Sermon: 5/14/17 - The Way

Sermon 5/14/17 – John 14-1-14

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and our Lord, Jesus Christ.  Amen

As many of you may know, at the beginning of this year, the ELCA changed the roster of which I am a part so that my official title is Deacon now rather than Associate in Ministry.

Deacons have a long history with the church, and so it is somewhat appropriate that on this particular Sunday I get to preach when our first reading is about a first Deacon of the church: Stephen.

And, at the risk of sounding like Pastor Mark with one of his jokes, I read a reminder this week about Stephen from one of our ELCA Bishops, Michael Rinehart, that put a bit of perspective on us Deacons.

When Peter – the first pastor – preached, 3,000 people were baptized.

And when Stephen, the first deacon preached, he got stoned to death.

Well, over four years here and thankfully I’m still standing.

And yet any preacher – whether they are a pastor or a deacon – knows that when they preach they stand before a congregation completely vulnerable.

You may not all carry stones into the sanctuary (or hopefully even rotten tomatoes), but as my preaching professor reminded our class in Seminary, as preachers, we know each time we preach that we must do so as if, as she said, our bags are packed.

We are called as preachers to know that something we say might upset you.

Might be something you don’t want to hear.

Might be an idea that is threatening or hopefully life changing.

Being a proclaimer of Christ means that not everything I say is going to be met with open ears.

BUT, that isn’t limited to us preachers. Being a follower of Christ means that not everything you say is going to be met with open ears.

And yet you still have the power to change lives.

And this truth goes back even before Stephen was stoned to death for what he preached.

This truth goes back to every prophet in the Hebrew Scriptures and to Jesus himself. How often did Jesus speak words that his disciples either shut their ears to, or simply did not understand?

Jesus’ words today in the Gospel begin with a word of comfort, and yet they are still words that are difficult – and even incomprehensible – for his disciples.

This Sunday and next bring us text from what’s called Jesus’ farewell discourse to the disciples.

A little bit of pre-crucifixion brought to us post-resurrection.

Now right before our passage today, we get the reason as to why Jesus’ disciples are having such a hard time accepting what he has to say to them.

He is saying goodbye. Right before this passage, he has said to them that he’s leaving and that where he is going, they cannot follow.

Right before this he’s said that Peter is going to deny him and Judas betray him.

THIS is the context in which he now says: “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”

Your world is going to fall apart, Jesus tells them. But don’t worry about it.

But then, right after it feels as if Jesus has pulled the rug out from under them, his next act is to provide his disciples words of comfort and encouragement.

Words to prepare them for what comes next…

These words from Jesus are encouragement and preparation for the journey they will next undertake.

Jesus, it seems, took the advice of two of my seminary professors. The one who said “preach with your bags packed,” but also the one who said to us: “preach to comfort.”

This reading, which is so very familiar if you’ve been to a funeral, needs to be looked at in its original context: words for a specific group of people, the disciples, to get them prepared for what would happen after the passion, crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus the Christ.

And in that first context, it didn’t seem to go so well immediately.

For four of the disciples especially, things are in turmoil.

Peter will still deny after this. Judas will betray still.

Thomas will still willfully not understand – and later, as we heard a few weeks ago, doubt.

And Philip will make an unreasonable demand.

Let’s talk a little bit about Thomas and Philip and their requests.

First Philip: you might wonder what’s so unreasonable about wanting to see the Father?

Well, until this point, a good Jewish boy wouldn’t ask that question. To even ask would be considered arrogant. Even in the Hebrew scriptures, none of the greats “saw” God. Moses was lucky to get to see God’s backside and that’s about it.

God wasn’t seen.

And so here was God right before them and they still weren’t seeing it.

Maybe we can empathize with them not quite getting it.  You aren’t supposed to see God. That’s what they knew.

But Phillip asked anyway.

“Show us the father and we will be satisfied.”

Well, Jesus will do just that. Not only in his reply here that he is IN the father and the father is IN him, but he will keep showing him. He’ll show Philip and all of them exactly who God is and how God will be seen: vulnerable, nailed to a cross. Dying.

Rising.

But Philip’s demand is prompted by Jesus’ response first to Thomas’ question: We don’t even know where you are going! How can we possibly know the way?

Maybe you know Jesus’ response to that pretty well.

“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”

But knowing it outside of Thomas’ question has led to some misappropriation of these words.

Jesus is big on “I AM” statements in the Gospel of John. “I am the bread of life.” “I am the light of the world.” “I am the good shepherd.”

All of these “I AM” statements serve to show us that Jesus is the very source of abundant life. That Jesus signals the presence of God: the presence of love.

And yet over the past 2000 years of Christian history, this one particular “I AM” statement has been used mostly as one that excludes and isolates as if it is a secret code that only the chosen few can get.

Instead, what if we asked why it is that Jesus tells Thomas that he is the way?

Thomas is looking for a literal way. A map. He wants “twelve steps” or “ten commandments.” He wants “seven habits” or “95 Theses.” Something tangible. Something he can see or touch or walk on. We shouldn’t be surprised about this since it was only weeks ago we were reminded Thomas wanted to touch Jesus’ side after the resurrection.

But Jesus isn’t giving him a map.

Jesus gives Thomas a way and a life that is already there right in front of him, staring him in the face.

He’s giving Philip a father who is right there wanting to be in relationship with him.

When Jesus says “I AM” Jesus is always dealing from the deck of love and hope and relationship.

“No one gets to the father except through me” isn’t a way of keeping anyone out. To say so is to do violence to the context and to the spirit of Jesus’ life and words.

Thomas, Philip, Jesus says, you already know the father. You already know the way. You know me. I’m already here. And you know that I love you. You know that love IS the way.

Earlier, in John, Jesus had already given this clue. John 3:17: “God did not send his son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.” The whole world.

And John 10:16: “There will be one flock. One shepherd.”

The way is already before you.

And in effect, Jesus is telling them – and us – that we are the way as well.

“The one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and in fact, will do greater works that these.”

Only I think the Message version of this text gets it better here. Not simply believe IN me. This isn’t an intellectual exercise for Jesus. Not a dogmatic assent.

Instead, TRUST me. Trust that you can do even greater things.

Huh. How can we trust that we can do something greater than Jesus? What works is he talking about? Miracles? Signs?

Just what IS it that Jesus prepared his followers for?

And are we supposed to think we can do miracles as well?

No, not mere miracles. What we have the opportunity to do go goes beyond mere miracles. Probably you haven’t healed a blindman or leper.

Maybe you haven’t raised someone from the dead.

But maybe you have sat by the bedside of someone who is dying.

Held the hand of a mother who just lost her child.

Listened to the story of a friend in need.

Loved someone who feels unlovable.

Forgiven something unforgivable.

Fed someone who is hungry.

Given hope to someone who feels hopeless.

Been the very presence of Christ to a world that desperately needs it.

The point is that great works aren’t the point. The point of our great works is that they communicate to the broken world who Jesus is. Who God is. What the way is.

That they point the world to a Way that is love.

That first martyr, that follower of Jesus, that deacon, Stephen, showed the way, the truth and the life even in his death. “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.”

When we love, when we trust, when we forgive, we give life and we show the way that Jesus has already prepared for all of us.

Amen.

Chosen

1 Peter 2:9

But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.

What does it mean to be chosen?

Let's get past the loaded language of race for a moment - remembering that at the dawn of Christianity, it was the Jewish race who were chosen.

In fact, who are still chosen.

So loaded that way...

But also loaded as we have daily reminders about how race is still very much a factor in our nation.

Our holy nation?

Hmmm...

But for a moment let's look at the word "chosen" instead. 

Also loaded. 

Who thinks they are chosen?

A lot of groups of people do. That's who.

And when we see large groups who claim they are chosen, what does that mean to them? What does it mean to those who are on the outside looking in?

Would those on the outside looking in see God's love for the world in their chosen-ness??

Do they see the triumph of Christ over death?

The awesome works of the One who created us?

God chooses us not for ourselves. Not for our greatness. 

But to be light for a dark world.

To be balm for a hurting world.

To be hope for a lost world.

Are you chosen?

Holy one, you have chosen me for love. Help me to remember that always. Amen.

Do not hold their sin against them

Acts 7:59-60

While they were stoning Stephen, he prayed, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” Then he knelt down and cried out in a loud voice, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” When he had said this, he died.

I've missed this. Missed these devotionals. Missed writing thoughts about scripture. Technology is a funny thing - and it isn't something I'm as good with as I am with other things! :-) So, I am still planning on switching to a new blog. But in the meantime, I do want to say something. Looking forward to the lessons for the Sunday coming up seem a good place to start.

So this reading comes in a week where, similar to many other weeks, we have all kinds of news both nationally and globally (and locally too) about how we tend to hold sins against each other.

Stephen is the first martyr. And his last words are "Do not hold this sin against them."

His last words are forgiveness.

Lately there has been a lot in my life I've gotten easily annoyed at. News, politics, busy schedules, personality conflicts. You know, all the stuff that most of us face in our lives on a daily basis.

What would our lives be like if we didn't hold peoples' sins against them?

Or their words against them?

What would our lives be like?

What if words of forgiveness were the first words out of our mouths?

What then?

Lord forgive me. Have mercy on me. Amen.

Sermon: Good Shepherd Sunday: Psalm 23

A little note! We at St. Paul's Lutheran Church in Exton sometimes play around with the lectionary,  and this week we lifted up Good Shepherd Sunday a week earlier because of our Youth Sunday service this coming May 7th. So, for those of you keeping track of the lectionary...pretend I'm sending this out next week! :-)

Sermon 4/30/17 Good Shepherd Sunday

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and our Lord, Jesus Christ.  Amen

Several years ago, the good folks at Luther Seminary investigated the issues surrounding Biblical literacy and fluency in our culture. As part of this, they surveyed 1500 people, and then personally interviewed another 200 more.

One of the questions posed was “Is there a text that is important for you in difficult times?”

Unsurprisingly, the largest number of respondents said the 23rd Psalm.

What is it about this Psalm? We hear it every year on Good Shepherd Sunday.

And we hear it at almost every funeral we go to.

For many, it is the one we turn to in great times of distress. And for others it is the only (or one of the only) pieces of scripture we know by heart.

It wasn’t always that way.

There are 149 other Psalms. Psalm 23 was never designated by God – or David – as the most important one or as the one meant to be most memorable.

It didn’t even show up in most funeral liturgies until the 20^th century.

The slow move toward the significance of Psalm 23 in our Christian lives was bolstered during the 19^th century in part thanks to American clergyman and abolitionist, Henry Ward Beecher, who in 1858 wrote the following about this Psalm:

“It has poured balm and consolation into the heart of the sick, of captives in dungeons, of widows in their pinching griefs, of orphans in their loneliness.

Dying soldiers have died easier as it was read to them; ghastly hospitals have been illuminated;

It has visited the prisoner, and broken his chains.

It has made the dying Christian slave freer than his master.

It will go singing to your children and my children, and to their children, through all the generations of time; nor will it fold its wings till the last pilgrim is safe, and time ended; and then it shall fly back to the bosom of God, whence it issued, and sound on, mingled with all those sounds of celestial joy which make heaven musical for ever.”

Poetry worthy of a Psalmist.

Some of this seems as if Beecher was being prophetic: The Civil War had not yet happened, yet during that war, soldiers would indeed find solace in Psalm 23.

Certainly, Henry Ward Beecher was not solely responsible for its surge in popularity, but this is when the tide began to turn and by the beginning of the 20^th century it was added to funeral liturgies in a formal way.

Psalm 23 was officially on the way toward icon status.

So what is it about it? While Henry Ward Beecher brings something to the conversation, there has to be more to it than that.

Maybe part of its popularity has to do with its happy ending.

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

Who doesn’t want that?

It is easy to get sentimental about it in fact. Psalm 23 does strike at our sentimental chords: it brings to life that celestial joy which makes heaven musical forever that Henry Ward Beecher waxed poetic about.

But Psalms really aren’t meant to be sentimental. They are earthy and grounded in real emotion and experience – some of it gut-wrenching. They sing of joy and lament; reconciliation and revenge; life and death

And Psalm 23 is no different.

As comforting as many of us may find it, as familiar as most of us feel it to be, it is a Psalm that, along with all the others, is part of the always-complex journey of faith in which we are taking part and in which God is overseeing and leading us.

Just as a shepherd oversees and leads a flock.

And here is where the shepherd metaphor from the beloved Psalm gets problematic for some. How many of us, if we were really honest, want to be compared to a sheep?

Sheep have the reputation of having two qualities that start with “d” which we tend to want avoid characterizing ourselves as being: “defenseless” and “dumb.”  They aren’t known as the brightest bulbs in the animal world, and other than being able to butt heads with other sheep, they don’t have much in the way of protection from predators.

Just their shepherds and the gates that keep them fenced in.

I’ve seen people positively bristle at the comparison to sheep. I’ve heard atheists hurl the analogy as an insult: “Christians are dumb as sheep.”

And yet…and yet…

The metaphor still strikes me as beautiful. And apt.

On Monday afternoons, I drive into Philadelphia to go to the Synod office for a weekly meeting I have there. The route I take, brings me by a couple of farms which are located just outside the city limits.

This past Monday as waited for the light to change, the sheep were out grazing, and in their midst were the newly born spring lambs.

They were bouncing – almost dancing – amongst the larger sheep. It was a warm day following several rainy days, and they were soaking in every drop of joy they could get from it. As I waited for the light to change, they caught me up in their exuberance.

And I realized that there are worse things than being compared to a sheep.

There are worse things than being known for being vulnerable. There are worse things than being known for being trusting.

Psalm 23 is more than mere sentiment to cling to in times of distress. It in fact lifts up our distress and puts us at odds with the way the world works.

The world says be strong and independent. The Psalmist says that we are vulnerable and need our shepherd’s rod and staff to protect us.

The world says “you don’t have enough. You need more. Buy this. Own that. You aren’t good enough as you are. Get more stuff!”

The Psalmist says I shall not be in want. I have everything I need.

The world says “go after what you want. Take what is yours.”

The Psalmist says: goodness and mercy will follow me – and actually that’s better translated literally as pursue me …Goodness and mercy will doggedly pursue me all the days of my life.

The world says: avoid struggle. Numb the pain.

The Psalmist says “I WILL walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. I will go through dark valleys and no matter how confusing and frightening that darkness may be, trust and hope and mercy won’t abandon me.

GOD won’t abandon me.

The world says: there’s so much to fear. Economic distress. War. Greed. Terrorism. AIDs. Malaria. Famine. Political polarization. Racism. Sexism. Environmental calamity. There’s no more room for good news. Death has won.

The Psalmist says, no. The Lord restores my soul. Literally, meaning, the Lord gives me back my life.

The Lord returns me to life. Death hasn’t won.

Each year our lectionary lifts up this problematic image of shepherd and sheep. We call it Good Shepherd Sunday despite the ambivalent place shepherds have in our current daily life and jargon.

Each year Psalm 23 reminds us of God’s promise of hope and mercy and reminds us to trust in that.

And each year it is paired with one of three texts from Jesus’ discourse on being the Good Shepherd from the Gospel of John.

The particular part of that discourse that we have today comes right before that declaration from Jesus. Before declaring himself a Good Shepherd, Jesus here compares himself to that other thing really important in the life of a sheep:

A Gate.

A gate that you both come in to and leave from. In and out.

A gate that offers protection.

Those bouncing lambs I saw on Monday were surrounded by their fence with a big black gate you could see from the road. It provided them with salvation from what might try to cause them harm. No one was going to remove them or steal them by jumping the fence.

Along with their shepherd, the gate kept them safe.

“I am the gate.” Jesus says today. And what does that gate do?

Provides life. And not just ordinary life. But abundant life.

Life that gives us images of green pastures and still waters.

Life where a bountiful table is spread even in the midst of our enemies.

Life where our cup runs overfull, even in the times we feel wanting.

Life where rather than seeing sheep as weak or dumb creatures, we join them in a joyful trust in God for that abundant life. Where we can have a bounce in our step in celebration of that life just as those spring lambs had.

Psalm 23 is not mere sentiment. It is even more than comfort.

It is promise. The promise that God is going to relentlessly pursue us even when the worst of our lives seems to unfold.

It is a promise of life. That same abundant life that Jesus also promises.

That life is not dependent on how the world defines it, and it will sometimes – many times even – be at odds with how the world defines it.

But God remains steadfast. God remains with us. Despite our own shortcomings, our own blindness, our own forgetfulness and our own lack of trust.

God has still prepared the table for us. All that is left for us to do is come to it, eat from it, drink from it and trust in that promise.

Amen.