Forgiving

I preached this sermon on the second Sunday of Lent. The subject is forgiveness -- not Jesus' forgiveness of us, but our forgiveness of others. We all have a terrible time forgiving people who have hurt us. Maybe my sermon will help you understand why it's so important.

This morning, we continue our consideration of Jesus’ last words from the cross. Specifically, we continue to look at how those words reflect the human Jesus. For some words, that’s easier than for others When we considered his word of abandonment last week (“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”), it wasn’t hard to understand how a human Jesus could say such a thing. After all, we have all asked God that very same question during our own lives. But Jesus’ word of forgiveness from the cross is another story completely.

“Father, forgive them; they don’t know what they’re doing.” (Luke 23:34) Even while Jesus hung dying on the cross, he prayed that God might forgive the people who were killing him. That couldn’t have been an easy thing for him to pray. After all, remember what he had experienced. After Jesus was arrested in Gethsemane, he was taken before an illegal court session on a trumped-up charge. He was convicted on false evidence offered by liars. After being handed over to the Roman authorities, he was beaten and ridiculed. He was crowned with a circle of thorns, and forced to carry his own cross to the place of execution. Nails were driven through his hands and feet, and he was left to die suspended on a wooden crosspiece in the hot sun. What human being could possibly pray for the people who did all those things? It tempts us to believe that this prayer must be from a divine Jesus who loves with God’s infinite love. After all, his forgiveness includes everyone involved in his death – not just the Roman soldiers who nailed him to the cross, but also the Jewish council who handed him over to Pilate, Judas who handed him over to the Jewish council, and the disciples who ran away when the going got tough. It seems to us that only God could offer that kind of forgiveness.

But in fact, Jesus wanted us to do the very same thing. He talked more than once about the importance of forgiveness. If someone wrongs you, Jesus told Peter, forgive that person even more than seven times. Forgive them seventy-seven times. (Matthew 18:22) Forgive that person so many times that you lose count! And do you remember Matthew’s parable of the unforgiving servant (18:23-35)? He refused to forgive a fellow servant a tiny debt even though his master has just forgiven an enormous debt that he owed himself. He was condemned for his callous actions. “Forgive,” says Jesus (Luke 6:37) “and you will be forgiven.” Forgiveness isn’t only something that God does. Jesus expects us to do it, too.

But forgiveness is a very hard thing to offer. It’s a lot easier to dwell on the hurts that we have suffered than to accept what happened and move on. The trouble is that if we don’t offer forgiveness, we become trapped in a spider’s web of anger, resentment, and hate. We might even start to think about revenge in the name of justice. We don’t see the people who hurt us getting their just desserts, so instead of trusting that God will deal with the situation in God’s time and in God’s wisdom, we decide to take matters into our own hands. And in the process, we only hurt ourselves. Revenge is a dish that always comes back to poison the one who serves it. But hate is so easy. Revenge appears to be so sweet, and forgiveness is so difficult. Sometimes it even seems to be impossible. How could we possibly forgive someone who intentionally hurt one of us or one of our loved ones?  Surely no one could do that!

But, in fact, we’ve seen that kind of forgiveness not that long ago. Back in October of 2006, a deranged gunman entered an Amish schoolhouse in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. He shot ten young girls in the back of the head before committing suicide. The response of the bereaved parents was almost unbelievable. Instead of calling for revenge, the Amish community chose to forgive. The grandfather of one of the victims insisted, “We must not think evil of this man,” while one of the fathers reminded us, “He had a mother and a wife and a soul, and now he’s standing before a just God.” When the media asked for an explanation of their reaction, one of their members said, "I don't think there's anybody here that wants to do anything but forgive; and not only reach out to those who have suffered a loss in that way, but to reach out to the family of the man who committed these acts." And that’s exactly what they did. Amish community members comforted the shooter’s wife, parents, and parents-in-law. One Amish man reportedly held the shooter’s father for over an hour while he wept uncontrollably. 30 of the Amish community attended the funeral of the shooter; and they set up a charitable fund to benefit his family. In an open letter to her Amish neighbors, the shooter’s wife thanked them for their forgiveness, grace, and mercy. She wrote, "Your love for our family has helped to provide the healing we so desperately need. Gifts you've given have touched our hearts in a way no words can describe. Your compassion has reached beyond our family, beyond our community, and is changing our world, and for this we sincerely thank you." “Love your enemies,” said Jesus, “and pray for those who abuse you.” (Luke 6:27-28) That’s what the bereaved Amish community did; and they set an example of forgiveness for all of us.

In his word from the cross, Jesus not only set a model for our own forgiveness; he even gave us a reason that we should forgive others. “Father, forgive them; because they don’t know what they’re doing.” That deranged man who shot Amish children in cold blood probably didn’t know what he was doing. He wasn’t thinking rationally. And although we may not be mentally ill, we don’t know what we’re doing most of the time, either. Usually it’s not a big thing, and we don’t even realize what we’ve done. When a new mother brags about her baby to a young couple, she may not know that they are struggling with infertility issues. She doesn’t see them weeping together in the night because the child that they want so desperately can’t be conceived. They are deeply hurt; and the one who caused them so much pain never even knew it. No, we don’t know what we’re doing. So if we expect people to forgive us for the hurtful things that we do to them, then we have to forgive them for all the hurtful things that they do to us.

In the end, forgiveness is our response to the realization that we are all imperfect human beings who live in an imperfect world. We don’t know everything. And so, with the best of intentions, we do things that are hurtful instead of helpful. We give in to temptations so easily. Because we want power and status, we step on people who are in our way. And because we’re often busy or rushed or just plain lazy, we don’t take the actions that we should. While we strive to get what we want, we neglect people who don’t even have what they need.

“Father, forgive them; because they don’t know what they’re doing.” Jesus has forgiven us so often! Maybe during this season of Lent, we could so some forgiving ourselves.

Forsaken

As Lent begins, my sermons will consider the words that Jesus spoke on the cross. They are part of any Good Friday service; but Good Friday services are no longer three hours long at midday. They may be an hour long on Friday evening. Some churches don't hold them at all any more. That means that these days, Jesus' words from the cross are seldom sermon topics. And they deserve to be! This sermon considers the first word -- the word of desolation and abandonment. If you choose to read this sermon, maybe it will give you a different way to look at that word from the cross.

The season of Lent is here once again. You can tell that with one look at any sanctuary. In our church, the cloths on the altar, pulpit, and lectern are now purple. A crown of thorns is sitting on our altar. And a rough wooden cross draped with purple is hanging on the wall, reminding us that, although Jesus is our King, our sin led to his death on a cross. That is, of course, ultimately where Lent leads – to a cross on a hill. We have to face that cross before we can celebrate the glad news of Easter morning. It shows us the worst of humanity and the best of the divine. Jesus was crucified because of human power and politics, but was raised by God so that we might have eternal life.

But we frequently forget something during Lent. We are so focused on Jesus as God’s divine son that we forget that Jesus was also very human. Fully human and fully divine – that’s what we confess about the person of Jesus. And nothing shows Jesus’ humanity more than the words he spoke from the cross. They reflect suffering… trust… compassion… and victory. So, during this Lenten season, my sermons will focus on these words – words that are very much like words that you and I have spoken at some time or other in our lives. Jesus’ words from the cross offer us reassurance, comfort, and strength as we deal with the circumstances of our own lives.

The very first word is a word of despair. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

It’s a desolate cry, the cry of someone who is utterly abandoned. It’s the cry of someone who is tempted to lose all hope.

The cross wasn’t the first time Jesus had been tempted. He and the Tempter were old acquaintances from way back at the beginning of his ministry. Fresh from his baptism in the Jordan River, after the Holy Spirit had descended on him like a dove, Jesus went into the wilderness. During his stay there, Satan tempted him three different times. (Luke 4:1-13) I’ve often wondered if Jesus felt abandoned by God during those temptations. But back then, God’s words that he heard at his baptism were still ringing in his ears: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” Jesus resisted those wilderness temptations, seemingly with very little effort. And then Luke tells us that Satan left him – but only until “a more opportune time.”

Satan found that opportune time on Good Friday. Jesus had no words from God echoing in his ears that day as he hung on the cross. He heard only denials by his friends, accusations by the Pharisees, and taunts by the Roman soldiers. Abandoned by every earthly support, he cried in despair, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Where was God, anyway, the God who had called him the “beloved son”? Hadn’t Jesus done everything that God had asked him to do? Who could blame him if he lost hope in the God that he called “Father”?

Satan finds many, many opportune times in our own lives, as well, to tempt us to lose hope. We don’t need to be hanging on a cross to be driven to despair. When the phone rings late at night and the voice on the line says, “This is the Highway Patrol. There’s been an accident,” then despair is standing right outside the door. When your beloved turns to you one day and says, “I’m sorry, I just don’t want to be married anymore,” then despair taps you on the shoulder. When the doctor shakes her head and says gravely, “I’m sorry, there’s nothing else that we can do,” then despair stares you right in the face. What else can we do at times like these except cry, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Where can we possibly find any hope when hope seems to have vanished?

Maybe Jesus’ own words give us the answer. His first word from the cross – that word of despair – is a quote from the 22^nd Psalm. The first half of that psalm foreshadows Jesus’ experiences on the cross. It says things like: “O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer. (verse 2a) I am scorned by men and despised by the people. (verse 6b) All who see me mock me. They hurl insults… (verse 7) I am poured out like water. All my bones are out of joint. (verse 14a) My strength is dried up like a potsherd. (verse 15a) A band of evil men has encircled me. They have pierced my hands and feet. (verse 16) They divide my garments among them, and cast lots for my clothing.” (verse 18) No, there is precious little hope to be found in the beginning of Psalm 22.

But then… suddenly… miraculously… the tone of the psalm changes from despair to praise, as suffering is replaced by triumph. “I will declare your name to everyone!” the psalmist proclaims. “In the congregation I will praise you! (verse 22) God has not despised or disdained the suffering of the afflicted one. He has not hidden his face from him, but has listened to his cry for help. (verse 24) Dominion belongs to the Lord!” (verse 28a) This psalm that Jesus quoted may have begun in despair, but it certainly didn’t end there. Although it begins with suffering, it concludes with thanksgiving for God’s power over all the nations.

Did Jesus quote this psalm not only because it described his own suffering, but also because it proclaimed the hope that is ours in God’s promises? Is it possible that even from the cross, Jesus saw the sunrise of Easter morning? If that is the case – and I believe that it is – then Jesus’ cry of desolation, coming as it does from this powerful psalm, can remind us of two things. First, it reminds us that, during his life, Jesus went through everything that we go through. Jesus knew what it meant to be abandoned, to suffer, and to lose hope. And because he did, we need never say that God has forgotten us in our despair. God does not forget us any more than he forgot Jesus. But it reminds us of something else just as important. It reminds us of Easter morning. Psalm 22 is a witness that hope stands just beyond the shadow of despair. Despite suffering and fear and loneliness and pain, hope is as eternal as God’s love for us.

The cross is real. If the season of Lent has anything to say to us, it says that. We can’t avoid the cross in our lives. It comes with the territory of being human. But Easter is just as real. Even though we experience the despair of the cross, God promises us the glory of the resurrection. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Jesus said it; and we say it, too. But don’t despair. Don’t lose hope. Psalm 30, another great psalm, affirms that “Weeping may linger for the night; but joy comes with the morning.” Yes, indeed it does. It’s waiting for us with hope -- right outside the door of the empty tomb.

Dreaming

Last Sunday was Transfiguration Sunday, the day that the scripture reading is about Jesus transfigured on the mountain top. Luke gives this story a special "spin" by mentioning that the disciples were snoozing as Jesus was transfigured. Was their vision of him a dream? If you choose to read this sermon, you might be reminded of times in your experience that a dream influenced the rest of your life.

There is a place somewhere between waking and sleeping where our dreams seem to be very real. It’s that time when we are just surfacing from our sleep, but when we are not yet fully awake. During that time, our dreams can be more real than the reality we experience after we have shaken the clouds away from our heads and rubbed the mist out of our eyes.

Those dreams can have a profound effect on our lives. Maybe that’s because they are free from the usual limits of reality. In our dreams, we can envision the world as it might be instead of only seeing the world as it is. Our dreams can fill us with visions of beauty that inspire us for the rest of our lives. Martin Luther King, Jr. talked about a dream like that when he said, “I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood. I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.” Dreams like that can change our lives.

The disciples experienced something like that when they accompanied Jesus to the mountain top in this story from Luke (9:28-36). As Jesus was praying, his clothes became as bright as lightning, and his face glowed with the very glory of God. Moses and Elijah, those two Old Testament patriarchs, even appeared to talk with him. Jesus didn’t look like a typical human being; he looked like the Son of God himself. And the disciples saw all of it! They saw Jesus’ glory; and they saw Moses and Elijah with him. But they weren’t sure that it was real. The disciples had dozed off as Jesus had been praying; and they saw him in all his glory just as they were waking up. Was it real or was it a dream? They weren’t really sure.

What they were sure of as they gazed on Jesus in his glory is that they wanted to stay on that mountain. They were tired of walking the long, dusty roads of Galilee. They were tired of being stopped by lepers and paralytics who wanted to be healed. They were tired of being accused of being sinners by the Pharisees. They wanted Jesus to get some glory for being the Messiah; and there on that mountain, he certainly had it! Why did they ever need to leave? Couldn’t they just stay? They were like the character Caliban in Shakespeare’s play The Tempest. Caliban lives on an island where the drama takes place; and at one point in the play, he describes his experiences there. “This island is full of noises,” he says, “strange sounds and sweet melodies that make you feel good and don’t hurt anyone. Sometimes I hear a thousand twanging instruments hum at my ears… I dream of clouds opening up and dropping such riches on me that when I wake up, I cry because I want to dream again.” Dreaming can be a comforting, uplifting experience. So let’s just stay here, Peter suggests. “Master,” he said, “it is good for us to be here. Let us put up three shelters – one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” Peter wanted to make the vision of Jesus’ glory permanent. He was ready to build a church up on that mountain so that they never had to leave.

But that wasn’t what Jesus had in mind. Jesus knew that we can’t stay inside a dream forever. Dreams can comfort us… reassure us… even inspire us… but they don’t last forever. Our dreams on the mountain have to give way to life in the valley. The next thing the disciples knew, the voice of God was speaking to them out of a cloud – a cloud that appeared out of nowhere and surrounded the disciples like a fog. “This is my Son, whom I have chosen,” they heard. “Listen to him.” And when the cloud disappeared, their vision was gone. Jesus was alone, looking the way he had always looked. No Moses. No Elijah. No shining face or bright clothing. Jesus again looked as ordinary as he did every other day. The disciples had no doubt that they were fully awake once again.

Luke tells us that they didn’t tell anybody about their vision; at least, not for a long time. They had to process it a little bit first. They had to come to grips with some questions that they had. Was Jesus’ glory real – or had they imagined the whole thing? If Jesus really was the glorious Son of God, why did he keep talking about taking up a cross? And why did they have to leave the mountain? Shouldn’t glory like that be worshipped apart from daily life? Those aren’t easy questions – not for Jesus’ disciples, and not for us. It takes a long time to understand that Jesus’ glory isn’t the glory of privilege, but the glory of sacrificial love. It is hard to accept that God came to us not as a conquering hero, but as a sacrificial lamb. And it takes time to realize that God’s glory mostly shows itself not on a mountaintop, but in the middle of our messy, imperfect, twisted-up world. The dreams that we dream on the mountain aren’t meant to keep us there, but to sustain us when we go back to the valley to serve others in Jesus’ name.

Sometimes we don’t understand those things any better than the disciples did. And the mountain top is a very comfortable place to be. We like it when we’re up there. We can have magnificent dreams of glory and envision a world without any violence or pain or suffering. We can imagine the banquet that God will one day spread out for us; imagine the lion and the lamb playing together; even see the little child taking care of everything. But if we stay on the mountain top, those dreams will stay just what they are – dreams. If our dreams are ever to turn into reality, we have to come back down the mountain into the valley with Jesus. We have to do what God told the disciples to do and listen to Jesus. We have to be ready to take up our cross and follow him. We have to be ready to serve in his name.

But when we do those things – when we live lives of love and service and sacrifice – then Jesus’ glory will truly shine. It will shine in our lives, as we are transformed, too, into people who are truly his disciples. We might even be the dreamers who inspire other dreamers!

And wouldn’t that be a dream come true?

Revival

What do we do about the declining membership in our churches? Is it a sign that God has abandoned us -- or a sign that God is actually working in our midst to free us from the social privilege that we once enjoyed? This sermon might make you think more deeply about the answer.

It’s fair to say that the Christian church has survived many challenges during its 2000 year life on earth. It has survived the challenge of persecution, when Christians were killed in the Roman arena rather than deny Jesus as their Lord. It has survived heresies – distortions of the Gospel that sound good at first glance, but that ultimately lead to a denial of the gospel. And it certainly has survived hate of all kinds – people who hate the Church; and people in the Church who hate others in the name of God. But no challenge has been more pervasive than the challenge that doesn’t seem like a challenge at all. I’m talking about the challenge of privilege.

The church’s privilege started about 1700 years ago when the Roman emperor Constantine made Christianity the official religion of the empire. Constantine had accepted Christianity as his own faith early in his reign; and almost immediately, he made it a legal religion so that the persecutions ended. But he didn’t stop there. He wanted to bind his empire together – and it was a vast empire that stretched from the British Isles almost all the way to India and including a vast number of cultures, languages, and traditions. A common faith seemed to Constantine the way to hold it together. And so, in the year 333, he declared that every person in the Roman Empire would from that day forward be a Christian. The persecuted church had become the privileged church. And in much of the world, it has been that way ever since.

Now, that may not seem to be much of a challenge. In fact, it seems like a pretty good thing. But privilege always brings problems; because with privilege comes power. You know what they say about power: “Power corrupts; and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” That even applies to the Church. Although it was begun by Jesus Christ, the Church is still a human institution. And because that is the case, its power has led to some actions that were definitely not Godly! The Crusades… the Inquisition… the amassing of huge amounts of wealth in the name of God… These were just some of the consequences of the fact that during the years, the Church has enjoyed more power than was good for it.

Now, the Church in the United States hasn’t had quite that much power. Our Founding Fathers saw the consequences of marrying political power to religion; and they divorced the two in our Constitution. But since World War II, Protestant churches have enjoyed quite a lot of social privilege. Many of you will remember the “golden age” of the 1950s and 60s. Church membership skyrocketed as veterans of World War II came home and started families. Sunday schools were overflowing with well-dressed, well-scrubbed children who memorized the Ten Commandments and the Lord’s Prayer. On Easter Sunday, many churches had to set up folding chairs to hold all the worshippers! Anybody who was anybody belonged to a church – the right church, of course. That’s where the businessmen and the society ladies got to know one another. Some churches looked a lot like the Country Club on Sunday morning!

All that, of course, has changed. Church membership is dropping like a rock. Some churches have no children at all in their membership. And on Easter Sunday… well, attendance at an Easter service is about what attendance at a typical Sunday service was 50 years ago! What happened? Doesn’t anybody know how to fix things? Can’t somebody tell us what in the world is going on? The truth is that no one knows exactly what happened. Oh, there are plenty of suggestions. Lots of people are crunching numbers and writing books. Even more are sponsoring pricey workshops on how to lure people back to church. But despite enough new books to fill a small library, and a workshop somewhere on every single weekend of the year, nothing is changing. The Church has lost the privilege that it once had.

And maybe that’s a good thing. An essay in the Christian Century magazine (Vol. 129, No. 26, December 26, 2012, pp. 28-30) recently suggested that maybe – just maybe – this decline in church privilege is actually a sign that God is at work among us. Authors L. Roger Owens and Anthony B. Robinson turned to an ancient Christian mystic, St. John of the Cross, for insight into what God might be doing. John of the Cross is famous for an experience called the Dark Night of the Soul. During the Dark Night, God seems to have gone on an extended vacation. We can’t feel God in our lives in any way at all. But what is really happening is that God is working through the Dark Night to free us from all worldly attachments so that we might draw spiritually closer to him. “This night,” said John, “frees the soul from all its vices by quenching all its earthly and heavenly satisfactions.”

Is that what is happening to the church now? Is God taking away the social privilege that we once enjoyed so that we can embrace something much better? Is God prying us away from the security that comes from power and inviting us to a renewed relationship with him – which, in the end, is the only security that really counts? Is God reminding us that our real identity is not “Grand Offerer of Programs” but the Body of Christ? If that’s the case, then it’s a blessing! Privilege and power, after all, distract us from what we ought to be about. When we enjoy privilege, we’re like a little boy whose mother motivates him to practice the piano by offering him a Snickers candy bar after he has finished. But as long as he practices only for the Snickers, he’ll never learn to play that piano really well. Only when he cares more about making beautiful music than about getting the candy will he begin to play with the love that marks a real musician. American mainline churches have had too much candy for way too long. Our candy hasn’t been Snickers bars, but church members on city councils, and civic leaders on church boards. Our treat bags were filled with big cradle rolls and overflowing Vacation Bible Schools. We got fat on years of successful youth programs.

And now we’re on a diet. But if, indeed, God has put us here, it is a diet that might well lead to some real blessings. It might refocus us on the real purpose of the Church – to worship the God of Jesus Christ in a culture that worships all kinds of other gods. It might lead us to proclaim God’s grace through the way we live our lives. It might force us to the realization that if anybody is going to change the world for Jesus Christ, it’s going to have to be us – not government programs or economic policies. But that’s OK. Jesus only had 12 followers, and look what they accomplished! If this Dark Night of the Church can help us to focus on what’s really important, to reaffirm our commitment to live our faith, and to renew our desire to live for Christ and for Christ alone, then the Church will experience a revival that will be like nothing we’ve ever seen before – a revival not of numbers, but of spiritual power.

Maybe if we let go of who we used to be, we’ll discover who we really are. What a revival that would be!

Afflicting the Comfortable

This sermon is the second half of the one that I began last week ("Comforting the Afflicted"). Although Jesus' mission as the Messiah was to comfort the afflicted, sometimes the comfortable need to be afflicted before they will help Jesus in his work! Do you need to be afflicted somewhere? Just a thought...

One of the things I learned in seminary (among many others, of course) was how to preach a sermon. I learned how to structure a sermon so that it makes sense. I learned how to use images and examples so that they reinforce what I want to say. I even learned about the  types of topics that lend themselves to good sermons. Two types of sermons, in particular, have stayed with me. The first type is easy to preach. This is the kind of sermon that comforts the afflicted. That’s not hard to do; in fact, it’s why many pastors went to seminary in the first place. Comforting folks who are suffering is an important job of every pastor. And every preacher likes to hear people say as they leave, “Thanks, pastor, you really made me feel good today.”

The second type of sermon is a lot more difficult. These sermons are the mirror opposite of the first one. Instead of comforting the afflicted, these sermons afflict the comfortable. These are the sermons that question long-held assumptions; or that challenge common behaviors. And afflicting the comfortable is a lot riskier than comforting the afflicted! If there are comments to the preacher after worship is over, those comments tend to be a little bit defensive. And, of  course, there is always the risk that some parishioners will be so offended by the sermon that they will disappear from the congregation like a puff of smoke and never darken the church doors again!

The effect of sermons that afflict the comfortable are like what happened to the preacher who was invited to preach in a little country church. He decided to preach on sins – specific sins – common sins. The first sin that he tackled was drunkenness, especially as it applied to people who imbibed so much on Saturday night that they skipped church on Sunday morning. From the back row came an enthusiastic voice, “Preach it, pastor!” Next on the pastor’s list was laziness, especially the laziness of people who expected hard-working people to take care of them. From the back row came the same voice, “Right on, pastor!” Then the preacher condemned adultery, straying from the spouse who trusts you absolutely. And the enthusiastic voice responded again, “Amen, preacher, amen!” Finally, to wind things up, the preacher condemned cheating – cheating at cards, cheating at dice, and cheating on income taxes. There was dead silence in the congregation. Finally, the voice from the back row responded slowly, “Oh, oh, pastor, now you’ve quit preaching and gone to meddling!”

When we preachers dare to preach sermons that afflict the comfortable, we risk being seen as “meddlers.” That kind of sermon is really scary for preachers to preach. So it’s comforting to know that the very first sermon that Jesus gave – at least, the first one that we know about – was a sermon that offended the people in his own hometown. In fact, Jesus offended them so much, that they tried to kill him. As Luke tells it (Luke 4:14-21), Jesus proclaimed himself as the Messiah; and stated clearly that his job was freeing the prisoner, lifting up the oppressed, and preaching good news to the poor. The trouble was, it didn’t get the reaction that Jesus was hoping for (Luke 4:22-30). Instead of taking Jesus’ words to heart and thinking about how they might help him in his work, they were focused on Jesus as a local boy who had made good. You can almost hear the whispered comments pop up in the congregation. “Why, that’s Mary and Joseph’s boy! They used to live right down the street from us.” “He’s grown so much! I remember when he was only knee-high to a duck!” “My goodness, he sure knows his Bible! Wouldn’t it be nice if all our boys learned so much in Sabbath school?”

Now, there’s nothing wrong with that. Pride in one of our own isn’t a bad thing. The trouble is that too many times, we never get beyond that pride! And if we are fixated on how wonderful one of our own is, the next step is to wonder not what we can do for that person, but what that person can do for us. After all, “didn’t we know him when?” Jesus knew what they were thinking. “I know what you want,” he said. “You’re looking for me to do things for you here in Nazareth. You want me to heal old Mrs. Smith’s rheumatism; and you want me to kick that Jones boy in the pants so that he’ll finally get off his duff and look for a job; and you want me to make sure that you harvest a bumper crop of barley this spring. Well, you know what? You’re not entitled to any special treatment just because you know me. Remember Elijah? He only helped that widow woman up the coast. And who did Elisha heal? Not anybody in Israel. He healed Naaman, the Syrian! If you’re looking for miracles from me, you’re going to be sadly mistaken!”

That’s afflicting the comfortable, all right. The folks in Jesus’ hometown were altogether too comfortable with him. To them, he wasn’t a prophet, let alone the Son of God. He was just Mary and Joseph’s boy who used to live down the street from them; and wasn’t it time that he did something for them?

I’d love to be able to say that we don’t have that problem anymore; but if I did, I’d be fooling myself. We no longer have people around who knew Jesus as a boy in Nazareth; but there are Christians who seem to think that they are Jesus’ special friends, and they deserve special treatment without doing anything for Jesus in return. They act as though Jesus is a charm that they carry in their pocket, like a fuzzy rabbit’s foot that’s supposed to bring you good luck. They know that they’re saved – and we can rejoice with them in that knowledge – but that seems to be all the farther that their involvement with Jesus goes. Preach good news to the poor? Free the captives? Lift up the oppressed? Why in the world would they want to do that? And yet, when they get in trouble, they pull Jesus out of their pocket like that rabbit’s foot and plead for his help. “Oh, please, Jesus, get me out of trouble! I don’t deserve this! Can’t you do something to help me?”

I know that no one in this congregation would even consider behaving like that. None of us believe in Jesus only for our own benefit. We believe in Jesus because we have experienced his compassion and his power; and we know that our lives aren’t worth a plugged nickel unless we live for other people as well as living for ourselves. But there are lots of people who call themselves Christians who don’t know that. And they’re some of the ones who need some affliction because they are just a little too comfortable, just like those folks were back in Nazareth. Afflicting the comfortable is always a tough thing to do; because the comfortable are a tough crowd to convince. After all, why should they change? Things are fine just the way they are!

We’re pretty comfortable most of the time, too. Maybe we're too comfortable ourselves. Are there places in your life where you secretly expect Jesus to work for you instead of you working for him? I don’t know where those places might be in your life. Maybe you don’t even know where those place are! We’re blind to our own faults most of the time. But if you ask God, God will show you where they are. God will poke around in those comfortable areas in your life that need to be afflicted a little bit. After all, that’s one of God’s jobs.

He who has ears to hear, let him hear.

Comforting the Afflicted

This Sunday, my congregation installed their officers for 2013. This sermon considered our call to service in light of Jesus' introduction to his ministry (Luke 4:14-21).

Anyone who reads a lot knows that the first thing to read in any book isn’t page one. It’s the introduction. I say that because the introduction gives you the author’s perspective of the book as a whole; and that’s information that you otherwise wouldn’t ever know. For example, I’m right in the middle of reading Battle Cry of Freedom, a Pulitzer Prize winning one-volume history of the Civil War. In his introduction, the author explains that he is less interested in the “where and when” of the war than he is in “why and how” it came about and proceeded in the way that it did. It explains why, after reading the first 150 pages, I’m still learning about the conflict in the Nebraska Territory, and Abraham Lincoln hasn’t even been elected president yet! If I hadn’t read the introduction, I would probably be confused and frustrated at the slow pace of the book. As it is, I understand why the author has taken pains to discuss the political and social climate prior to the war.

The story that you just heard from the Gospel of Luke (Luke 4:14-21) is Jesus’ introduction to his own ministry. In Luke’s gospel, when Jesus makes these comments in his hometown synagogue, he hasn’t yet called any disciples, healed any lepers, or even told any parables. On the contrary, he has been baptized and spent 40 days in the wilderness – but that’s all. This speech is Jesus’ introduction to himself as the Messiah and to what the focus of his ministry will be. This text can tell us a lot if we read it as Jesus’ introduction to his ministry. For example, his choice of Bible text is important. Jesus is given the scroll of the prophet Isaiah by one of the synagogue leaders; but he chooses the particular text himself. Now, Jesus could have chosen lots of different texts in Isaiah to introduce his ministry. Isaiah speaks quite a bit about the Messiah.

For instance, Jesus could have chosen to read Isaiah 61:6. That verse goes like this: “You will be called ‘priests of the Lord;’ you will be named ‘ministers of our God.’ You will feed on the wealth of nations, and in their riches you will boast.” This text glorifies the people of Israel, promising them fame, favor, and wealth. The Jews certainly expected the Messiah to do that for them. But Jesus didn’t choose that text.

Or Jesus could have chosen Isaiah 66:15. This verse warns of God’s judgment upon those who reject him. “Look, the Lord is coming with fire, and his chariots are like a whirlwind. He will bring down his anger with fury, and his rebuke with flames of fire.” God surely would punish unbelievers when the Messiah came! But Jesus didn’t choose that text, either.

Instead, he chose Isaiah 61:1-2. “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight to the blind, to release the oppressed, and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” It reminds us of Mary’s Magnificat, the song that Jesus’ mother sang while he was still in her womb (Luke 1:52-53). “He has brought down rulers from their thrones, but has lifted up the humble. He has filled the hungry with good things, but has sent the rich away empty.”

Jesus’ choice of this particular text as an introduction to his ministry tells everyone that he isn’t concerned with either patting people on the back or knocking them upside the head. Jesus’ focus as the Messiah is with liberating people and making them whole. That’s what the Gospels talk about, over and over and over again – how Jesus liberated people from diseases and demons and social customs, and made them whole in body and mind and spirit. He did it 2,000 years ago, and he does the very same things for us today.

That’s a good thing to remember that on this day when we install officers in our congregation for the coming year. Our job as followers of Jesus Christ is to be doing the very same things – healing and unloosing and lifting up and accepting and encouraging. And those church officers who will be installed in just a few minutes are the ones who are going to lead us in that work. Do we always do our work well? No. Do we always make good decisions? No. Do we sometimes have the wrong priorities? Of course. After all, we’re only human. But we do the very best we can to imitate Jesus in our life as Nashville United Church of Christ.

Now, sometimes people misunderstand how we’re supposed to go about doing that. Are we supposed to neglect ourselves and concentrate exclusively on other people? Of course not! Before we can minister to other people, we need to be a strong, healthy congregation.

We’re just like passengers in an airplane. What does the attendant tell us before every take-off? “In the unlikely event that we lose cabin pressure, activate your oxygen mask and put it on yourself before attempting to help anyone else.” We can’t help anyone else if we’re not taking care of ourselves!

That means that we have to take care of our own facilities even as we help others live safely in affordable housing. It means that we care for members of our own congregation even as we help others who are suffering. It means that we are intentional about joining in fellowship as we celebrate the gift of the Spirit in our midst and pray for the Spirit in the lives of others. Following Jesus as a UCC congregation isn’t an either/or that means we have to choose between caring for ourselves and caring for others. On the contrary, it means finding an appropriate balance as we both care for ourselves and reach out to others. And it means constant prayer, discernment, and correction with the guidance of the Spirit.

Freedom for the prisoners, the recovery of sight to the blind, release for the oppressed, and proclaiming God’s favor to all. That’s what we’re supposed to be doing as disciples of Jesus Christ. Those are our jobs whether we’re congregational leaders or just folks who sit in a pew on Sunday mornings. That’s what Jesus said his job was as the Messiah; and he expects us to do the same. Our fathers and mothers who came before us here at Nashville followed Jesus as faithfully as they could. May God grant that we are as faithful as they were.

By Another Way

Sometimes we follow roads that are physical; but sometimes our roads are spiritual ones. This sermon  examines the very last phrase of the story of the Wise Men (Matthew 2:1-12), in which Matthew tells us that they left the Child "by another way." Which way was that? And does their choice to take "another way" have anything to say to us?

Anyone who has travelled at all has learned a few things. Many husbands have learned that when your wife says that she’s hungry, it's time to stop for lunch. Many wives have learned that when the sign says “Last rest area for 100 miles,” it’s wise to stop at the restroom. And certainly both of them have learned that the route they choose is very important to what their experience will be on the trip.

If you want to get somewhere in a hurry, you might choose to take the freeway. It’s the fastest route, but it’s also the most boring. If you see attractions along the road at all, you fly by them at 65 or 70 miles per hour and glimpse them in your rear-view mirror. It’s an efficient way to travel, but not terribly enriching.

Old major routes like the Dixie Highway or Rt. 40 are slower but lots more interesting. As you travel these roads, you might find a wonderful little ice cream parlor with vintage art deco trim; or a great mom and pop diner that serves homemade peanut butter pie! You’ll find everything that you need along the way of an old route – food, gas, and rest stops – but the pace will be slower, and the sights will be more accessible.

And then there are the back roads, the ones that don’t even have a route number. Back roads are the roads that lead you to completely unexpected experiences! You might travel for miles without ever seeing more than tiny clusters of homes that the world seems to have passed by. You might run across a rustic country store, or a old barn that an artist has turned into a studio for stained glass. You might even end up on a rutted dirt cow path when the road’s blacktop ends, and you have to turn around and retrace your route! You just never know what you’re going to find when you risk taking a back road.

When the wise men travelled to find the newborn king of the Jews, I imagine that they were very careful to take the best route. They probably took the Ancient Middle Eastern equivalent of I-70 all the way from Persia to Jerusalem. It was fast, and there were plenty of places to rest their camels and to buy food. When they got to Jerusalem, they took the exit marked “Herod’s Palace,” and they pulled into his parking lot to get directions. Herod sent them to Bethlehem along a main road; but once they got there, those wise men had to risk the back roads. After all, they didn’t really know where they were going! All they knew was that somewhere in Bethlehem was a newborn king; and they were determined to find him.

And they found him, all right. And he was as unexpected as the surprises that seem to be part and parcel of back roads. They didn’t find that newborn king in a palace, or even in the mayor’s house; they found him in a barn. Those wise men came face to face with the fact that this baby king didn’t look like any other baby king that they had ever seen! His parents weren’t wealthy nobles; they were peasants. But there was something about this child… When they offered him their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, he looked into their eyes with a wisdom that babies don’t usually possess. What was it about this child? When they were in his presence, they were unsettled and comforted, all at the same time!

When they left the manger, the wise men didn’t go back to Persia the same way that they got there. Matthew tells us that they returned home “by another way,” because they had been warned in a dream not to go back to Herod. Maybe they were warned by the same angel who had come to Joseph so many months earlier and reassured him about his upcoming marriage to Mary. At any rate, when they went back to Persia, they took the bypass – the outer belt all the way around Jerusalem. When they left the manger, they went by another way.

In this story, when Matthew says “by another way,” he means exactly that. The wise men used a different route out of Judea when they left the country. But it seems to me that “by another way” also has another meaning, a deeper one. A former pastor of mine is fond of saying, “No one who visits the manger returns home by the same way that he got there.” Unlike Matthew, he isn’t talking about physical roads, but about the spiritual changes that happen in our lives after we meet the Christ child.

How did you first get to the manger? People get there by many routes. The lifelong church members have always been at them manger. Their parents first brought them there. Others got there through a revival meeting, a Billy Graham crusade, or a preacher on TV. They realized one day that they weren’t at the manger, and they got off the couch and got in the car and drove down to the barn. Still others were invited by a friend who was concerned for their well-being. But the route we took to get here doesn’t really matter. What matters is the route we take when we leave.

Nowadays many of us use GPS systems to decide what route we will use. They’re those gadgets that you can put on your dashboard or that come in your smart phone. A GPS system calculates the best route to take when you’re going somewhere. You just punch in the place you want to go and the GPS tells you, step by step, how to get there. But the problem with GPS systems is that they are centered on us. They take us the way that we want to go. If we’re in a hurry, they direct us to freeways. If we want to see the sights, they direct us to side roads. Some can even direct us around traffic jams! But when we leave the manger, we should be relying on God instead of on our GPS system. God will direct us to routes that we would never have taken if the choice were up to us. Sometimes God takes us on the freeway; but more often, he directs us to those back roads that surprise us with things that we never expected to find.

For example, God might route us through a neighborhood where thin, ragged children play in the streets in front of run-down homes with broken windows and parking lots filled with broken glass. “Here are your brothers and sisters,” we can hear God whisper. “Now, what are you going to do about it?” Or we might find ourselves on a road that runs past a nursing home full of lonely residents. “Can’t we spare an extra half hour?” God asks from the back seat. “I’ll bet that someone in there would appreciate a visit.” And sometimes, right in the middle of all our busyness and efficiency and productivity, God sends us up a dead-end street. There’s no place to go – no more road! Maybe those are the times that God wants us to just stop for a while and rest and think about where we’re going in our life. We’d never take that time on our own.

Now, the roads that God sends us on as we leave the manger can be a little scary. After all, we don’t know where we are going; and we aren’t sure where we are going to find what we need. Unlike the freeways that we choose ourselves, God’s back roads don’t have any rest areas. But God takes care of that, too. As we leave the manger to go back to our daily lives, God feeds us, just like he fed the Israelites in the wilderness during the exodus. Only instead of feeding us with manna, he feeds us with himself. The sacrament of Holy Communion that we share this morning isn’t just a remembrance of betrayal and suffering that happened two thousand years ago. Of course, it is that – but it is also a reminder of the nourishment that God offers us every single day, regardless of the road that we are taking. This table is a reminder that the living presence of Jesus Christ is always available to give us what we need most: acceptance, forgiveness, guidance, insight, and courage.

I don’t know what road you are on this morning. I don’t know whether it is an easy road or one that is difficult. I don’t know whether it is filled with joy or laden with sorrow. And I don’t know how long you’ve been traveling on it – a few days, a few years, or your entire life. But whatever road you are travelling, I invite you here, to the table of the Lord, to be fed with the Bread of Life and to be refreshed with living water. As we travel along roads that the world doesn’t even know, this isn’t just a rest area or a way station. This is our home.