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May 07 2012
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Sermons

Sermon on the Golden Calf: The Worst Excuse Ever

“They gave me the gold, and I threw it into the fire, and out came this calf!” This has to be the lamest excuse in the history of excuses. It was cast in the shape of calf. Which means, first he built a model. Then he built the cast. Then he cut off the cast, and put it back together empty. Then he melted down all their gold and poured it into the cast. Then he broke off the cast, revealing the golden idol, and added the finishing touches by hand, with tools. And after all that, he says, “Well, I just threw their gold in the fire and out popped this calf!  It’s a miracle!”

How many here have been pulled over for speeding? What’s the best excuse you came up with? “I’m late. I’m in a hurry. I have to go to the bathroom. I was scared.” I did a quick search online and found two stories that take lame excuses to a whole other level. These were written by the police officers after the fact.

“While running traffic late one night, I had a pick-up truck pass my spot going 72 MPH in a 45 zone. I took off. I declared a pursuit at about 4 miles into following this subject with lights and siren going. After about another 7 miles the truck signals and pulls over. I had a Deputy Sheriff show up just as I began to approach the vehicle. Upon reaching the driver, I recognized him as one of our town’s residents. He looked at me and said he was sorry for going so fast, and he didn’t stop, because he didn’t know I was back there, because…… ‘I’ve had ALOT to drink!’”

That’s good, but I like this one better. “One night many years ago I was on patrol, and observed a vehicle blow through a red light at a major intersection. There had been plenty of time to stop, yet the vehicle had not even slowed down. I stopped the car and asked the young female driver why she had done that. The girl told me she had just had her brakes repaired, it had been very expensive, and she DIDN’T WANT TO WEAR THEM DOWN!”

Before we even got the rules, we were already breaking them. It starts at the very beginning. God makes Adam and Eve, plants them in a garden and says, “You can do anything you want, just don’t eat the fruit of this one particular tree.” So what do we do?  Of course!  And God says to Adam, “What did you do?” And Adam says, “It’s not my fault, this woman you made told me to do it.”  And Eve says, “It’s not my fault, this snake you made told me to do it.” And the snake says, “It’s not my fault…” Actually no he doesn’t. Isn’t that a little disturbing that the only person in the whole story who doesn’t try to shift the blame is the devil?

“I didn’t do it. It’s not my fault.” We swim in these excuses every day. We use them ourselves and we hear them from each other. And the only thing anyone really knows for sure is that most of the time it’s a lie. Maybe it’s a lie we tell ourselves in order to feel better, but it’s still a lie, and deception is the simplest, surest way to stop any real growth in your life. We have to face the hard questions if we’re ever going to change lives.

Let’s start with, “Why in the world would Aaron do something so dumb?” God just led them out of Egypt with ten plagues, and the first Passover, and the rescue through the Red Sea. That all happened three months ago. Three months ago he saw miracles happen with his own eyes, and now he’s hand-crafting an idol?  What is he, stupid? It’s not as dumb as you might think.

Back in Egypt, there were many gods. One of the oldest, most popular, and most powerful was named Hathor. She was pictured in two ways: as a beautiful woman, and as a cow. You can tell it’s her because she carries the sun on her head, just like the little calf does on the front of our bulletin, because the sun god, Ra is her child. She’s associated with the Milky Way, the goddess of the sky, the one who nourishes with milk, hence the cow. She’s also pictured as a woman because she is mother to gods, a goddess of love and childbirth.

Now imagine you’re Aaron. Your brother, Moses, is seeing visions and hearing voices, but he’s gone. He’s up on the mountain somewhere and he’s left you to deal with all these people.  They’ve been living in Egypt for 400 years, and they’re running scared. They don’t know where they’re going or when they’ll get there. They don’t understand this invisible God Moses is talking about. They want a god like back in Egypt, a god you can see and touch. So Aaron takes this old familiar image and he twists it. It’s not a cow. It’s a golden calf. It’s a new god. A better god. This isn’t Hathor, goddess of the heavens. This is God of all creation. This isn’t the mother of Ra. It’s the God above all gods. This is the one who rescued you from Egypt. This is the one who led you through the red sea. And the people are excited! Now we can be just like everyone else, only better! So they throw a huge party to celebrate their new private little Hebrew god.

And the sound is so loud that Moses and Joshua hear from on the mountain. Joshua says, “It sounds like a war in the camp.” And Moses has this great line. He says, “It is not the sound of victory, it is not the sound of defeat; it is the sound of singing that I hear.”  Thousands of years later, it’s still true. We’re not living in victory. We’re not learning from defeat. We’re too busy partying to fight the battle at all.

If you go through AA, they’ll teach you a little acronym to remember. HALT, before you do something you’ll regret. Watch out when you’re Hungry, Angry, Lonely, and Tired. H-A-L-T. Because those are the times when you are most likely to relapse. I love AA because it recognizes that addiction is not a moral failure, it’s a lifestyle built on habits, habits acquired through diligent effort over years of time, habits that take equal time and effort to rewrite.

That was Aaron’s failure. He underestimated the power of patterns. When I was a youth minister, we talked about peer pressure all the time. But now I think we were missing the point. We ought to be talking about pattern pressure.  It wasn’t like Aaron was getting a lot of pressure from his peers. He had none! His brother was the prophet of God, whose word was literally law, and he was 2nd in command. While Moses is away, Aaron was the man.  The problem wasn’t the peer pressure. It’s the old pattern he was stilly carrying in his head.

Can we all agree that God is bigger than us? Can we all agree that God’s plans are deeper than our plans, that Truth with a capital T is truer than our personal understanding? Then we also have to admit that every time we are confronted by a living God, we are confronted by our own need to change. Every glimpse of God drags us deeper into the unknown. Every time we grow, our old self has to die. It’s as if God is cramming new ideas in our heads and waiting for our brains to stretch. This is the constant reality of a relationship with a living God, and it’s not always easy, and it’s not always fun. It’s so much easier to settle for a golden calf. It’s so much easier to distract ourselves with show and sound. It’s so much easier to stick with the patterns we know.

If that’s fight we’re facing, then how do we win? If Aaron is not an idiot, just human, then how do we learn from his example? First, recognize the power of patterns. Accept that old patterns will resurface in times of stress, when we’re hungry, angry, lonely, or tired.  In this case, it was definitely lonely. Moses was gone for 40 days up on that mountain, leaving Aaron to carry the weight of leadership alone.

Second step in winning victory over our old patterns is to own up to our failures. The Bible tells story after story after story about human beings who mess up and a God loves them anyway. Grace is The central story of the Bible! But it is impossible to learn from a mistake as long as you’re saying, “It’s not my fault. I threw in the gold. Out popped this calf.” We’re not fooling anybody. Half the time, we’re not even fooling ourselves, and we’re certainly not fooling God. Owning up to it is the only way to get to step three. Consequences.

We hate consequences. Did you hear what Moses made them do? He burnt the idol, ground it up, spread it in the water and made them drink it. Why? So they’d feel bad and hate themselves? Or so that they’d remember? Every consequence is an opportunity to learn, if we’ll take it.  Look at all the things they had to do before they could get back on track: they had to drink that nasty water, they endured a plague, Moses had to cut new stone tablets, go back up the mountain, and the people had to wait another 40 days. They couldn’t just say, “Sorry,” and go on like everything was fine. And God wasn’t going to let them hate themselves and quit. They had to get it right.

Back in my old job as a youth minister, I heard about a youth event that didn’t go so well. One day, the older kids decided they wanted to see a movie. So the parents made a deal. You can go as long as you take the freshmen, since they can’t drive.  Everyone had a great time, but at the end of the movie the upperclassmen drove away. They left the freshmen stranded, outside a movie theater, late at night, in a tough neighborhood.

Dad gets a phone call at midnight. It’s his freshman son. “Dad, we need a ride. They left us behind.” So Dad has to go downtown, pick up the kids, drop them at their parents’. It’s 2am by the time he gets home. And his daughter is already there. He’s walking in the door and she’s already making excuses. “It wasn’t me. I told them not to. They wouldn’t listen. They thought it was funny. I told them it was wrong.” Dad said, “Then why are you here? You should have been standing there with them.”  She’s all grown up now, with kids of her own. And if you asked her, she’d tell you she’s made a lot of mistakes in her life, but she never made that one again. Failure isn’t the opposite of success. It’s a prerequisite.

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May 03 2012
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Sermons

Sermon on Church Family: Propaganda!

family

This picture is shared on a creative commons license by the More Good Foundation

This picture is propaganda.

I grew up in an Evangelical Christian home, and there were two things I knew for certain I needed to do in order to be a good Christian: daily quiet time, and family devotions.

Of course you need to go to church. Anybody can go to church. But daily quiet time and family devotions? That meant you took your faith seriously.  Which is how I came to know with certainty that I was not a great Christian. If I ever forgot, pictures like this would remind me.

There’s only one problem. This picture is propaganda. It is not an authentic moment from the life of an authentic family. How can you tell?  Heads tilted, all on one side of the table, everyone’s smiling. Specially designed stand just to hold a ring-bound workbook. Little girl pointing to the picture, teaching her big sister, and they’re both smiling gently. No one’s really teaching. No one’s really learning. Everyone just knows… and smiles… because just knowing is so good. This is not a real family. It is a carefully crafted image designed to make you feel something.

Look how happy they are. Wouldn’t you like to be that happy? And they’re all together, spending time together instead of running around stressed and crazy. See how Dad is actually home instead of at work, or down at the bar? And the kids are so well-behaved. And look at the wife. See how she sits so nicely with her hands folded and her mouth shut? Wouldn’t you like that in your life?

It’s easy to poke fun at someone else’s work, especially since most advertising isn’t really meant to be looked at. It’s meant to be glanced at. It’s designed to plant an impression in your mind, not to make you think.  But I’m betting there’s still something you missed. Because I missed it the first time I saw this picture too. I didn’t notice it until I sat down this week to focus on our reading.

The Pharisees were challenging Jesus, “Why don’t your disciples wash their hands before they eat?” Hand washing was one of many rituals the rabbis had recommended through the years. It wasn’t really in scripture, but it was definitely in the commentaries. Imagine all the reasons why washing your hands before you eat is a good idea. It looks better. It smells better. It’s got good symbolism. It gives you time to transition so you don’t just mindlessly stuff your face. Good hygiene leads to a healthier, longer life. They didn’t understand germs, of course, but they weren’t stupid. They had eyes and brains. There were lots of good reasons to wash your hands.

But Jesus’ disciples are just backwater fishermen. They don’t have much in the way of learning, and probably less in the way of manners. They just grab the food and chow down. That’s fine for fishermen, but Jesus is a rabbi. The habits of the student reflect on the teacher, and in this case it’s not good.

Jesus comes back at them by quoting one of the Ten Commandments: honor your father and mother. That’s almost as basic as you can get. It’s not the greatest commandment or the golden rule, but it’s close. It’s the kind of thing we teach to third graders in Sunday School.

It would be kind of like challenging a math professor to a debate and he says, “Well there are these things called numbers and when you add them together you get a result.”

Jesus tells them “The law says honor your father and mother, but you tell people if they dedicate their money to the church, they don’t have to take care of their parents. You nullify the law with your traditions, and you do it all the time.”

That’s your clue. Now go back and look at the picture, and see if you can spot what’s missing. “You tell people to dedicate their money to God so they won’t have to take care of their parents.”

family

This picture is shared on a creative commons license by the More Good Foundation

Are these kids responsible for taking care of their parents? Their parents are still taking care of them. Which means Jesus wasn’t talking to kids. He was talking to adults, who should have been taking care of…  Exactly, their aging parents.  So who is missing from this picture?

Yes!  Where’s grandma? Where’s grandpa? Where are the aunts and the uncles and the cousins? We read the Bible and whenever we see the word family, this pops into our head.  But this is propaganda! This didn’t exist in biblical times. So here’s a trick. Whenever you read your Bible and you see the word “family”. In your head, say “tribe,” and see if it makes more sense. It’s not a perfect fit, but it’ll shock your brain out of its usual way of thinking.

The root unit of culture is not the nuclear family. The root unit of culture is the extended family. We, as a culture, have forgotten the extended family, and the results are predictable.

Each generation feels isolated from the one that came before, and our elders live in nursing homes. Only the very lucky receive visitors. We have trimmed the family until all that’s left is this, and this is propaganda, because when in the world does this actually happen?

When he’s got a job, and she’s got a job, and both of the kids have after school clubs, and homework, and if they’re old enough, jobs of their own, when exactly is this supposed to happen?

There was a time when Grandma and Grandpa could have helped with babysitting, or your cousins with your homework. There was a time when you turned a certain age and your parents magically transformed into the stupidest people on the planet, when you could run away to an aunt or an uncle’s house, and you would be safe, and warm, and fed until your teenager-y brain finally reset itself, and you could go home.

But most of us don’t have those resources anymore. We’ve spread our families all over the map, cutting ourselves off from each other, until all that’s left is this. Or something we feel vaguely guilty doesn’t look quite as good as this.

Brothers and sisters, guilt is not the answer to our problem; a loving extended family is the answer to our problem. Well, gee. Where, O where, could I find some extended family? Where in the middle of America’s homogenized individualist culture, could you still find something that resembles a tribe?

Yup.

When you don’t have family, you make family. Jesus took 12 guys who didn’t even know how to wash their hands properly, and turned them into a family. In him, we become adopted members of the family of God, and by the power of his Spirit, we are one.

At the bare minimum, that means we take of each other. We watch out for each other. We encourage and support one another. Whatever we do, we strive to do it in an intergenerational way. Because the adopted grandparents in this room need the kids just as much as those children desperately need grandparents. Just as much stressed out parents need help, that’s exactly how much brother and sisters in Christ benefit from becoming aunts and uncles.

Have you ever noticed how much of the Bible is centered on the outsiders? The widow, the fatherless, the stranger? Some people say that’s because God has a preference for the poor. But  Jesus says that the sun shines on us all, and the rain falls on the just and the unjust alike. So there must be another reason.

Perhaps God teaches us to take special care of the widow and the fatherless and the stranger specifically because they do not have families to take care of them. They are alone and therefore vulnerable. What we call the Old Testament is founded on the assumption of extended and loving family.

Yes, we should care for the outsider. How could you possibly follow Jesus and do anything else? And maybe that ends with a new law, or social program, or a gift sent to some far-away land. Maybe. We can have a great argument over what to do, and when, and how much. But that’s not where it starts.

Unless our definition of the word “family” expands beyond the edges of this staged picture, our children will be orphans, we will be strangers, and our elders will die alone. That’s where it starts. Build a family, a real family, an extended family. Then you’ll be able to critique culture instead of just flowing along with it. You’ll have a firm place to stand if you want to pull someone up. And you’ll have something to give if you meet someone in need.

Stop chasing someone else’s picture. Look around you and be grateful for all you have received.

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Apr 26 2012
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Sermons

Sermon on the road to Emmaus

Text: Luke 24:13-32

Our two disciples from today’s story, Cleopas and the other one, are about to experience a mind-shift. They see the world. They have a conversation. They see the exact same world, but it looks completely different. Obviously, they didn’t do it on purpose. But reading the story, we see three things that they did right, three practices worthy of imitation.

First, they shared the road. They were sad and angry. They could’ve gone their separate ways. But they chose to walk together. Same direction. Same speed. Living in relationship means you don’t always get what you want. But that’s ok. Because what you want more is having someone to share the road, someone who loves you enough, and knows you enough, to call you on stuff. You want to share the road with someone you love enough, and trust enough, that when they tell you something that’s hard to hear you don’t just blow it off or blow up.

Cleopas and his friend didn’t just share the road with each other. They welcomed a stranger. Everyone thinks they have a friendly church. But what most people mean, is they have a church full of friends. Which is great. It’s a thousand times better than a church divided, or no church at all. But the problem with a church full of friends is the same problem Cleopas and his buddy had. Because they were friends, because of their shared experience, they were blind to the same problem. If you want to remain forever exactly as you are today, then surround yourself exclusively with people just like you.

The second thing they did right, is they let the man talk. We like to imagine ourselves as rational creatures. We walk into a store. We look at the merchandise. We balance cost vs. benefit. Then we make a logical choice. Brain imagining tells us reality is much messier than that.

We see something we want, and the “get stuff” part of our brain says, “Want want want!” And then we look price tag, and the “keep stuff” part of our brain says, “No! No! No!” And whichever one yells the loudest, wins. If you see something you already have three of, the want side of your brain says, “Eh.” If you see something for half price, the save money side of your brain starts doing its best “want, want, want” imitation.

And this is just the simplified version! Each of us is built out of arguing shards of personality. And scripture says that in the middle of all that mess, there is a still small voice. Scripture says the Holy Spirit lives in each of us. Perhaps that’s what Paul means when he describes the internal war of the soul, “The good I want to do, I do not do.” By the power of God’s Holy Spirit, Christ lives in us.

But it’s not enough, just to read your Bible and pray. Look at these two. They heard Jesus teach. They saw him crucified. They heard he was risen. They listened as he opened the scriptures to them, and they still didn’t recognize him. But this is when they did their third brilliant thing.

“As they approached the village to which they were going, Jesus continued on as if he were going farther. But they urged him strongly, “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.”

This is hospitality, the most ancient of virtues. You see it in the Hebrew Scriptures, in Homer’s Odyssey, in the myths and legends of a hundred cultures. They didn’t know what was happening. They didn’t know who he was. They didn’t know why their teacher had to die. But they did know the right thing to do. You don’t leave a stranger to walk home, alone, in the dark. You extend hospitality.

Like most good things it’s simple and hard at the same time. Do the right thing. Live the truth you know. You know what the word companion means? It comes from the Latin: cum panis, with bread. We find Christ, not just in here (congregation), not just in here (Bible), not just in here or here (heart & head), but out there. We meet Christ when we make his kingdom real in this world. We meet Christ when we speak the words he would speak, go where he would go, and live as he would live. Because the instant we step outside ourselves and help another human being, when we look them in the eyes, we will see Him looking back.

When that happens, when we see the same old world in a completely new way, we will realize we already have more than enough money to get started and we already have all the time we are ever going to get.

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Apr 17 2012
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Sermons

Holy Humor Sermon: Things That Make You Go, “Huh?”


Text: 1 John 1:1-2:11

“It has been said long ago that there were three classes of people in the world… The first is that large class of people who talk about people; the next class are those who talk about things; and the third class are those who discuss ideas…” (H. J. Derbyshire, “Origin of Mental Species”, 1919)

“That’s because small minds don’t want to be wrong. Average minds want to be right, and great minds want to be true.” (Pastor Rob Brink, “This sermon”, 2012)

A few people have suggested I get my doctorate, but the fact is, I’ve never been a great student, because more than anything I wanted to be right. You wouldn’t have liked me. I was that annoying kid who always raised his hand. If I could go back now, I wouldn’t like me.

I had, hands down, one of the coolest Latin teachers, ever. Every Friday, we would ask Mr. Grogan, “Can we go buy some Dunkin’ Donuts for the class?” And he would say, “Of course not. What are you thinking? This is a school. An institution of higher learning. I can’t let students just go off and buy donuts.”

“Sorry, sir. Can I have a bathroom pass?”

“Here you go!”

Coolest. Latin teacher. Ever. And yet to this day, I can’t do Latin. Because every night, instead of translating in my head, I would use the conjugation chart. Match up the ending, find the part of speech and you’re done.  Until you have to take a test, when you won’t have a conjugation chart in front of you. Most students would have given up and, I don’t know, learned Latin. You know what I did? Memorized the conjugation chart. I wrote it out from memory on the back of my test, and then used it to decode the test. Got all the answers write, never learned Latin. Because I was more interested in being right, than being true.

In spite of my best efforts, I had a few amazing teachers who forced me to truly learn. I didn’t realize until much later, they all used the same method.

I didn’t learn about writing; I wrote. I didn’t learn about editing; I edited. I did learn a bit about Western Civ, but the tests were not multiple choice. They’d project a painting on the wall, or some architecture, or play a bit of music, and you either knew what it was, or you didn’t. There was no hiding in these classes, there was no gamesmanship or influence. It didn’t matter if you were cute or funny or smart. In those places, the light of truth revealed reality.

An ancient church tradition calls this Bright Sunday. Lent is work, and Easter is solemn, but Bright Sunday was a celebration.  People might tell jokes or play pranks, let the kids be in charge for a day. Some modern churches have restored this ancient custom, calling it Holy Humor Sunday. And underneath it, there’s some very good theology.

Have you ever noticed that the very best comedians are storytellers? And they don’t make up fantastical tales. They talk about real life, just regular stuff: growing up, falling in love, getting old. And it doesn’t have to be big stuff either, just everyday things like watching TV, going to the store. It’s all the same things we do; yet somehow when they tell it, it’s hilarious! How does that happen?

They see the absurdity we’ve learned to ignore. If every Sunday, Christians are celebrating Jesus rose from the grave, why do most of them act like they’re at a funeral? Because that’s the way we’ve always done it. That’s the way we were taught.

Imagine you’re 8 years old, and you go to church with your family, sitting right next to your mom or dad, all dressed up in your Sunday best. And the preacher starts reading about Jesus. You like hearing about Jesus so you lean forward and listen. And the preacher says, “Oh you Pharisees, you strain out a gnat and you swallow a camel.”

And in your head you imagine a bible times guy, with the robe and the flip flops and the bandana thing, and you imagine him leaning back and opening his mouth wider and wider, and the first thing to go in is that ugly slobbery camel face, and then that long floppy neck, two hairy humps, four big knobby knees, and the very last thing you see is that big floppy camel foot. Sllllluuuurp!

And you’re 8 years old. You do the natural thing, right?  *snort!*  And what happens next? You know what happens next!  *smack!* And heaven help you if you get the giggles. Keep picturing those knobby camel knees. *glump* You better not get the giggles, because you know what happens then. Walk you right out the back door.

“What. Do. You. Think. You. Are. Doing?! This is church! And that’s the day you start to learn. You learn not to see it. You learn not to hear it. Because if you really heard it, if you really pictured it in your mind, you would laugh. You can’t help it!

Adam and Eve eat the fruit, and they hid from God, and God goes for a walk in the morning and says, “Where are you?” Like he doesn’t know? The only two people on the planet and God forgot where he put them? Or maybe it’s those new clothes. They just blend in.

Abraham hears that God is going to destroy Sodom and Gomorra because it’s full of evil. And Abraham starts to bargain, with God. “But what if there are innocent people in there? You don’t kill innocent people. What if there were 50 innocents, would you spare the town?

Yes, for 50 I would spare the town.

What about 45?

For 45 I would spare the town.

40? 20? 10?

For 10 I would spare the town.

God is the worst bargainer ever! It’s like when the Women’s Fellowship runs the Christmas Bazaar down in the basement, and they’ve got the little tchotchke table with all the little trinkets on it, and they’re each marked at a buck. And you know what happens every single year?

Some little old lady picks up a tchotchke, brings it over. “It says a dollar on here. Would you take a quarter?” You think I’m kidding. This happens every year! “How about a dime. Would you take a dime?” And then they pull out a little change purse and hand you the dime like they just made some major purchase. I’d wrap it up for you, but the tissue paper costs more than ten cents!

This stuff pops up all over the place in the Bible. Not from Paul so much. Paul is one intense man. But Jesus was funny. Not silly, stupid funny. Sarcastic. Fiercely intelligent.

The Pharisees complain that he runs with a rough crowd, and he says, “John the Baptist lived like a hermit out in the desert, ate nothing but locusts and honey, and wore clothes made from camel’s hair. And you said, “He has a demon!” I live in town, wear regular clothes, eat regular food, hang out with regular people and you say, “Oh, look!  A glutton and a drunkard.”

“You’re all proud of yourself because you give ten percent of everything even down to your spice rack, and yet your parents starve. You know all 613 laws of the Torah, and you’ve read all the commentaries, but you skipped the Ten Commandments”

“You keep saying these people need help. I’m a doctor. Where am I supposed to go? Hang out with all the well people? You keep saying you’re not sick. You know the truth. Fine! You don’t need me. Get out of the way!”

That’s Rob’s translation. “This is the message we have heard from him and declare to you: God is light.” God reveals the truth of what is. Yes, that can be painful. Yes, that can be embarrassing. Yes, it would be much easier to just hide in the darkness. But that’s not joy; that’s ignorance. That’s like not going to the doctor because you might find out you have cancer. You know what stinks worse than finding out you have cancer? Finding out you have stage-three cancer and it’s now too late to operate. We know it’s dumb. But we do it all the time. Because we’re afraid.

“I write this to you to make your joy complete. God is light. In him is no darkness at all.” Let me ask you something. This may be important to you. This may help some of you. So pay attention.

Has a candle ever made you feel guilty? Ashamed? Embarrassed? Show of hands. How many of you have nice bright lights right above your bathroom mirror? Whose dumb idea was that? You get up in the morning. You got pillow creases on your face. Sleep in your eyes. Drool dried onto the side of your chin. You come stumbling into the bathroom. Turn on the light. “Oh! Good. Euuhhh! Just. Turn it off! Go take a shower. Try again later.”

Actually, that’s just the girls. You know what they guys do? *pose* *flex*  “Yep. Still got it.”

It’s never easy to see things as they are. We’re afraid. We’re biased. And frankly, it’s just plain work. Because once you see it, you can’t un-see it.

For example, when you put a key in a door why do you always have to guess which way is unlock? And batteries. I know there has to be some electrical engineering reason why they all have to go flip, flop, flip, flop. Is it really so much work to run a little wire up to here so you can go pop, pop, pop, pop? And gas tanks. Why don’t car companies just pick a side? That way, whenever I borrow my wife’s car, I don’t have to pull into the gas station, get out of the car, realize I’m an idiot, get back into the car, turn around so everyone else knows I’m an idiot too. I bet the people inside the gas station are going, “Heheh. Got another one. Oh look, it’s Pastor Rob. Again.

Yeah, you laugh now, but I’ve infected you. Now every time you unlock a door and then pull on it and it’s still locked, or change batteries twice because you put them in wrong, or a see snarled mess at the gas station with cars all blocked in and facing each other, you’ll know. It doesn’t have to be this way. Someone, somewhere just doesn’t care enough to fix it.

That’s the real problem with light. That’s the real power of humor. It takes the truth you’ve learned to ignore and makes it funny enough you can’t help but look at it. And once you see it, you can’t forget it.

Stupid humor mocks people.

Good humor sees people.

Great humor changes people.

John is called the Apostle of Love. “I write this to make your joy complete… I write,” he says, “so that you will not sin. But if anybody does sin…” You hear the gentleness in that? See the light of truth? And feel the lack of shame? God knows who and what we are. And his verdict is love.

You know what other book John wrote? Revelation. And when Jesus comes at the end of Revelation to wipe out the enemies of God, he slays them with a sword that comes from his mouth. Our weapons are not of this world. Words are our only sword, and humor is its edge.

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First preached at First Congregational Church of Saugatuck on April 15, 2012.
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Apr 09 2012
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Easter Sermon: Love Letters from God

Texts:  Mark 16:1-8, John 20:1-18

Once upon a time, a shy young man was absolutely love struck by a beautiful young lady. Every day, he tried to get up the courage to speak to her. Every day he failed, until one day he had an idea. He’d write a love letter.

So that’s what he did. He wrote a beautiful, romantic letter, and with shaking hands he dropped it in the mailbox. It felt so good to finally give voice to these secret feelings that he wrote another next day, and the next, and the next. For two years, he wrote a letter every day. And then it happened.

She married the mailman.

It’s an old joke, and it’s made its rounds in various holy humor preacher manuals, because it’s got an obvious moral, ready to preach. The Bible is a series of love letters from God, but as individuals and as a nation, we’ve run off with the mailman instead. Greed and godlessness destroy our homes and our country. We need to get back to our first love.

Not a bad moral. Not a bad sermon. It is Easter after all, and some people just don’t feel like they’ve been to church unless they’ve been yelled at. If you don’t feel guilty at the end, how do you know it was a sermon? If that’s you, and that’s what you need to hear today, there you go. “Dear Lord, please forgive me for ignoring your love letters.” Not a bad prayer. If that’s as much church as you can handle today, and you just tune out the rest, I won’t hold it against you. But you’d be missing the best part.

Because in this particular story, I’m a big fan of the mailman.

I say, if the letter writer liked this girl so much, he should have gone over and said so to her face like a man! Ladies, correct me if I’m wrong, but if a complete stranger sends you one love letter a day for two years, is that or is it not creepy stalk-land material?

Exactly. I bet that’s how the whole thing with the mailman go started! She asked him if he knew this guy and how to put a stop to it. And every day, when a new letter came, he was there. He made her feel safe. The words on the paper were heartfelt and inspiring, but they were nothing next to the warm smile of a flesh and blood human being.

The letters showed remarkable consistency and dedication, but so did the mailman, and you know what else he had? A job! Something more to do with his life than write love letters to strangers. The letter guy never had a chance, and rightly so.

From a certain point of view I made a big mistake allowing you to hear both those readings right next to each other. Because even a child can spot the inconsistencies.

Was it Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome who first went to the tomb, or was it just Mary Magdalene? Did they see an angel and then report, or report and then see an angel? Did they go and tell the disciples, or keep silent because they were afraid? Did they see a resurrected Jesus, or just an angel in an empty tomb?

Why can’t the Bible writers get their story straight? Scientific studies tell us that Mark’s gospel was probably the earliest, and John’s the latest, and Mark’s doesn’t even have a resurrection account. So John obviously added that part himself to explain how his hero, the messiah, could possibly die.

See all the troubles it brings up, reading them right next to each other? The easy way would be to only read one version a year, so  you have time to forget the inconsistencies. But if we liked things the easy way, we wouldn’t be Congregationalists, now would we?

Years ago, it was common to assume that all the gospels were written hundreds of years after the events took place, but most modern scholars disagree. The earliest gospel fragment that we have is called the Rylands Library Papyrus because it’s stored in the John Rylands University Library in Manchester, Great Britain.

Most scholars date it to around 125AD in Egypt. If we add in a few decades for the document to get copied and passed around from its point of origin all the way to Egypt, then the most common guess at John’s original writing is around 90-100AD. Obviously, we’re guestimating based on two thousand year old evidence here. There’s room for disagreement. But it’s an educated, scientific guess, and this is the general consensus.

And in this case, science and church tradition line up. Church tradition says John was the only disciple to die of old age, so it’s possible his gospel was written by one of the last of the eye witnesses to the next generation of believers.  He hints at this when he says, “I write this so you might believe.”

If we accept that Mark is the earliest and John the latest, that means Mark had to write his gospel even earlier, in the living memory of eye witnesses. His purpose wasn’t to get them to believe, it was to get them to act.

Suppose you’re a first century believer. You go to church one Sunday, and the preacher begins reading this new gospel from Mark, the first of its kind. And the gospel confirms all those stories you’ve heard, and fills in gaps you never knew. The narrative gives the story flow and makes it easier to remember.

Then you get toward the end, and you walk with Jesus through his last days. And your excitement starts to build because you know what’s coming, and you get to Easter morning, and the angel tells the women, “He is risen!” And then the preacher reads, “Trembling and bewildered, the women went out and fled from the tomb. They said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid.” And he closes the book and sits down. How would you feel?

Yes! “That’s the end? That can’t be the end!  How can that be the end?!” Which is the whole point. The book is not meant to be consistent. It’s meant to get you to move, out into the streets where the people are.

The inconsistencies don’t bother me. They show flesh and blood people recalling flesh and blood memories for a flesh and blood audience. Perfect consistency? Now that would bother me, because it would mean they weren’t experiencing it. They were copying it.

God didn’t just send letter after letter. He hand-delivered the message. God put on flesh and lived among us and experienced every part of what it is to be human: the helplessness of birth, the dependent frustration of childhood, the sting of cruelty and betrayal, even death. And if we take his words on the cross at face value, he even knows what it’s like to feel forsaken by God.

That’s the promise of Good Friday, and on Easter Sunday, we see the promise hand delivered. Death is not the end. Good can conquer evil. Suffering for the sake of another is not a fool’s game; it is our only hope. Such a thing can only be accepted by faith.

Faith is wondering and hoping and believing and trusting someone. Not some thing. Some one. Even though you’re not certain, even though the cost is high, faith chooses to believe his story is true, not because the scientific probability of its truth outweighs the scientific probability of its falsity, but because of who he is out there (world), in here (Bible), in here (heart), and in here (mind).

And faith is not content to believe it here (mind), here (heart), or here (Bible). Real faith follows his example, and makes it real out there, where the people are. Because letter after letter, sermon after sermon, guilt trip after guilt trip is not enough. Just like Peter. Just like Thomas. Just like all the disciples, hearing the good news is not enough. They have to see it with their own eyes. They need that message hand-delivered. They need to see it in you.

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First preached at First Congregational Church of Saugatuck on April 8, 2012.

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Mar 29 2012
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Sermon on John 3:16: Grateful for the Gift

Texts: John 3:14-21,  Ephesians 2:1-10

Did you know that we are feared? Not this church in particular, I mean the Church with a capital C. Christianity. You can hear it around town, or on Youtube. It’s not a new thing. You can read it in Mark Twain, or H.L. Mencken. We talked about Mencken before, remember? He’s the one who defined Puritanism as “the haunting fear that someone, somewhere may be happy.”

He also wrote this: “I believe that religion, generally speaking, has been a curse to mankind — that its modest and greatly overestimated services on the ethical side have been more than overcome by the damage it has done to clear and honest thinking.”

It’s a double-sided fear, first that we might become zealots and crusaders, intent on controlling everyone, and second that we might simply waste our lives. Suppose you think all this is simple farce, imagine the wasted potential gathered just in this room. We have artists and writers, workers and business owners. This one room has enough intelligence and clout to make our little corner of the world a better place. Instead, we’re sitting around waiting for a non-existent God to come fix our problems. Do you feel the loss in that? Now multiply that by the third of the planet that self-identify as Christian, and you are talking about the single most devastating destruction of human potential in recorded history.

All that’s horrible enough, but we keep handing them more and more reasons to believe it! We worship a cosmic kill-joy and run around like mini-killjoys, as if the biggest concern in our lives is whether or not someone else believes the same thing we do.

Do you remember the John 3:16 guy? For years, at football games there was this guy who always bought a seat right in the center, between uprights at NFL games. And every time someone tried for a field goal or extra point, the camera shifts to catch the kick, and up pops a sign: John 3:16.

His name was Rollen Stewart, and his plan was simple. Football fans would see the sign, over and over, and eventually get curious. That would open the door for the good news. Because John 3:16 is the gospel in a nutshell.  “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”

It’s nicer than some of the things Christians have tried in the past. But put yourself on the other side. It’s Sunday afternoon. Long week at work. All you want to do is sit down and watch the game, and right at the crucial moment when the game transcends itself and becomes a story about who we are and who we can be, some guy pops up with a sign. Again and again with the stupid sign, until you finally go look it up, and it says if you believe in Jesus you live forever, but if you don’t you go to hell. Enjoy your game!

Rollen Stewart didn’t even like football! He said, “I despised sports.” The only reason he did it was because people turned sports into a god. They loved sports more than God, so he had to wake them up. That was two decades ago. Guess where he is now.

Turns out, holding your football game hostage was not enough. People still weren’t listening, so he had to turn up the volume. He took actual hostages. Convinced that the end of the world was imminent, and that a whole lot of people were going to burn if he didn’t wake them up, he made plan to make the news.

He picked up two day-laborers and took them to a hotel. When he walked into the room, he surprised a housekeeper, got flustered, and pulled a gun. The day laborers hit the door and the housekeeper locked herself in the bathroom. When the police arrived, he demanded a three-hour, televised news conference so that he could warn the world. (source) God is coming! And he’s angry. John 3:16 For God so loved the world that he sent his Son, and whoever doesn’t believe in Him will one day soon experience eternal, conscious, torment. Hear the good news.

They didn’t give him a press conference. They gave him a concussion grenade, followed by a SWAT team take-down, arrest, and conviction for three counts of kidnapping. They are scared of us. And we’ve given them cause. We should all be grateful that Rollen Stewart is in prison. Not just because it makes us all safer, but because it gives us one more chance to say as loudly and clearly as we can, “That is not what this book means.” Everyone’s so sure they understand it, that we’ve all stopped reading it. John 3:16, the verse everyone knows. But what does it actually say?

For God so loved the world. Not Christians, not Americans, not the infinitesimally small fraction of humanity that happens to agree with me on the finer points of both religion and politics. The world. The Greek word here is “kosmon” as in cosmos, as in all of created space and time, as in all the systems of this world that ignore and oppose God’s plan. What plan?

For God loved the world in this way. He sent his only-begotten Son. And what did that Son do? He died. This is the Christian revelation of God. God’s judgment is love. God’s choice is love. God’s plan is love.

Well, that’s great preacher-man, but you only read half the sentence. For God so loved the world, he sent his only Son, that whosoever believes will not perish. If that’s true, then the opposite must be true. Those who don’t believe will perish. For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. Or as our reading says today, “you were dead in your transgressions and sins… Like the rest, we were by nature deserving of wrath.”  All right, calm down.

I’ve forgotten where I first heard this story. My apologies to the author for the parts I’m sure I’ll get wrong.  In my recollection, it was a true story. Once upon a time two friends were walking through Rome. One was a Catholic priest, and the other an Eastern Orthodox monk. The priest was showing his friend the old frescoes and murals painted by the greatest religious artists of the West. And each time, the monk would answer with the Eastern spin on that particular scene. Until at last, they approached Michelangelo’s Last Judgment.

You’ve probably seen it. In the center, standing on a cloud, surrounded by radiance, by saints and angels, a muscular, bare-chested Jesus stands with hand upraised. Around and above him, the colors are bright, and the people are beautiful. But if you follow the line of his hand and the line of his eye, the colors get darker and images more disturbing, until you get to the bottom where gleeful dark demons drag terrified souls to hell.

And the Orthodox monk says, “This is yours. We know nothing of this.”  You see, the split between East and West wasn’t just a political split. It was a theological split. It was a cultural split. In an effort to explain the mystery of the cross to Roman minds obsessed with law, western theologians pictured the universe as a law court, with God as the judge. “It’s like this,” they said, “You’re guilty of breaking God’s law, but Jesus took the punishment for you, so now you can go free.”

This legal understanding is not wrong. There’s scripture to support it. It’s just not the only scripture. We’re talking about a religious mystery. We’re attempting to explain things too big for our heads. The Eastern Church chose a different metaphor, also grounded in scripture. It sounds a bit more like the story I told the kids today. God is light. When you step away from the light, you enter darkness. God is life. When you cut yourself off from the source of all life, the result is predictable. You see how those two stories would result in very different art?

For God so loved the world, he gave his only son, that whoever believes should not perish. The Greek word is here is ah-POL-ay-tie to perish, to die, to be destroyed. Not to be punished, not to be tortured, not to be found guilty in a court of law. Different words. It does not say, “believe or God will punish you.” It says, “Your unbelief is killing you.” You are a flower cutting off your own roots, and turning your face from the sun. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save it.

“Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already” Huh? I thought judgment happened at the end of time, when God takes the ones he likes and puts them up here and the ones he doesn’t like and puts them down here. Not according to this text. God’s judgment is already complete, and the verdict is love.

It’s our judgment that happens every day. Every single day, every moment of every day, we decide whether we’re going to believe that love, and trust it enough to bet our lives. Will we follow his footsteps, choosing to love, even though it costs us? Will we follow him, even to the cross, in hopes that like him, we too will rise? Or will continue to play the game, protect our own, even if it means people have to be hurt?

When they interviewed Rollen Stewart and asked him how he could justify taking people hostage, he said, “It was a crime to prevent a greater harm… If somebody’s standing in the way of me going into a burning building, I’m going to knock them on their butt.” This is not a polite conversation about hypothetical religious concepts. This is a continuation of the “faith as deal” argument that had Jesus turning over tables in the temple.

“If I believe, God will let me into heaven.” That’s not what it says. Faith is not a coin you drop into a God-sized vending machine and out pops salvation. “Light has come into the world, but people loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil.” The revelation of God, which is the cross, is a litmus test, a phrase that means the exact opposite of how we usually use it.

Usually we say litmus test, as in anyone who does not fit this standard need not apply. How many here have actually done a litmus test, with actual litmus paper? Real litmus paper has been treated with specific dyes that turn color based on pH, red for an acid, blue for a base. The test doesn’t discriminate. It doesn’t decide ahead of time what the answer should be. It reveals what was already there.

Our choices matter. Every day, they matter. Eternally, they matter. Not because that’s how we earn God’s love, but because they reveal who we are. That’s not faith. That’s reality. Faith means seeing that reality and choosing to believe based on Jesus that God loves us anyway, choosing to believe that loving the world anyway is worth the cost. Faith is seeing the light and stepping into it anyway. Our life choices make that easier or harder to do, but they don’t change the light. God’s love for us is not dependent on us; it depends on him.

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith – and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God – not by works, so that no one can boast.”

Over the last few week’s we’ve examined the marks of a Christian. We are people of the cross. We are people of passion. Today, we add a third mark. We are people of gratitude. If God’s judgment is love, a gracious gift, given for no other reason than who God is, then every waking moment is an opportunity for gratitude.

So here’s your challenge for the week. Don’t judge people by what they say they believe. Instead, listen for echoes of the cross, watch for moments of passion, pay attention to all expressions of gratitude. You may discover we have brothers and sisters where you least expect it. In December 1921, H.L. Mencken, that atheist critic of Christianity, wrote the following and signed it Epitaph. “If, after I depart this vale, you ever remember me and have thought to please my ghost, forgive some sinner… and wink your eye at some homely girl.” If our non-Christian friends fear us, it is not usually because they hate Jesus. It’s usually because we don’t resemble him.

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First preached at First Congregational Church of Saugatuck on March 18, 2012.

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Sep 19 2011
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God is Not Fair

A sermon based on Matthew 20:1-16

If Americans wrote this story today, it might go like this: Once upon a time God got up at the crack of dawn and called for workers. Everyone who was too lazy to get out of bed got nothing, and the people who worked all day got paid. First, God paid everyone by the hour, but some people complained because they had worked harder. Then God paid them by calories burned, but some people complained because they worked more efficiently. Then God paid them according to the number of leaves pruned, but some people complained because their tree didn’t have as many leaves. And they’re still there to this day, arguing with God over who deserves exactly how much pay. Because the important thing isn’t so much that I get paid, it’s that everyone else get paid less. The end.”

Rev. Doug Gray is the pastor at 2nd Congregational in Beloit, where I got my start. He has three beautiful kids, and whenever one of his kids says, “That’s not fair!” his answer is always the same. “Fare is what you pay for the bus.” He’s said it so many times that they roll their eyes and finish the phrase for him. God is not fair. And for that, we should be very, very grateful.

This story is a hard one, because Jesus never explains it. He just leaves it there for us to figure out. It starts normally enough, the boss gets up before dawn, and goes down to Home Depot to hire some help. He promises a denarius, which at the time of Jesus, was a standard day’s wage. If the story stopped there, the moral would be clear. God is fair.  Show up early, work hard, and you’ll have a good life.

denarius

One Denarius. Original work by Ancient Art. Click the picture for more.


Some of you, I’d even say most of you, fit that story to a T. You’ve heard of the Paretto principle, right? That’s you. You are the 20% that do 80% of the work. I know because I see you. You work your tail off. You show up week after week. You volunteer for boards, and service projects and teams. You donate money even though things are tight. When the church needs something bought, you don’t go to the Trustees. You just go buy it. When the church needs something done, you don’t go to the Deacons. You just go do it.

I know… because this church would never have made it 150 years if it weren’t true. It’s what makes any church, but especially a small church, work. And honestly, you don’t get nearly the recognition you deserve. “Thank you” is the only pay we can offer as a church, and sometimes you don’t even get that. So thank you. Thank you for everything you do that no one ever sees. Thank you for giving even when it’s hard. Thank you to the faithful few who show up early and work all day.

But that’s not the end of the story. The landowner goes back down to Home Depot at 9am. The day has already started. They know they don’t deserve a full denarius. Instead, he promises to pay them whatever is fair. The story never says why they were late. Maybe they had a good reason, maybe they just overslept. Either way, it’s still early. There’s still plenty to do. So, off they go.

Maybe this is you. Maybe you didn’t feel comfortable with all those accolades, because you don’t feel you deserve them. You can’t make it to church every Sunday, you don’t have time to sit on a board, or you can’t afford to give. You just do what you can. There are a few here today, but where I run into this the most is around town. I can always tell, because they apologize, even though I’m not yelling.  All I have to do is exist, and people feel guilty. Because they’re not really apologizing to me.

If that’s you, then hear the good news in this story. You are welcome too. God’s kingdom is not just for super-saints. The-people-who-do-what-they-can still get a full day’s wage. There is good work to do here, necessary work that will bear fruit. Don’t let a misplaced sense of guilt stop you from doing what you can. And don’t ever let someone who’s been here longer get between you and God, or the work God has for you.

This is where it gets really interesting. The landowner goes out at noon, at three, and at five. Noon means no matter how fast they get there, they’re already doing less than half a day’s work. And five means they’re doing less than one hour of work before they go home. At this point, the landlord finally asks, ‘Why have you been standing here all day doing nothing?’  And they say, “Because no one hired us.” Which he knows is a lie because he’s was there at 6, at 9, at noon, at 3, and now at 5pm. They don’t have a job because they didn’t show up! But he just says, ‘You also go and work in my vineyard.’

One hour later, the foreman pays them. And the boss specifically says to pay the slackers first. Can’t you just see the early birds getting angrier and angrier? “I worked my tail off all day and I get the same as that schmuck who got up at the crack of noon? My shirt is sopping. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. That’s not fair!  And the boss says, “Fare is what you pay for the bus.”  Ok, not really. He says, “You’re getting exactly what you agreed to. As for the rest, it’s my money! Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you jealous because I am generous?

The story is really about the landowner. This is someone who values people more than his own time and money. This is someone who sees the need we all have for meaningful work. This is someone who sees the kids who need to eat, even though their dad is a slacker. This is someone who sees past our failures to our potential, who would rather restore than judge. That’s the kind of God we serve.

Or maybe it’s about the ones who showed up late. God is happy to hire us, but we have to show up. You can come at 6, at 9, at noon, at 3, even at 5. But at some point the sun is going to set. We’ve been offered life and purpose, but we still have to accept it. God is happy to pay us more than we deserve, but we still have to do the work.

Those are all true and good, but I think it’s mostly a special message for the early birds, the amazing 20%, the faithful few who do most of the work. You have everything. Everything they lack, you already have. You have drive. You have purpose. Your life has meaning. You have good work and generous wages. Isn’t that enough? When will you finally stop worrying about what everyone else has and enjoy what you have? Why are you letting someone else decide when you get to be happy? Because friends, let’s face it. In our heart of hearts, we all showed up at 5.

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First preached at First Congregational Church of Saugatuck on September 18, 2011.

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Sep 12 2011
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9-11: Still Angry? Here’s Your Get Out of Guilt Free Card


Every time a preacher starts talking about forgiveness, someone says, “Oh yeah? What about Osama? What about Hitler? What about pedophiles?  You want me to forgive them?” For some of you, this is not theoretical. It’s personal. You’ve seen evil up close. Even thinking about having to forgive makes you hurt inside. So don’t. I’m giving you my personal pastoral get out of guilt free card. My pastor says I can hate one truly evil person for free. I will give it to you, if you give me this in return: most of life is not a facedown with evil. Most of life looks more like this comic from xkcd.xkcd: Duty Calls

Can we all agree that some things really are evil, but most things are not? So it’s not “How can you forgive the unforgivable?”  The real life question is, “How do we live with each other without strangling each other?”

Look at Peter’s question. He doesn’t ask, “How many times should I forgive Caesar?” He wants to know, “How many times do I have to forgive my brother or sister.” Not Hitler, not Osama. My brother or sister, my spouse, my fellow church member. How many times should I forgive them?  Which of course really means, “As a Christian, what’s the minimum number of times I have to give someone a pass before I can unload on them?”  The rabbis said three. So Peter is really stretching here. He knows Jesus takes this stuff seriously, so Peter takes the usual 3, doubles it, and adds one to get 7, the number of perfection. “How forgiving do we have to be, Jesus?  How about double plus one? That’ll show ‘em.”

And Jesus says what?  Not seven, but seventy times seven. You want to be perfect? Be perfect times perfect. Forgiveness is not a scorecard, it’s a way of life. It’s who you are.  “But that’s ridiculous!  That’s impossible! That’s just plain wrong. What about maniacs, and pedophiles, and terrorists?” Jesus, as usual, tells a story.

We call it the Parable of the Unmerciful Servant.  We ought to call it the two-minute reality check. Most of the time, we’re not facing off with evil incarnate. Most of the time, it’s not about abuse or betrayal. Most of the time we’re upset over the moral equivalent of five bucks.

When you get angry, you body releases Adrenaline and Cortisol. When you’re fighting a bear, that’s awesome. Blood pressure, oxygen, and glucose levels jump. All secondary functions, like high-level rational thought, get shunted. Your senses, strength, and reflexes increase and your thoughts are laser focused on what’s immediately in front of you. You fight the bear, run away, and everything goes back to normal. No problem.

But what if you’re not fighting a bear? What if you get angry 14 times a day? What if you live in a near constant state of anger? Your blood pressure never drops. You can’t sleep, but you feel tired all the time. Your memory starts to slip.  Given enough time you will burn out your internal organs and shorten your life. In one study of almost 13,000 subjects, those with the highest levels of anger were three times more likely to have a heart attack, compared to the subjects with the lowest anger levels.

We need to change our perspective. The primary relationship is not between you and some idiot. The primary relationship is between you and God. Once you get the context right, everything else falls into place. What you believe changes your perspective, and your perspective changes how you treat everyone.

Yes, I said everyone. Even Hitler. Even Osama. Even the person that did that truly evil thing that you are still carrying around with you everywhere you go. Now, don’t get your back up. You still have your get out of guilt free card. I said it, and I meant it. This is not about guilt. I like you people, and forgiveness will help you stick around longer. It will also help you solve your problems better.

You know the most insane part of this entire thing? When we’re mad, we feel like we want to kill somebody, they don’t even know. And if they do know, most of them don’t even care! They’re wrong and they’re fine. We’re right, and we’re killing ourselves! How smart is that? Osama is dead. The 9/11 hijackers are dead. And yet a decade later and we still carry the anger and the fear. Brothers and sisters, they are not worthy of that much power. They are not worthy of that much attention. They are not worthy of that victory.

They wanted you dead, so live. They wanted you paralyzed by fear, so move forward. They wanted you enslaved, so be free. Forgiveness does all of those things. It allows you to step out of your anger, back into the land of rational thought that might actually solve the problem.

I just got attacked by a bear. I don’t want that happening again. What should I do now? Maybe I should get out of its den and stop harassing its cubs. Maybe I should build a fence to keep it out of my house. Maybe I should buy and gun and shoot it.

I have no idea. It’s an imaginary bear! But I do know we will never solve the problem as long as we’re stomping around saying, “I can’t believe that bear attacked me!  That’s not fair. Stupid bear.  I hate bears.”  As long as your anger is running your mind, your rational brain is off.

Our greatest enemy is not evil. It is the shortsightedness, apathy, and despair that stops good people from doing what they can to fix real problems. Do not let anger eat you. Let it motivate you. That’s why God gave it to you.

Your emotions are a compass. They point you in a direction. It completely defeats the purpose of the compass to sit in one spot and stare at it. Osama is an excuse. Hitler is a distraction. Because being angry at things lets us avoid the deeper work we need to do. The person we really have a hard time forgiving is… Yes! It doesn’t matter how powerless or innocent we are. We will find a way to make it our fault.

My husband beats me. Well I guess I shouldn’t have made him mad. My wife belittles me, well I guess I shouldn’t be so stupid. My parents got divorced. I guess I should have been a better kid. Someone I love died and I’m still alive. But it should have been me. How in the world do I forgive myself for that?

Remember the parable? The person we’re shaking down for five dollars is us! We are we holding ourselves to a higher standard than God.  God’s Son walked among us, and his consistent message from word one was, “God loves you.” And when we killed him for telling the truth and being good to people, his last words were “Father, forgive them. They don’t know what they do.” Let. It. Go.

Yes, it is hard. Yes, it’s possible. He proved it, and so has every saint through history that followed his example. Forgiveness is a kingdom life skill, and you learn it the same way you learn anything else: by practicing. Change your perspective and practice every day. If you need help getting started, this church is full of people who are willing to annoy you. And the beauty of it is most of them actually mean well, so it’s a great place to begin. Hold onto that card as long as you need it, so you can learn to let it go.

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First preached at First Congregational Church of Saugatuck on September 11, 2011.
Text: Matthew 18:21-35

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Aug 24 2011
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Sermons

You Control You: Identity and Victory

I love the Bible, but…

Never thought you’d hear your pastor say that, eh? I love the Bible, but some passages are difficult.  I’m not talking about vocabulary. I’m not even talking about the teaching. I’m talking about certain verses that I understand clearly. I just don’t like what they say.

Take today’s reading. Is it just me, or does Jesus seem like a jerk? This lady comes to him for help, and he calls her a dog. First he ignores her. Then he says, “I didn’t come for you people.  I came only for the lost sheep of Israel.” This is not the savior I signed up for.

It is, however, a perfect fit for his times. Rabbis of his day did not associate with foreigners, and especially not women.  If you dig through some older Jewish Orthodox prayer books, you can still find the prayer, “Thank you lord, that you did not make me a non-Jew, that you did not make me a slave, that you did not make me a woman.”  Don’t grumble at me. I didn’t write it!

That’s the culture Jesus lived in. When his enemies wanted to challenge him, they brought him a woman caught in adultery. Last time I checked it takes two, but the Pharisees only brought the woman. When his disciples found Jesus talking with the Samaritan woman at the well, they didn’t say, “Why are you talking to a Samaritan?” They said, “Why are you talking with that woman?” So, if Jesus is being sexist or racist, he’s only acting just like a normal first century rabbi.

When a Roman soldier asked Jesus to heal his son, Jesus talked to him, offered to come to his house, and publicly applauded the man’s faith. But when this woman asks for the same thing, he gives her a hard time. It doesn’t make sense! Or maybe it does, and I just don’t like it.

Our other text today offers a possible solution. How many of you have seen the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat?  Exactly, you know the story. This is right at the end, when Joseph finally meets his brothers, only now they’re starving and he’s the prince of Egypt.

Joseph says, “Don’t be distressed or angry with yourselves for selling me here, because it was to save lives that God sent me ahead of you… So then, it was not you who sent me here, but God.” Betrayed, beaten, sold as a slave, falsely accused, thrown in jail, and now he says, “It was not you who sent me here, but God.”

You heard me tell the kids that this story is about you controlling you. You can’t control what happens, but you can control how you react.  That’s true. It’s powerful advice, which is why you’ll hear it from self-help gurus and motivational speakers.  If that’s all you hear today, it will do you good.  But there’s more.

Is Joseph really the hero of the story?  Yeah, he’s clearly the protagonist who succeeds against all odds. But let’s reframe the question. Does Joseph secure his own victory? No. The unseen hand of God guides the entire story, planting the seed of victory in the very first chapter, when he gives Joseph prophetic dreams and the ability to interpret. It was the dreams that catapulted Joseph from the prison floor to the throne room.

This is going to sound strange, but I think it’s true. Joseph doesn’t win. He repeatedly avoids defeat.  This story could have ended horribly at any time if Joseph had just given up.  All he had to do was quit working so hard, quit trying to be good, quit dreaming, or quit living.  The whole world was against him. It would have been so easy to quit. Defeat was always completely within his reach. He just didn’t accept it. How did he do it?

How did the martyrs hold on to their faith?  How did the saints of old succeed when so many others failed? It’s about identity. If you haven’t heard of Henri Nouwen, look him up. He’s an amazing writer, one of the greats of our time. He has this to say about identity:

“Over the years, I have come to realize that the greatest trap in our life is not success, popularity, or power, but self-rejection…When we have come to believe in the voices that call us worthless and unlovable, then success, popularity, and power are easily perceived as attractive solutions. The real trap, however, is self-rejection. As soon as someone accuses me or criticizes me, as soon as I am rejected, left alone, or abandoned, I find myself thinking, “Well, that proves once again that I am a nobody.” … [My dark side says,] I am no good… I deserve to be pushed aside, forgotten, rejected, and abandoned. Self-rejection is the greatest enemy of the spiritual life because it contradicts the sacred voice that calls us the “Beloved.” Being the Beloved constitutes the core truth of our existence.”

Brennan Manning says: “Define yourself radically as one beloved by God. This is the true self. Every other identity is illusion.”  As a pastor it is tempting to me, to try to convince to you center your identity in the church.  Obviously, there’s some self-serving going on there. But it’s a strong temptation specifically because it does you good too. It does us all good.

Imagine we’re all over in London right now, and there are rioters running through our neighborhoods stealing what’s valuable and burning what’s not.  Who do you think is going to do better?  The person who is out there alone, or the one whose identity is grounded in a committed group?

We don’t have to wonder. We already know. London’s Green Street is a high-end shopping district. Over 200 retail showrooms including jewelry stores. Sounds like a prime target, right?  Nope.  Because hundreds of Asians, the friends and family of local shop owners, stood together and sent those looters running.  On Kingsland High Street, it was the Turkish community standing strong. You might have heard about the three men that got run down by a car in Birmingham? Their neighbors called them heroes for defending their neighborhood. They were Pakistani.

Are you sensing a pattern here? Identity beats chaos. Random anger can cause a lot of damage, but tight-knit community pulls people through. It’s the moral of every great sports movie. Random individuals become a team. They work through their hang-ups, learn to rely on each other, and succeed against all odds. Together, we are building something to survive whatever may come.

As beautiful as that is, it is not the goal.  Remember, “Define yourself radically as one beloved by God. This is the true self. Every other identity is illusion.” Which may be the solution to our very first problem. Is it possible that this woman knows exactly who Jesus is? Is it possible that her identity is secure enough that there is even room for laughter? She asks for help, and he pretends to be just like any other rabbi. But she doesn’t quit. His disciples try to send her away, but she doesn’t quit. Jesus says “It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.” And she contradicts him! “Yes it is! Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”

Jesus just got done teaching “his people” about real faith that comes from the heart, and his holy people rejected his teaching. Well, if the kids are too stuck up to eat the meal, what do you do? Give it to the dogs! She takes the racial slur and turns it into a badge of honor because her identity is not grounded in what anyone else thinks. Her value is not lessened by what anyone else says. She can face what comes because while everyone else was arguing, she was listening.

So when the rabbi ignores her, she is brave to approach. When the disciples shoo her away, she is undaunted. When he spouts the usual tripe about Jews and Gentiles, she calls him on it, because her identity is rooted in the radical, relentless love of God. And at that moment, her daughter was healed.

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First preached at First Congregational Church of Saugatuck on August 14, 2011.
Texts: Matthew 15:10-28

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Aug 09 2011
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Sermons

Get Out of the Boat


If you grew up in church, I imagine you’ve heard quite a few sermons about Peter’s brief attempt at water walking.  Most of the ones I’ve heard something like this: “Peter should have kept his eyes on Jesus. He got distracted by the noise and rush of the world. Don’t be like Peter.” But I say, our lives and our world would be better if we all acted more like Peter.

Jesus sends his disciples ahead of him. He tells them to cross the sea. They called it a sea. We’d call it a lake. 13 miles long. 8 miles wide. But here it is, night, and they’re only halfway to the other side. A storm came up, and the wind is right in their face. Their master said to cross, so they don’t quit. They row all night long, and now the dawn is about to break and here comes Jesus walking to them across the water. They’re wet. They’re exhausted. They’re frustrated. This is just the last straw. They cannot believe what they’re seeing, so they have to come up with another explanation. “It’s a ghost!”

Jesus says “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.” In Greek, it actually reads “I am.”  Take heart. I am. Does that sound familiar to you? When Moses asked God “Who shall I say sent me?” God answered. “I am what I am. Tell them I AM sent you.”  Take heart. I am. Don’t be afraid.

But the disciples don’t answer. They’re still afraid. They speak when they should be silent and stay silent when they should speak. But Peter? Peter says, “Lord, if it’s you, ask me to come out there with you.” Which, when you think about it, is just about the worst proof-test ever.

Keeping watch in a trench

Photo by HappyA

Imagine we’re back in WWI, in the trenches on the western front. It’s late at night, edging toward morning. You’ve been on guard duty all night. You’re tired and hungry, but you have a job to do, so you keep watch. And out of the mist, you see someone moving toward the line. “Don’t shoot, it’s me!” It sounds a bit like Captain Smith, and it looks though the haze like it might be Captain Smith. So, what do you say?

Exactly!  “If it’s really you, what’s the password?  What’s my hometown? Who plays third base for the Yankees?” You could come up with a hundred good questions to ask. You know what you wouldn’t say?  Not in a million years? “Hey cap, if it’s really you. Call me out there into no-man’s land with you.” What if it’s not really the captain? What if it’s just some German with a good accent? You’d be toast!

It’s not like people in Bible times were stupid. When Jesus was on trial before Herod, He said, “If you really are the Son of God, do a miracle for me.” The soldiers that blindfolded him and beat him said, “If you’re really a prophet, then prophecy. Tell us who just hit you.” When he was hanging on the cross the people said, “If you’re really the messiah, come down. If you’re the savior, save yourself.”

But Peter says, “Lord, if it’s you, tell me to come to you on the water.” We’re stepping into interpretation now, but the only way I can read it this story so it makes sense is like this: Jesus comes walking through the storm, and the disciples say “This is terrifying!”  But Peter says, “That looks awesome!”

He has enough faith in himself to trust his eyes. He’s just as tired and frustrated as everyone else, but he looks through the fear and the exhaustion to the one he knows. He’s seen Jesus do miracles before. Is walking on walking on water beyond the power of one who can heal the sick, or feed the 5000?

The question isn’t, “Is this really Jesus?” or “Is this really possible?” The question is, “Did Jesus really mean it when he said this life is for us?” So Peter lays down the gutsiest challenge. “If the Jesus I know, the messiah, miracle worker, and Son of God, the one who loves me, if that Jesus is walking on water, I want to do it too.” And his trust in his teacher is so great, that when Jesus calls, Peter steps over the side.

If you’re looking for a moral here, try that one. It was faith that enabled Peter to ask the question. And the very next thing that happens, the very next step, requires greater faith, because he has to step off the boat. The next step requires greater faith, because he has to put his weight on both feet. The next step requires greater faith, because he has to let go of the boat. The next step requires greater faith, because he has to face the storm. How’s that for a moral? You are never done. Faith is about becoming. We’re all worried about getting into heaven someday. God’s worried about changing lives today.

wooden boat

Photo by Jim Boud www.JimBoud.com

You’re a seeker. Great. Get out of the boat. You’re a believer. Great. Get out of the boat. You’re a lifelong believer, and you do good works, and you tithe a tenth of your income, and you run a soup kitchen out of your actual kitchen, and you pray so much people can actually see your halo?  Great!  Get out of the boat. Because where ever you are, whoever you are, God has more to give you, more for you to receive, more for you to become.

You know what happens next, right? This is the part everyone wants to talk about. Peter fails. He looks away. He gets distracted. He gets scared. He starts to sink. Brothers and Sisters, this is not a warning. This is a guarantee. If you try to live a faithful life, if you trust God enough to step out of the boat, you will get distracted. You will get scared. You will sink. It will happen. And when it happens, be like Peter.

He doesn’t swim back. He reaches forward. “Lord, save me!” Even his failure is an act of faith. Call out to Jesus, reach out your hand and lean on him. He can take it! Keep your eyes on him and hold on tight. Once you’re safe, you know what you do next? You follow where he leads, even if it’s out into another storm.

Peter isn’t a warning. He’s an example. When preachers tell the story, they might poke fun, and if Peter were here he’d probably laugh. But looking back, I bet he remembered that day for the rest of his life as the day he walked on water. And I bet all the other disciples remembered it too, as the day they stayed in the boat.

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First preached at First Congregational Church of Saugatuck on August 7, 2011.
Texts: Matthew 14:22-33

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Get Out of the Boat  is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License. Link to revsmilez.com.

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