Forgive Us

We pray for forgiveness when we pray the Lord's Prayer. But we also ask that we might be able to forgive. What exactly is that, anyway? Is it just forgetting what people have done to us? Or is it something else? This sermon suggests that it might be a way to free us from our past and enable us to begin again. What do you think?

Forgiveness. That’s what we ask for next as we pray the Lord’s Prayer. We pray that we might be forgiven; and we pray that God might help us to forgive, too. Forgiveness is the most difficult practice that God asks us to do. It is also the most misunderstood.

Maybe that’s because forgiving is all tangled up with forgetting. You know the saying: “Forgive and forget.” The trouble is that the hurts that we have the most trouble forgetting are the very ones that we most need to forgive! Little hurts that are quickly forgotten aren’t the problem. It’s the big hurts, the ones that leave us with scars so deep that they become a part of our very being – those are the hurts that we need to forgive. And those are the very ones that keep us mired in pain and resentment. So let’s get rid of that misunderstanding right now. Forgiving is not necessarily forgetting. Some things we simply can’t forget.

Forgiving is also not a warm, fuzzy feeling that we experience. I’m not sure that anyone, anywhere has ever felt like forgiving someone who has hurt them. Forgiveness is not a feeling that we have; it is a choice that we make. We choose to forgive because God has forgiven us; and because God has instructed us to forgive others; and because we know that forgiveness is for our own good in the end. I was reminded of this recently on the occasion of Nelson Mandela’s death. Nelson Mandela was jailed when he was just a young man, and eventually spent 27 years behind bars. He spent 18 years of that time in a damp concrete cell measuring 7 feet by 8 feet, and he had only a mat of straw on which to sleep. He was frequently abused and harassed by white prison guards, and was often locked in solitary confinement. He was permitted only one visit and one letter every 6 months. While he was in prison, his mother died, and then his oldest son was killed in an automobile accident. He was forbidden to attend either funeral. After his release, he reflected on his time in prison. “They took away everything I had,” he said. “They took away my marriage, my children, my freedom. But they could not take away my soul; and I would not give them that. I chose to forgive them.”

Nelson Mandela was on to something when he forgave his jailers. He knew that refusing to forgive chains you to the past more effectively than any physical ties could ever bind. When we refuse to forgive, in the words of William Faulkner, “The past is not dead. It’s not even past.” When we refuse to forgive, we allow the hurts of the past to scar us over and over and over again. When we refuse to forgive, it’s like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. When we refuse to forgive, the only one that we hurt is ourselves.

But we have a choice. We can choose to forgive, no matter how deep our wounds have been. And God has set the example for us. God loves us despite the bone-headed things that we do all the time. God understands that we are stupid, arrogant, and stubborn – even though we don’t like to admit it – and that we frequently do what we do out of anger or pride or ignorance. So God cuts us a break. God gives us a chance to start over with the slate wiped clean. That’s what forgiveness is all about, after all. It’s about putting the past in the past – where it belongs – and being able to start all over again in the future.

That’s difficult for us human beings to do. Let’s face it, we love nursing grudges and hanging on to old hurts. We hang onto old wounds like a security blanket. We call on the idea of justice, and the reality that actions have consequences. But when we’re on the wrong side of that justice – when we are the ones who have hurt someone else – then it’s not nearly so attractive. That’s when we ask for mercy and compassion. After all, we don’t want to be defined by what we have done in the past! And in God’s goodness, God lets us start over again. God offers us the forgiveness that we crave. How can we do any less to those who have hurt us? Jesus set the forgiveness bar high when he prayed from the cross, “Father, forgive them. They don’t know what they’re doing.”

I saw the power of forgiveness at work very recently as it surrounded Fred Phelps. You may not know that name, but I’ll bet that you know the person. Fred Phelps is the troubled, hate-filled man who founded Westboro Baptist Church. The group isn’t really a church at all, but an extended family cult whose sole purpose appears to be hating everyone who doesn’t conform to their particular way of thinking. The group is notorious for picketing the funerals of soldiers who have been killed in action, holding signs containing hate-filled slogans like “Thank God for September 11,” “God hates fags,” and “You’re all going to hell.”

Fred Phelps died about three weeks ago. As he lay on his deathbed, an entry in an online blog called for all of those who had been wounded by Phelps’ hatred to forgive him. It read in part, “May you be released from the bondage of hate and bigotry. I forgive you. May you also be able to forgive yourself.” The ensuing comments – and there were many – were all over the map. Some simply could not get past the hate that Phelps had shown. One responder wrote, “Trust me, this horrible piece of [dung] will never see God.” (I’ve censored the word that was really used.) Another wrote, “Let the man die in obscurity and oblivion in the historical grave he dug for himself.” And a third suggested, “[We should picket his funeral] with a sign saying, ‘God hates the Westboro Church.’”

I can understand their feelings. It is always easiest to return hate for hate, especially when the hate is so very deep and unprovoked. What caused Fred Phelps to justify his hatred by focusing on a few isolated scripture verses while ignoring all the ones that testify to God’s love and mercy? What caused Fred Phelps to be so full of hate in the first place? We’ll never know. But we do know that his unreasoning hatred deeply wounded the families of the men and women whose funerals he picketed.  If anyone has the right to deny forgiveness and to return hate for hate, it is those survivors.

But I also know something else. I know that hate will not win in the end. It is doomed to be defeated by love, compassion, and forgiveness. What happened when Fred Phelps was finally laid to rest? What happened when the Westboro Baptist Church held their first protest after the funeral? They were picketed by folks who had something to say to them. But it wasn’t what you might have expected. Directly across the street from the Westboro Church protest was a huge sign that required several people to carry it. It read, “Sorry for your loss.” That, my friends, is forgiveness at work.

Martin Luther King said, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness. Only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate. Only love can do that.” And I would add, only the grace of forgiveness can release us from the past and allow us to begin again. “Father, forgive us, because we don’t know what we’re doing. And help us to forgive others, because they usually don’t know what they’re doing, either.”

 

Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread

Whenever we pray the Lord's Prayer, we ask for our daily bread. What is that, anyway? This sermon considers just that question. Are we only asking for food... or for something far deeper? What do you think?

In our travels through the Lord’s Prayer, we have finally arrived at the point at which we’re going to ask for something for ourselves. We haven’t done that yet. Until now, we have focused our prayers completely on God. We’ve acknowledged God’s relationship with us – and our relationship with God – and we’ve prayed that what God wants might actually happen. “Thy kingdom come” and “thy will be done” are the language that we use to pray for that, but those requests are actually two sides of the same coin! ”Come on, God, bring it on!” we’ve said. “We can’t wait for the wholeness and peace of your kingdom!” And that is all that we’ve asked for so far. But now, we begin to ask for ourselves. We ask “Give us this day our daily bread.” “Our daily bread.” What is that, anyway? Is it literal bread? Are we asking for a nice loaf of Pepperidge Farm thin sliced wheat? Do we just want food to fill our stomachs? Or is “our daily bread” something more than that?

In both the Old and the New Testament, the word “bread” is frequently a symbol for more than just food. Sure, sometimes it means literal “bread,” but “bread” often stands for basic human needs. It can mean “food” in a generic sense – any food, not just bread. After all, we all need to eat food in order to survive. Other times, “bread” means basic physical needs like clothing or shelter. And sometimes, the word “bread” has a spiritual meaning. When Jesus tells his followers in the gospel of John that he is the “Bread of Life,” he doesn’t mean that he is going to literally fill their empty stomachs with himself. On the contrary, he takes great pains to explain to them that if they are only looking for physical food from him, they should go someplace else. The bread that Jesus offers us is spiritual, meant to feed the hunger of our souls. (If you want to see what Jesus says about being the Bread of Life, you’ll want to read John 6.)

So, what does “our daily bread” mean here in the Lord’s Prayer? Are we asking for food, or for something else? Maybe it will help us to find the answer if we look at another story that both Matthew and Mark have included in their gospels. Actually, it’s a set of stories – two stories that have been stuck together because they’re meant to be read together. Each story helps to throw light on the other one. The clue that tells us that these stories go together is the language that Jesus uses. In both stories, Jesus asks someone, “What do want me to do for you?” In other words, “What do you need?” As we consider these two little stories, listen for the Lord’s Prayer echoing in the background: “Give us this day our daily bread.”

The main characters in the first story are two of Jesus’ disciples, James and John. Tradition calls them “Sons of Thunder” because they were in-your-face kinds of guys. James and John never beat around the bush! You always knew exactly where you stood with the two of them. In this story, they come strutting up to Jesus like they own the world. “Teacher,” they begin, “we want you to do for us whatever we ask!” Well, that’s some nerve! It reminds me of the teenager who comes to his parents on the day before Thanksgiving with an enormous Christmas list that includes the brand names of all the gifts and where they can be purchased. “This is what I want for Christmas,” he says, “and if there’s room under the tree, I can give you some more ideas.” But their nervy request doesn’t seem to throw Jesus off his game. He simply replies, “What do you want me to do for you? What do you need?” Their request is stunning. “We want you to let one of us sit on your right hand and the other on your left hand in glory.” In other words, they want all the glory of God’s kingdom for themselves. They want Jesus to appoint them his top advisors – two junior Messiahs who will share the power when Jesus finally takes over. They want glory and power and prestige. And Jesus says, “No.”

Now compare their request with the one in the second story of the pair. The main character in the second story isn’t one of Jesus’ disciples at all. It’s a man named Bartimaeus, a blind man who sits along the road to Jericho and begs for whatever scraps he can get out of the people who pass by. Bartimaeus doesn’t strut up to Jesus and ask for glory. He can’t even see Jesus! Other people have to tell him that Jesus is passing by! But when he hears that Jesus is there, he starts to yell over and over at the top of his voice, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me! Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” And Jesus asks him the very same question that he asked James and John. “What do you want me to do for you? What do you need?” But how different his answer is! Bartimaeus doesn’t want any glory. He isn’t interested in power or prestige. He just wants to be able to see something! And what is Jesus’ response? “Go,” says Jesus, “your faith has healed you.” “Immediately,” says the gospel story, “immediately he received his sight, and followed Jesus along the road.”

What a difference in these two little stories! In both, someone wants Jesus to act on their behalf. In both, Jesus asks, “What do you want me to do for you? What do you need?” In the first story, the request is for power and glory. Those may be things that we all want, but they aren’t things that any of us need. But in the second story, Bartimaeus only asks for what he needs – his sight. And after he gets it, he doesn’t run off and use it for his own benefit. Instead, he follows Jesus.

What do we want… and what do we need? That question that lies at the very heart of our request, “Give us this day our daily bread.” When we ask God for our daily bread, we’re asking not for what we want but for what we need. There’s a difference between those two things, and it’s a difference that many people don’t understand. Yes, you need new jeans for school. No, you don’t need $90 jeans with the name of a designer stitched across the back pocket. You may want that, but you don’t need it. We get our wants and our needs confused all the time. That’s because Madison Avenue does such a good job of convincing us that we need all kinds of things. We are surrounded by appealing images – on TV commercials, in magazine advertisements, on billboards along I-75 as we drive to Dayton. We’re told that we need the fastest car, the most stylish clothing, and the most delicious food. But we don’t need those things! What we need is enough food to survive, enough clothing to keep us warm, the love and support of friends and family, and the guidance of God. Those are our real needs. That’s what we’re really asking for when we pray, “Give us this day our daily bread.”

There is a poem that illustrates beautifully the difference between our wants and our needs when we ask in prayer. I do not know who the author is; perhaps no one knows. We would do well to keep it in mind when we pray, “Give us this day our daily bread.”

I asked God for strength that I might achieve.
I was made weak that I might learn humbly to obey.
I asked for health that I might do greater things.
I was given infirmity that I might do better things.
I asked for riches that I might be happy.
I was given poverty that I might be wise.
I asked for power that I might have people’s praise.
I was given weakness that I might feel the need of God.
I asked for all things that I might enjoy life.
I was given life that I might enjoy all things.
I got nothing that I asked for, but everything I hoped for.
Almost despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered.
I am, among all people, most richly blessed.

 

Thy Will Be Done

This sermon, the third in a series examining the Lord's Prayer, considers what we are asking for when we pray "Thy will be done." What is God's will, anyway? Do you agree with my answer?

“Thy will be done.” We have come to the third petition in our series of sermons considering the Lord’s Prayer. We began by calling God “our Father,” that title that is at the same time the most loving and the most respectful. Then we joined in praying that God’s Kingdom might finally arrive, that kingdom where all are loved and nurtured and fulfilled. And now, we’re asking that God’s will might take priority over our own desires.

But what is God’s will, anyway? I know that there are lots of people who are ready to explain it to me if I ask them; and even if I don’t ask them they’ll probably explain it to me, anyway. They’ve got God’s will all figured out, locked in a box of certainty so tight that no whiff of doubt would ever dare to waft in. They’ve got God’s will down to a science! God’s will is… this; and God’s will isn’t… that. I have a sneaking suspicion, though, that the people who say they know the most about God’s will are the ones who really know the least about it.

After all, just listen to some of the claims that people make about God’s will. I have heard God’s will used to explain all kinds of events that I’m pretty sure God has very little to do with. I have heard God’s will used to explain both picnic weather and hurricanes, missed punts and winning touchdown runs, pink slips and unexpected promotions, joyful weddings and difficult divorces, and pretty much anything else that you can imagine. If something thrills us to the core of our very being… well, then, it must be God’s will. But if an unexpected disaster occurs without warning… well, some people claim that must be God’s will, too! Can all of this be God’s will? And if that isn’t the case, how do we sort out what God’s will is, anyway?

Sometimes, the only thing I’m sure of is that we can’t neatly define God’s will. Just when we think we’ve got God’s will firmly in our hands, it slips away from us like a wiggly little fish. We really can’t put God’s will into a box, no matter how hard we try! Maybe a better approach is to see what God’s will looks like. What did Jesus do in the pages of the gospels? After all, if Jesus is God, then Jesus’ will is God’s will, too. What did Jesus choose to do?

Well, Jesus chose to do all kinds of things. Jesus chose to accept people. He met them where they were, and he was happy with their little baby steps as they moved towards a more authentic relationship with God. Jesus chose to teach people. He offered to lead them out of their ignorance so that they knew more about the God they worshipped. And Jesus chose to heal people. That’s the heart of the little story that we heard just a few minutes ago. It takes place early in Matthew’s gospel (Matthew 8:1-4). Jesus has called his first disciples and preached the Sermon on the Mount. He has already become known as a great healer. Matthew mentions that Jesus has healed those “with various diseases, those suffering severe pain, the demon-possessed, the epileptics and the paralytics…” (Matthew 4:25). Huge crowds are following him, hanging on his every word. Suddenly, he is confronted by a leper. “Lord,” the leper begs, kneeling at Jesus’ feet, “if you are willing, you can make me clean.”

It’s a challenge, although it’s a respectful one. We have to read between the lines to hear what the leper is really asking. “Jesus,” he’s saying, “you’ve healed all kinds of other people, but none of them had a disease that would kill them. None of those other folks were thrown out of society and left to die slowly all by themselves. What about me? Will you heal me, too? I know that you can heal me, but do you want to heal me? Are you like all those Pharisees, who tell me that my disease is some kind of punishment from God, or will you heal me so that I can go back to my family and my friends? Which is it, Jesus? What’s God’s will for me?” Jesus doesn’t hesitate even for a heartbeat. “I am willing,” Jesus voice rings out. “Be clean!” The leper is healed immediately.

The gospels speak with one voice when it comes to God’s healing power. God’s will is never that we be punished or isolated or afflicted. God’s will is always that we be healed and made whole, whatever our illnesses may be. The gospels are full of stories about Jesus healing all kinds of afflictions. Jesus heals all the senses. He opens the eyes of the blind and the ears of the deaf; he restores speech to the mute, and restores useless, withered hands. Jesus makes broken bodies whole. He makes the lame walk again, straightens bodies that are crippled, and even heals paralytics. Jesus heals fevers and stops chronic blood flows. He casts out all kinds of evil spirits that cause what we might call mental or emotional illnesses. Jesus even restores life to the dead.

I counted up all those healing stories; and you might be surprised at just how many there really are in the gospels. Mark has the fewest, at “only” 13 healings. But then, Mark is also the shortest gospel. Matthew contains 14 stories of healings, while Luke has the most at 16. John only offers 4 healing stories, but his gospel trumps the others in quality if not in quantity. John’s gospel tells us about the raising of Lazarus, the man who had already been in his grave for four days when Jesus restored him to life. And that count doesn’t include the many times that the gospels say things like, Jesus cured “all who were sick or possessed by demons.” If these are added in, too, the total number of healings mentioned in all the gospels is an astonishing 58 – and that’s assuming that I didn’t miss any! The gospels leave no doubt that God’s will is for healing.

So… where is God’s healing today? In this world of MRIs, EEGs, EKGs, and CAT scans, does God still heal? Of course! Where do you think the wisdom came from that led to the development of all those life-giving medical tests? Whose hand guided the development of the medications that save so many lives today? God still guides the insight of the research scientist and the skill of the surgeon’s hand. Why do you think so many doctors now pray with their patients before surgery? They know, too, that God is the ultimate source of healing. We are simply God’s agents who help bring about that healing! Of course, some wounds can’t be healed by taking a pill. But God has those covered, too. When an alcoholic stays sober for 20 years; when a bullied teenager regains her self-respect because friends stand by her and support her; when a bereaved spouse is able to reach past the chains of grief and loves again – that’s all a part of God’s healing power. God heals minds and souls as well as bodies. And thanks be to God for all of it!

So, when we pray the Lord’s Prayer, and we ask “Thy will be done,” I don’t think that we’re praying for good weather or a winning basketball team or a fat check to deposit in the bank account. Sure, all those things are nice; and we’re absolutely right to thank God for all the blessings that fill our lives. But when we pray “Thy will be done,” we’re praying for something much bigger than just a blessing here and there. We’re asking for the same thing that we’re asking for when we pray “Thy kingdom come.” We’re praying that all of God’s children might be healed of whatever is afflicting them so that everyone might be filled with the health and wholeness that God intends for all of us! Because that, my friends – that is God’s will.

 

Our Father...

This sermon is the first in a series on the Lord's Prayer. And it begins at the beginning. What does it mean to call God "Our Father"? My sermon offers at least one answer.

“Our Father, who art in heaven: hallowed be thy name.

It’s a respectful way to begin a prayer. But it’s also very familiar. We could begin our prayers by addressing God as, “Almighty God, ruler of the universe...” and sometimes, we do just that. But Jesus told us that we can call God, “Our Father…” That’s not a royal title like “Your Majesty.” It’s a family name, one that indicates a loving relationship. Father. Papa. Dad. Those names can remind us of summer days spent picnicking in the park, and winter evenings spent building a birdhouse that would be hung over the patio in the spring. It brings to mind firm, but gentle guidance; and times when we were told, “It’s for your own good.” It reminds us of advice freely offered to us, if not always gladly received (especially if we happened to be teenagers at the time).

Most of us are honored to be able to call God by such a familiar name; but some folks don’t feel that way. They’re the people who have experienced fathers as something negative. Their fathers weren’t very good ones. Some of them were beaten by their fathers. Others were ridiculed, or neglected, or even abused. People who have had experiences like that don’t want to call God “Father.” They don’t want to have anything to do with a God who ridicules or punishes or abuses the people who worship him. And I can’t say as I blame them. But Jesus never intended for us to experience anything negative when we call God “our Father.” Maybe it would be helpful to consider what Jesus did want the title “our Father” to say about God.

In Jesus’ day, the title “Father” had a very particular meaning. A “father” was in all respects the head of the household, responsible for the well-being of his entire family. A father made sure that there was food on the table, and clothing on the backs of his wife (or wives) and his children. A father taught his religious traditions to his children, making sure that they knew what god to worship, and what behavior that god required of them. A father arranged suitable marriages for his children, and welcomed new daughter-in-laws into his family after his sons married. A father was the family hub, the center of all the family activities, whether those activities were for business or for pleasure. That sounds like God, doesn’t it? God expects to be the hub of our lives, too. God is involved with every aspect of our lives, whether we’re talking about how we make a living, how we treat our fellow human beings, or what we do in our spare time.

But there’s another side to calling God “our Father,” and it’s one that we tend to forget. Because children in Jesus’ time depended on their fathers for almost everything; they were expected to obey him without question. After all, tradition reasoned, fathers have much more education, much more wisdom, and much more experience than their children do. They’ve lived longer! They know more! No good son would ever think of defying his father after he had been asked to do something! When we call God “our Father,” we are admitting that God knows what is best for us; and that we will do what God asks of us. After all, that’s what dutiful sons and daughters did in Jesus’ time. Good children listened to their father’s wishes and did their best to comply.

We’ve almost lost that aspect of calling God “our Father.” We’re ready to rely on God for our basic needs, but we seldom think about what we owe God in return. We’re good at doing our own thing, blazing a new trail, and marching to a different drummer; but obeying God? Not so much. But the truth is that whenever we’re in a relationship – as we are when we call God “Father” – that relationship always has two sides to it. God cares for us… and we’re expected to do something for God in return.

Now, when we talk about “obeying God,” we have to be careful not to fall into legalism. When many people think of “obedience,” they envision long lists of rules that they believe God wants us to follow. The Pharisees fell into that trap. How do you obey God? Why, you follow the rules! Do you remember what Jesus said about that? He called the Pharisees “whitewashed tombs” that were lovely on the outside, but rotten in the middle!

So if obeying God isn’t about following rules, what is it about, anyway? Amos told us. “Let justice roll down like mighty waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” Micah told us, too. “What does God require of us? To do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with our God.” And certainly Jesus told us. When he was asked about the greatest commandment, he replied, “Love God with all your heart and mind and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself.” In the end, obeying God isn’t about following a bunch of rules. It’s about trying to be as much like Jesus as possible: loving, just, merciful, courageous, and wise. After all, if God is our Father, then Jesus is our brother, and we should be living as much like Jesus as we possibly can! And how can we do that? Why, we ask God for help! We can’t possibly obey God unless God helps us do it!

You may remember the story about the boy who was clearing out a little plot of ground where he wanted to plant a summer garden. As he worked, he came upon a big rock right in the middle of the patch of ground. The rock was enormous! The boy tried to lift it out, pull it out, push it out, and dig it out, but with no luck. As he worked, his father came over to watch him. “I can’t get this rock out,” the child complained. “I can’t budge it.” “Have you tried your best?” his father asked. “I sure have!” the boy replied. “I’ve done everything I could do to move that rock.” “No, you haven’t,” his father replied. “You haven’t asked me for help.”

God, our Father, offers to supply everything that we need. In return, he asks us to live with justice, with mercy, with compassion, and with love. And he is ready to help us when those things are too hard for us to do by ourselves.

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”

What a blessing to be able to begin a prayer that way!