Amazing Grace

God's grace is one of the foundations of Christian theology. But what is it, anyway? It's a lot easier to say what it isn't! In this sermon, I offer several images of grace. I hope that one of them will resonate with you.

I distinctly remember my very first preaching class back in seminary. In fact, I remember my very first assignment in that class! We were asked to write a short sermon based on the topic “Our world is a world of darkness, but Jesus is the light of the world.” That sounded easy enough, even when our professor advised us to be sure to include images in our sermons. “Don’t just lecture your congregations,” he told us. “Give them something to see!” And off we went, confident that we would find more than enough images to illustrate both the darkness of the world and the light of Christ. It turned out that we did just fine with the darkness. We came up with all kinds of images: a walk-in closet when its light bulb burns out; a wilderness camp on a moonless night; the absolute blackness of a cave deep underground when the ranger extinguishes the illumination. Oh, we had that darkness nailed. But the light was a whole lot harder. That professor didn’t want us just to add light to our images of the dark closet, the midnight campground, and the black cave. He wanted us to offer an image of the light all by itself. As I remember, very few of us were able to do that. Now, I have nothing but good things to say about that professor. He taught me a lot about preaching, and about ministry in general. But I am not sure that his goal of separating light from darkness was a good one. We only know light, after all, as it contrasts with darkness.

God’s grace is something like that. God’s grace is a cornerstone of our faith. We believe that our God is gracious; and that God’s grace is available to anyone, anytime, anywhere, inside the church or out of it. But that begs the question… what is grace, anyway? If it is part of the foundation of our faith, maybe we should be able to explain it. But much like light and darkness, it is almost impossible to explain grace without talking about what it is not. Grace is the opposite of God’s anger at our foolishness, God’s judgement of our bad behavior, and God’s punishment for what we have done wrong. Grace is God’s forgiveness; but it’s way more than that. Grace not only lets us off the hook, it offers us a way to stay off the hook because our lives are permanently changed.

But how do we picture grace itself? One way to picture grace is as God’s “Get out of jail free” card. Without grace, we all live in a dark dungeon. Sin has put us there, locked the door, and thrown away the key. We didn’t mean to get there, but now we’re stuck. And it’s all we know: a dog-eat-dog place where everyone is greedy, selfish, and hopeless. We couldn’t get ourselves out of that jail in a million years! But God’s grace can let us out. Grace opens the prison door and frees us into a world that we never imagined – a world of sunlight and fresh air; a world where people love and care for one another; a world of joy and beauty. That’s one way of understanding grace.

Or we could picture grace as God’s eraser. Every one of us has written all kinds of messages on the pages of our lives. Some of those messages are loving, compassionate, and wise; and we are proud of them. Others, though, are hateful, judgmental, and foolish; and we would do anything to get rid of them! The good news is that God can pull out grace and erase those messages from our lives. Grace lets us get rid of all the foolishness of our past and start all over again with clean pages. Grace gives us a chance to make a new beginning.

And God’s grace not only allows us to start all over; God’s grace helps us to start all over! Grace is like a road map that guides us down roads that can help us to grow into the image of Christ. Grace helps us to feel God’s presence with us, helps open our eyes to God’s presence around us, and helps us open our ears to what God has to say to us. Grace helps us to stay on the straight and narrow, so that we don’t end up back in the prison of sin, scribbling hateful, foolish messages on the pages of our lives. And when our lives fall down around our ears through no fault of our own, God’s grace is like a transformer, bringing love out of hate, wisdom out of foolishness, and good out of evil. God’s grace is all kinds of things: “Get out of jail free” card, eraser, road map, and transformer; all so that we can be loosed from our past, live fully in the present, and be guided into God’s kingdom in the future.

But maybe the most powerful way to describe God’s grace is to recognize how we feel when we experience it.

Grace is like a red and gold sunrise after a long, dark night.

Grace is filling your lungs with the fresh, cool air of April after being confined all day in a stuffy room.

Grace is rain falling on the dusty earth after a drought.

Grace is the bear hug of a loved one after a long separation.

Grace is the relief that washes over you when you realize that God loves you, and that nothing in heaven or on earth can ever change that.

Grace is the hope that you feel when you realize that you don’t have to be the person that you’ve always been.

Grace is slave-trader turned Anglican clergyman John Newton (who wrote the hymn “Amazing Grace”) affirming, “I am not the man I ought to be, I am not the man I wish to be, and I am not the man I hope to be; but by the grace of God, I am not the man I used to be.”

Grace is the way to live a full, joyous life in this world, and an invitation to spend eternity with God in the next.

That’s amazing, astounding, astonishing grace!

And thanks be to God that it is ours!

Known in the Breaking of Bread

This past Sunday was World Communion Sunday. Usually I focus on the similarities that we Christians share; but this year, I chose to focus on the differences. One difference that has split us apart is, sadly, Holy Communion itself. If you're not sure why I say this, reading my sermon might help you understand what I mean.

How do we recognize Jesus Christ in our midst? Is it in the pages of Scripture? Is it through the events in our lives? Is it in the love that others give us? While those are certainly things that can point to the risen Christ, the New Testament is very clear that one of the best ways to recognize Christ is through Holy Communion. On Easter evening, for example, in the story from Luke that you just heard (Luke 24:13-31), the two traveling disciples didn’t recognize Jesus when he joined them on the road to Emmaus. Their conversation with him about the recent events in Jerusalem didn’t open their eyes; and neither did his explanation about how scripture was fulfilled in his death and resurrection. It was only when he broke bread and gave it to them that they recognized the stranger who had accompanied them all day as the risen Lord.

But it is a sad irony that the things that should unite us are often the very things that drive us apart; and Holy Communion is a glaring example of that truth. Like a wedge jammed into the middle of Christian communities, communion has divided more people than it has united. In the early days of the Reformation, for example, church reformers Martin Luther and John Calvin sat down at the dinner table to see if they might be able to work together. They agreed on almost everything: church leadership, church government, and even baptism. But when they got to communion, everything fell apart like Humpty Dumpty; and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t get them back together again. They parted friends, but not colleagues. Luther’s legacy is the Lutheran Church, while Calvin’s is the Presbyterian Church. Two denominations resulted instead of one, because the sacrament that should have united Luther and Calvin drove them apart.

Communion is still a force for division. Even today, as we sit down at the table of Christ together with millions of others around the world, some people will be suspicious of Christians who don’t celebrate Holy Communion exactly the same way that they do. The folks who come to the communion table and kneel to receive the bread and cup will wonder about the piety of the folks who remain in their pews and pass plates of bread and cups. Those who drink wine will sneer at those who drink grape juice and wonder why they aren’t being “scriptural.” And those who receive communion every week, like our brothers and sisters in the Disciples of Christ, will look on the ones who receive communion only infrequently and wonder about the strength of their commitment to Jesus. How sad. That isn’t what Jesus had in mind at all!

I recently read a memoir that was written by Rev. David J. Huegel, a member of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). His thoughts go to the heart of the division that we Christians have created around the Lord’s Table. I will let him speak for himself as I read a portion of that memoir.

In my last week serving as a Volunteer under Global Ministries of the United Church of Christ, I attended the annual communion service at the cathedral church of the Pentecostal Church of Chile in a small city there. It was a memorable experience for me. The problem was that they did several things wrong.

There is no doubt that the service, held on August 18, the national holiday of St. Peter and St. Paul, is a big deal. When we arrived more than an hour early, parking spaces were filling up with charter buses bringing people in from small churches of the entire countryside around the city. Extra seats had been set up in the warehouse that serves as a church way out into the open patio that normally serves as a parking area. By the time the service began, it was standing room only. But something in me rebels at the idea of a communion service being such a big deal. Just the idea of an annual communion service is unpalatable to this old Disciples minister who wants his Lord’s Supper every week. [Note: the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) celebrate Holy Communion every Sunday.] You shouldn’t have to charter a bus to receive communion.

After everybody got settled and the choir warmed us up, the first major order of business was baptisms. The Pentecostal Church of Chile baptizes children in its regular weekly services. If adults wish to be baptized, however, that is not only allowed but encouraged at the annual communion service. The problem is that almost all of them had been baptized before! For Pentecostals, this is no big deal. You can be baptized whenever you have a significant spiritual experience. But to this good Disciples of Christ pastor who believes in one baptism per lifetime, all that rebaptism just seemed to be – well, if not wrong, then at least very much out of order!  

When we finally arrived at Communion, the Bishop gave the words of institution, and then every ordained and lay leader was assigned to serve the elements at the nine communion tables all around the building. The lay leader who was with me gave bread to everybody, no questions asked; so I, too, gave the cup to everyone. And that was another problem. The table was TOO open, in my opinion; because the cup is literally shared. Everyone drinks from the same cup, regardless of age, appearance, or medical condition. Only my wipe of the cup with a constantly changing succession of fresh napkins provided any kind of barrier to whatever germs might be lurking. “Lord, I will drink this cup,” I thought, “just keep me healthy!” And then, when the adults and children been served, all the babies and toddlers were brought forward to be blessed—using the communion elements! Some children had to be coaxed to taste the wine; and babies were spoon fed wine with tiny baby spoons.

Things weren’t done the way they were supposed to be done – at least, not in my opinion. I was sure that they were not done the way the Lord Jesus would have done them if he had been there, either. Surely, he would have insisted that everyone use those little, sanitized, prepackaged communion cups with the wafer attached. But people were so moved! I have never seen such weeping and radiant joy at communion! “This is crazy!” I thought. And I felt from somewhere God’s reply, “And I love it!”

Before I had begun to participate in worship that day, I had prayed that the Spirit would examine me. The Spirit used the people to do just that. The Spirit broke my own critical spirit with the passionate outpouring of love for the Lord that I witnessed in each face to whom I said, “This cup is the new covenant in Jesus’s blood . . .” Yup, all of us are sinners. We all do things the wrong way. And we are all forgiven by the extravagant love of God. May we all love just as extravagantly!

In just a moment, Jesus will invite you to join him at his table. You will recognize him in the breaking of the bread. And millions of other Christians will recognize him, too, whatever their particular communion traditions might be. Common cup or individual cups; bread from a common loaf or pre-cubed for your convenience; sitting in a pew or kneeling at an altar rail – Christ is present with all of us. Thanks be to God!

Note: I have shortened and edited Rev. Huegel’s story for use in this sermon. You can read his full account at http://www.globalministries.org/communion_in_chile_10_10_2014_1357

Who Are You and What Are You Doing Here?

This morning was my congregation's Worship in the Park. When we worship outside, I try my best to work the theme of God's creation into my sermon. This past week, I read the poem by Wendall Berry that closes my sermon, and I realized how much we are crippled by worry. Then I heard the story that opens my sermon, and I realized how much we answer the question "What are you doing here? by responding that we worry. And when I realized that critters in creation do not worry, this sermon emerged.

I heard a story this past week about an old monk who lived in a forest. Each day, he went for a walk. He usually kept to the forest trails; but one day, he decided to go in the opposite direction towards a nearby military base that he usually avoided. When he reached the gate, the sentry stepped out and asked him, “Who are you and what are you doing here?” The monk was silent for a moment, and then asked, “How much are you paid for your services?” Thinking that the monk hadn’t heard him, the sentry repeated his questions more loudly: “Who are you and what are you doing here?” The monk asked the sentry once again, “How much are you paid for your services?” Finally, the sentry boomed out in a no-nonsense tone of voice, “Who are you and what are you doing here?” The monk’s eyes filled with tears. “I have no answer to your questions,” he replied, “but they are the most important questions in the world. Whatever your salary is, I will double it if you will come to live with me and ask me those two questions every morning when I get up.” Those questions cut to the heart of who we are as the people of God. Let’s consider them one at a time.

“Who are you?” The answer to that question has nothing to do with our last names or our skin color or our countries of origin. It has everything to do with what we human beings have in common. The short answer is that we are hybrids: physical creatures that were created by God, and spiritual creatures that were made in God’s own image. As physical creatures, we are a part of God’s creation; and that creation is “very good!” Please don’t pay any attention to the people who claim that flesh is bad while spirit is good. God, after all, called creation “good” six separate times during the creation story in Genesis 1; and after God created human beings, God pronounced it “very good!” But because we are also spiritual creatures, made in God’s image, we are tempted to hold ourselves in higher esteem than we should. Psalm 8 explores this when it asks, “What are human beings that you even think about us?” (We are, after all, part of creation.) “Yet you have made us a little lower than God, and crowned us with glory and honor.” (We are, after all, made in God’s image.)

And that begs the question, what does it mean to be made in God’s image? Well, we certainly have a sense of good and evil. Some things are pleasing to God (good), while others are not (evil). But I think that it means much more than this. It also means that we have a sense of time. We have memories of the past; we have a sense of the present; and (this is what really sets us apart from the other animals in creation) we understand that there will be a future. Animals don’t have a sense of the future. They may know what happened yesterday; and they certainly sense what’s going on now, but the future? Not a clue. And that sense of time is what tempts us to worry. We know that we are physical creatures who have needs; and we know that we will have those same needs in the future. So we plan (that’s a good thing), but then we worry about it (that’s a bad thing). And that’s something that Jesus clearly tells us not to do! “Look at the birds,” he says. “They don’t have closets or warehouses or 401(k) plans, and they do just fine! You can’t add a single hour to your lifespan by worrying about it! So why are you doing it?” (Read Luke 12:22-26, although maybe Jesus didn’t say it in exactly those words!) If we didn’t have physical needs, we wouldn’t worry. If we had no sense of the future, we wouldn’t worry. But we have both… and that causes problems.

Now, let’s tackle that second question: “What are you doing here?” We already know that worrying isn’t the answer that God wants us to give to that question. For one thing, worrying puts the focus of our lives squarely on ourselves; and we should be focusing on other people. And for another thing, worrying actually hurts us! Psychologists have shown that people who worry tend to die earlier than people who don’t. No wonder that Jesus tells us not to do it! God wants his children (us) to live long, happy lives; and worrying cripples us. So… if we’re not supposed to worry… what are we supposed to do? We can find the answer in the 23^rd Psalm if we read between the lines. In that psalm, God promises us a life that is full and beautiful – but we have to let him be our shepherd! When we lie down in green pastures, we will find rest. When we are led by still waters, we will find peace. When our souls are restored, we will be renewed. When we are led in paths of righteousness, God will help us in the difficult decisions that we have to make. When we walk through the valley of the shadow of death (yes, we will have tough times!), we won’t be afraid. Even our enemies won’t be able to take our full lives away from us! And as to the future: “Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life!” But to get this full life, we have to trust in God and let him be our shepherd! We have to follow where he leads us, just like sheep do when they trust their shepherd. Worry isn’t a part of that equation! Spending time in creation can help to remind us not to worry. None of the other creatures in God’s creation worries about the future. We’re the only ones who insist on doing it! Maybe we should learn from the example of the animals. Do what you need to do to plan for the future. Even a squirrel gathers nuts in preparation for the winter. But I doubt if, after that squirrel has stored her nuts, she consults the Farmer’s Almanac and worries about whether she has gathered enough!

So, here’s today’s take-home message. Trusting in God means doing your best and then letting it go! We don’t know what the future holds – but God does. Don’t worry about the future; let God handle it! Trust God to hold both you and the future in his hands. You might even pray this kind of prayer when you go to bed at night if worry keeps you from sleeping (as it sometimes does to me): “Loving God, I have done my best today. I give what I have done to you. Watch over me tonight, and help me face tomorrow with the confidence that you are with me through everything. You hold the future in your hands; and you hold me, too.” One of my favorite poems describes the peace of creation that God offers to us. It is titled “The Peace of Wild Things,” and it was written by Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.