiel 2:1-5; Psalm 123; 2 Corinthians 12:2-10; Mark 6:1-13 ~ Service in Founders’ Room.
Stumbling Blocks
“‘Is this not the carpenter, the son of Mary, the brother of James and Joses and Judah and Simon? Are not the sisters of Jesus here with us?’ They found these things to be stumbling blocks.” — Mark 6:3.
Occasionally people will ask me about the heritage of the United Church of Christ, ask from where does our denomination come? Yes we are a merger of four denominations— Evangelical, Reform, Christian and Congregational— in 1957.
But a large hunk of that is Congregational. And all the others decided to fit in with a Congregational way of doing things. While how we govern ourselves is no longer totally Congregational— it could be argued that it’s somewhat Presbyterian— it certainly is a more Congregational way of doing things than the other groups had ever experienced before. Therefore, given that Congregational heritage, I sometimes use a short, quick, dirty way of describing us which points to that aspect of our heritage.
However, I need to offer a word of explanation about the description I want to give. We all celebrate Thanksgiving, right? The picture which gets painted about the origins of that holiday says the colonists, the Pilgrims, magnanimously shared a harvest meal with the natives in what we now call Massachusetts, in the vicinity of what has come to be known as Plymouth Rock, the place where legend has it the Pilgrims landed.
In fact, pretty nearly all of what I just said is legend. The Pilgrims were actually indebted to the natives who had helped these immigrants survive. No one really knows where they landed but there is a rock with a plaque on it commemorating the event. The fact that thanks was given and the harvest shared is, however, not in question.
That having been said, this is also not debatable. The Pilgrims were the first Congregationalists on these shores. Hence, the short, quick, dirty way I use of explaining who we are is to say, “If you think Pilgrims— you’ve got us.”
Yes, a full explanation is much, much more complex than that. But short, quick, dirty is usually enough. “If you think Pilgrims— you’ve got us.”
Let me paint some more history, at least in a broad, short, quick, dirty way. When these first Congregationalist arrived there was no such thing as ordained clergy among them.
A spiritual leader was elected from within the ranks of a Congregation. Those chosen were often the best read, most highly educated among the group. And yes, back then they were only men chosen. We have come a long way.
That brings me to the topic of how have we Congregationalist chose our theological leadership. Simply choosing someone from the ranks went by the wayside after colleges were established on these shores.
Harvard, an institution founded by Congregationalists, opened its doors in 1636. Indeed, that Congregationalists established Harvard says something about who we are.
With colleges it became evident who might be the best read, most highly educated— someone who had attended college. By the early to mid 1700s it was thought more training for pastoral leadership was desirable. And so, after attaining a degree a candidate for ministry would intern for several years with a settled pastor before moving on to their own ministry.
By the early to mid 1800s it was thought even more training was desirable. A second Bachelor’s Degree— today we call it a Master’s Degree— a second Bachelor’s Degree became a standard.
Now I have always maintained— this is also short, quick and dirty— I have always maintained there’s a difference between certification and qualification. I say if you did not arrive at Seminary already qualified to be a pastor no certification, no advanced degree will make you qualified. Degrees certify. They make no pretense about qualifying. (Slight pause.)
These words are from the work known as Mark. “‘Is this not the carpenter, the son of Mary, the brother of James and Joses and Judah and Simon? Are not the sisters of Jesus here with us?’ They found these things to be stumbling blocks.” (Slight pause.)
So, how do we Congregationalists choose pastoral leadership these days? For a very long time, meaning back into the 1700s, Associations have trusted a committee— often called a Committee on Authorized Ministry— to determine if a candidate is both qualified and certified.
However humans being human, often the process degenerated into asking who is certified, who has the credentials, has checked the right boxes, jumped through the hoops of the certification process? If that’s the area where the attention gets focused— who is certified rather than who is qualified— then who is actually qualified tends to get lost.
Of course, answering the question who is certified brings some protection for those asking about certification and qualification. It’s easy to defend a choice by saying this person is certified, has the credentials, has checked the right boxes, has jumped through the hoops of the process.
Asking who is qualified is a much more taxing question. You see, qualification is in many ways a matter of making a judgment about interpersonal relationships, a matter of discernment.
We all know relationships among people are fluid. But making judgments about interpersonal relationships, not box checking, is what Committees on Authorized Ministry are asked to do today.
And so perhaps one of many things which might be judged as a qualification for pastoral leadership is, for instance, displaying sense of equanimity, a calmness, a composure, an evenness of temper, especially in difficult situations. Put differently, what is really essential in the process of qualification is not a readily visible trait.
And perhaps that is why the first Congregationalists on these shores elected a spiritual leader from within their ranks. Who had qualifying but invisible attributes was evident because of relationships already established.
In theory at least, this method is still in use today. If someone in this Congregation is seen as having potential for spiritual leadership then we, the Congregation, need to raise that person up, support them financially, emotionally, physically and send them off for the certification demanded in our times. (Slight pause.)
That brings me back to what happened in this story from today’s Gospel. I think the story hits several valid points. Perhaps the most important is the very humanness of it. The story tells us there is a human need for mutual support. We need to believe in one another, trust one another, hope for and hope in one another, support one another.
Do not misunderstand me. Certification, credentials, checking the right boxes, jumping through the hoops can be very, very important.
But when we make certification an exclusive criteria we are not just missing the point. When we make certification an exclusive criteria we, the church, are abdicating our responsibility to our self be engaged with one another.
Let me point out what I did not just say. I did not suggest by failing to be engaged in interpersonal relationship we are failing one another. I suggested by failing to be engaged in interpersonal relationship we are abdicating a responsibility to our own self, each individual self. (Slight pause.)
So now let me now turn toward responsibility to one another. There is a basic, chronic, even human way we fail at interpersonal relationships. It’s called tribalism.
And that thought brings me once again to today’s Gospel reading. Again, it is the humanness of the story which impresses me. Is this about “why can’t they see Jesus as the Messiah, the Christ?” No, it’s not about why they can’t see Jesus as the Messiah, the Christ. Substitute another name of Jesus and could see the same situation happen in relationships today.
And so let me ask where do we put stumbling blocks in our own way? Perhaps it’s counterintuitive but I want to suggest certification is not a stumbling block. Certification can be readily managed, checked, applied, understood.
But discernment, discerning interpersonal relationships, that’s hard. And discernment is a responsibility which demands something of us. Discernment can be a stumbling block, especially when we take pains to avoid it.
And I, therefore, also think in the end this is about faith. The particular story in question is about faith in Jesus. However, there is a more expansive idea here.
We need to be participants in faith. And yes, we need to have faith in God, in Jesus, in the Spirit. But we also need to participate discernment which is not easy. For me, that must by definition translate as having faith in others.
Will people fail us at times? Will faith seem unwarranted? Why, yes it will. Does that mean we should stop striving discern, stop having faith in one another? No, it does not.
You see, at the end of the reading what does Jesus do or rather how does Jesus act? Jesus has faith in others, in the twelve, sends them out in pairs. And what do they do? They proclaim the message of God, empowered by Jesus who has faith in them. (Slight pause.)
Here’s my bet. Jesus has faith in us to proclaim a message of God, especially the message of God’s love. So, are we willing to trust Jesus, trust that message, trust ourselves, trust each other? Or will we set up stumbling blocks instead. Amen.
07/08/2018
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 Choral Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said: “Discernment is hard. I want to suggest discernment, especially discerning the will of God is very hard. It requires faith. And this was our thought for meditation today from Winifred Gallagher: ‘Faith requires something more than comfortable self knowledge. It requires difficult things— doubt, repentance, observance— these are perplexing in our world of going with the flow and doing your own thing, a world of comfortable personal space.’ As if to prove that point, I stumbled across a quote from Saint Augustine this week. (Quote:) ‘If you comprehend it, it is not God.’”
BENEDICTION: Redeeming Sustainer, visit Your people; pour out Your courage upon us, that we may hurry to make welcome all people not only in our concern for others, but by serving them generously and faithfully in Your name. And may we love God so much, that we love nothing else too much. May we be so in awe of God, that we are in awe of no one else and nothing else. Amen.
Stumbling Blocks
“‘Is this not the carpenter, the son of Mary, the brother of James and Joses and Judah and Simon? Are not the sisters of Jesus here with us?’ They found these things to be stumbling blocks.” — Mark 6:3.
Occasionally people will ask me about the heritage of the United Church of Christ, ask from where does our denomination come? Yes we are a merger of four denominations— Evangelical, Reform, Christian and Congregational— in 1957.
But a large hunk of that is Congregational. And all the others decided to fit in with a Congregational way of doing things. While how we govern ourselves is no longer totally Congregational— it could be argued that it’s somewhat Presbyterian— it certainly is a more Congregational way of doing things than the other groups had ever experienced before. Therefore, given that Congregational heritage, I sometimes use a short, quick, dirty way of describing us which points to that aspect of our heritage.
However, I need to offer a word of explanation about the description I want to give. We all celebrate Thanksgiving, right? The picture which gets painted about the origins of that holiday says the colonists, the Pilgrims, magnanimously shared a harvest meal with the natives in what we now call Massachusetts, in the vicinity of what has come to be known as Plymouth Rock, the place where legend has it the Pilgrims landed.
In fact, pretty nearly all of what I just said is legend. The Pilgrims were actually indebted to the natives who had helped these immigrants survive. No one really knows where they landed but there is a rock with a plaque on it commemorating the event. The fact that thanks was given and the harvest shared is, however, not in question.
That having been said, this is also not debatable. The Pilgrims were the first Congregationalists on these shores. Hence, the short, quick, dirty way I use of explaining who we are is to say, “If you think Pilgrims— you’ve got us.”
Yes, a full explanation is much, much more complex than that. But short, quick, dirty is usually enough. “If you think Pilgrims— you’ve got us.”
Let me paint some more history, at least in a broad, short, quick, dirty way. When these first Congregationalist arrived there was no such thing as ordained clergy among them.
A spiritual leader was elected from within the ranks of a Congregation. Those chosen were often the best read, most highly educated among the group. And yes, back then they were only men chosen. We have come a long way.
That brings me to the topic of how have we Congregationalist chose our theological leadership. Simply choosing someone from the ranks went by the wayside after colleges were established on these shores.
Harvard, an institution founded by Congregationalists, opened its doors in 1636. Indeed, that Congregationalists established Harvard says something about who we are.
With colleges it became evident who might be the best read, most highly educated— someone who had attended college. By the early to mid 1700s it was thought more training for pastoral leadership was desirable. And so, after attaining a degree a candidate for ministry would intern for several years with a settled pastor before moving on to their own ministry.
By the early to mid 1800s it was thought even more training was desirable. A second Bachelor’s Degree— today we call it a Master’s Degree— a second Bachelor’s Degree became a standard.
Now I have always maintained— this is also short, quick and dirty— I have always maintained there’s a difference between certification and qualification. I say if you did not arrive at Seminary already qualified to be a pastor no certification, no advanced degree will make you qualified. Degrees certify. They make no pretense about qualifying. (Slight pause.)
These words are from the work known as Mark. “‘Is this not the carpenter, the son of Mary, the brother of James and Joses and Judah and Simon? Are not the sisters of Jesus here with us?’ They found these things to be stumbling blocks.” (Slight pause.)
So, how do we Congregationalists choose pastoral leadership these days? For a very long time, meaning back into the 1700s, Associations have trusted a committee— often called a Committee on Authorized Ministry— to determine if a candidate is both qualified and certified.
However humans being human, often the process degenerated into asking who is certified, who has the credentials, has checked the right boxes, jumped through the hoops of the certification process? If that’s the area where the attention gets focused— who is certified rather than who is qualified— then who is actually qualified tends to get lost.
Of course, answering the question who is certified brings some protection for those asking about certification and qualification. It’s easy to defend a choice by saying this person is certified, has the credentials, has checked the right boxes, has jumped through the hoops of the process.
Asking who is qualified is a much more taxing question. You see, qualification is in many ways a matter of making a judgment about interpersonal relationships, a matter of discernment.
We all know relationships among people are fluid. But making judgments about interpersonal relationships, not box checking, is what Committees on Authorized Ministry are asked to do today.
And so perhaps one of many things which might be judged as a qualification for pastoral leadership is, for instance, displaying sense of equanimity, a calmness, a composure, an evenness of temper, especially in difficult situations. Put differently, what is really essential in the process of qualification is not a readily visible trait.
And perhaps that is why the first Congregationalists on these shores elected a spiritual leader from within their ranks. Who had qualifying but invisible attributes was evident because of relationships already established.
In theory at least, this method is still in use today. If someone in this Congregation is seen as having potential for spiritual leadership then we, the Congregation, need to raise that person up, support them financially, emotionally, physically and send them off for the certification demanded in our times. (Slight pause.)
That brings me back to what happened in this story from today’s Gospel. I think the story hits several valid points. Perhaps the most important is the very humanness of it. The story tells us there is a human need for mutual support. We need to believe in one another, trust one another, hope for and hope in one another, support one another.
Do not misunderstand me. Certification, credentials, checking the right boxes, jumping through the hoops can be very, very important.
But when we make certification an exclusive criteria we are not just missing the point. When we make certification an exclusive criteria we, the church, are abdicating our responsibility to our self be engaged with one another.
Let me point out what I did not just say. I did not suggest by failing to be engaged in interpersonal relationship we are failing one another. I suggested by failing to be engaged in interpersonal relationship we are abdicating a responsibility to our own self, each individual self. (Slight pause.)
So now let me now turn toward responsibility to one another. There is a basic, chronic, even human way we fail at interpersonal relationships. It’s called tribalism.
And that thought brings me once again to today’s Gospel reading. Again, it is the humanness of the story which impresses me. Is this about “why can’t they see Jesus as the Messiah, the Christ?” No, it’s not about why they can’t see Jesus as the Messiah, the Christ. Substitute another name of Jesus and could see the same situation happen in relationships today.
And so let me ask where do we put stumbling blocks in our own way? Perhaps it’s counterintuitive but I want to suggest certification is not a stumbling block. Certification can be readily managed, checked, applied, understood.
But discernment, discerning interpersonal relationships, that’s hard. And discernment is a responsibility which demands something of us. Discernment can be a stumbling block, especially when we take pains to avoid it.
And I, therefore, also think in the end this is about faith. The particular story in question is about faith in Jesus. However, there is a more expansive idea here.
We need to be participants in faith. And yes, we need to have faith in God, in Jesus, in the Spirit. But we also need to participate discernment which is not easy. For me, that must by definition translate as having faith in others.
Will people fail us at times? Will faith seem unwarranted? Why, yes it will. Does that mean we should stop striving discern, stop having faith in one another? No, it does not.
You see, at the end of the reading what does Jesus do or rather how does Jesus act? Jesus has faith in others, in the twelve, sends them out in pairs. And what do they do? They proclaim the message of God, empowered by Jesus who has faith in them. (Slight pause.)
Here’s my bet. Jesus has faith in us to proclaim a message of God, especially the message of God’s love. So, are we willing to trust Jesus, trust that message, trust ourselves, trust each other? Or will we set up stumbling blocks instead. Amen.
07/08/2018
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 Choral Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said: “Discernment is hard. I want to suggest discernment, especially discerning the will of God is very hard. It requires faith. And this was our thought for meditation today from Winifred Gallagher: ‘Faith requires something more than comfortable self knowledge. It requires difficult things— doubt, repentance, observance— these are perplexing in our world of going with the flow and doing your own thing, a world of comfortable personal space.’ As if to prove that point, I stumbled across a quote from Saint Augustine this week. (Quote:) ‘If you comprehend it, it is not God.’”
BENEDICTION: Redeeming Sustainer, visit Your people; pour out Your courage upon us, that we may hurry to make welcome all people not only in our concern for others, but by serving them generously and faithfully in Your name. And may we love God so much, that we love nothing else too much. May we be so in awe of God, that we are in awe of no one else and nothing else. Amen.
Sunday, July 1, 2018
SERMON ~ July 1, 2018 ~ “The Faithfulness of God”
July 1, 2018 ~ Sixth Sunday after Pentecost ~ Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time ~ Proper 8 ~ 2 Samuel 1:1, 17-27; Psalm 130; Wisdom of Solomon 1:13-15, 2:23-24 or Lamentations 3:22-33; Psalm 30; 2 Corinthians 8:7-15; Mark 5:21-43 ~ Communion Sunday ~ Service in the Founders’ Room.
The Faithfulness of God
“Your favor, O Yahweh, is not exhausted, / nor has the compassion of God failed.” — Lamentations 3:22.
I have probably said about 150 times from the pulpit that I grew up Roman Catholic. I have probably said at least as often I shifted to the Episcopal tradition and then, perhaps under the influence of a certain Congregationalist whom I married, shifted yet again.
Something I have said, probably with equal frequency is my Mother, when she was very young, joined the convent but left before taking final vows, after which she married my Father. My Father taught at a Jesuit School for his entire career. And I have probably said this about 150 times. It is fair to say I went into the family business because of that background I just outlined.
But something else I’ve said (perhaps with less frequency or not clearly enough) is I have been a church person my whole life. But that is not just that I hang out in churches or with church people. I was involved. So I want to tell a story about being involved when I was in my teens, active in the Roman tradition.
First some background: Catholic youngsters participate in what is called “First Communion,” generally in the Second grade. In that tradition it is said the first time to receive Communion is when a child has reached what the Church calls the age of reason.
That is defined as being able to have some concept of what’s happening with and in the Sacrament and what that might mean. Generally, the rule the church works by says one is likely to be able to reason enough to comprehend these things around the age of seven or eight— hence, once children reach the second grade.
Given the complexities of Roman dogma— transubstantiation and all that— one needs to get some instruction. And those children who attend parochial school get instruction, lots of it.
But Catholic students who attend public school do not. Hence, they need to go to classes set up just for them.
And so, in my late teens I was recruited by a nun to be an instructor for Second Grade students who attended public school. I suspect the nun was trying to introduce me to a girl was also in her late teens whom she had also recruited for this same assignment. We taught together.
But my interest was the teaching assignment. What can I say? I guess I have always had a focused theological bent.
To be clear, these classes do not actually help second graders understand the aforementioned theological complexities like transubstantiation. Quite the contrary, the way the Roman Church accomplishes this educational task is to have these young people memorize questions and answers found in The Baltimore Catechism.
We Protestants should not hold our nose at the thought of children memorizing questions and answers in a Catechism. Be it here known Martin Luther, himself, wrote Luther’s Small Catechism meant for the training of young children.
And so, all that comes back to the reality of my involvement. In my late teens I was teaching second grade students. That is being involved not just in the church but in community as well. And I know: some of you probably have a hard time picturing me teaching students in the Second Grade. (Slight pause.)
Now, there’s another aspect of my early life I’ve often mentioned here. I’ve said— “Hey, I’m a street kid from Brooklyn.” I would be the first to admit despite a less than bucolic childhood I was afforded some extraordinary opportunities when I was a child. I’ve spoken about some of them.
On the other hand and for instance, I was witness to a mugging at a very young age. A regular occurrence in my neighborhood was, just for fun, someone would pour gasoline into a street corner mail box and then flip in a lit cigarette.
There was a newspaper stand in my neighborhood which was open from 10:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. only. Newspaper stand open from 10:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. only? And often a police car was parked in front of it. It was not a really a newspaper stand.
In street parlance that was a wire room. It took bets on horse races. The police— they were on the take— and they were there to protect it. I could go on but you get the picture— the neighborhood I lived in.
And yet... and yet... despite all that strangeness in my life I also seemed to have this interest in God. And it was a significant enough interest that a nun recognized it and recruited me to teach second grader students when I was still a teen. (Slight pause.)
We find these words in the work known as Lamentations: “Your favor, O Yahweh, is not exhausted, / nor has the compassion of God failed.”
In my letter to the church in the Newsletter which went out Friday— so unless you just picked up a copy in the hall you probably have not yet seen it— in that letter I said if you’re paying any attention to the news, one can readily argue we live in difficult times when it comes to many ethical issues, especially racism. And yes, one could readily argue we humans have always lived in difficult times when it comes to ethical behavior.
I also said many have explored the myriad of social issues, ethical issues, concerning the broken-ness of our society. If that broken-ness is not self-evident, you are not looking. Hence, we live with the conflicted-ness of that. (Slight pause.)
The writer of this passage is obviously conflicted. The words I quoted which praise the compassion of God are in the Twenty-second verse. But later verses talk about burdens and yokes and insults and being struck. (Slight pause.)
The connection I want to make here is given the sense of conflicted-ness I outlined about my early life and what this passage from Lamentations says I want to suggest life, itself, is much more complex and conflicted than we want to admit. And our life with God is much more complex and conflicted than we want to admit.
Equally, there is a simple premise we offer and claim about God and it is straightforward. God is with us— Emmanuel— God is with us, no matter what the circumstance— case closed.
That does not mean we will avoid the myriad of issues which surround us— issues from racism to sexism to economic domination to ageism to militarism, etc., etc., etc. It means we must engage them.
And yes, it probably means things may not always go the way we had planned, wanted, hoped. But the promise of Scripture still insists God will be and is with us as we experience the conflicted-ness of life.
And so as you heard, what gives the speaker in this passage hope is the fidelity and mercy of Yahweh, God. The writer clearly says the steadfast love of Yahweh never ceases; the mercy of God never comes to an end; these are new every morning.
In its poetics of encirclement, the poem frames conflict with merciful fidelity, proclaims a God of hope. And our claim is that what we call hope in God is merely a description of a God who encircles us with divine mercy. (Slight pause.)
Here is something I don’t think I’ve said often enough from the pulpit. We live in a age of empire. Jesus lived in an age of empire but was not a part of empire. And it was Rome— not the Jews— but Rome, the Empire, who killed Jesus. So Jesus lived with this conflict: living in empire but not a part of empire.
Saint Augustine, Bishop of Hippo in the Fourth and Fifth Century, also lived in an age of empire. But by then the church was a part of empire.
However, as was true of Jesus, Augustine was not enamored of empire and lived in that conflict. So perhaps the question for us is what does it mean to live, as did Augustine, in this age of empire, in this conflict? (Slight pause.)
Theologian Walter Brueggemann says every agent of empire wants to reduce what is possible to what is available. Brueggemann also insists the Biblical image of Pharaoh is a metaphor which gets repeated over and over and over in all Scripture.
Pharaoh embodies and represents raw, absolute, worldly power. Pilate and Pharaoh alike are just stand-ins for empire, agents for brut force. They appear and reappear in many different personae throughout Scripture. And these agents of empire work against the possibilities God insists are present for us. (Slight pause.)
That being said, I think this is the point I take from today’s passage: life is lived in conflict. That is a given. We need to grapple with it.
Why? The vision God has for us is a vision enfolded in steadfast love. Steadfast love is something for which empire would never allow. (Long pause.)
I wonder why— why empire wouldn’t allow for that? Well, let me come back to Walter Brueggemann. He says this (quote:) “Hope does not need to silence the rumblings of crisis to still be hope.” — “Hope does not need to silence the rumblings of crisis to still be hope.” And our hope is not in empire. That is a foolish hope. Our hope is in God— God Who is faithful. Amen.
07/01/2018
United Church of Christ, First Congregational, Norwich, NY
ENDPIECE: It is the practice of the Pastor to speak after the Closing Hymn, but before the Choral Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said: “Let me come back to Walter Brueggemann again. (Quote:) ‘Sabbath is not about worship. It is about work stoppage. It is about withdrawal from the anxiety system of Pharaoh. Sabbath is a refusal to let one’s life be defined by production and consumption and the endless pursuit of private well-being’ (unquote). Sabbath is, therefore, not self centered. It is neighbor centered, community centered. Looking out for self, not for neighbor, an activity of empire. And involvement in the community, with neighbor, is an expression of hope.”
BENEDICTION: Let us place our trust in God. Let us go from this place to share this Good News: by God we are blessed; in Jesus, the Christ, the beloved of God, we are made whole. Let us depart in confidence and joy that the Spirit of God is with us and let us carry Christ in our hearts for God is faithful. Amen.
The Faithfulness of God
“Your favor, O Yahweh, is not exhausted, / nor has the compassion of God failed.” — Lamentations 3:22.
I have probably said about 150 times from the pulpit that I grew up Roman Catholic. I have probably said at least as often I shifted to the Episcopal tradition and then, perhaps under the influence of a certain Congregationalist whom I married, shifted yet again.
Something I have said, probably with equal frequency is my Mother, when she was very young, joined the convent but left before taking final vows, after which she married my Father. My Father taught at a Jesuit School for his entire career. And I have probably said this about 150 times. It is fair to say I went into the family business because of that background I just outlined.
But something else I’ve said (perhaps with less frequency or not clearly enough) is I have been a church person my whole life. But that is not just that I hang out in churches or with church people. I was involved. So I want to tell a story about being involved when I was in my teens, active in the Roman tradition.
First some background: Catholic youngsters participate in what is called “First Communion,” generally in the Second grade. In that tradition it is said the first time to receive Communion is when a child has reached what the Church calls the age of reason.
That is defined as being able to have some concept of what’s happening with and in the Sacrament and what that might mean. Generally, the rule the church works by says one is likely to be able to reason enough to comprehend these things around the age of seven or eight— hence, once children reach the second grade.
Given the complexities of Roman dogma— transubstantiation and all that— one needs to get some instruction. And those children who attend parochial school get instruction, lots of it.
But Catholic students who attend public school do not. Hence, they need to go to classes set up just for them.
And so, in my late teens I was recruited by a nun to be an instructor for Second Grade students who attended public school. I suspect the nun was trying to introduce me to a girl was also in her late teens whom she had also recruited for this same assignment. We taught together.
But my interest was the teaching assignment. What can I say? I guess I have always had a focused theological bent.
To be clear, these classes do not actually help second graders understand the aforementioned theological complexities like transubstantiation. Quite the contrary, the way the Roman Church accomplishes this educational task is to have these young people memorize questions and answers found in The Baltimore Catechism.
We Protestants should not hold our nose at the thought of children memorizing questions and answers in a Catechism. Be it here known Martin Luther, himself, wrote Luther’s Small Catechism meant for the training of young children.
And so, all that comes back to the reality of my involvement. In my late teens I was teaching second grade students. That is being involved not just in the church but in community as well. And I know: some of you probably have a hard time picturing me teaching students in the Second Grade. (Slight pause.)
Now, there’s another aspect of my early life I’ve often mentioned here. I’ve said— “Hey, I’m a street kid from Brooklyn.” I would be the first to admit despite a less than bucolic childhood I was afforded some extraordinary opportunities when I was a child. I’ve spoken about some of them.
On the other hand and for instance, I was witness to a mugging at a very young age. A regular occurrence in my neighborhood was, just for fun, someone would pour gasoline into a street corner mail box and then flip in a lit cigarette.
There was a newspaper stand in my neighborhood which was open from 10:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. only. Newspaper stand open from 10:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. only? And often a police car was parked in front of it. It was not a really a newspaper stand.
In street parlance that was a wire room. It took bets on horse races. The police— they were on the take— and they were there to protect it. I could go on but you get the picture— the neighborhood I lived in.
And yet... and yet... despite all that strangeness in my life I also seemed to have this interest in God. And it was a significant enough interest that a nun recognized it and recruited me to teach second grader students when I was still a teen. (Slight pause.)
We find these words in the work known as Lamentations: “Your favor, O Yahweh, is not exhausted, / nor has the compassion of God failed.”
In my letter to the church in the Newsletter which went out Friday— so unless you just picked up a copy in the hall you probably have not yet seen it— in that letter I said if you’re paying any attention to the news, one can readily argue we live in difficult times when it comes to many ethical issues, especially racism. And yes, one could readily argue we humans have always lived in difficult times when it comes to ethical behavior.
I also said many have explored the myriad of social issues, ethical issues, concerning the broken-ness of our society. If that broken-ness is not self-evident, you are not looking. Hence, we live with the conflicted-ness of that. (Slight pause.)
The writer of this passage is obviously conflicted. The words I quoted which praise the compassion of God are in the Twenty-second verse. But later verses talk about burdens and yokes and insults and being struck. (Slight pause.)
The connection I want to make here is given the sense of conflicted-ness I outlined about my early life and what this passage from Lamentations says I want to suggest life, itself, is much more complex and conflicted than we want to admit. And our life with God is much more complex and conflicted than we want to admit.
Equally, there is a simple premise we offer and claim about God and it is straightforward. God is with us— Emmanuel— God is with us, no matter what the circumstance— case closed.
That does not mean we will avoid the myriad of issues which surround us— issues from racism to sexism to economic domination to ageism to militarism, etc., etc., etc. It means we must engage them.
And yes, it probably means things may not always go the way we had planned, wanted, hoped. But the promise of Scripture still insists God will be and is with us as we experience the conflicted-ness of life.
And so as you heard, what gives the speaker in this passage hope is the fidelity and mercy of Yahweh, God. The writer clearly says the steadfast love of Yahweh never ceases; the mercy of God never comes to an end; these are new every morning.
In its poetics of encirclement, the poem frames conflict with merciful fidelity, proclaims a God of hope. And our claim is that what we call hope in God is merely a description of a God who encircles us with divine mercy. (Slight pause.)
Here is something I don’t think I’ve said often enough from the pulpit. We live in a age of empire. Jesus lived in an age of empire but was not a part of empire. And it was Rome— not the Jews— but Rome, the Empire, who killed Jesus. So Jesus lived with this conflict: living in empire but not a part of empire.
Saint Augustine, Bishop of Hippo in the Fourth and Fifth Century, also lived in an age of empire. But by then the church was a part of empire.
However, as was true of Jesus, Augustine was not enamored of empire and lived in that conflict. So perhaps the question for us is what does it mean to live, as did Augustine, in this age of empire, in this conflict? (Slight pause.)
Theologian Walter Brueggemann says every agent of empire wants to reduce what is possible to what is available. Brueggemann also insists the Biblical image of Pharaoh is a metaphor which gets repeated over and over and over in all Scripture.
Pharaoh embodies and represents raw, absolute, worldly power. Pilate and Pharaoh alike are just stand-ins for empire, agents for brut force. They appear and reappear in many different personae throughout Scripture. And these agents of empire work against the possibilities God insists are present for us. (Slight pause.)
That being said, I think this is the point I take from today’s passage: life is lived in conflict. That is a given. We need to grapple with it.
Why? The vision God has for us is a vision enfolded in steadfast love. Steadfast love is something for which empire would never allow. (Long pause.)
I wonder why— why empire wouldn’t allow for that? Well, let me come back to Walter Brueggemann. He says this (quote:) “Hope does not need to silence the rumblings of crisis to still be hope.” — “Hope does not need to silence the rumblings of crisis to still be hope.” And our hope is not in empire. That is a foolish hope. Our hope is in God— God Who is faithful. Amen.
07/01/2018
United Church of Christ, First Congregational, Norwich, NY
ENDPIECE: It is the practice of the Pastor to speak after the Closing Hymn, but before the Choral Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said: “Let me come back to Walter Brueggemann again. (Quote:) ‘Sabbath is not about worship. It is about work stoppage. It is about withdrawal from the anxiety system of Pharaoh. Sabbath is a refusal to let one’s life be defined by production and consumption and the endless pursuit of private well-being’ (unquote). Sabbath is, therefore, not self centered. It is neighbor centered, community centered. Looking out for self, not for neighbor, an activity of empire. And involvement in the community, with neighbor, is an expression of hope.”
BENEDICTION: Let us place our trust in God. Let us go from this place to share this Good News: by God we are blessed; in Jesus, the Christ, the beloved of God, we are made whole. Let us depart in confidence and joy that the Spirit of God is with us and let us carry Christ in our hearts for God is faithful. Amen.
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