The Sermons of Bill Carter

Well, What Happened in Worship Today?

2012-01-28T23:49:00.001-05:00

Mark 1:21-28

Ordinary 4 (B)

January 29, 2012

William G. Carter

They went to Capernaum; and when the sabbath came, [Jesus] entered the synagogue and taught. They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes. Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit, and he cried out, "What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God." But Jesus rebuked him, saying, "Be silent, and come out of him!" And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out of him. They were all amazed, and they kept on asking one another, "What is this? A new teaching--with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him." At once his fame began to spread throughout the surrounding region of Galilee.

Last Sunday morning, I made an unscheduled stop here for worship. It was the end of a study leave week. Even though I had booked a substitute preacher, I wanted to hear my younger daughter sing. After worship, I had to take her older sister back to college. It was good to be here for the 9:00 service, good to dress in my incognito blue jeans, good to sit right back there in the very last pew.

I don’t ever get to do that. After what I saw, I am going to have to do it again. When you sit back there, you notice things that you don’t ever see from up here. Who arrives late? When do they get here? Where do they sit? You see who is paying attention and who is not. I mean, ten minutes into the service, I had already blended in. People forgot I was sitting back there.

Once in a while a note is passed or a word is whispered. I observed that our organist starts a hymn at a sprightly tempo, and the congregation tries to slow her down. That was interesting. Occasionally somebody will say at the door, “Can’t we sing a little faster?” Well, stop trying to slow her down.

I noticed that the leaders up front have a good bit of energy. But the energy dissipates by the time it gets to the last pew. I discovered how ushers are recruited, and how some of you help others find the right hymn or the right hymnal. I learned a lot by sitting in the back pew. Some time I am going to do it again.

As many of you know, my wife plays the organ at a Presbyterian church over the mountain. Most Sundays at lunch, we begin the conversation with the question, “Well, what happened in worship today?” Maybe we will talk about the sermon that she heard, or the sermon I thought I preached. We may remark on the music, or a special prayer, who was there, or the props used in the children’s sermon. Last week, I had a lot to tell her. She assured me that all of it regularly happens in churches like ours. So I should not be surprised.

Well, what do you think they said after the synagogue worship in Capernaum? We heard the story from the Gospel of Mark. A lot of us have heard it before. It was the very first public act in the ministry of Jesus. Right before this, he had taken on some issues in the wilderness, observed only by the angels. Then he snatched a couple of fisherman from their father, and then two more after that.

On the Sabbath night that week, in the very town where the four fishermen resided, Jesus goes into the village synagogue. He steps up to the podium and begins to teach the Torah. And he’s good. Oh, he’s really good. The people are nodding in agreement. They are delighted by his insights. Somebody over here murmurs, “He isn’t reading his sermon to us, like one of those boring temple scribes.” Another says, “He hasn’t downloaded any of it from the internet, either.” (You know, it’s possible to do that. Go to www.desperatepreacher.com. On Saturday night, they get 200,000 clicks.)

In the little town of Capernaum, Jesus didn’t need to download other preachers’ material. He has first-hand wisdom of what God wants to say to those people on that given day. Do you know how rare that is? It’s amazing. He gives them the instruction they need – and they know it.

And that’s not all that happens in worship. There was also that hostile interchange with a man who was out of his mind. Here is how Mark describes him: “he had an unclean spirit.” I’m not really sure what that means. Maybe he had a bad temper. Perhaps he was under some ongoing stress, always about to blow his top in a volcanic rage. Maybe the chemistry in his brain was off. Or he was just given to rants. In the first century, they didn’t have a specific diagnosis for this sort of thing. All they would do is point and say, “Something got into him.”

Can you hear it? “Something got into him.” They didn’t wonder what it was that got into him. They just knew. It was some kind of forcefulness. When whatever it was got into him, it seemed to possess him. And it was holding the rest of them hostage.

Some of the old-timers still talk about the outburst that happened in a small town not far from here. After a string of one young preacher after another, this church I know decided to call a seasoned veteran. Compared to all those recent seminary graduates who never stuck around very long, Rev. Samson was fairly old – 54 or 55, I think. He was set in his ways, with his silver hair slicked back. Nobody pushed him around.

About fifteen minutes after he came to town, he discovered why the young preachers kept leaving early. It was a small church and didn’t pay very well, but that wasn’t the reason. It was a small town and didn’t have a lot of entertainments, but that was not the reason, either. No, it seems they had a number of strong-willed characters in that church who loved to bicker with one another. The loudest bickerer was the local physician, Doc Harley. The others would complain about a hymn, but he would complain about the preacher’s theology.

A couple of years into this, the whole place was boiling. Rev. Samson was starting to feel the stress, but he stood his ground. He led the church the best he knew how. And one Sunday, in the middle of the sermon, Doc Harley got out of his seat, walked down the aisle, stood in front of the pulpit, and interrupted the preacher. He wagged his finger at the preacher and shouted sarcastically at the top of his lungs, “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

After a stunned moment of silence, he wheeled around, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I said it, but it doesn’t do any good.” Then he walked out of the church, never to return. Nobody said another word.

Two weeks later, Rev. Samson had a heart attack. He ended up taking an early retirement and leaving the area. Shortly thereafter he was replaced by a young preacher who didn’t stay very long.

Doc Harley never came back. He kept his medical practice, had a lot of patients who were church members, and never did any of them ask, “Doc, what got into you?” They knew. They knew.

The most curious thing was what the church members said among themselves after he left. “How are we ever going to get along without Doc Harley?” How are we ever going to get along without him?

Did you hear what the man screams in the Capernaum synagogue? “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us?”

Sometimes evil is so nasty that it not only overcomes a person; it can tangle people together. And everybody gets used to it. It settles in. It’s part of the unspoken atmosphere. Have you ever worked for a company, or belonged to a group, and you sensed that something about it wasn’t right? You can’t figure out what it was . . . but there’s something twisted, something dark, something like the Stepford Wives – it’s just a little too perfect. And if you try to address this, you will be singled out and attacked. Or worse.

Now, here’s the thing about our Gospel story: Mark is not the least bit surprised at this. He knows who Jesus is. He is the Holy One of God. Jesus is the One on whom the Spirit falls, the One who says, “The time has changed, the Kingdom is right here.” And Mark knows that Jesus brings out the worst in us. He is not surprised at this. Jesus brings out the worst in us.

I mean, let this story sink in. Jesus has gone to teach the Bible to an assembly of God’s people. They are meeting in the place where the Bible is always opened to them, week after week. It is the day that God has set aside for the hearing of the Holy Word. Listen to the Word of the Lord: “God loves you, God heals you, God claims you as his own.” That’s what Jesus gives them – and that’s what brings out the worst in Doc Harley, the demoniac in the second pew.

He screams at Jesus, and Jesus screams back. And he screams again, “Have you come to destroy us, you Holy One of God?” And Jesus screams back, “Come out of him! Shut up and come out of him!” And the man shakes - - - and there is a great calm.

And I love what Mark says. The people look at one another and say, “We’ve never heard a sermon like that.”

What happened in worship today? What would you say? I think that Mark would say that, in worship, we hear God speak, through the scriptures, and in the voice of Jesus Christ. When the scriptures are opened, God speaks. Either we push God away and say, “What have you to do with us?” Or we find ourselves strangely realigned through the power of Jesus Christ. Either way, it brings out the worst in us. We can’t stay the way we are.

And the Gospel of Mark is not surprised at this. This is the world that God has made, and this is the world that pushes God away. We are the creatures who are made in God’s image, and we are the creatures who are twisted in upon ourselves. This is how Mark portrays the Gospel: Jesus comes so close that he will change this, that he will make us into new creations. It is the very thing that will heal us and the very thing we resist.

What amazes me is that the Gospel work begins among the religious people, in a Jewish synagogue on the Sabbath. It begins in holy space, on holy time. After this, Jesus will meet other people in homes, on the street corners, in the market places, even one man is lowered to him through a roof. But he begins in the gathering of God’s own faithful, as the scriptures are opened, as the Word of healing and restoration is proclaimed and taught.

No matter how much we resist it through kicking and screaming, Jesus comes to make us well. He comes to realign us with God’s good purposes for our lives. Our spiritual healing never comes without a struggle. We have to lay down the hurts that all of us have. We have to forgive what we don’t feel like forgiving. We have to decide that the damages of our past are not going to hurt us or anybody else anymore. Like I said, Jesus comes to bring out the worst in us – he calls out the worst and he takes it away.

Do you know why this is? Because he is the Holy One of God. He comes in the power of the kingdom, a power described so well by the Harlem poet Zora Neale Hurston. She said, “Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place.”

Well, what happened in worship today? What do you want to happen more than anything else?

Friend By Friend

2012-01-14T18:10:00.000-05:00

John 1:43-51

Ordinary Time 2

January 15, 2012

William G. Carter

Jesus said to him, “Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.”

I want to talk today about how the Kingdom grows, the Kingdom of God. Jesus says somewhere it’s like a mustard seed. The Kingdom is a little tiny seed. It takes root and grows. Suddenly it becomes a great bush, from a little seed. And how does it grow?

The seed parable comes from over in the Gospel of Matthew. Matthew doesn’t really explain it. He keeps the growth as a mystery.

But today as we hear this story from the Gospel of John, we gain a little bit of insight. Jesus finds Philip. Philip finds Nathanael. Nathanael finds Jesus. The little seed takes root and begins to extend its branches. Here’s the picture of growth. Right here.

A lot of churches are worried about growth, especially in a time when more and more people are sleeping in on Sundays.

When I moved here all those years ago, some of our leaders said they wanted our church to grow. One of my friends was the pastor of Covenant Presbyterian Church in Scranton. He said, “Where do they think all the new members are going to come from?” He had a point. That church and this one have been trading members on occasion for thirty-five years. That’s not the same thing as growth.

There are marketing seminars that church people can attend. For $500 a seat, they lay out their own time-tested principles for growth. One principle: only go after people who are just like you. Forget about any diversity, just focus on similarity. Announce that newcomers have to agree with you, look like you, live in houses like yours, and you will grow. It’s called the principle of Homogenous Growth. It comes from the marketing world, not from the Bible.

Another principle: drop your franchise name. The marketing experts say people don’t know what “Presbyterian” means, and they have mixed opinions of the word “Baptist.” So brand yourself as something new, something unique, something all your own, and you will grow.

Another principle: do something different. Forget about tradition, forget about history, forget about anything that existed before you were born. Dwell only in the present and declare that it all begins with you. Suddenly all those tired people from tired churches where they have “always done it that way before” will perk up and flock to you. At least, that’s what the marketing people say.

And I can report what people report to me. A worn-out, weary Methodist gets invited to the Church of What’s Happening Now. She resists it, but her friend says, “Once you try it, you’ll never go back.” Now let me just say: some people think that’s growth. That’s not growth. It is thievery.

So let’s talk about growth. Not church growth, but Kingdom growth. There is a difference. The issue is not increasing the seating capacity or improving the slickness of the promotional material. It is not about numbers, statistics, and increased income. The Kingdom does not focus on demographic information. Nor does it dumb down the message so that people with consumer appetites can be spoon-fed Gospel McNuggets in a place that is hip and cool and a little bit creepy.

No, let me tell you how the Kingdom grows. It grows friend by friend in an invitation to authentic holiness. It is not flashy. It is down to earth and it is real.

This is how growth is reported in our text from the Gospel of John. Jesus finds Philip. Who’s Philip? We don’t know. But he comes from the same little town where Andrew and Peter hail from, so he must have known them. I mean, Bethsaida was a little place. And then Philip finds Nathanael. Who’s Nathanael? We don’t know. Just a friend of Philip. He is mentioned five times in this story, and not again until chapter 21.

Nathanael never makes the official list of twelve disciples. There are people who think he should. Matthew, Mark, and Luke mention a guy named Bartholomew. John never mentions anybody named Bartholomew. John mentions Nathanael. So the pious interpreters say, “Maybe Nathanael is the same man as Bartholomew.” We don’t know.

The little bit we do know is that, in chapter 21, he is called “Nathanael of Cana in Galilee.” There was a “wedding in Cana of Galilee” (2:1). Maybe it was Nathanael’s wedding. You know, the wedding where they ran out of wine, and Jesus had to make more wine? That story happens immediately after this one. It would be reasonable to surmise that Jesus says, “Nathanael, you will see greater things than our little banter, greater things than me telling you that I spotted you under a fig tree.” And the very next day (as John says, “on the third day”), Jesus transforms the water into wine.

But here’s the thing: hardly anybody sees it. Even though it is the first miracle, or sign, of Christ, it happens at a wedding party when a lot of people were probably drunk. Most of the miraculous moments in the Gospel of John happen out of sight. A lot of people miss them. Or they can be explained another way. This is John’s way of reminding us that holiness does not happen in the sky; it happens on the ground. You can’t see holiness in the huge, Technicolor miracle with 5.1 sound. That’s because the holiness of God is often in those occasions when somebody’s life is touched and changed. God is in it somehow, somewhere, not for everybody to see unless they are looking in the right place.

That’s how it is with Nathanael, whoever he was. He hears about great things about Jesus, but his hopes hit the ground with a thud when he hears where Jesus is from. “Nazareth? He’s from Nazareth? Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”

You know where Nazareth is? It’s around the bend from Forest City. How many of you have ever been to Forest City? Can anything good come out of Forest City? It’s just so ordinary.

And then Jesus sees him and says, “Look, here’s an Israelite without any nonsense. Not an ounce of bologna in that guy.” Nathanael says, “Where did you get to know me?”

And Jesus says, “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.” Nathanael falls to his knees and said, “You’re a Rabbi! You are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” Well, he certainly gets all those titles right: Rabbi, Son of God, King of Israel. But wait: which fig tree? What fig tree is he talking about? We don’t know. Do you know how many fig trees there are in Israel? They are everywhere.

John’s point is simple: Jesus comes among regular people who aren’t even looking for him. He signals to them that they are noticed and known. That’s all it takes to open up to them that there is a God who sees them in truth and grace. Then he invites them to simply follow, to come and see what happens. It could be that the dusty little town of Cana becomes the place where heaven opens, and the angels ascend and descend upon Jesus.

Every once in a while, something big happens somewhere in the world, and the God Squad goes there to mark it as a miracle site. A statue of the Virgin weeps. A crippled woman drops her crutches and stands up healed. A burned-out hippy told me one time that Sedona, Arizona is the stairway to heaven. But the Gospel of John announces any place can be that stairway. The Eternal Word of the Father becomes ordinary perspiring flesh. Christ comes down and stays incognito so much of the time. Holiness happens among the ordinary. Jesus awakens faith by spotting a guy under a fig tree. No big deal -- except for Nathanael.

But that brings me back to say a few words about how the kingdom grows. It grows as ordinary people who have these holy moments invite their friends to come and see. Nathanael comes to Jesus because Philip first invited him. There is something that Philip had discovered about Jesus that prompted him to invite Nathanael to discover it for himself. We don’t know exactly what awakened Philip’s faith. We don’t know which fig tree Nathanael stood under.

What we do know is there was a chain reaction among friends. One friend saw it, spoke to another. The second friend saw it in a different way, and he undoubtedly spoke to somebody else. The Kingdom of God grows friend by friend in an invitation to authentic holiness. I’m talking about the only holiness there is, the kind of holiness in the middle of the everyday.

Sometimes we see it, sometimes we do not. As Eugene Peterson writes,

The hardest thing is to believe that God’s work – this dazzling creation, this astonishing salvation, this cascade of blessings – is all being worked out in and under the conditions of our humanity: at picnics and around dinner tables, in conversations and while walking along roads, in puzzled questions and homely stories… Everything Jesus does and says takes place within the limits and conditions of our humanity. No fireworks. No special effects. Yes, there are miracles, plenty of them. But because they are so much a part of the fabric of everyday life, very few notice. The miraculousness of the miracle is obscured by the ordinariness of the people involved.[1]

When a good friend dies, the Kingdom people gather to sing praises to God. Just happened here on Friday morning. Some people were here because they were friends. One person said to me, “I experienced the Truth today unlike any other time in my life.” Somebody else said to me, “I’m not sure I’m a believer, but today I think I am.” There are moments when Jesus, the Risen Jesus, comes among us. Should we glimpse it, we invite our friends to see what we see. Maybe they will.

A flood sweeps through the river valley. People are shocked. Homes are destroyed. Even the church goes numb. One of my pastor friends lost so much in September’s flood. Shortly after the travel bans were lifted, an elderly man showed up with work gloves and a bucket. Jim mumbled, “Oh no, not him.” The man was known to be nothing but trouble. But then this volunteer says, “The people of your church helped me when I was flooded in 1972, and I need to be here to help all of you.”

Jim said it was as if heaven opened and the angels of God ascended and descended right there. Right there. In the mud, for God’s sake. Right there. My friend praised God, and invited his friends to come and see what God was doing right there.

The writer and artist Madeline L’Engle said it best: “We do not draw people to Christ by loudly discrediting what they believe, by telling them how wrong they are and how right we are, but by showing them a light that is so lovely that they want with all their hearts to know the source of it.”[2]

Do you want the Kingdom to grow? Do want God’s influence, power, and grace to grow? Watch for the Light of Christ breaking in. Tell your friends where you see it.

This is the invitation to faith: come and see.

[1] Eugene Peterson, Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005) 34.

[2] Madeline L’Engle, Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art (New York: Macmillan, 1995) 122.

With Water and Fire

2012-01-08T00:01:00.000-05:00

Mark 1:4-11

Baptism of the Lord

January 8, 2012

William G. Carter

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

It was a long time ago now, but I will never forget the day. It was the day a little girl was baptized right here in this church. Her name was Margaret Rose, and I was playing the role of father, rather than pastor. The pulpit gown was hanging on a hook across the hall and I had a red diaper bag slung over my shoulder. Even though I had a lot of experience as the splasher, I was extremely nervous that morning.

The one calming influence was the memory of how well the baptism of her older sister had gone some three years earlier. Meg was already wearing a hand-me-down. In this case the same ivory satin baptismal gown her sister had worn. Most of the same family members were gathered around as they had three years before, and they were beaming the same radiant smiles.

And then came the moment when the heavens were split apart. It was a scene that a lot of people did not notice. You see, Meg's baptism was complicated by the presence of her three-year-old sister Katie. I had mixed feelings about having her there. It turned out they were justified. Katie fidgeted while the preacher spoke the ancient words of scripture. She saw some people in the pews that she knew and waved to them. They waved back and thought it was cute. Then in a loud three-year-old voice, she began to narrate what she saw going on.

It was time for the main event. To maintain a ounce of decorum, I put a gentle vise-grip on Katie's shoulders as the water was splashed on her sister's head. Apparently it wasn't firm enough. That's when it happened. As the water splashed, Katie broke free with a delighted squeal and ran to her infant sister. Even though the minister was still holding the baby, she reached up to touch her sister’s head. With eyes as big as saucers, she turned and looked at me. "Daddy," she said out loud, "Meg's head is wet. It really happened. She’s baptized!"

Now my family says I amplify the event, but that’s how it happened. Maybe my memories of parental anxiety have enhanced the details. But the point of the story is still the same: it really happened. The baptism really happened. That’s what every Christian needs to know. We want to know that every baptism really happens.

What is a baptism any way? It is the moment when God announces a claim on us through water and the Word. God announces that we are citizens in a new dominion before we even know it. God gathers us in a love that precedes all human relationships, a love that comes before every family tie. Baptism announces that we belong to God. It’s good to know that every baptism occurs.

Now there's no doubt that the baptism of Jesus really happened. For one thing, all the writers tell us it was accompanied by astonishing signs. When Jesus was baptized, he came up from the water and saw the heavens had been ripped open. Then the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of God, came down like a dove and landed upon him. And then a great Voice spoke the coronation words from the second Psalm: "This is my beloved Son. I am pleased with him." The actual baptism of Jesus is not described in elaborate detail. But the signs confirm that it truly took place.

What's more, there is no way that the church would have ever dreamed up a story about the baptism of Jesus. Frankly, it is too embarrassing. John was in the Jordan River, baptizing people as a sign of repentance. Then Jesus appeared. We don't know if Jesus came to the river to repent. We don't think so, but it's hard to explain. Jesus took his place among sinners. As people were baptized by John in anticipation of the Messiah, Jesus appeared, apparently to join them. The church couldn't have invented a tale like that. Every New Testament scholar I know agrees: the baptism of Jesus was a historical event. It really happened.

Now, if a three-year-old touches her baby sister's brow at the baptismal font and discovers it's really wet, she knows something special has happened. And when we hear the of a day when the heavens open, a dove descends, and a Voice calls out, there is no question that God has broken into human history in a profound and significant way.

According to the brief story we heard a few minutes ago, the baptism of every child of God finds its meaning from the baptism of Jesus. For Jesus and for us, the evidence of baptism is found in what we do with our lives. Baptism is more than knowing that our little sisters' heads are wet. It is an event that guides the way we live. What matters most is how we live after the water has dried.

That's what the baptism of Jesus was all about. As Mark tells the story, this is the moment when Jesus first walks in to the picture. We don’t know anything about him until he is hip deep in the Jordan River. In the Gospel of Mark, there are no shepherds, no wise men, no angels, no mention of Mary and Joseph. There is no manger, no temple dedication, no Christmas carols by Simeon and Anna. There is only a baptism, as if to say, "Here is how it all began. This is when Jesus began to make a difference in peoples' lives. This is when heaven touched down on earth." His ministry began when he was baptized.

For what happened when Jesus came out of the water? Suddenly he is hurled into the wilderness to battle the devils and demons. He goes into their own turf to take them on. And he comes out of the wilderness triumphant.

Then he goes to a sleepy synagogue in a small fishing village and begins to preach. Just as he speaks, a man in the fifth pew stands up and starts to yell. Jesus yells right back. And the man screams and Jesus screams. Jesus says, “Shut up!” Suddenly there was a great calm. The man is OK. The people say, "We've never heard a sermon like that before." Jesus teaches the congregation and mends the man.

And just then, he goes to the house of Simon and Andrew, where Simon's mother-in-law was in bed with a fever. And immediately Jesus takes her by the hand, lifts her up, and chases away the fever. And she feels so good, she cooks them lunch.

And immediately the word spreads. Even though it was the evening of the Sabbath and people were supposed to sit back and do nothing, suddenly they got busy. The people brought to Jesus all of their damaged neighbors. He healed every one of them. It was all in a day's work: preaching, teaching, and saving the world.

Remember how it got started? When Jesus got baptized. Baptism is the moment when God says, “You belong to me – and I am sending you into the world to make a difference.” To make a constructive difference. To make a holy difference. The heavens have been ripped open, baby, and there’s no word that they have been stitched shut. The Spirit comes down, lands on Jesus, and is refracted now through everybody who loves Jesus – all to the end of making a constructive difference in the world.

It’s not just the water that was on his head; it’s the fire God ignited in his heart. Just as John promised: “I splash you with water, but he fills you with fire.”

Last summer, we heard about praying women who got together in this little railroad stop town and prayed this congregation into being. Last fall, we heard about the Gibbons family, who convened a congregation into being. They had come back from the mission field, and they knew God has a mission in the world, that God wanted a church to make a difference in the world.

Now, there were a few other churches already in the area. There was a Catholic chapel, a number of Methodist churches about a horse ride apart. But these Presbyterians wanted a church with a democratic government that would make a difference in the world. You see, for them it was not a matter of merely singing some hymns, praying a bit, and calling it a day. They wanted God’s work to get done.

It’s the same work that Jesus is still doing: teaching, healing, mending the world one person at a time. And I have to say it is a wonderful thing to serve a church that understands his ministry. This is not a congregation that sits around and does nothing. There are Christians here. Baptized people. They take on Christ’s ministry as their own.

On any given day, the people in this church are looking in on one another. They are making phone calls and offering rides. They deliver meals and welcome strangers. They rejoice with those rejoicing, they offer a firm shoulder to those who feel broken down. They breathe forgiveness. They contribute to human needs out of their own resources. And a lot of this is done without any fanfare, because people know: if you are baptized, you are sent to do Christ’s ministry.

In fact, that little girl that got baptized sixteen years ago? Last night at 10:00, she was bugging me. “Dad, take your checkbook to church. We have to get in my deposit for the youth group’s summer mission trip.” Apparently enough of you have been working on her – just as you continue to work on her sister, on me, on one another – and this is exactly how Christ’s ministry takes flesh among us. We are the community of the baptized.

The good news in our text is that God does not abandon the world to its own inclinations. God does not ignore a world that is prone to its own selfishness. God does not walk away from a world that is enamored with its own destruction. No, says Mark, God rips open the sky and comes down here. And in the curious left-handed power of Jesus, lives are healed. Compassion is enlarged. Wisdom is deepened. The world is rescued, one square foot at a time.

That is the promise of Christ’s baptism and ours. Heaven touches earth, and earth is changed. It happens through our ministry, the ministry we share. And that leads me to say, don’t ever abandon the work of the Gospel to the professionals. It doesn't matter if you spend your time building houses or cleaning them. God has something for you to do with your life. It doesn't matter if you punch numbers into a machine or make life-and-death decisions with the stroke of a pen. What matters is you serve God, full-time, every hour of every day. It doesn't matter if you are retired, employed, or looking for work. What matters is that you see your life as a ministry. And what you do with your life matters more than you can ever know.

It has been that way ever since Jesus went down into the Jordan River and came up to see that the world has changed. When Jesus was baptized, God called him the king. Ever since, those of us who are baptized in his name are called to live as if Jesus really is the ruler of heaven and earth. That won't be easy. There are forces that hurt and destroy human life. There are demons to cast out and telephones to answer. There are headaches to cast away and furnaces to fix. There are sins to forgive and equities to establish. Most of all, there are a lot of people who need a lot of love. And it matters what we do with the time God has given us.

It has always been that way. The true Christian does not withdraw from the world to say, "I've been washed in the waters of baptism; now I'm going to sit back in my Easy Chair." Rather the true Christian says, "It's time to get out of the water. There is something God has for me to do."

A Pregnant Year

2011-12-31T17:39:00.001-05:00

Galatians 4:4-7

Christmas 1

January 1, 2012

William G. Carter

But when the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, in order to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children. And because you are children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba! Father!” So you are no longer a slave but a child, and if a child then also an heir, through God.

This is the only time that the apostle Paul mentions Christmas. Even so it is a glancing reference, the briefest of allusions: “God sent his Son, born of a woman.” No mention of a manger, no angels, shepherds, or wise men. Paul does not discuss Bethlehem or Joseph. We learn about them from Luke and Matthew. Paul may be the most prolific author of the New Testament, but in all his writings Christmas scores half a line: “God sent his Son, born of a woman.”

Yet in no way does this downplay the purpose of Christmas. Paul summarizes the purpose of Christ’s coming this way: “God sent his Son to make us God’s children.” He is talking, of course, to people in modern-day Turkey. The people of Galatia were Gentiles, far beyond the promises of Israel. Yet the Son of God comes for them, to adopt them into the Holy Family of Israel.

We belong to God because Jesus has come into the world. His life, his death, his resurrection gather us in. Through our faith, we are welcomed by God. That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

I would stop there, were it not for a little phrase that Paul slips in. The first Christmas arrives, says Paul, “when the fullness of time had come.” He says it comes “in the fullness of time.” I don’t know what that means.

This is New Year’s Day. Today another twelve month cycle begins. Somebody at some point decided there were twelve months in a year, that all the months had somewhere between 28 and 31 days, that the months circle around again and again like a cat chasing its tail. And Paul speaks of the “fullness of time.” What does he mean by that?

We can say that time rolls along. Today is the day when all the calendars are discounted. You can’t sell them for full price after the date changes. As an irrepressible bargain hunter, I have often wondered why somebody charges so much for them in the first place. Today a fifteen dollar calendar is suddenly available for $1.99. Simply put, it loses value after a certain date. Maybe that’s why the Dollar Store still can’t move that stack of 2007 pocket calendars at the bottom of a bin. Nobody wants them, even if the store considers them valuable enough to keep on the shelves.

So we can also say time runs out. Food has an expiration date. You wouldn’t know that by looking in my refrigerator, but the health department says it is true. Perhaps it is time to toss that airtight packet of Curry Chicken that I picked up at the grocery store back in September. It may still be good. I don’t want to find out. It is past its time.

Maybe that’s why Jesus instructed us to pray for our daily bread. By Friday it goes stale. So pray for your bread a day at a time.

Some are worried that the world has an expiration date: too many people, too few resources, too many erratic elements that could blow everything up. If there isn’t a global disaster, the Mayan calendar ends on December 21 of 2012. All of the Mayans out there are either terrified or praising their flying saucers and feathered serpents.

Lives have expiration dates. Hate to bring that up, but it is true. We expire sometime after we turn stale. The ancient poet of the Psalms observed this without pinning it down to an actuarial table. “The days of our life are seventy years, or perhaps eighty, if we are strong; even then their span is only toil and trouble; they are soon gone, and we fly away.” (Psalm 90:10). Our days are numbered and somebody in heaven is counting them. Knowing this is the beginning of wisdom.

We resist the reality. The last time we sang the hymn, “Our God, Our Help in Ages Past,” we got to the line that says, “Time like an ever-rolling stream soon bears us all away.” A lady said to me at the door, “I’m not sure I like that verse.” None of us do. It is a reminder that time runs out.

Time rolls along, time runs out. It is wise for us to make the most of our time. When I married eight years ago (oh, where does the time go?), a friend in Virginia sent a most curious wedding gift. It is an hourglass. The attached note said, “Turn this over once a day and spend that time talking to one another. Use that time to gaze adoringly into one another’s eyes.” Well, romantic that I am, I keep forgetting to take it home. It stays on the shelf in my office, and sometime I will take it along to committee meetings. Let some of those people stare adoringly into one another’s eyes. We have to make the most of the time.

But Paul says, “When the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman.” That little verse has sent all kinds of amateur historians to the books. They come back and tell us all the reasons why it was a perfect time for Jesus to be born. The first bump they encounter is that Jesus was not born in the Year Zero; he was born before the death of King Herod, and that occurred in 4 BC. The second bump is that Jesus was not surrounded by careful historians when he was born; he was surrounded by sheep herders, none of whom saw any value in reading, writing, or remembering history. Third, he was not born at midnight between December 24 and December 25. Those sheep herders would have been in the fields in the springtime, not in the winter.

Listen, we don’t know the exact time and date when Jesus was born. That’s OK. All the amateur historians return scratching their heads, if only because ancient history is a little bit ambiguous. All we really do know is that sometime in the fourth century the Christians took over an annual pagan festival that was scheduled each December 25 in the Roman Empire. They called it Christ Mass. Ever since, no matter how hard the Christians tried, that annual festival has remained pretty pagan.

Yet “in the fullness of time,” Jesus arrived. In the fullness of time.

Malcom Gladwell says that some moments reach a “tipping point.” Big things happens when enough little things line up. Ideas converge. Opinions accumulate. A revolution begins when enough people think it is needed, when enough people are willing to risk their own necks to create a change. Some people look at the global circumstances surrounding Jesus’ birth, and declare God has reached a tipping point: the empire was heartless, people were cruel to one another, sinners were destroying their lives. So God stepped in and said, “It’s time to send Jesus.” True enough, Christ has come and begun to make a difference.

Yet last time anybody checked, the empires are still heartless, people are still cruel, and sinners are still making a mess of most things.

That leads me to say that the key is not the “when” but the “what.” For some divine reason of timing, Jesus came when he did. The Child of God came to make us children of God. It happened off anybody’s map, in a world that largely has stayed asleep. Whenever this mission of God has been discovered, it has always been resisted. All the tyrants out there still debate the claim that God has on anybody. Plus a surprisingly large number of selfish people would profess that they belong to themselves before they ever belong to God.

Yet God still sends Jesus. God refuses to let people stay enslaved to one another, much less enslaved to their own desires. God comes to free people from the ways of destruction, and to claim them as his own. God doesn’t want any one of us to perish, so that’s why God sends Jesus. It happens “in the fullness of time.” And that word “fullness” is the same kind of word used for abundance. Full as in “spilling over.” Here is the sense of it: when the time is filled up, when the moment is pregnant with possibilities, when something new is just waiting to burst forth, everything was ready for God to come.

From the outset, I hope it’s that kind of year for you. Not a year for you to be killing time, but an abundant year when something new and holy can happen within you. I pray that with the time we have left, we fill it with the praises of God and blessings for our neighbors. I pray this is a year full of forgiveness, that we leave behind in 2011 all our lingering hurts, that we cancel all the grudges that want to attach themselves like Velcro to our souls.

And I pray that, among all your resolutions, you resolve to be a child of God. To be content as God’s child. To receive the blessings of God with a thankful heart, and to pass them along to others with unselfish hands.

Happy New Year. Happy Abundant New Year.

Receiving the Gift

2011-12-24T10:25:00.001-05:00

Luke 2:8-14

Christmas Eve 2011

William G. Carter

For all the truth of Christmas, at least one lie has crept in. It lingers at the heart of the holiday. It infects people of good will. It sneaks into our greetings of one another, especially children. And the lie is this: “You get the gift only if you are good.” Where in the world did that come from?

Some would pin it down to 1934, in a new song composed by John Coots and Haven Gillespie, and sung on a radio show by Eddie Cantor. The song declared, “He knows when you’ve been sleeping, he knows when you’re awake, he knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness’ sake.” Everybody knows that’s a lie. He doesn’t know. Only God knows, and God’s view of Christmas never depends on whether we are bad or good.

Where does this come from? Apparently there was a European legend in the 1700’s. If you were on the “naughty list,” you would be visited by Krampus, a demon with horns and hooves. According to legend, Krampus would wake the bad children and whip them. “So go back to sleep, little ones,” said Mama. “Not a peep until dawn.”

The sentiment lingers. We ask the children, “Have you been a good girl, a good boy?” It’s a painful thing to say to them, especially at a time of year when so many adults are so poorly behaved. So much going on, and patience is in short supply. And we put our kids in front of the television, the advertising is relentless and they discover wants and desires they previously did not have. It’s already a tough time for the children: four new viruses circulating the school, way too much chocolate available, far too many things to do, with all of the seasonal overload.

Then we say, “If you are good you will get something good for Christmas. Johnnie, stop hitting your sister.” We say this as if we know the standard for goodness, as if gift-giving depends on behavior, as if goodness will always be rewarded. It’s a lie. It has nothing to do with Christmas, with the real Christmas.

The truth of Christmas is that the Gift comes whether or not you are good. In fact, it may be precisely because we are not good that the Gift comes anyway. Did you ever hear that verse from the New Testament? “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us (Romans 5:8).” God doesn’t wait until we are good before being good to us. That is the Gospel.

This is the Gift announced to the shepherds. The angels declare, “God is giving a gift to the world. It is a Baby who will save you.” The angels did not wait until the shepherds scrub up or speak and talk in religious ways. There was no attempt to coerce them into the prevailing self-righteous society. The Gift was for them as they were.

The truth of Christmas is that the Baby comes even if there is no ledger book of how well behaved anybody is. God gives the Gift, not because they are good – but because they are loved. The One who gives them the gift loves them. That’s why it is a gift.

So much of the gift giving around Christmas really is about something else. Sometimes it is merely business. The merchant hands out the calendars so that every time we look at the calendar, we remember the merchant. It is not really a gift, it is advertising.

Sometimes gifts are given in endless obligation. Consider the exchange of hostess gifts. We invited her, she came with a gift. She invited us, so we have to get something for her. Just make sure it’s not the same thing. Or maybe not; I am thinking about creating the Universal Gift for Hostesses, or UGH. You lay out twenty bucks to acquire the thing, give it, she gives it back, and you give it to her next time, and so on endlessly.

And then there is the drama surrounding the annual extended family gift exchange. You draw names, put together a list, and e-mail it out. I don’t know him very well, but I must get him something. He wore a camouflage cap to Thanksgiving dinner, so maybe I will buy him a gift card at the sporting goods store. On Christmas, he will open his gift card. This is a lot easier than getting to know that stranger.

But how beautiful it is, how rare it is, when you can offer a gift to somebody because you love them. Not because you have to, but because you want to. Not because they are good or kind, but because somehow God’s goodness is working itself out in you. And so, you give the gift.

I have a friend who lost a lot of precious items in September’s flood. I felt the burden to help replace some of what he lost. For three months, I schemed. Starting small, the project grew. Each time one arrived in the mail, ready to be wrapped, my heart was full of glee. My heart gets full of a lot of things, but glee is pretty rare. My wife said, “You are really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Well, of course I was. I love my friend and I could imagine his delight. It was a thrill.

Last evening at the home of church musicians, I was presented with a gift. It’s a tacky picture of the Last Supper. If you move it just right, Jesus appears and his eyes follow you around the room. I laugh at kitsch like this, and with gratitude to Alan and Susan, I feel loved.

Isn’t that what we want our gifts to do? To express love, to create more love. It doesn’t have to cost a lot. But it’s the thought, the consideration, the precise selection. That can be a lot of work, but we do it willingly for the people we love.

God does this willingly for you and for me. We don’t know enough about the shepherds to know if they were good or greasy. But Christmas was given to them out of love. Or there’s King Herod; certainly he wasn’t very good at all. He seemed to know that the Gift was so amazing it would take over everything, including his throne. So he tried to dismiss the gift, and it didn’t work. Even the world still says this, “We don’t this Baby Jesus, and we sure don’t want him when he grows up.” So the world pushed him out – yet he came back a few days later. He may often stay hidden, but he will not be dismissed.

The Gift of God in Jesus Christ comes regardless of how we behave. It is there in the Appalachian carol. “I wonder as I wander out under the sky, how Jesus the Savior did come for to die, for poor ornery people like you and like I.” I am ornery enough that I want to fix the grammar of that verse and sidestep the sentiment. Yet Christmas comes to me, even though I am that ornery. It comes for you too.

Thank God for that. Thank God that the holy generosity of heaven is greater than the meanness of earth. Thank God that frustrated parents and confused children are still loved no matter how hard the holidays are to navigate. Thank God that even though people have the capacity to make great messes out of their lives, nobody ruins Christmas, the real Christmas. Because it is bigger and holier and greater than anything we could ever manufacture.

This is the gift: God loves the world so much that God comes into the world. God keeps coming toward us even if we push him away. God comes to us in Jesus, to embrace us in grace until the day comes when we become grateful.

The Gift is yours for the receiving. From the view of God the Giver, not a single one of us is despised or left out. Be still long enough to hear the news: you are loved eternally. That truth puts you in the presence of angels.

Local Miracles

2011-12-18T00:01:00.003-05:00

Luke 1:26-38

Advent 4

December 18, 2011

William G. Carter

Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.

If an angel appears and announces you are pregnant, what are your options? You can question the announcement, but there is no assurance that you will receive a satisfying answer. You can say, “You’ve got the wrong person,” but it sounds as if God’s mind is already made up.

You are free to disagree and declare, “No thanks, I don’t want any part of this.” But the angel knows the pregnancy is already a done deal. The decision has been made. All you can do is come to terms with what has already been decided.

The first announcement of Christmas is given to a young girl in the northern hills. She has never been pregnant before. She has no first-hand knowledge of what this will demand of her. There is no evidence that she wanted a baby, or that she had any plans other than to marry Joseph someday.

The angel says God has a mission to the world and that her womb is central to the plan. Mary is going to have a baby. It will happen without Joseph’s assistance. God has decided to make it so. The Holy Occupation Plan begins with Mary, and just now she is notified. She’s going to have a baby because God has decided it. Doesn’t sound like she has a lot of options.

It is hard for us to sand away the varnish of traditional piety. If we can, what we discover is a story of how God gets his way. At least, that’s what strikes me this time through the Annunciation story. Everything the angel says is in the character of an announcement. Gabriel is God’s press agent. “Here is what God is going to do,” he says. “This is who the child shall become.” When she stammers out the question, “How can this be,” Gabriel declares, “This is the kind of God we have, with whom nothing is impossible.” That is, if God wants something to happen, it is going to happen.

Many of the poets and hymn writers have construed this text as a conversation with some give and take. But the angel Gabriel does not knock on the door and wait to be permitted inside; he goes right in. When he talks with Mary, Gabriel gives no wiggle room. The announcement is made and the angel does not ask how she feels about it. No, the statement is brief: you will conceive in your womb and bear a son. God says so. And by the way, don’t bother to send Mary one of those pink and blue books that list possible names for the child; God has already named the boy before he is born.

The annunciation is a story of how God gets his way. God wants to send Jesus into the world. God doesn’t ask permission, because it is God’s world. Mary is made in God’s image. How can she resist the announcement? How could she ever say no?

We pray on a regular basis for God's will to be done “on earth as it is in heaven.” From the sounds of today’s text, the will of God is inevitable. That seems to be the lesson. Christmas is something God wants to do in the world. It begins in a small town, in the little town of Nazareth. That’s up north, off the beaten path. It was not a place where the important people lived or passed through. God chooses to work off the map, so to speak.

The word is given to young Mary. Assuming she was a child of her times, we know something about her life. She was not educated. A young Jewish girl had no career options. She had no public voice in a men-only culture. If she went to the synagogue to keep Sabbath, she sat in the hidden balcony with the other females, offering her prayers out of sight. Her whole life was off the map, until God shines the spotlight upon her for a dozen or so Bible verses. Her obscurity seems to be an important factor in God’s selection. Her world would never notice her – except that God sends the angel to declare, “Hello, favored one. The Lord is with you.” Nobody told God to do that; even in Mary’s obscurity, she was already noticed by the angels.

I think of this every year when we wade this far into December. A lot of people who celebrate Christmas know very little about Christmas. It is possible to observe a completely secular Christmas – celebrate fat meals that are not available to the hungry, sing songs about reindeer and cold winter nights, push the piles of mammon in a wobbly cart around Walmart, and generally wear ourselves out. Holy Day is downgraded to mere holiday. We can grumble about the godlessness of all this, even if it’s the same godlessness that has infected our bloodstreams.

What we are missing is that God’s work is inevitable. Christ comes to the world whether anybody wants him or not. Mary will have her baby even though, as far as we know, she never actually asked for a baby. Gabriel sings of the significance of a Child who comes to rule forever, even in a world that is not particularly asking Jesus to rule over it. Still he comes – the Christ Child comes. He comes whether we are ready or not.

Now, I know. It is awkward to talk this way. Some people talk as if God has had everything planned out. If they have any faith, it’s boiled down to a kind of fatalism. Like the old Scot Presbyterian who fell down the steps, brushed himself off, and said, “Glad that is over with.”

It is a great comfort to think God has a plan for every situation and every moment. Then, when something happens, you can lean back and say, “It must have been God’s will.” Hurricanes, for instance. Or severe illness. Some people acquiesce and say, “Those things must be God’s will.”

It bothers me to have some things described as “acts of God,” when they simply look like acts of destruction. I remember a man who could only make sense of 9-11 if he declared, “It was an act of God.” Privately I thought he should leave God out of it and go talk to a grief counselor. There were people hijacking those planes who wanted to kill and destroy; the God and Father of Jesus Christ was not behind their plan.

Whatever else we can say, whether well-intentioned or casual, we have to leave some room in our thinking for people who trip over their own feet, or for people so tormented by life that they hijack planes, or even for the irrational power of storms and cancer cells. This is a busy and complicated world.

And yet, this is the same world where the angel Gabriel comes to announce there will be a baby boy. His birth will not be a random occurrence. His life will not be a haphazard mistake. There will not be a destructive urge within his heart. Jesus comes to rule without overpowering. He comes to make a constructive difference in a world that largely ignores him, among people who don’t often notice him.

And even if the powers and complications of this world should swell up to squelch him, he comes back with wounded hands to keep ruling and repairing, doing whatever it takes to win over one person at a time, providing quietly for those who need him most. This is why God sends Jesus into a world like this.

The first heart to win over will be that of his mother. It will not be enough for her to simply say, “Let it be.” God may be doing the hard work of reconciliation, but Mary will have the bloody work of labor. Will she have a choice in that? Not really.

But she does have a choice in how she will receive him. She can regard him as the unwanted child who disrupted her life. Or I suppose she could consider him as another extraordinary angel who should be protected from the world and all its pain. She does neither. She regards him as a gift from God, a gift to her and a gift to the world. And in complete obedience, she wants God’s will to be done on earth, her patch of earth, just as it is in heaven.

In a Bible study one time, somebody pointed out what Mary says to the angel – she does not say, “Let this be to me, according to your word.” If she says “to” that signifies passivity. As if to say, “I have no choice. I have no power in the matter.”

She also does not say, “Let this be for me, according to your word.” That would highlight the benefit of the baby, or at least the benefit of who he will become. That would be like saying, “OK, I will going through the pregnancy if I can get something out of it.”

Rather Mary says, “Let it be with me, according to your word.” With is a participatory word. It declares that Mary is going to take part in the pregnancy. She will be more than a mere vessel for the Christ child to come into the world. She chooses to be a partner in the process. God’s initiative in sending the baby will join with her willingness to welcome him. This birth is going to happen with her agreement, with her support, and with her trust. “Let it be,” she says.

With this in mind, let me suggest something for you to think about. In a deep spiritual sense, all of us are pregnant. God has planted within each of us a small seed of the Gospel. God wants to do something for the world through each one of us. God wants to birth the Good News, to birth an entire New Creation in Christ.

Yet it can only happen if God does this work with us. Saving the world is God’s good work. God has the whole thing planned out. For our part, it will be enough to say yes. To say, “Let it be -- with us -- according to your word.”

God’s Action Plan

2011-12-10T23:15:00.001-05:00

Luke 1:46-55

Advent 3

December 11, 2011

William G. Carter

And Mary said, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,

for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.

Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;

for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.

His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation.

He has shown strength with his arm;

he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.

He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly;

he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.

He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy,

according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.”

This is the song of somebody who has been lifted up. She was low to the ground and there she was met with Holy Favor. She was diminished by insignificance until God did great things for her. That truth is the center of gravity for this song. “I was down and then God blessed me.” “My soul magnifies the Lord, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.”

Tradition places these words on the lips of a young peasant girl. She is having a conversation with an old woman, a relative of hers. The old woman is named Elizabeth and she is six months into a surprising pregnancy. The young woman is Mary and her surprising pregnancy has just been announced.

Elizabeth reminds us of ancient Sarah, the mother of Israel, who was decreed to be barren and now long past the days of child bearing. Her impending birth reminds us of the kind of God that we have. Barrenness is not a deal breaker with God. God is so creative that God can birth just about anywhere, regardless of human circumstances.

And those are also the circumstances for young Mary. She has not been with a man, yet new life begins within her. God announces this news through a messenger angel, hinting at the importance of Mary’s child and who he will become. Her child Jesus will be a royal child. His very real human birth will originate from the mysterious power of God. This is going to happen, ready of not. It will occur as an unexpected gift.

So Mary sings, “My soul magnifies the Lord!” Her words have resounded so frequently through the ages that the church has lost track of how many times these lyrics have been set to music. Mary sings to the Lord – but mostly she sings of the Lord. After the opening phrase, God becomes the subject of every line. Mary’s experience of blessing opens her heart to the greatness of the One who is doing the blessing. And she sings three truths: God is merciful and strong, God readjusts the power structures of this world, and God has a helpful memory.

God is merciful and strong. I suppose we can say anything we want about God, but Mary sings of what she knows. Mary is discovered by the Lord; in her insignificance, she is now called “blessed.” God has not cast her off, but considered her, counted her, taken her seriously – and this is how she knows God’s mercy.

Yet in the next breath, she calls God “the Mighty One” and declares great things have been done for her. The angel had revealed who her child will become. The child in Elizabeth’s womb does a little dance when Mary walks into the room. The awesome power of God is shown in the creation of a child.

When Mary sings, she holds together both attributes: God’s mercy and God’s strength. She will not separate them, as so many of us do. She does not say, for instance, that God’s love is shrunken down until it fits cozily in our hearts. Nor does she point to the tornado and announce it as the wild forces of God.

No, she declares that God comes with compassion, with tenderness, with grace and affirmation. If we look beneath the hard surface, we can find a kindness latent in everything that God does. There is a good will at work in the world, a hidden benevolence to reclaim and improve a beloved world.

Want to know what God comes with power and strength? It may not be in the tornado, but rather in the volunteers who come to help in the middle of the storm, supporting the afflicted, delivering blankets and fresh water, rebuilding the waterlogged lives. God’s deepest authority is revealed in the widest possible kindness.

For Mary, mercy and strength are announced in her imminent child. The baby’s impact appears first in his innocence, then in his weakness, and ultimately in the hearts of those who revere him. Not everybody will understand this – they will look for God in the big, booming Voice, or in the magnificent miracle, or the thundering commandment. But that’s not where God can usually be found.

People go looking for God in something spectacular and other-worldly, in something that lifts them off this planet – when the truth of Christmas is that God comes down onto this planet and hides here among a young peasant girl and her family. The holy power of God infuses the every-day. It is holy strength through every-day mercy. God is merciful and strong.

And if that’s true, it means that God readjusts the power structures of this world. If the power of God is shown best in the mercy of God, then the power of the Gospel is shown in the mercy that people show to one another. God commands us to be our brothers’ keepers, our sisters’ guardians. We are taught to love our neighbors as much as we love ourselves. The only thing we hear, however, is that part about loving ourselves, and the whole thing goes haywire.

Did they hear what Mary sings? She sings how “God has scattered the proud in the imaginations of their hearts.” That is, there are a lot self-important people who think they are better than everybody else, and they sit around imagining how to get the advantage over the people around them. We see this all the time, don’t we?

There are people who scheme about getting bigger Christmas gifts for cheaper prices and push their fellow shoppers out of the way. There are those who connive to climb higher than those around them, and they don’t care who they step on as they scramble to get ahead. There are those who get fat by grabbing more food than they can eat, and the Thanksgiving leftovers that they finally just threw away would have provided five meals for a hungry family.

But Mary sings about the kind of God that we have. “God has brought down the powerful from their thrones,” she says, “and lifted up the lowly; God has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”

It reminds me of that line from David Letterman, the day after the soldiers found Saddam Hussein hiding in a hole in Iraq. He said, “Oh, how the mighty have fallen! One minute you’re the president of a country; the next, you’re being checked for fleas on Fox News.” Does anybody doubt the justice of that? There comes a point when being a good neighbor for one another becomes more important than stomping on the weak and plundering those who are already poor. God’s power is shown in God’s compassion. The power of God’s Gospel is shown in the compassion of God’s people.

This is the revolution that Mary’s Son will come to ignite. It is a revolution of love, a revolution of fairness. The hungry are filled. The hoarders are dismissed. The love that God has for every single one of his children means that every single one of God’s children has a place at his Table. If we are talking about democracy, that means everybody gets an equal voice (even the people in the Dunmore cemetery). Even on the Animal Farm, some critters are not more equal than the others. Each one is loved with the same infinite love that God has for you -- or her -- or him.

If we take God seriously, it means that human power is going to reshuffle once in a while. If this brings more people to the Table, it is a blessed benevolence. If it increases compassion, it is a sign that God remembers us.

That’s the third thing Mary sings, you know: God keeps remembering us, and God’s memory is helpful. The promises that God once made are kept fresh and vital. If we draw on the strength and mercy of our Savior, we discover how God keeps answering his own promises. We learn all over again where God is staying busy.

There is a story making the rounds these days about Julio Diaz. Have you heard it? Julio is a 31-year-old social worker. He commutes an hour each day on the subway to the Bronx, and he likes to get off one stop early so he can eat at his favorite diner.

One night last month, Julio stepped off the Number 6 train and onto an empty platform. A teenage boy approached him, pulled a knife, and said, “Give me your wallet.” Diaz gave him his wallet and said, “Here you go.”

As the kid turned away, Diaz spoke up, “Wait a minute. You forgot something. If you’re going to rob people for the rest of the night, you might as well take my coat to keep you warm.” The robber looked at his victim, as if to say, “What gives?” He said, “Why are you doing this?”

Julio said, “If you’re willing to rish your freedom for a few bucks, I guess you really need the money. All I wanted to do was get dinner, and if you want to join me, you’re more than welcome.” He thought the kid just needed some help.

So he and the teen went into the diner and sat in a booth. The manager said, “Hey Julio!” The dishwashers looked out and waved. The waiters smiled and nodded. The kid said, “You know everybody. Do you own the place?”

Julio said, “I just come in here a lot.” The kid said, “But you’re even nice to the dishwashers.”

Diaz said, “Well, yeah. Haven’t you been taught to be nice to everybody?” “Sure,” said the teen, “but I didn’t think anybody actually did it.”

Julio took a sip of coffee and said, “So what do you want out of life?” The teen didn’t answer, just made a sad face.

Then the bill arrived, and Julio said, “Look, you’re going to have to pay for this bill because you have all my money. I can’t pay for dinner. If you give my wallet back, I’ll gladly treat you.” The teen didn’t even think about it, just handed back the wallet. Diaz paid the bill … and then gave the kid a twenty dollar bill.

The kid said, “What’s this for?” Julio said, “I’d like to exchange it for your knife.” The teen handed it over. Then they stepped outside and went their different ways.

When Diaz got home that evening, he told his mother what happened. She said, “If someone asked you for the time, you would give them your watch.”

Maybe so. He said, “I figure, if you treat people right, you can only hope that they treat you right. It’s as simple as that in this complicated world.”[1]

Listen: when Mary’s Child is born, his cradle song will begin a quiet revolution. His mother sings of great power expressed in mercy. She knows that this power of mercy will knock the high and mighty off their thrones and lift up those of low degree. And she remembers that this is how God keeps remembering all of us – that God keeps calling us to treat one another right, so that nobody demands other people’s money nor lets the neighbors go without a hot meal.

It is a quiet revolution. It’s going to turn this tired world upside down. Selfishness will be subverted, to the glory of God.

[1] NPR, Morning Edition. http://www.npr.org/2008/03/28/89164759/a-victim-treats-his-mugger-right

Anybody in a Hurry?

2011-12-04T00:01:00.000-05:00

2 Peter 3:8-15(a)

Advent 2

December 4, 2011

But do not ignore this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like one day. The Lord is not slow about his promise, as some think of slowness, but is patient with you, not wanting any to perish, but all to come to repentance. But the day of the Lord will come like a thief, and then the heavens will pass away with a loud noise, and the elements will be dissolved with fire, and the earth and everything that is done on it will be disclosed.

Since all these things are to be dissolved in this way, what sort of persons ought you to be in leading lives of holiness and godliness, waiting for and hastening the coming of the day of God, because of which the heavens will be set ablaze and dissolved, and the elements will melt with fire? But, in accordance with his promise, we wait for new heavens and a new earth, where righteousness is at home.

Therefore, beloved, while you are waiting for these things, strive to be found by him at peace, without spot or blemish; and regard the patience of our Lord as salvation.

It’s the first Sunday in December. I hope you know what that means. It means everybody is in a hurry.

This is the time of year when more people are on the road. They drive faster. They tailgate closer. They generally express less patience and offer more gestures. Everybody is in a hurry.

I don’t know what I was thinking. Yesterday, about fifteen minutes before noon, I stopped to mail five packages at the little post office at the bottom of my hill. There were ten people ahead of me, and the first one was taking her sweet old time.

She tried to strike up a conversation with the worker behind the counter, while others in line just rolled their eyes. “How’s your little boy?” she asked and the man ahead of me groaned. She had a form to complete, and rather than take it to the side counter, she stood at the head of the line and read each question out loud. Then she asked the clerk what answers she should write down. Did I mention there were ten people ahead of me? Soon there were another six behind me.

She stepped outside, we breathed a sigh of relief. Two minutes later she came back in and everybody groaned. She stepped right to the front of the line as if she owned the postal service. The guy ahead of me said, “Lady, we don’t have time for this.” She spun around and said, “But I’m in a hurry.” Everybody is in a hurry.

The lines were long at one restaurant, so we went to another and had to wait. I stopped by a new bookstore to check it out and noticed clumps of shoppers, every eye glazed over, all of them rushing through the store. It’s enough to make you shop online. Besides the packages will get here faster, especially if we are in a hurry.

Maybe it’s me, but I was astonished to see how early the Holiday Shopping Season began. Personally I thought Valentine’s Day was a little bit premature, but merchants assured us this was going to be a big year. So the overnight lines started forming outside Best Buy sometime around the Fourth of July. All those shoppers wanted to be in the front of the line. They were in a hurry.

Everybody is in a hurry. Have you noticed that? Everybody . . . except God.

We have a brief letter near the back pages of the New Testament. It’s called the Second Letter of Peter and purports to be from the apostle. Can’t say if that is true. The so-called author misspells his own signature. And there’s evidence the church has been around a lot longer than Simon Peter would have been. The apostle Paul is long dead; he’s been gone long enough that the church had begun to collect his letters and critique them. That had to take twenty, thirty, maybe fifty years for a non-internet church to chase them down.

Then there’s some evidence that the church was infected with heresy. Actually it wouldn’t take very long for that to happen. It happens all the time around here. Except that it sounds like the false prophets had become institutionalized. Second Peter fires his cannon at them for four long paragraphs. And he condemns them fiercely. “They malign the way of truth,” he says (2:2). “In their greed they exploit you with deceptive words.” Sounds like some of those TV preachers we have seen over the years. “God threw the rebellious angels into hell,” he says, “so just think what he’s going to do with those people.” (2:3-4).

Second Peter is pretty upset. He describes what the false teachers are doing. “They speak bombastic nonsense. They entice people with the desires of the flesh. They promise freedom even though they are slaves to corruption.” (2:18-20). Makes me wonder what kind of sermons they were putting into the air!

And the point is: all this was going on and God wasn’t doing anything about it. God was in no hurry to come and fix the world, much less purify his own church. Of all the accusations anybody could put against God, the greatest accusation is that God never seems to be in a hurry.

You can pray and pray and pray, and wonder if anybody is listening. The deafening silence can almost be enough to make you give up praying.

You can work and work and work to make a difference in the places where you live, and wonder if God will ever get around to validating your work.

You can take a stand and speak the truth, in an effort to improve your neighbors’ situation. I think of the county official who spoke to an Adult Ed class here two weeks ago. He’s a good man, an astute public servant, who has tried to work honestly. And he told us he couldn’t believe how much money actually talked in the politics of our region. He knew it, but he had no idea. It’s enough to make you think, “Why bother?”

I did a little research on a phrase that appears in the Psalms. About twenty times, somebody in the Psalms will ask, “How long, O Lord?” Apparently that’s an important way to pray. You raise your hands and say, “Is this going to go on forever?” The God of the church is the God of Israel, and we have a God who rarely seems to come when we want. So we watch and we wait and we pray, “How long, O Lord?”

Now, to be fair, I continued the research. There are even more occasions in the scriptures when God raises the hands and says, “How long, O people?” How long will you ignore me? How long will you forget me? How long will you complain? How long will you do the stupid things that I tell you not to do? Everybody may seem to be in rush, but humanity and God are often waiting one another out.

So Second Peter clears his throat and offers a pastoral word. On the one hand, down here we are waiting for the Day of the Lord. All the prophets told us to wait for the Lord. That’s the Great Day when God will make everything right. It will come at the end of human time. God will re-balance the world and establish the great shalom. The hungry will be fed, the corrupt will be toppled. Those who grieve will have their tears wiped away. Those who hope will be satisfied. The prophets make those promises, and we’ve heard them. We sing them.

And when we heard Jesus say, “I will come again,” we know that will be the Day of the Lord. In his ministry among us, he showed us the priorities of God: feeding, teaching, healing, forgiving, restoring. Jesus will come and all shall finally be well. So we wait for his return. We wait as constructively as we can.

But God is waiting too. And this is the genius of Second Peter’s word. He says, “You may think God is being slow, taking his sweet old time, grinding it out step by step. But I tell you that God is not slow. God is patient. God is so very patient.

Certainly, he says, when the Day of the Lord shall come, heaven and earth shall be blasted away. All things shall be dissolved in fire. But God is so very patient, that before God lets that happen, God wants every single one of his children to come to their senses, to stop all of the destructive nonsense that they do, and come home.

I thought of that last night as I considered the Advent sky. The sunsets this time of year are evocative. They stop me in my tracks, and cause me to wonder as I wander. What exactly does God want from me? From us?

"Think of what kind of persons you ought to be," says Second Peter. I think that means to build a life that is never ashamed of God. It means to sweep away the cobwebs from our souls. To pursue a life of peace. To regard God’s great patience as our opportunity. This Advent, every one of us has a real chance for a new beginning. It’s more than some temporary change for the holidays, like slipping back into a size four dress or 34-waist pair. It would be a real change of some permanence. The continuing invitation of the Gospel is to leave the past behind, to break free from bad habits, and to live the new life offered in Christ.

There comes a point when we need to get on with the kind of life that God sets before us: a life that is generous, and loving, and merciful, willing to forgive, full of patience ourselves, and ready to drop all burdens at the foot of the cross. God wants more than last-minute recruits for heaven. God wants servants who are well marinated in grace.

“Think of what kind of persons you ought to be,” says Second Peter. When you leave this place, show the love and joy of Jesus Christ. Just like Jesus, feed the hungry and embrace the outcast. Bind up the wounded and dance with the saints. Advance the mission of the Gospel and, always, no matter what, take care of the little ones.

I need to tell you all of this because there’s no telling how much time we have left.

Strong to the End

2011-11-26T14:18:00.000-05:00

1 Corinthians 1:3-9

Advent 1

November 27, 2011

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. I give thanks to my God always for you because of the grace of God that has been given you in Christ Jesus, for in every way you have been enriched in him, in speech and knowledge of every kind—just as the testimony of Christ has been strengthened among you—so that you are not lacking in any spiritual gift as you wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ. He will also strengthen you to the end, so that you may be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is faithful; by him you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.

Today Advent begins with a blessing. The apostle Paul sends a letter to a congregation in Greece. They had written him with lots of questions. There were concerns within their fellowship, questions about Christian doctrine, and issues about practical matters. They were called to live as Christian people in a world that did not care anything about Christ. How were they going to make their way?

Paul begins with a blessing: “Hail, church, full of grace!” God’s grace is overflowing out of you. God’s grace gives you speech, knowledge, and testimony. You do not lack anything. God gives you everything you need. So live out this grace while you wait it out for Christ to be revealed. Hang in there as you count your blessings. That’s my rough paraphrase of his word to the Corinthian church. It’s a pretty good word for most of the people that I know.

Years ago, we had a regional minister named Jim Mays. He loved to preach on this scripture text. Jim would offer to preach in a little congregation in the country. They would complain they didn’t have enough money to pay him and he would say, “That’s OK, the rest of the people in the presbytery pay my salary.”

He would arrive with his pulpit gown over his arm. The self-appointed church leader would meet him and say, “Our building is not in very good shape.” Jim would answer, “You don’t need a building in order to be a church. A church is a community of people.”

Sometimes they would say, “We don’t have an organist,” to which he would respond, “You can be a church without an organist. I see hymnals there. What would you like to sing?”

Then Jim would quote the text and say, “You are not lacking in any spiritual gift as you wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ.” You are no lacking . . . and they would look at him quizzically, as if to say, “Really?”

Then Jim would give them the Gospel: God in Jesus Christ has forgiven any inadequacy. God has declared you capable, and given you the word of the Gospel. All the gifts you need to be a Christian people are already given among you. So live by the great mystery of faith: Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ is coming again.

That’s a pretty good sermon. You are adequate, not because of your own ability, but because of the generosity of God. It reminds me of a great definition of grace. It was spoken in a promotional movie years ago called “The Presbyterians,” although the film could have been called “The Christians” or “The Corinthian Church.” This was the definition of grace: “God requires from us only what God working through can achieve.”

Let me say it again: “God requires from us only what God working through us can achieve.”

The human dilemma is that we doubt this. We think we have to earn God’s love by putting good deeds on our to-do list. Or that we have to steer clear of all those behaviors that could seem sinful but we aren’t willing or able to do that yet. Or that we simply don’t have enough to make ourselves adequate.

We see it in the mad rush for Black Friday shopping. Perhaps we hear field reports of a special bargain here or there that somebody was able to score. But this whole business of standing in line for five hours before the opening of Toys-R-Us strikes me as sad and pathetic. Or so I thought.

Then I read the observations of Diana Butler Bass, one of our more astute observers of faith and unbelief. She noticed the people who tend to stand in line for the discount store sales are not the wealthy, but the working class. These are the folks who go to church every week, express a high level of belief in God, and more likely to give a higher percentage of their money to those in need. Diana would know this; she is a historian who have discovered that the poorer the American, the more likely they are to be faithful and generous.

By contract, those who weren’t in the sales lines on Black Friday are typically less religious, less generous, and more likely to find meaning in getting a lot of stuff. As the New York Times recently reported, the wealthy spend most of their holiday cash as upscale stores like Saks Fifth Avenue, where there aren’t a lot of come-on sales.

“So what’s going on?” asked Diana. She caught a glimpse on a Black Friday interview. The TV reporter asked two women in line, “What are you going to buy?”

The (first) woman, clearly not a well-off person, responded: “Shoes.” He said, “Shoes? You’re not supposed to be buying shoes!” She said, “But I need shoes.” He pressed the issue, “Are you buying anything else?” “No,” she replied. “I just need new shoes.” Her companion was buying jeans. The reporter didn’t know what to say. How many people on Black Friday are like these two women?[1]

Diana says this is a matter of morality. Not merely about the riots over getting a cheap flat-screen TV, but the fact that many, many people can’t afford to buy nice things for their families without waiting in long lines on Thanksgiving night. She notes, “We have become a coarser and less neighborly America, a culture where too far too many - including those who will spend their Christmas wad at high-end stores rather than Black Friday sales - are not working for the common good…”

The dividing line is between those who don’t have enough and those who have more than they will ever enjoy, and both groups are driven to want more. In such a situation, who can hear the apostle Paul declare, “You are not lacking in anything as you wait for the revealing of Jesus Christ”?

This is not a new situation. The ancient city of Corinth was opulent and expensive. The wealthy went to Corinth for medical care. The sailors stopped there as a pleasure destination and other entertainments. Yet there was a division between people, and it crept into the little church that Paul had started there.

Just a few years after he had moved on to Ephesus, Paul hears reports that the wealthy people in the congregation bring fine wine to communion while the poor don’t have a drop. The affluent folks in the Corinthian church have plenty of fresh bread for the sacrament which they do not share with those who show up without so much as a crumb. Some end up drunk while others go hungry. “That’s not communion!” he thundered. “What is communion, but a sharing in one another, a participation in Christ!” (1 Corinthians 11:17-22)

When the world with its divisions creeps into the church, the church ceases to be the church! For the center of the church is the Good News that all of us are made adequate by the grace of Jesus Christ. Sin is forgiven, division is overcome. We have been given what we need: a love for one another and a shared hope in God. The Spirit of God empowers some to preach this message, others to testify to this message, others to administer it, others to embody it, to the end that all might live it out. By rooting ourselves completely in the news that God gives us all gifts in Christ, we shall “stay strong to the end.”

There is a good word for us here as we begin this Advent. Bigger is not better; it’s just bigger. More is not a blessing; it can be a burden. We don’t need to buy the lie of our over-charged culture. We all know what it says: that we are inadequate unless we have more, do more, grab more, build more, worry more, hover more, and fear more. That’s a lie.

It is perfectly OK to be adequate. To be forgiven. To be accepted. To be loved. To be visited by God. I don’t know who said it first, but the adage certainly applies: this Advent, don’t just do something; stand there. Stand there, still and non-anxious. Stand there, cherished by Christ and hopeful that you will see him. Be at peace, in the knowledge that “God requires from us only what God working through can achieve.”

You may have heard about Thomas Merton, the Roman Catholic in the 1960’s who helped us understand the importance of rooting our lives in God and not worrying about much else. The story goes he walked into a drugstore one day to get some toothpaste, and a clerk asked him which brand of toothpaste he preferred. Merton smiled and said, “I don’t care.”

Well, he said, the clerk almost dropped dead. He expected the customer to feel strongly about Colgate or Pepsodent or Crest, each with its own special ingredient. Merton did not give a rip. All he wanted was some toothpaste. He didn’t need to give his allegiance to a particular brand. His allegiance was already given to God.[2]

This is our Advent challenge – to care first for God. To want nothing more than to see Jesus Christ. He is revealed in the grace that declares the hearts of human beings are more important than the stuff in their cabinets. Jesus is the One who came to us, who will finally come at the end, and who comes secretly each day. So we pray for the ability to see him, and for the ability to trust that his grace is all we need.

[1] Diana Butler Bass, “Black Friday: A Morality Tale” (http://www.patheos.com/blogs/dianabutlerbass/2011/11/25/black-friday-a-morality-tale/)

[2] As told by Kathleen Norris, “Apocalypse Now,” The Christian Century, November, 15, 2005, p.19.

The Quintessential Politician

2011-11-20T00:01:00.002-05:00

Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24

Christ the King Sunday

November 20, 2011

William G. Carter

I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I will make them lie down, says the Lord GOD. I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, but the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them with justice.

When I was ordained as a preacher, my father suggested I should never discuss politics in the pulpit. I have often remembered that, as elections roll around and national events unfold. It’s tempting for a preacher to speak out for one side or another, especially if convictions are strongly held and lives are at stake.

And then there’s the complication that the Bible talks about politics on nearly every page. Remember how the story of Israel unfolded this fall. Pharoah was the emperor of Egypt. He reneged on his forefather’s contract with Joseph and enslaved the tribes of Israel. But God is the Sovereign Ruler, even over Pharoah. God called Moses to lead what a rebellion that disrupted the Egyptian labor force. It was called “Occupy the Promised Land … by Getting Out of Egypt.” In the words of William Sloan Coffin Jr,, “If Moses had believed in separating religion and politics, the Israelites would still be slaves and making more pyramids for free.”

Critical moments in scripture are political moments. Jesus himself was crucified at the command of a Roman governor, after being arrested by some movers and shakers among his own people. The apostle Paul regularly fell afoul of the law, most notably the Roman governor of his day. Paul was accused of being “a pestilent fellow, an agitator of all the Jews throughout the world” (Acts 24:5). How did Paul counter these charges? He gave a rousing defense that reached the ears of King Agrippa.

In the Bible, there are politics on just about every page. Two books in scripture are titled First Kings and Second Kings. A number of psalms were written to celebrate the coronation of royalty.

By the time you get to the last few pages of the Bible, there is the strong affirmation that Jesus is the King of Kings. Every political leader will answer to him, even those who believe they are an end in themselves.

If only because the issue comes up so often, we need to talk of politics. What makes for good politics? Or for a good politician? If the rulers of this world must answer to the King of Kings, they have a sacred obligation to govern the people well. And if they don’t, God considers them expendable.

This is the governing issue of our text. Ezekiel is a priest. He is held captive in a foreign land. Stolen away from Jerusalem, Ezekiel saw the Temple of God obliterated by the Babylonian army. All of the candles were extinguished and the sacred rituals were interrupted. The priests were removed from their posts, many like him by force. They were valuable to the Babylonian Empire because they had money, authority, and lots of connections. If the government controls the priests, it may be able to control the people who revere them.

What a government cannot control, however, is the voice of God. God comes to Ezekiel to speak in a series of visions. One vision is the one we have heard in this text selected for Christ the King Sunday. God looks ahead to the day when the people are governed through generosity and care.

Now, that’s quite a statement. The Jewish people had their hopes demolished by a foreign army. The central meeting place between them and God had been torn down. There was plenty of blame flying around – some said it was the intimidating power of Babylon, others accused the Jewish political leaders of being weak and corrupt. What everybody could agree on was what they saw: the once-flourishing nation of Israel was in serious decline.

This is the point at which God speaks. Chapter 34 is a political vision, and what it declares is that God will establish a new ruler to watch over his people. This new ruler will be like a Shepherd. He will watch out for all of the people – not only his supporters, not only his friends, not only his cronies – but all the people. He will be broadly concerned for the widest possible public good, rather than remain narrowly focused on any one slice of the population. And the Lord reveals who this Good Shepherd will be.

Listen again to the promises of our text:

I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I will make them lie down, says the Lord God. I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, but the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them with justice.

Now, lest our eyes glaze over as if this is one more generalized Bible promise, the model that God establishes for the heavenly throne is a model for every earthly seat of power. Just a few verses before our text, God indicts the politicians of Israel. Looking them straight on, God says, “You have been feeding yourselves without feeding others.” That’s the perennial issue, isn’t it? Misusing power for your own benefit. Skimming what belongs to everybody simply because you are currently charged with their oversight.

The indictment God offers goes on from there:

· You have not strengthened the weak (that is, no plan for empowerment)

· You have not healed the sick or bound up the injured (call it a health care plan)

· You have not brought back the strayed nor sought the lost (they have not retained their wandering young people)

· “All you have done,” thunders the Lord, “is rule with harshness and force.”

All of this suggests why God is so concerned with good politics: because God has made every single human being and God wants each of these children to flourish. If God has a political agenda, it is eliminate the “have nots.” How is this going to happen? By including the “have nots” among the “haves.” Some people might call this “socialism.” The Bible calls it the Kingdom of God.

The Kingdom is where everybody is valued. The Kingdom is wherever everybody is regarded equally. It seems the people at the top of Ezekiel’s food chain kept getting confused about this. They had no regard for those trampled under the rulers’ feet. No concern for the well-being of all the people. In no small part, that was precisely why the nation was in so much trouble: call it a systematic neglect.

When the Penn State scandal broke a couple of weeks ago, a friend was paying careful attention to the news reports. She had been a student there in the late 1980’s, and she listened with interest as one of the high ranking officials declared that his office had done everything possible to protect innocent youth.

She shook her head and thought, “That’s not the same man that I remember.” She had worked part-time as a waitress while she was a student. He and his family went to the restaurant every week. None of the wait staff wanted to take their table. They were rude, demanding, and regularly obnoxious. “They treated the staff like dirt,” she said, “and wanted to get special treatment because of who they were.” Not surprisingly, they never left any tips.

It’s a small thing, she said, particularly given the damage that the Grand Jury recently reported. And she wasn’t surprised when that high ranking official was fired for his role in the scandal. She noted, “Character is what you do when you think no one is watching. Ignore the ‘little ones’ who bring food to your table, and it may reveal how you are disregarding the other ‘little ones’ around you.”

What Ezekiel receives from God is a vision for how people are to be taken seriously, particularly those who are weak or injured, lost or strayed. The one who governs well is the one who shepherds all the people. She or he will be fair to all, and this fairness means that those who are most vulnerable or have the greatest need are regarded with the same dignity as any child of God.

This is the same vision that Jesus offers for the end of time. “The Son of Man will come and separate the sheep from the goats,” he says. People shall be sorted on the basis of one matter: how did they respond to human need? Did they do anything for the benefit of those who were hungry, thirsty, naked, or sick? Did they visit the prisoner or welcome the outsider? Or did they pass those people by? The way that people respond will reveal whether or not God’s grace is at work within them.

We have every reason to expect that our leaders should be good people, that they should be generous and truthful. Public service is a noble calling when it really is public service. We can quibble about strategy and policy, and many of us do. But the real test is how well a society cares for those of greatest need.

If the only value honored by a people is prosperity, life can descend into a contest to see who can gain the most stuff. Greed will consume everybody who is infected by it, leaving the poor to become expendable. That’s not what God wants.

A society like ours is called up to remember a basic truth: that we march only as fast as the slowest person in line. To be the keepers of our brothers and sisters means, among other things, that we must slow down enough for others to walk with us. That’s not easy, especially if we are accustomed to nice things.

Last week, I found myself at a church supper in southern Appalachia. Some friends were with me, and they were eying the meal that was being prepared. The ham was overcooked, the vegetables were wilted, the macaroni has melted down to lose all shape. It was nothing like the church suppers that I normally enjoy! My friends murmured criticism, quiet sarcasm, really, and pledged to stop for a real meal on the way home. They began to giggle and laugh as a way of coping with a bad plate of food.

Then Anna came with her tray to sit with us. She was a young girl, maybe ten or eleven years old. She put down her tray, went to get a glass of milk. Our host whispered, “This is probably the only meal she is getting today.” My friends changed their tune in a hurry. We watched with admiration as she prayed a prayer of thanks and ate every bite. One of my friends said, “Anna, what do like most about school?” She talked about writing a poem about her cat. “I like to do that,” she said. Then she scurried off to do her homework before her mom got off work to pick her up.

How dare anybody think that they are better than others! Every single person is valuable. Every single one.

The quintessential politician is the Good Shepherd, the kind of shepherd who watches out for every lamb. None of us can do that perfectly, but all of us can do that together. We need the kind of public leaders who keep our conscience awake, the kind of leaders who pay attention to the well-being of everybody, and not merely play to the agenda of those put money in their pockets. This is a noble calling, and nobody does it perfectly. Yet the vision of scripture is clear. God says, “I will save my flock, and they will not be ravaged. I will set up my shepherd to make sure all are fed.”

Jesus comes as that kind of shepherd, a shepherd with concern for every single lamb. He offers the model for how our leaders are called by God to govern. Even so, there is no one who is so fair to everybody, no one else who has such love. That is why we call Jesus our King.

Never Since . . .

2011-11-06T00:01:00.000-04:00

Deuteronomy 34:1-12

November 6, 2011

Never since has there arisen a prophet in Israel like Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face. (34:10)

All good things must come to an end . . . including the story of Moses. That’s what we have here in Deuteronomy 34. This is the end of a book, the conclusion of a great soul. It offers up the how and when of Moses’ death, and then give an appraisal of his importance. This is his obituary, his final listing in the Jewish scriptures. It is not the last time Israel would summarize what he did

“Never since has there arisen a prophet like Moses…” Never since.

The book of Deuteronomy is written hundreds of years after the life and death of this man. The writers of this book are looking back to assess their own history. They realize Moses has been founding father to them, a man of critical importance. If it hadn’t been for Moses, they wouldn’t have ended up where they are. They would still be slaves under Pharoah’s thumb. God would have had to use different people for more modified success. Never since.

Never since has there been a family like the Gibbons family. The Gibbons family moved to this little railroad town and decided they needed a church. They had ties to the missionary work of the Gospel. They wanted a church that spoke to them and for them, a church that would make a difference in the world. They couldn’t find such a church, so they started one. This one. Never since has there been a family like the Gibbons family, in starting First Presbyterian Church. They hoped, of course, there would be a Second Presbyterian Church, a Third Presbyterian Church, and so on. But they were the ones who got it started.

Never since has there been a mother like Lois. I don’t think any of you knew her, but I did. She waited in her hospital bed for her 85^th birthday. When it arrived last Wednesday, she decided she had enough and she fell into the arms of her Savior. She was the mother of five children. Arguably I was the sixth one, based on the number of times that I ate at her table. Her oldest son Mark was my good buddy.

“Ma” (as I called her) was always telling me to stay for supper. When we laid her to rest yesterday morning, her five children testified to her goodness and hospitality. “My mother’s life was a life of service,” said one of her grown kids. “She put everybody else in front of her.” They acknowledged her as their caretaker. Now, in silence, they hear her commissioning them to be caretakers of one another, and caretakers of the world. Listen to how their testimony began: “Never since . . .”

We have our long parade of saints whom we honor and remember. We think of those people today who have gone before us. Our lives are now different because of who they were. Perhaps they gave us birth. Or they entered our lives at a critical moment, said what needed to be said, did what needed to be done. We cannot pretend that they were not here before us, blazing the trail and clearing the path. Can you think of a name? Can you remember a name?

Never since have I had a teacher like Mabel Bensley. She asked me to stay after class while the rest of the kids were released to the playground. “Billy,” she said, “I wanted to talk to you when the other children weren’t around. Sometimes it seems like you are a little bored when the rest of us are working through a lesson. I wanted to give you something to extra to work on, something that I think you might enjoy.” It was a copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. Up until then, I thought teachers were supposed to teach you what you already knew, wipe your nose, and make sure your shoes were tied. It never occurred to me that a teacher could challenge you to grow.

And the day I was ordained as a minister, she sent me a little note. It said, “I knew this day would come, because I had praying for it to happen for years. Mrs. B.” My professors at Princeton never wrote a note like that, but she did. She pushed me, challenged me, believed in me. Never since have I had a teacher like Mrs. B.

Never since has there been a pastor like Edgar Frank. I was raised before his voice, and I don’t remember ever fidgeting. My parents remember, but I don’t. When Rev. Frank preached, everybody leaned forward, mostly because his voice was as soft as golden silence. You could hear a pin drop because he talked so quietly. That was his way of securing your attention. We had to lean forward as an act of faith, trusting that he was going to say something essential, offering up some word we could not live without.

But his work was never locked up after Sunday. In his quiet way he taught me that all of life is aimed in two directions. We respond to God who made us, who loves us. That is the first and greatest direction. Everything we do is because God comes first. And second, we relate to one another. That’s what he taught me. You make yourself available to others. You listen to them, you take them seriously. Every birthday, he used the new technology of the telephone. He whispered, “I just wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday. May God grant you another good year.” That was it. That’s all he said. Of course, I don’t think he had a lot else on his plate, just spent the entire day making birthday calls. But I’ll tell you: never since have I known a man who spoke the voice of love to one person after another after another. Never since.

So what are they going to say about you? What kind of impact will you make? Maybe it’s obvious. Or maybe it is something that you do not even know you are radiating. It could be your calming influence or your peaceful spirit. Or it could be the way you steer the ship through choppy waters. Maybe it’s the way you walk into the room and take charge. Or perhaps it is the way that you encourage somebody to be better than everybody thinks they are. Maybe you are the one who teaches that it is possible to forgive. Or perhaps it’s the quiet center of your life that affects everyone within reach.

What will they say of you when you are gone?

One morning in 1888, a Norwegian businessman reached for his morning newspaper. Flipping idly through the pages, he received the shock of his life: he saw his own obituary! It was a terrible mistake, of course. His brother had recently died, and a careless reporter had mixed the two of them up. He had gone to the newspaper's files and pulled the biographical information on the wrong man.

Well, here’s the thing. As the man read his own obituary, he didn’t like what he saw. Oh, the details were accurate enough. He was an inventor, world-renowned, and had gained one of the largest fortunes in world. Yet the newspaper called him “The Merchant of Death.” The headline read, “The Merchant of Death is Dead.”

His name was Alfred Nobel. While working as a chemist, he had accidentally discovered a way to convert the explosive nitroglycerin into a powdered form. He called the product “dynamite” and it made him richer than his wildest dreams. But his obituary said, “Dr. Alfred Nobel, who became rich by finding ways to more people faster than ever before, died yesterday.”

He decided to change the purpose of his life. Rather than sue the newspaper, Nobel began giving his money away. He made provision in his will for the famous Nobel Prizes, rewarding each year those who had made the greatest contributions to humanity. Eight years later, when Alfred Nobel passed away from a stroke, he accomplished what no other person in human history has managed to do: he had rewritten his own obituary.

God’s blessing is always hidden in the second chance. Sometimes that is when life begins. Remember Moses? Say whatever you want, but he was a murderer. He killed an Egyptian who was beating up on one of his fellow Hebrews, and hid the man’s body in the sand. Pharoah got word of this and Moses began to run. If that was all there was to the story, we would not be here this morning. But God got through to Moses, found him, spoke to him, and gave him the work of freeing a huge tribe of oppressed slaves. For a good long while, Moses was God’s point man to a disorganized gaggle of people who weren’t always sure they wanted to be free.

But now, looking back, from the vantage point of many years, they realized how significant he was.

When All Saints Day rolls by each year, it is a reminder that every life matters. Every single person has the possibility of positively affecting somebody else. The power of God is worked out in the kind of lives that we live, in the hands we hold, in the words we speak, in the truths we defend.

Never since, I tell you… You and I can talk about these people who have affected us. They taught by example. They showed us the good Word of God in flesh. The power of remembering people is not merely to remind us of their legacies, but to remember the legacies that we will leave behind. When it comes to the memories of other people, we take responsibility for the memories that we are making.

“Never since has there been a prophet like Moses…” There are plenty more prophets, lots and lots of them. There are always plenty of prophets among the people of God. These people speak face to face with the Lord our God, even if they do not readily see that face. Yet they keep chasing after the face of God until God finally blesses them. And they do this so they can extend that blessing to everybody who can receive it.

What People Will Do For God

2011-10-30T00:01:00.002-04:00

What People Will Do For God

Exodus 35:20-35

October 30, 2011

Stewardship Dedication

And they came, everyone whose heart was stirred, and everyone whose spirit was willing, and brought the LORD’S offering to be used for the tent of meeting, and for all its service, and for the sacred vestments. (35:21)

If you look around long enough in the Bible, you can find just about anything. Today we find a story about an unbelievably generous offering. Moses has challenged the people of Israel to give to God out of their resources. He asks if anybody has a generous heart. Then he turns them loose.

Pretty soon, the people come running back. They are pushing wheelbarrows full of gold and silver. They bring fine linen and priceless jewels. All of it is given to God. As one Bible scholar says, “This story is a stewardship dream come true.”[1]

I know our church’s stewardship team is optimistic. They believe this can happen again, and today could be the day. The only problem might be if somebody murmurs, “It’s still a dream!”

This Bible story offers up an extraordinary moment. The people give freely. I scratch my head in wonder, especially after all the events that we have heard from the book of Exodus. Moses is raised against all odds in Pharoah’s family (2:10). He discovers somehow he is a Jew, and murders an Egyptian who was beating up on a Jew (2:12). Running off to the desert, God finds him (3:4). Moses has his burning bush moment, when God sends him back to Egypt to lead his Jewish people out of slavery (3:12). It’s an amazing story.

God gets the people out from under Pharoah’s thumb (14:30). Then God feeds them (16:13-14). God gives them fresh water (17:6). God protects them from enemies (17:9). Then God gives the greatest possible gift to a tribe of liberated people: God gives them ten Holy Words to guide them in their freedom (20:1-17). It’s a gift of continuing speech.

But freedom doesn’t begin so well. The people cash it in on a golden calf (32:3-6), in one more futile human attempt to shrink God down to manageable size. When there is every reason for God to blast them back into the sand, God forgives them (32:14). This forgiveness is a gift that reveals God’s character: the Lord is “merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love” (34:6).

All of that leads us to this moment. The God who speaks with Moses is going to set up shop with them. God needs a human meeting place. So what our story reports is the very first Building Campaign for the people of God. It had to be a movable building, for the people will keep wandering in the desert for three and a half more books of scripture. But this tabernacle, this tent, will be the place where God meets them for worship, instruction, and identity. The way it works is this: the people assemble for worship, they learn about steadfast love, and they remember who they are.

This is the reason why the offering is so overwhelming on the Sabbath in our text. It’s a very simple principle: we give our money freely to anything that gives us meaning, value, and purpose.

Picture the conversation between a teenager and her father.

“Dad, I need to get a new phone.” What’s wrong with your current phone?
“It doesn’t work so well since I dropped it in the toilet.” Why did you do that?
“But I need a new phone.” What kind of phone do you want?
“Well, all my friends have an Apple iPhone 4S.” What’s so special about it?
“It does all kinds of cool stuff: you can order books on Amazon, check movie times, use it as a GPS, and see how many point the Steelers are behind.” Does it make phone calls, too?
“Sure Dad, you can even do Skype and look at the person you are calling.” Dad: I remember when phones made phone calls.
She says, “Well Dad, anybody who is anybody has the iPhone 4S.” He says, “So this phone will give you meaning, value, and purpose.”
Absolutely! “But that’s what you said about the last phone before you dropped it in the toilet.” She looks at him with big brown eyes.
He starts to thaw. How much does the iPhone cost?
“They are having a sale. If I don’t get the extra memory or any of the apps, it’s only 649.” He considers this; I think I have seven dollars in my wallet.
“Funny, Dad. It’s six-hundred-forty-nine.” That is a lot of driveways to shovel and children to babysit.
“But Dad, I already have three hundred dollars saved up.” (He has seven bucks, she has three hundred.) Dad wonders: Why do you need this phone?
She replies, “It’s like you said: it will give meaning, value, and purpose.”

Does she get the phone? I don’t know if she gets the phone. I do know that people give their money to just about anything that gives them meaning, value, and purpose. That’s why the Israelites were giving their money to God. They know the Source of their bread. They know that, unlike that cell phone, Pharoah no longer owns them. Israel knows that the wrong they have done has been forgiven. The people are free. The best expression of their freedom is their generosity.

That leads me to notice three important insights that we can learn from this story.

The first is this: generosity is the name of the game. Generosity is the fruit of meaning, value, and purpose. Generosity is a much better word than stewardship. “Stewardship” is a manager’s word. You take care of what you have; that’s stewardship. “Generosity” means you give it away. You give it, not merely to the church, but to the world! And behind that, to the Maker of the world! When was the last time you made a really generous gift? Not the token amount or the cautious sum – when was the last time you truly emptied your wallet for something or somebody?

One of the awkward things about growing up in American culture is that our culture silently tells you to draw a circle around your life. The circle defines you. It confines you. It declares, “I will share this much, but I won’t give any more.” That’s it. No more. The circle is drawn in fear. Unless God intervenes, we will live inside this circle most of our days.

It happens early, by the time we become little children. Do you remember Shel Silverstein’s “Prayer of a Selfish Child”? It goes like this:

Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

And if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my toys to break,

so none of the other kids can use ‘em. Amen.[2]

But the generous person knows how to step over the line, to move outside the confining circle. Generosity is a learned habit where we extend ourselves beyond all confinement. Israel discovered that generosity is the primary virtue of God. Rather than hold back in fear or strike back in punishment, God keeps giving and giving and giving.

And even in the desert, they decide they want to be like that! They will not be self-absorbed, self-contained, self-reliant, and ultimately self-centered. They will step over the invisible circle, and they will be generous. “Generosity” is the word.

The second thing is that generosity is a group activity. It is not the private donation of a wealthy individual but a communal work.

I know a congregation, sadly, that struggles to understand this. I worked there for five years, and then I moved up here twenty-one years ago. They have the same number of people attending that they did twenty-one years ago, although the contributions are about twenty-five percent less.

When you scratch below the surface, you might discover a few reasons why. How did the congregation get started? A wealthy factory owner built the church for his workers. They didn’t have to do a thing. The factory owner didn’t ask them to pay for the preacher. He simply deducted some money from each worker’s paychecks and called it a “pledge.”

Then they had another millionaire, a man who learned about electricity from Thomas Edison. He went off to Ohio and started Dayton Power and Light. Made a lot of money, but never forgot his home church. He got the notion in his head that the tall steeple should be illuminated at night, so he gave thousands of shares from his company to set up an endowment to perpetually pay for the steeple lighting. Last time anybody checked, the fund was making enough money to pay for the whole electric bill, with more than enough to spare.

Then they had Jim Fuller, another millionaire, who died and left behind $37 million for his family to fight over. At the request of the family, I did a five minute funeral for which they paid me fifteen bucks. His attorney was so embarrassed that he added another eighty-five. The finance committee at the church wondered out loud if Mr. Fuller might remember the church in his will. After replacing the furnace for them three times, he did not. The congregation panicked; it was running out of millionaires. Fortunately they did not give away much money for mission.

Well, take a lesson from Israel: there were no millionaires in the desert. Those were the days before Las Vegas, you understand. The account from Exodus 35 is clear. Everybody participated. Everybody gave generously.

And everybody gave different gifts! For those with gold and silver, it was gold and silver. For those with fine jewelry, it was fine jewelry. For those with skill in spinning tapestry, they spun the tapestries. For those who could carve wood or work with metal, they carved the wood and worked with the metal. The point is everybody took part as they had the ability and the opportunity. Every gift was valuable and costly. Each gift contributed to the greater good. No one could do it alone; all of them could do it together.

Those of you who ask for money, perhaps for an alumni fund or a marching band, know that participation is the key. Before a foundation gives a nickel to a college, they want to know how many graduates are giving something. The marching band will sell you a small box of oranges, in the hope that next year you might buy another. Each gift matters, and together the gifts will overflow.

In fact, I stopped the scripture reading a few verses early because it keeps going on and on and on about how much the people contributed. The people were so generous that they gave more than Moses needed. So much so that Moses had to send word throughout the camp, “Stop giving! We have too much!”

Generosity is the name of the game (three cheers today for the Generosity Committee!). Generosity is a group activity. And the third insight is certainly the most powerful: generosity changes everybody who practices it. If we are generous as God is generous, God will change us, shape us, make something better of us. That is a promise that we cannot know unless we take the steps to grow in our generosity.

It’s there in our story. Over and over again, there are descriptions of what was going on within the givers. “They came, everyone whose heart was stirred, and everyone whose spirit was willing, and brought the Lord’s offering.” Those phrases are repeated: everyone whose heart was stirred, everyone whose spirit was willing. As they give, something beneficial happens to them. Giving is good for the givers, and it is good for us.

That is why we offer ourselves to God this day. We are taking part in the perpetual gift exchange that God establishes with the world. We receive, we give. That’s the flow of the thing. If we receive well, with thanks and gratitude, we give well – and we are changed in the motion.

Generosity is not a natural inclination. It is a learned behavior that counters our human fear. Generosity undermines all caution. We hurl ourselves into the arms of God because we trust that we will be caught. And we hurl ourselves into the arms of God because we love God so much.

Brother David Steindl-Rast, a writer in spirituality, has a great perspective on this. "Abundance," he writes, "is not measured by what flows in, but by what flows over. The smaller we make the vessel of our need, the sooner we get the overflow we need for delight."[3]

There is a story about a husband and a wife traveling around the world. In Korea, they saw a field by the side of the road. In the field, a boy pulled a primitive plow while an old man held the plow handles and directed it through the rice paddy. Both the boy and the old man were singing church hymns. The husband was amused and took a snapshot of the scene. "That's a curious picture. I suppose they are poor," he said to the missionary who was their interpreter and guide.

"Yes," was the reply. "I know that family. When the church was built in their village, they were eager to give something to it. They had no money, so they sold the only ox they had and gave the money to the church. This spring they are pulling the plow themselves." The husband and wife were silent for a few minutes, until the wife said, "That was a real sacrifice."

The missionary said, "They did not call it that. They thought they were blessed that they had an ox to sell."

The two tourists had not much to say. But when they reached home, they took the photograph to the church and told their pastor about it. "We want to give more money to God,” they said, "and we need you to give us some plow work to do. Until we saw that scene and heard the story, we never knew what joy, sacrifice, and generosity are all about. Now we want to find out for ourselves."

How about you?

[1] Walter Brueggemann, New Interpresters Bible, commentary on Exodus, p. 962

[2] Shel Silverstein, A Light in the Attic (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 1981) 15.

[3] As quoted by Martin Marty, in his newsletter "Context."

No One Sees the Face

2011-10-23T00:01:00.001-04:00

Exodus 33:12-23
October 23, 2011
William G. Carter

The LORD said to Moses, “I will do the very thing that you have asked; for you have found favor in my sight, and I know you by name.” Moses said, “Show me your glory, I pray.” And he said, “I will make all my goodness pass before you, and will proclaim before you the name, ‘The LORD’; and I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will show mercy on whom I will show mercy. But,” he said, “you cannot see my face; for no one shall see me and live.” And the LORD continued, “See, there is a place by me where you shall stand on the rock; and while my glory passes by I will put you in a cleft of the rock, and I will cover you with my hand until I have passed by; then I will take away my hand, and you shall see my back; but my face shall not be seen.”

We are moving with Israel through the wilderness. The stories we hear are signals to us that the journey will continue long after anybody arrives at the Promised Land.

God brings Israel out of Egypt. It is a gift of liberation. From point forward, the struggle will be to remain free. The people are no longer slaves, no longer bound to Pharoah. But they will be tempted to fall back into the predictable and confining methods of brick-making. They will skip the Sabbath, thinking they are free when they are no longer free. It’s a recurring human issue.

God gives manna as a gift. It is the daily bread for which Jesus teaches us to pray. It can sustain all of us, and there is just enough to feed everybody. The continuing challenge will be to trust that is true, to take only enough bread for today, to avoid the temptation to hoard more for ourselves at the expense of others, to continually express fresh gratitude to the God who provides the same daily gifts.

God gives the Law on Mount Sinai. This is the gift of Torah, of holy instruction. It is particularly hard to keep from distorting this gift. We are tempted to push up against the Law and think we know better than God. Or we are tempted to reduce the Living Torah into iron-clad policy, becoming ourselves inflexible and obnoxious. Or we are tempted to use God’s very Words as a club to whack others who are still learning to be obedient.

The challenges are exposed in the wilderness. They never go away. The church, like Israel, will continue to work out its salvation with awkwardness. The gifts of God identify our issues. What happens in the desert does not stay in the desert.

In the story for today, we gain a glimpse of how our true relationship with God will proceed. Moses senses that he is at the point where he can make a notable request. He says, “Lord, show me your glory. Show me the fullness of your face.” God says no. God will remain out of sight. God will not be obvious to us or our children. All God will grant anybody is a fleeting glance.

This is a defining moment for Israel and for us. Revelation will not come readily. God can speak, God may converse. God will offer life-giving words. But God will not show us everything we want to see. Some of the truth will be withheld. This is the kind of God we have.

Now, I don’t know how you feel about that. Maybe you came to church today with the hope that I or somebody else could offer you the magic formula for how you, too, could understand all the holy mysteries of the universe. A lot of people want that. A lot of Christian churches promise that. They write books, offer seminars, hand out charts. Some of them offer “forty days of purpose,” while others suggest forty days of Lent. There was a group of my acquaintance that proclaimed a proper diet would open your mind to God’s presence, while another group practiced long, silent prayers.

In the end, I asked, “What did you see?” The clearest answer: “a cloud” or “a fog.” One pious woman once told me she had a vision and saw Jesus’ wounded feet. I said, “Anything more than the feet?” She said that was it.

This is one of the most awkward things about religious faith. No one sees the face of God.

A lot of people are not content with this. They would like to say something different about the Deity. You can go to some places, they call them churches, but they are really set up more like movie theaters. The lights dim, the soundtrack begins, and video engineers begin to manipulate the senses.

Cue the sound technician. A thunderous orchestra swells through the sound system. There is the roll of tympani drums, a flash of light, footage of a magnificent waterfall, beneath it all a Bible script: “the God of glory thunders…” Everybody says “ooh” and “ahh.” They sit inside, sheltered and protected, watching a clip of a waterfall with a Bible verse.

More and more, that’s what passes as a religious experience in our land – a manufactured, Technicolor miracle. Technology can be used to manipulate people into a temporary suspension of disbelief. Then the show is over, the lights come up, and people leave essentially unchanged, back to over-consume their potato chips and harass their neighbors. On the way out, they fill buckets with cash to keep financing the Big Production.

Yet once the lights return and the amplifiers are turned off, the truth seeps back in. God rarely overwhelms us. God never shows us everything we wish to see. Sometimes God doesn’t show us very much at all. People will go decades of their life, like old Abraham and Sarah did, without so much as a whisper from the Lord. And in this apparent absence, one kind of religious huckster after another will try fill the gap, manufacture some meaning, and make a few bucks to maintain the illusion that they have seen the Lord.

Israel knew the truth: God is hidden. When Moses came down the mountain and made his report, they already knew in their bones what he would say. Israel’s experience is our own. It’s not that God is not there, or here; but that God cannot be manipulated.

We can hear it in some of their prayers. Psalm 27, for instance. It starts strong and declarative: “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?” The presumed answer is “Nobody.” Then the affirmation is repeated, “The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” And the presumed answer, again, is “Nobody!” The Psalmist goes on to say, “I want to live in God’s house all my days. I want to behold God’s beauty. I trust that God will shelter me and keep me safe.” These are clear, resounding declarations. Faith announces that God protects us.

But then the Psalmist slips a bit. She says, “My heart says, come, seek God’s face! Your face, Lord, do I seek . . . Do not hide your face from me. Do not cast me off.” (27:8-9)

Over and over again, this concern recurs, especially in the Psalms. “You hid your face, I was dismayed.” (30:7) “How long will you hide your face from me?” (13:1) “Why do you hide your face?” (44:24) “Do not hide your face from your servant.” (69:17) “Why do you hide your face from me?” (88:14) . . . and over and over again.

God is elusive. God remains out of sight. This is what Moses learns. It is the same truth that all of us learn. There is always a thick fog in front of God’s face.

A few years ago, a woman in Miami declared she saw the face of the Virgin Mary in a toasted cheese sandwich. She sold the sandwich on eBay for $28,000, an astonishing sum since the sandwich was ten years old. Shortly after that, I found a little plastic item in a novelty catalog. It was a kind of cookie cutter that leaves an impression of Mary’s Son on a grilled cheese sandwich of your own. Out of deep reverence, I bought one of those for my father for Christmas. Given how God is so elusive, this little gift seemed ridiculous enough to reinforce the point. I would add that, out of deeper reverence, even though he laughed after he opened the package, Dad never actually used the gift.

Is God out of sight because God doesn’t like us? In our text, we can hear Moses badgering the Lord on this point. Four different times, he exclaims, “If we find favor in your sight . . . if we find favor in your sight . . . Lord, will you go with us if we find favor in your sight?”

This tires God’s ears’ “Of course, you have favor in my sight,” says the Lord. Favor is not the issue. You don’t have to keep asking if God loves you. Of course, God loves you. If God didn’t love you, God would never have snatched you out of Egypt, fed you with manna, or give you the Torah. Favor is not the issue.

Well, maybe it’s something else. Maybe the problem is not with God; perhaps it is with us. After all, Jesus made a promise of his own on the mountain top. Remember? He said, “Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God” (Matt. 5:8). It sounds possible that we might actually see the Holy Face, if we are pure enough in heart. So that could be why some of us never see it; not going to mention any names…

Along those lines, there was a period in British history called the “Nineteen Year Winter,” from 1135 to 1154 AD. A season when the country was coming apart, it was popularly called “The Great Anarchy.” The Anglo-Saxon history books described it as “a time when Christ and his saints slept.” Or to put it another way, there was such a total lack of purity within the country that absolutely no one saw God.

Is this hiddenness truly one of God’s attributes? Or is it evidence of human impurity? A bit of “yes” to both, I’m sure. It could simply be the description of an honest religion, where we have to trust what we cannot completely see.

Some years ago, a Hebrew scholar by the name of Richard Eliot Friedman wrote a book called The Disappearance of God. He read the Bible carefully and traced how God slipped more and more into the shadows as the pages went on. In the Garden of Eden, God walked and talked with Adam. By the Tower of Babel, God stopped appearing to the whole human race. In the wilderness, God appeared as a pillar of fire and spoke the commandments to all, but then never spoke directly to the people again.

In the Hebrew Bible, God appears last to King Solomon (1 Kings 9:2) and then the verb is retired. On another rare occasion, God ignited a huge bonfire of wet wood at the request of the prophet Elijah. After that, God stopped doing any more public miracles. It was quiet for about nine hundred years. People remembered the deeds, recited the ancient words, and had to get along without any epiphanies.

This was the world into which Jesus was born. To read those stories, the angels began to sing, a new star was thrown into the sky, and things began to happen. Yet these special moments were not obvious to everybody. In fact, they were largely out of sight. Jesus stayed incognito for thirty years, learning to work with wood, keeping the religious customs, largely blending in.

Then for a brief period, give or take thirty-six months, things began to happen around Jesus. Local events: a crowd fed again with enough bread for one day; the sick and infirmed healed over here, a few over there; rumors of a dead man walking, a blind man seeing, a windstorm squelched. But none of it was obvious to large groups of people, except as one person over there was changed, another here, another there . . . and we have little record of what happened to those witnesses.

And then came the final revelation: the same Jesus who some of the people began to regard was divine was murdered. If God was present that day, it was hidden in God’s restraint. There was no punishment for the people who condemned and crucified Jesus. Instead Jesus uttered a prayer, “Father, forgive them; they do not understand.” His spoken prayer was answered in silence, in sheer silence . . . and hidden mercy.

This is God’s way in the world. To stay just out of sight. To tiptoe through the fog. To refrain from casual banter when there are planets at stake and human hearts to win.

Sometimes I wonder: what does God’s face looks like? On any given day, is God smiling? Or is God frowning? Is God’s countenance passive and serene, like the fat Buddha? Or is God full of emotion, passion, and energy? We don’t always know. But we trust God is here.

That’s why we are going to sing the next hymn. It’s a communion hymn and the opening line announces, “Here, O Our Lord, We See You Face to Face.” That seems to counter the very story we have heard today from Exodus, except that the very next lines declare, “Here would we touch and handle things unseen / Here grasp with firmer hand eternal grace / And all our weariness upon You lean.”

This is what faith propels us to do: to reach for what we trust but cannot see, to claim what we believe but cannot prove. It’s the reaching and trusting, the claiming and believing that make faith real. If God were merely our Errand Boy, answering all our requests, we would simply put in our orders and believe the lie that all the planets orbit around us.

Instead we put our trust where it really belongs: in the God who brings us out of Egypt, the God who gives us what we need, the God who brings us alive by the Word that is still speaking.

The Temptations of Milk and Honey

2011-10-16T00:01:00.001-04:00

Deuteronomy 8:11-20

October 16, 2011

William G. Carter

Take care that you do not forget the LORD your God, by failing to keep his commandments, his ordinances, and his statutes, which I am commanding you today. When you have eaten your fill and have built fine houses and live in them, and when your herds and flocks have multiplied, and your silver and gold is multiplied, and all that you have is multiplied, then do not exalt yourself, forgetting the LORD your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery, who led you through the great and terrible wilderness, an arid wasteland with poisonous snakes and scorpions. He made water flow for you from flint rock, and fed you in the wilderness with manna that your ancestors did not know, to humble you and to test you, and in the end to do you good. Do not say to yourself, “My power and the might of my own hand have gotten me this wealth.” But remember the LORD your God, for it is he who gives you power to get wealth, so that he may confirm his covenant that he swore to your ancestors, as he is doing today. If you do forget the LORD your God and follow other gods to serve and worship them, I solemnly warn you today that you shall surely perish. Like the nations that the LORD is destroying before you, so shall you perish, because you would not obey the voice of the LORD your God.

We continue our way through the desert. The way is barren. The journey is treacherous. The road is unpaved. Israel has left slavery in Egypt. Pharoah is long out of sight. The familiarity of affliction is replaced by the fear of the unknown. The people of faith are on their way to a Promised Land, even if they cannot yet see it.

No wonder the people of Israel told these stories. No wonder the Christian church kept these stories and told them as well. The life of faith is a pilgrimage away from dark shadows of slavery and moving toward the place of great promise. We put Pharoah in our rear view mirror and leave behind the places of pain. We strain to see what good land God preparing just out of sight.

Just a few verses before our text, Moses reminds us of the goal:

The LORD your God is bringing you into a good land, a land with flowing streams, with springs and underground waters welling up in valleys and hills, a land of wheat and barley, of vines and fig trees and pomegranates, a land of olive trees and honey, a land where you may eat bread without scarcity, where you will lack nothing, a land whose stones are iron and from whose hills you may mine copper. You shall eat your fill and bless the LORD your God for the good land that he has given you.

Now, that’s a destination worthy of our hope! Elsewhere that’s called “green pastures, still waters.” It’s where we want to move, where we want to go. Like those advertisements that come from the travel agents. I don’t know where you want to go, but I have seen pictures of where I would like to travel: the ice-blue fjords of Norway, the sunshine-drenched fields of Tuscany, the great pine forest, the purple mountains. Sign me up, Moses, I would like to go.

I don’t know if the description of the Promised Land was the carrot on the stick to keep God’s people on the move. Maybe so. Flowing streams, abundant harvests, figs, pomegranates, olives, and honey; that sounds so appealing. All the bread you can eat. All the wine you can drink. That’s quite a sales pitch! And the tag line comes right out of Psalm 23: “You will lack nothing.” That’s enough to keep Israel moving for forty years!

But no sooner does Moses say it when he adds a cautionary word: when you get there, he says, don’t forget about God. When your belly is full, when your money is multiplied, when you move into the big house on the hill, do not forget about God. That is the warning. And it’s a pretty good warning.

You see, it is one thing to be tempted in Egypt. When you are enslaved, you are tempted to forget your dignity. The hours are long, the tasks are heavy. Every ounce of energy is directed toward carrying your great burden and getting through the day. It is all you can do. Life is not your own in Egypt. You are shackled to the forces that keep you down. Slavery demeans you. It pushes you to serve without benefit or blessing. The temptation is to start believing that is all there is.

It is one thing to be tempted in Egypt, and it’s another thing to be tempted in the wilderness. In the wilderness, confusion sinks in. You don’t always know if you are headed in the right direction. The pillar of fire, the column of smoke – those are helpful, if not a bit vague. When you are in the wilderness, you may be free but you might not have everything you need. Temptation comes in the shape of worry, of fear, of doubting that there really is a Promised Land. People find themselves in the wilderness of illness and worry if they will ever feel better. Or they stumble into the wilderness of unemployment and doubt they will have anything to eat. It’s better than Egypt; at least you are free. But you are tempted to doubt that God is paying attention.

There is temptation in Egypt and temptation in the wilderness. But today Moses warns of temptation once we reach the Promised Land. In the Promised Land, you might never notice how your soul is at risk. “Take care,” he warns. “Take care that you do not forget God.”

David Goetz lives outside of Chicago in perfect suburban town. How does he describe it? “Seven-year-old birthday parties in which the party favor your son scores on the way out costs twice as much as the gift he brought; the one-ton SUV in the driveway; the golden retriever with a red bandana romping with two children in the front yard; the Colorado winter vacations; the bumper sticker trumpeting ‘My daughter is an honor roll student at Hubble Middle School.’”[1]

He and his family go to the perfect church. The worship services are lively and there’s always a lot going on: another study group, another stint on a church committee, another year as the youth coordinator, another mission tip to a Third World country. All of these are good things. The church has good music. The people look just like him. It’s everything you want in a church. Just one thing missing: God.

Everybody is running so fast, doing so much. Sometimes he looks around and wonders, “Why are they here? Why are they really here?”

You know, it’s a pretty good question. I have lost count of how many letters of recommendation I have written for college applications, honor societies, and the like. All these kids climbing the mountain of success, many getting into the university of first choice – which is at least two hours away from here. Maybe they return at Christmas, slap me on the back, and say, “What are you still doing here? You ought to move to Boston!”

A few of them come back to get married in the old home church. They come in early, introduce me to the people they love, talk about their dreams. We joke and laugh and catch up. Then I ask the question, “Where are you going to church?” Silence. Awkward silence. I smile benignly and wait them out. “Well, Rev. Bill, we can’t find a minister like you…” (That’s code language for “We haven’t looked very hard.”)

“But after we get married, and settled down, and pursue our careers for a while, we hope to have children. Maybe we can bring them back to get baptized here. Wouldn’t that be great?” I will look at them with love, and wonder, sometimes out loud, have they forgotten God?

It can happen. Moses knew it can happen. Moses knew it is possible for a parent to drive kids home from soccer, pass by a church, and one of the kids says, “Mom, what’s that building?” She says, “It’s a church.”

The daughter says, “What’s a church?” Her brother says, “That’s where we have to go on Christmas Eve before we can home and open packages.”

And she says, “Oh, I love Christmas! I already have a lot of things on my list.”

Is that far-fetched? No. According to the latest demographics that I have seen, on this given day, twenty-two percent of the people who live in this zip code are going to a church or place of worship. Twenty-two percent; used to be higher.

The really interesting thing is about forty-three percent tell pollster George Gallup that they attend church every week. I wonder why twenty-one percent of the people are lying. Maybe they feel guilty. Of course, that doesn’t even touch the fifty-seven percent who don’t go and don’t care. When asked about his lack of church attendance, one man confessed to the news reporter, “I outgrew the need for all of that.” Now he stays home . . . to worship himself, I think.

You know how many narcissists it takes to change a light bulb? One. He holds the light bulb upside down and the world revolves around him.

Is this good for us? Is this healthy for us? In a world where people scream at one another on news shows in order to make their point? In a nation where elected officials would shut down their offices rather than pursue the public good? What they are saying is, “It’s all about me.” “Look at me.” “Give me my fifteen minutes of fame, and then give me a million dollar book deal to tell my story…and then give me a ghostwriter since I don’t know how to write.”

There is something toxic about a society that focuses only on money, stuff, busy-ness, and achievement. I say this because it’s true. In one recent year, I knew four young adults in our community who spent time in drug and alcohol rehab. There were probably many more, but families tend to be quiet about this sort of thing. I began to wonder, what is it about affluence that could be so deadly? Are Mom and Dad too busy to be attentive? Are Junior and Missy too over-programmed? Is there moral pollution in the air?

I came to believe it is something far deeper. These kids live in a world on Red Bull and amphetamines. Everything is jacked up and fast. Nothing is pondered as they avoid boredom and race on to the next hollow pursuit. They are given trophies for activities where they merely show up, not because they actually competed and won anything. They are told to keep busy, just like their parents. Our world over-amplifies their individualism, telling them to proclaim their self-importance rather than give themselves to any matter of actual significance.

And then they come to know, at the center of it, that the money, the stuff, and the busy-ness are hollow pursuits. That creates despair. In one last desperate attempt to fill the holes in their souls, they dump in whatever substance they can find. This is what they do, when they have so much.

“Don’t forget about God.” This is Moses’ warning. Even if you can’t see God, stop and remember that so much of life comes as a gift. That’s how the good things come to us – as gifts, as gifts worthy of deep thanks. The first door to a deep faith is the door of gratitude. We walk through it as we affirm how little of life begins with ourselves.

We remember, too, that wherever we locate ourselves – whether enslaved in Egypt, wandering in the wilderness, or enjoying the Promised Land – that we never outrun the need for a Power greater than ourselves. That this Power is personal, and that it is good – these are potent revelations. True wisdom begins with an awareness of how small we are and how great God is. God’s greatness is in caring for each of us in our smallness.

In the church, this is the truth to which we point. God is greater than us, more loving and forgiving than us. And that’s good news. This is what gathers us as a church. This is the heart of a faith that can grow.

Now I understand that growing your faith is not quite same as serving on a committee. Committees have their purposes. They teach us patience, they help us develop skills in forgiveness, and sometimes they even get things done. All of this is good. For these reasons alone, everybody should serve on a committee.

But we have to always keep in mind that the church, at its heart, is about God. We learn about God, we talk about God, we try together to join God in doing the work that God most wants to get done in the world. And God is at the center of it. Right in the middle of all things! We must never forget this or take it for granted.

For the last few meetings of our elders, I have tried out a suggestion that I read in a book. If the church is focused on God’s business, then it has to discern what God wants the church to do. So instead of saying, “All in favor, vote by saying ‘aye,’” I started asking, “All who believe this to be the will of God, say yes.” It’s been a hoot. All of sudden, the action on last month’s financial statement becomes a matter of holy purpose. Or the decision to give money and volunteers to assist flood victims becomes something that we really think God wants to get done.

It’s not a gimmick. It matters deeply that we perceive God to be active in the most mundane of daily matters, that we trust we are here because God was here first.

These days, rather than ask that blushing couple from Boston, “How did you meet,” I might be more inclined to ask, “How do you think God brought the two of you together?” I ask and let them squirm. Usually they don’t squirm very much at all, and seem delightfully surprised that somebody asked the question.

We live in a time when so many forces would squeeze God out of our lives. There can be no more important work than pausing right in the middle of things to ask where and how we have seen God in the moments of each day. Do you ever do this? The ancients called it the prayer of “examen,” the prayer often at the end of day when we examine our lives for traces of grace.

God’s love is largely unseen when it happens, but simply stopping to ask the question can train us to remember God, the living God, the God who brings us out of slavery, the God who leads us through the barren places, the God who is significantly more important than all the gifts of a Promised Land.

Whatever else you do, says Moses, don’t ever forget about God.

[1] David Goetz, Death By Suburb: How to Keep the Suburbs From Killing Your Soul (San Francisco: Harper San Francisco, 2006) 5.

The Factory in Our Hearts

2011-10-09T00:01:00.002-04:00

Exodus 32:1-14

Ordinary –

October 9, 2011

When the people saw that Moses delayed to come down from the mountain, the people gathered around Aaron, and said to him, “Come, make gods for us, who shall go before us; as for this Moses, the man who brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we do not know what has become of him.” Aaron said to them, “Take off the gold rings that are on the ears of your wives, your sons, and your daughters, and bring them to me.” So all the people took off the gold rings from their ears, and brought them to Aaron. He took the gold from them, formed it in a mold, and cast an image of a calf; and they said, “These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!” When Aaron saw this, he built an altar before it; and Aaron made proclamation and said, “Tomorrow shall be a festival to the LORD.” They rose early the next day, and offered burnt offerings and brought sacrifices of well-being; and the people sat down to eat and drink, and rose up to revel.

A few years back, we took a confirmation class to Wall Street. There were no protestors that weekend, but there was a soup kitchen. The Saturday morning was spent providing a morning meal to an assortment of street folks who dropped by. Some had not slept yet and others had not yet dried out. Suffice it to say, it was not only an opportunity for service by our young people; it was also an education.

But for me, the real insight came shortly after we left. We decided to walk over to the World Trade Center site, not far from where we had spent the morning. We came around the corner and there it was: an enormous metal bull. It was eleven feet tall, sixteen feet long, twisted as if in motion, the symbol of aggression and prosperity.

Maybe you’ve seen it, the “Charging Bull” statue of Bowling Green Park. All the tourists admire it and click pictures with their iPhones. If you sneak a peek down below, you will see it is anatomically correct. Well-polished at that! This bull is sculpted from bronze, not from gold. But weighing in at 7100 pounds, it is a most impressive structure.

Like its Old Testament counter-part, the Wall Street Bull inspires confidence and activity. It is necessarily larger than life, a mascot to consumers and investors. I’ve heard sermons about the Golden Calf that emphasize the gold. They say something like this, that the people hand over their jewelry so it can be melted down and fashioned into something they can worship. They are worshiping their own greed, says the preacher, and their costly sacrifices are actually celebrations of their own affluence.

I suppose that might be a pretty good stewardship sermon, especially in a week when protestors occupied Wall Street and denounced the national greed that has twisted our economy out of shape. A quick survey of preachers who are tackling this lectionary text today belies a significant critique of Charging Bull Economics. One minister in New Jersey, for instance, posted a chart of the ratio of pay between CEO’s and their workers. You have probably seen these statistics. In Japan, a CEO typically makes eleven times the wage of an average worker. In Germany, twelve times. In Great Britain, the guy at the top makes twenty-two times the average wage below. And in America, the ratio is 475 to one. And so that preacher concludes, “The bull calf many worshiped in antiquity has become the Wall Street bull many people worship today.”

Well, that’s interesting, even if most of us can’t do anything about it. The point would be it’s all about money and greed and astronomic wages. It’s all about the gold. That’s interesting. But that’s not what this story in Exodus 32 is all about. It’s not about materialism. It’s about what happens when Moses takes his time coming down from the mountain.

He was up there to talk with God. For twelve chapters, Moses has had an exhaustive conversation with the Lord. God is spelling out the implications of the Ten Commandments. The Big Ten did not cover every topic, so God is filling in some of the details. What exactly does it mean to honor Mom and Dad? It means don’t curse them, don’t strike them. If there is a prohibition against coveting, what about property management? God gives that some attention.

A few of the chapters have to do with worship: who can draw near to God? How shall they approach? How shall they decorate the sanctuary? What kind of incense should they use? Back and forth, Moses goes up and down the mountain to have these conversations with God. It takes a while. When Moses does not quickly return, the people grow anxious. “Where is this Moses?” they ask. “What has become of him?” “If he is not around, who shall go before us?” Those are the questions that create the golden calf.

As is often the case, the people raise questions about Moses when they really have questions about God. I don’t know if you realize that, but sometimes people will stir up noise about God’s representative as a displaced way to cope with their anxiety.

The minister up in Syracuse took a vacation and some church people went berserk. He had surprised his wife with a cruise to celebrate their twenty-fifth anniversary. They were cruising to Spain. The day after he left, a thief broke in and stole the offering money before it could be deposited. Thousands of dollars evaporated. Payroll checks were going to bounce. The church secretary felt unsafe at her own desk.

Within hours, the phone lines were buzzing: where did the minister go? How could he leave us at a time like this? Can we trust a minister who goes away? Doesn’t he get too much vacation any way? We would never abandon our fellow people if we had a job like his. There was talk of a petition, informal gatherings in living rooms, other complaints allowed to surface, rumors about the actual status of his marriage – and how much of this noise was actually about him? He was on a cruise with his wife. Didn’t matter – absence and anxiety.

People will stir up all kinds of things when there is absence and anxiety. That is what prompts all the noise in our Bible story. Moses is out of sight. He is not rushing back to hover over his people. This absence is what stirs up all the anxiety. Where is he? What has become of him? Who shall go before us?

And as I’ve suggested, these really aren’t questions about him. Moses is merely the target. The questions are really about God. After all, where is Moses? He is spending time with God.

Most of the tribe says, “That doesn’t matter. Moses is supposed to be spending all his time with us.” They think that’s the issue. But the real issue is the kind of God that they have. The kind of God that all of us have. There are at least four characteristic that make our kind of God difficult to have:

First, God is quiet. God speaks only when necessary. “Day to day pours forth speech,” says the Psalmist, “but there are no words.” (Psalm 19)

Second, God is out of sight. God does not make a lot of public appearances, and even then they are ambiguous epiphanies.

Third, God seems indifferent. Indifferent. God does not seem to notice our striving or care about our achievements. God does not give special rewards to the spiritually successful, no special blessings to those who show up in worship every week. Just like everybody else, they contract cancer, have uncontrollable children, and encounter their share of bumps.

Fourth, God is immortal. Or to put it in plain speech, God is on a very different schedule from the rest of us. Prayers are not answered on demand. Predictions cannot be made. Promises still wait to be fulfilled.

Quiet, invisible, apparently indifferent, and immortal: these holy attributes are revealed when Moses delays in coming down from the mountain. The anxiety of Israel is exposed when the people discover what kind of God they really have. Somehow they already know in their bones that they cannot go back to Egypt, they cannot go back to the way things were, they cannot return to what was predictable even if it was oppressive. They are moving through the wilderness stage by stage, a bit at a time.

While they wait one more time to move on, they it becomes apparent what kind of God they have. The God of Israel is a God who wants the chosen people to stick it out, to stay faithful over the long haul, to live within the sacred bounds of covenant, to remain patient and to trust what they cannot yet see.

And they don’t want that.

For better or for worse, Moses’ brother Aaron, the associate pastor, suggests an alternative. “Give me your gold earrings,” he says. “Bring them here.” And everybody does this. The text emphasizes the point: all the people bring all their gold.

When Aaron melts all of it down and shapes the molten gold like a cow, there is an interesting little detail that often overlooked. The people speak up and talk to themselves, and say, “These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you out of Egypt.” These are your gods -- plural, small “g.” Yet Aaron has a theological education, so he corrects them. “Tomorrow,” he says, “will be a festival to the Lord!” Uh-oh. He uses God’s proper name, Yahweh, normally too holy to be spoken by a Jew, and usually translated “the Lord.”

And it’s not just the misuse of the holy name that is the problem. It’s that Aaron the priest, who ought to know better, has reduced the great God Yahweh to a shiny little statue made out of earrings. The God who brought Israel out of slavery with an outstretched arm and a mighty hand is boiled down to a figurine that most scholars believe was quite small. After all, it was made out of earrings donated by people who had been oppressed slaves for most of their lives. How big could it have been?

Every Jew and Christian agrees: the name of the sin is idolatry. Out of their anxiety, the people forgot the Second of Ten Commandments: don’t make for yourself an idol, shaped like something down here on the ground. God is jealous and wants no competition. The big issue about the Golden Calf is that they could reduce God to something so small. It happens, you know. It happens all the time.

Aaron’s big mistake was simplifying God, making God easy, tangible, and less mysterious. It’s deciding that you will not take God as God is. Instead you will decide what kind of God you want.

Rather than a Deity who is unpredictable, you spell out in specific detail what God is doing, where God is going, and the kind of behaviors that God demands. You might even declare the kind of people that your predictable God particularly loves – and exclude everybody who does not live up to your expectations.

Rather than a God who is completely free to do whatever, to go wherever, to reach whomever, you locate God in one specific place, one single spot, and you legislate what will happen whenever you go there. God becomes identified with one church, or one group, or one program. As long as all of that is intact, you don’t have to deal with a God who stays on the move.

We do this. All of us do this. At the church camp where the staff keeps going back year after year after year, it is a major disruption at the arrival of something or somebody new. In the congregation where the same people keep doing the same volunteer work in the same exact way, and everybody expects the same results, good people will risk burn-out and boredom for the sake of continuity. It’s a great distraction from looking at the much bigger picture.

When it comes to Sunday morning, the same people may sit in the same pews, hoping to sing the same hymns surrounded by the same friends, and hearing the same announcements at the same time of the year. And nobody pays attention to the quiet calcification of the heart, the loss of breath, the diminishing hope. Because God has been made much smaller.

The high demand of the cross becomes a piece of small jewelry, no blood or nails visible. The even higher joy of the resurrection is reduced to usher schedules, printed agendas, and the last person left to turn out the lights.

This kind of idolatry is in the American air. It’s in the world’s drinking water. It’s in the church’s baptismal water. Religious people are often the ones who will do anything they can to make God manageable. They will print book after book, pamphlet and pamphlet, attempting to remove all God’s holy ambiguity and explaining away every mystery. They will take their great Christian freedom and boil it down to habits and clichés. If you don’t believe me, go over to the parking lot of the Christian bookstore and look at the bumper stickers on all the Christian cars.

It’s not that they are wrong. Just small. Their faith is too small. In the great line from J. B. Phillips, our God is too small.

This is the truth about us, the religious people, the offspring and adoptees of Israel. In the attempt to deal with our anxiety as we make our way through the wilderness, we create a smaller, simpler god. “The human heart,” said John Calvin, “is a factory of idols.” What we create, again and again, is merely a shadow of the Lord who frees people from oppression, sin, and death.

But the real God, the God of Israel – well, that God defies explanation. In fact, we heard it: when Yahweh the Lord sees the Golden Calf, Yahweh says to Moses, “I am going to blast them back into the sand. I will snort my hot wrath, consume them, and start all over.”

Moses said, “Wait a second. You are going to blast them away? But they are your people. You said it yourself. They are your own people. How dare you wipe them out!”

There was silence. Deep silence. Then God said, “You are right. I will change my mind.”

Now, do you think people like us are capable of changing our minds? What do you think?

A Word for Walking

2011-10-02T00:01:00.002-04:00

Exodus 20

October 2, 2011

World Communion

For World Communion, we hear a foundational text for the world. These words come from the lips of God and end up inscribed on stone. They are instructions given to a group of runaway slaves, to the end that those same people would become a light to the nations.

Students of comparative religion are lectured on how this text comes at a high-water mark of divine revelation. Future attorneys are instructed in law school on the influence of this legal code. Sunday School children learn the commandments with hand signals, and adults say, “Why can’t we do that?”

These are the words given to Israel. They call them “the Ten Words.” The people are on the loose, but they are not free to do whatever they want. God has set them free, and now has expectations for how they should live, what they should do, how they should walk. These are the Ten Words for free people to walk.

Even so, the Ten Words are often regarded as difficult words. A permissive generation finds them restrictive. Reminds me of the day somebody walked into the hospital room of W. C. Fields, the great comedian. The friend caught him unaware and all alone. It was near the end of Fields’ life, and he was flipping through a Bible. The friend said, “What are you doing?” Fields said, “Looking for loopholes.”

For people who think the Bible is basically a collection of rules, the Ten Commandments seem to restrict people from having rambunctious fun. Or they suggested some alternative

The apostle Paul was in this camp. As he famously wrote to the church in Rome, “It never occurred to me to covet, to want what other people have, until I read the Law and it said, ‘Do not covet’!” Covet? Covet. Hmm . . . I wish I had a chariot like my neighbor’s. It was the Law of God that stirred up opposition in him.

In the Ten Commandments, there are eight prohibitions. Keep the Sabbath, honor mom and dad – and everything else is “Don’t do.”

The one prohibition everybody remembers, of course, is “Don’t commit adultery.” Adultery – how would you describe that to a child? One of my Sunday School teachers said, “It’s something adults do. That’s why it is called adultery.” When pushed, she said, “Don’t ask.”

But when a teenage girl gets dumped at the last minute by her prom date for somebody else, the cheating is painful and destructive, even if it wasn’t a legally approved relationship.

That points to what I want to say about the Ten Commandments this morning. If you don’t stick to them, somebody is going to get hurt. Parents can become neglected; that’s your reminder to make the phone call or pay the visit). Innocent citizens get robbed, plundered, lied-about, even killed. People get worn-out by overwork and might even take the Blackberry to church to sneak a peek at e-mail.

The commandments do not say everything. They say you must not lie about your neighbor, for instance, but do not prohibit you from lying about yourself. But that could be quibbling.

What God speaks in the desert are Ten Words that intended for the people’s benefit. They are intended to steer us away from the behaviors and beliefs that can destroy us, and propel us along the path of abundant life.

Remember what God adds after saying, “Don’t worship fake Gods.” The Lord says, “I am a jealous God. I am capable of carrying a grudge for many generations, just as I am capable of loving you and your descendents for many generations.” The point is God is jealous. The Lord wants us to love God and God alone. None of the other fake gods are big enough to deserve our love. None of them are strong enough to bring us out of slavery. Only Yahweh, the Burning Bush God, can do that.

Or the whole business of honoring parents. God says, “It’s good for you to take care of them.” There is a connection, even if it is unseen. Bless the parents who gave you life and your Heavenly Parent who will bless your life. Care for the parents you can see, and the Heavenly Parent you cannot see will care for you. All of life is related.

This is what the Law of God teaches. The Jews had the good sense to call it “perfect, reviving the soul.” Our psalm, Psalm 19, celebrates the words of God: they make us wise, they rejoice the heart, they enlighten the eyes. And my, O my, are they ever tasty! “Sweeter than honey and drippings from the honeycomb.”

A faithful Jew would never say that God decreed these rules to give us misery. Oh no, God spoke in order to prevent our misery. And that is why the Ten Words, the Ten Commandments, are so helpful.

A number of years ago Al Winn, a Presbyterian teacher, declared that the Ten Commandments teach us about the components of a happy and faithful life. Let me run through his own summary:

No other gods: that is because our God is the only one we need.
No idols: our God is the only one we have.
No empty words about God: because God’s name is not empty.
Sabbath is all about rest.
Honoring generations is all about stability.
Avoiding murder is all about enhancing life.
No cheating around is the key to faithfulness.
No stealing is the key to generosity
No lying is the key to truthfulness.
No lusting after your neighbor’s stuff is the key to contentment.

We do well to live as those who are loved enough to be guided. God sets our lives within the wide banks of the River of Life and says, “Flow here. Move along this channel.” With the Susquehanna nearby, we have all had a graphic reminder of how destructive life becomes when it spills over the river banks. And that is not what God intends.

God wants all of the children of earth to flourish. Listen again to the litany of promises: what we need, what we have, no emptiness, rest, stability, life, faithfulness, generosity, truthfulness, contentment. All of these are promised gifts from a God who simply wants our love.

We know we can depend on our God, for we are called to this Table by his Son, Jesus Christ. He calls us away from the mistakes we have made and the messes we are in, calls us to put down our weapons and to pass the bread around the Table. God gathers us in a sacred tether of faithfulness, and yanks us away from the mistaken belief that we are free to do whatever we want.

This is the great promise, through Ten Words in the wilderness or generous grace at a communion table. It comes from the heart of the God who claims us as his own. This is the God who never turns us loose but always sets us free.

What's for Dinner?

2011-09-18T00:01:00.000-04:00

Exodus 16:2-15

September 18, 2011

25^th Sunday in Ordinary Time

The whole congregation of the Israelites complained against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness. The Israelites said to them, “If only we had died by the hand of the LORD in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots and ate our fill of bread; for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.”

The tambourine was barely silent when the people started to complain. I mean, you know about the tambourine. Moses had a sister named Miriam. It was her tambourine. She pounded it joyfully, leading everybody in a triumphant song. It was right after the people were released so supernaturally from Egypt.

As the people departed Egypt, finding themselves in similar landscapes. They began in the desert, and it’s still desert. They are still pitching their tents, still traveling by stages, and now they are running out of food.

That is one great benefit if you are a slave: you have a master, and you never have to worry where the food is coming from. All good things come from the master.

It may cost you more flesh than you expected. But chow time comes at chow time. Slaves don’t have to worry about a roves over their heads. Never mind that part about working yourself seven days a week, twenty-eight hours a day. Everything becomes a routine. The more work you do it, the less you have to worry about growing up and figuring it out. Everything is provided, as long as you have a master!

But that was Egypt. This is now. The people and Moses pass through the sea into freedom. They don’t have Pharoah for a master any more. That’s the good news, and that’s the bad news. No sooner does the tambourine stop when the people of Israel grumble. They want to know what’s for supper.

What’s for supper -- for God’s sake! What are we going to eat? Can’t just keep walking around! When will we eat? That’s a matter every creature wants to know.

My little cat Nellie is seventeen years old. She now resides in our upstairs bathroom. We call it her deluxe apartment in the sky. And Nellie yowls whenever she gets the urge to eat. My wife says it is an emotional disorder. The truth is they are hunger pangs. Nellie lets us know when she wants something to eat. This is what every creature does. Every creature. Dogs do this. People do this.

Looking out my kitchen window, I noticed one wayward bird squawking that we had not replenished her birdfeeder. She looked at me and said, “I’m about to winter in Louisiana. Aren’t you going to feed me before I go?”

The people of Israel, just like all other creatures God has made, grumble out loud, “What’s for dinner?”

The kids ask the same question when they walk in the door at 3:40. You inform them of the menu and they want a snack. Get them some celery sticks with peanut butter, but they were hoping for something with a lot of chocolate.

What’s for dinner? At 8:00 after the light repast of salad and soup, he gets up to forage around the refrigerator. The fridge is full of food, and he exclaims, “Why don’t we have anything hear to eat?” This is a human question. This is a creature’s question. When there is no immediate answer, the people grumble.

You know, I hear the grumbling. All kinds of people are prone to grumbling. The grumbling is always about something. Something is unsatisfied.

Why didn’t the levee go the entire length of the river? What are we going to do to help the people who were flooded? Why can’t you move quicker?

Life offers up the illusion that questions can be answered, that problems can be solved instantly. You want to get hold of somebody, you dial their cell phone and let it ring. If you call and they are sitting in church, it doesn’t matter because you are important and you want your answers now. Technology leads us into that illusion.

So does modern medicine. Why can’t you figure out this illness? Why can’t you tell me why it hurts in my stomach? Why can’t you fix this and patch me up? I’m paying you good money – or my employer is. I expect to know now.

We want to look into the crystal ball and see how the kids will turn out. Why can’t you tell me that? You are supposed to know all of that

The people of Israel grumble: did you bring us all the way out here to let us starve? And for what it’s worth, Moses rightly redirects the blame. “Take it up with God,” he says. Take it up with God. He’s right about that. Beneath every human discontent is a problem with God.

Why don’t you give me what I need?

Why won’t you answer my prayer?

Why can’t you come when I call on you?

How long do we have to wait?

Why don’t you get all the hypocrites out of my church?

Why can’t you give me the joy that other people feel?

Why won’t you send us a better pastor?

Why don’t you give us something to eat?

It’s really an issue with God. Oh, I know: pick on Moses because he is God’s representative. Grumble to him, because it’s his job to listen to all the kvetching. When the kvetching goes unanswered, and God’s representative is pummeled around by the questions, concerns, and unaddressed agendas, when you scrape all that away, the plate is still empty . . . and you are waiting for God to put something on it.

This is essentially an issue with God. At heart it is a deeply spiritual issue, namely, we are not getting what we want, much less what we need. Don’t we pray to God for daily bread? Jesus told us as much.

Jesus told the story of a contractor who treats everybody fairly. He keeps going down to the town square to secure some more workers. Even if they put in more hours, even if they work harder, even if they show up late, this guy treats everybody the same. It’s a glimpse of how God is, the kind of God we want to believe in.

God gave you that last breath of oxygen. Did you get a bill for that?

God gave you the body that you inhabit. Did you have to sign a rental agreement? Of course not.

God is the Giver, the primary Giver. All things originate from God’s creativity. Our problem with God is whether God is the continuing Giver. Because, as you know, we want it and we want it now. Fill in the blank – what I want right now is ____________.

Or to bring it home, what’s for dinner?

It’s not merely a matter of wanting anything. We are talking about daily bread, about sustenance. The world is arranged in such a way that plenty of food so that all life can be sustained. The problem is that food is in the wrong places. Or too much food is in the wrong hands. Or we find ourselves in a desert of sand, and we worry that God does not care for us enough to give our daily bread. It’s about food, and it’s about more than food. It is always a desert concern.

Does God come to our assistance? Does God provide for us? Or is God sitting on a cloud somewhere, uninterested and uninvolved?

In many obvious cases, yes, God does provide. But there are potential misfires. Do you know what happens after God gives manna to the Hebrews? Some of them start hoarding it. They wanted to stockpile it, so they could have more than their neighbors. When they opened up their Ziploc container on the very next day, it was full of maggots. That’s what selfishness can do. It turns all our treasures into worms.

Yet the story teaches that, prior to human greed, God provides. Each and every day, in the most desolate of locations.

The manna falls from heaven, so to speak. The word Manna comes from the Hebrew question, “What is it?” Religion professors like to point out to unsuspecting students what we think manna actually was. There was a certain kind of insect that secreted a white, flaky substance. It’s small. It does not seem significant enough to live on. Manna is a tiny gift that you do not think is sufficient. But it’s all you have to go on.

It indicates that God the Giver provides gifts every day all around us, if only we look for them in the small places. We see them if we silence our grumbling hearts long enough, to appreciate, to receive, to pass along what we have.

Of all the stories that have come from last week’s flood, maybe the best one comes from my home town of Owego, New York. The historical village on the Susquehanna took on more water than they have ever seen in their history. The Victorian mansions along Front Street are emptied of waterlogged antiques. Piles of furniture and wall board form sidewalk bunkers on both sides of the street. Last Tuesday, the first day that I could get up there to check on my parents, the mud line in the trees was higher than my car.

The whole town was without power for a number of days. When the Presbyterian minister, the Rev. Parrish Bridges, realized that he would lose all the food in his freezer and refrigerator, here’s what he did. He fired up the gas grill, cooked everything he had, and took it down the hill until he came to the water’s edge. Then he borrowed a kayak and delivered the food up and down the street to people who had lost everything. They were in the desert, a vast watery desert, and he went door to door.

“What is it?” they asked. He said, “It’s your dinner.”

Somebody heard the story and said, “Did he take it to the Presbyterians?” No, he took it to the hungry. Hunger does not discriminate, and neither do the floods.

God provides. Sometimes we are the ones who provide on God’s behalf, because God first provided to us. But the prerequisite is to cease all grumbling. Perhaps we are misled by the abundance in our own refrigerators. And when a time of constriction or limitation comes, we hover over what we have, if not reach for more.

Maybe what we need is not for more manna to fall, but for our eyes to see it, our tongues to taste it, our hearts to share it. Maybe it’s when we think we have the least resources that God provides the most.

I don’t know, but I see this mystery over and over again. One day, Jesus is mobbed by a crowd. They want to hear him teach, so he teaches. They want him to heal, so he heals. It gets late, so he looks at the twelve disciples and says, “Feed them something. You give them something to eat.”

They say, “Lord, we don’t have much. A couple of loaves, a few fish, but what is that when the need is so great?” So he takes what they have, blesses it, breaks it, gives it away. Somehow there is enough for everybody. How did that happen? Did everybody take a really small piece? Did his generosity inspire thousands of peasants to share? Did food strangely multiply? I think the answer to all those questions is “yes.” There was abundance where people only saw scarcity. That’s the way God is.

One thing we will discover as we read through these stories of Israel in the wilderness is how much these stories read us. How much they see what it’s like to be human. How much they expose our own spiritual hunger. They push us to go deeper, and to prepare us for a God who actually provides for us. They train our eyes to see when God truly does provide.

I don’t know if you have had a lot scraped away and you find yourself with an empty plate. But in times when I have, suddenly something blossoms in that desert. Where there is no reason to think that life could actually happen, something happens. When it feels like everything is being taken away from you, suddenly you might be filled with more than you thought possible. Be it a relationship, or a job, or the loss of some physical ability, or the loss of some hope you were counting on, just then, precisely then, is where God provides, in the middle of your wilderness.

But it’s probably not where you looking, nor does it always come in the package you expect. Hungry people grumble, God provides, and the people say, “What is it?”

I confess the story in our text leaves me a little bit hungry. It leads me to a place where I need to turn to God and say, “Feed me ‘til I want no more. Come to me in my barrenness. Come to me in my deepest need. Shut my grumbling mouth and open my desiring heart.”

For those of us who journey through the desert this way, we discover it is a pilgrimage. Sustained in visible and invisible ways, we are changed and transformed.

What’s for dinner? Christ.

(c) William G. Carter
All rights reserved