Don't Worry, He Will Get to You

Mark 5:21-43

Ordinary Time 13

June 28, 2015

William G. Carter

Her health care plan was not working. The woman had been sick for a very long time. So long, in fact, she didn't know what to do. She didn't know where to turn. Everybody suggested a different remedy, but none of them would work. She visited many physicians, but none of them could help. She stayed sick. As time passed, her health grew worse. All those medical bills were bleeding her dry.

So when she heard Jesus was coming to town, she pushed her way through the crowd. She'd heard about him, of course. The last time he worked on this side of the sea, "he had cured many," says Mark. "All who had diseases pressed upon him to touch him."

Now she believed it was her turn to get well. She pushed through the multitude, saying, "I don't need to talk to him. I don't need to bother him. I don't need to slow him down with a lot of bedside chatter. All I need to do is touch the edge of his garment, and then I will be made well." As we have heard, that is precisely what happened.

Well, mostly. Because, as we have also heard, two things went wrong. First, no sooner did she touch his clothes when Jesus spun around and said, "Who touched me?" Apparently he did not want anybody to get healed anonymously, much less this anonymous woman. "Who touched me?" Jesus said. He stood there, looking for her, scanning the crowd. He looked at every face: some of them eager, some curious, some confused. He kept looking until he spotted her. And her anonymous touch became a conversation face-to-face.

She told him what she'd done. He said, "Daughter, faith has made you well. Go in peace. Be healed of your disease." It was a big moment for her. There she was, sick, desperate, and anonymous. And Jesus healed her, blessed her with his peace, and gave her the name "daughter." 

What I want you to notice is Jesus took the time to do all of this. For twelve years, the scriptures had diagnosed her hemorrhage and called her "unclean." But Jesus took the time to heal her, restore her to full status in the community, to risk touching a ritually unclean woman and making himself unclean – all for the sake of making her well. For twelve years, she shuffled through her days without dignity. On the day she touched Jesus, he turned and restored her as a human being.

I want you to notice he took the time to do that; because I also want you to notice that, because he took time for that woman, he ran out of time to help somebody else. He was late for a previous appointment. That's the second thing that went wrong. While Jesus was busy healing the woman who had been sick for twelve years, a sick twelve-year-old girl died.

Fortunately this sort of thing doesn't happen much in the gospel of Mark. Jesus got interrupted from a healing by a healing. Jairus begged, "Please heal my daughter." He intended to make the young girl well by a touch and a word. On the way, however, Jesus got interrupted by a sick woman he called his daughter. She interrupted him with a touch and a word. And the daughter of Jairus died because Jesus ran out of time.

It must have been an embarrassing moment. Imagine how that pushy woman must have felt. The word of death came, says Mark, "while Jesus was still speaking" to her. She stood there, healed and whole. Refreshed for the first time in years. Yet because of her demand on Jesus, death came to somebody else.

Imagine how that woman must have felt. She had been sick for twelve years. If only she had waited another fifteen minutes, Jesus could have healed the little girl first. The woman could have pushed to the front of the line then to touch the edge of his garment. I mean, her timing was all wrong.

Not only that, it must have put Jesus in an uncomfortable spot. Picture the girl's father. Jairus insisted that Jesus come to his house and help. The man stood by patiently as Jesus paused along the way. He grew hopeful as Jesus restored the sick woman. But then came the message from his house: "Jairus, don't trouble the teacher any further. Your daughter is dead."

In the face of such news, what should Jesus say? "Sorry, Jairus, I meant to heal your daughter, but I guess I got held up." No, he couldn't say that. It's a difficult dilemma. Jesus meant to heal one, instead healed another, and the first one died.

As you know, Jesus eventually goes to the house and raises the little girl from the dead. But that merely suspends the problem; it doesn't solve it. Because we all know that for every person who ever gets healed of a disease, someone else will suffer and pass. For every person who can push through the crowd to claim the power of Christ, somebody else stands close at hand, having just lost a daughter or son.

I guess we need to take a little time away from the story to sort it out. Sometimes people get well. Sometimes others do not. What can we say about that?

At moments, the words fail us. Years ago I received a phone call from a pastor friend. It was late and he sounded distraught. Among his hospital rounds, my friend had begun to visit a young boy from his church. The child had leukemia. There was nothing anybody could do. This minister visited faithfully through the rapid stages of the disease. They became friends. They played checkers together. They shared an occasional meal.

When the end was near, they were alone in the hospital room, quietly sharing the evening. Suddenly the boy broke the silence. He said, "Reverend, I think I know why God isn't able to make me better."

"Why is that?" said my friend.

And the boy said, "Because I think he's busy helping somebody else."

My friend said, "I left in tears, got in the car, and drove around for a while. I didn't know what to say." What can we say?  Some people get well, others do not.

The gospel of Mark would probably say, "That is the way this world is." All the gospels agree Jesus was a healer. He restored life in the face of death. Some of the stories sound quite successful. Luke says, "People came to hear him and to be healed of their diseases . . . and all in the crowd were trying to touch him, for power came out from him, and he healed all of them." (Luke 6:18-19) Matthew says, "Jesus cured every disease and every sickness among the people . . . They brought to him all the sick, those who were afflicted with various diseases and pains, demoniacs, epileptics, and paralytics, and he cured them." (Matthew 4:23-34)

By contrast, Mark adds a note of restraint. Mark says, "They brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons. The whole city was gathered around the door. And he cured many who were sick." (Mark 1:32-34) Do you hear the difference? Jesus "cured many," not all. Many got well around him, but not everybody.

The gospel of Mark knows what you and I know: sooner or later, one way or another, all of us become sick. The warranty runs out on our moveable parts. A stain appears on the X-ray. The blood count changes without warning. Or we develop a hemorrhage that lasts twelve years. That's how it is, in a world like this. Like it or not, sooner or later, one way or another, time will run out.

Sometimes the human body develops a problem that cannot be fixed. Just like the daughter of Jairus. She died. Other times, somebody may stop the clock prematurely. That's what happened to Jesus. He was put to death on a tree. Like it or not, every human life will run its course. Mark is brutally honest about the ways things are.

One of the great illusions of our age is that we can live forever through better medicine. So we spend billions of dollars on medical research. We build machines that keep our lungs breathing. We design great drugs to keep our hearts ticking. Somebody raises the premiums to pay for all of this. Like that sick woman, we are willing to spend all that we have to clot up that hemorrhage. But it doesn’t always make us better. Maybe it buys a little time.

The gospel of Mark starts with what we know: this is a world of sickness and death. Sooner or later, every single life runs out of time.

But the gospel of Mark knows something else. Jesus came preaching, "The time is fulfilled; God's kingdom is near." He wrapped his words into deeds. And every sick person he touched became well, one person at a time. Every hopeless person who trusted his word found peace, one person at a time.

And do you know why? Two reasons, I think. The first is that the healing work of God is never anonymous. It is for this person right here, who has a name, who has a story. In the healing services that we have held four times this past year, there is a point at which the person who comes forward for prayer is asked, “For what would you like me to pray?” It’s a specific need for a specific time, and it is offered to God who alone can address it. It is not random; it is for you.

I remember that afternoon some of us spent in a mission hospital in Port au Prince. The sisters of the Missionaries of Charity welcomed us into a room of sick children. Some of these children were whimpering, some were too weak to whimper. And if you went to hold a child, you turned your back on another. And if you turned to help this one, you turned away from three behind. The need was overwhelming. My heart was breaking, my head hurt. What should I do?

A nun in blue could read my mind. She smiled and said, “We hold one at a time, for each is precious.” One at a time. This is the one in front of me, this is the one who gets my attention for now. Jesus takes the time for the woman with the hemorrhage. He does not do it from a distance; he does it for her.

And the second reason is because he has all the time in the world to get to the next person, to that little twelve year old girl. Or to put it another way, he has all the time in eternity to get to that little girl. For that is the grand secret of the Gospel of Mark, the enormous open secret of the Christian faith: in Jesus Christ, the eternal realm of God intrudes upon our world of timelines, limitations, and life spans.

In Jesus Christ, the God beyond time intrudes upon our business-as-usual. That is, even though Jesus didn't heal everybody, the day will come when he will. Even though he ran out of time, he never really runs out of time. It is his intention to make every person well, whether like the old woman they wish to be well, or like the daughter of Jairus they run out of breath. Time does not matter to Jesus, for he is the eternal healer, God in the flesh, and his slow work is to make all things well. That's the good news according to the Gospel of Mark.

So let's go back to the story . . . The messengers said, "Jairus, your daughter is dead. Don't trouble the teacher any more." But Jesus said, "Jairus, do not fear, only believe." At the house, there was a great commotion, with people weeping and wailing loudly. Jesus said, "Why do you make a great commotion? The child is not dead but sleeping." And they laughed at him, because obviously they think he doesn't know what kind of world this is.

But Jesus had the last laugh. He took the child by the hand and said, "Get up!" Immediately she got up, alive and well, and she began to walk.

In one of Flannery O'Connor's short stories, there is a character who speaks a great line. He says, "Jesus was the only One that ever raised the dead, and He shouldn't have done it. He thrown everything off balance."[1]  Indeed he has. A sick woman pushed through the crowd to touch the garment of Jesus. We could expect him to rebuke her and say, "Get out of my way." Or he could have ignored her because he was busy. Instead Jesus interrupted his work to do his work.

When the interruption caused Jairus to hear the sad news that his daughter was dead, we might have thought, "Well, that's that." At best, we could expect the tardy Jesus to make an apology. Or maybe we could ask him to lead the funeral service. But Jesus has never led a funeral. Instead he presides over a Resurrection. Thanks to Jesus, this weary world has been thrown off balance. And it is slowly becoming "the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ." (Rev. 11:15)

In the meantime, whenever any of us gets healed of a disease, let’s see it for what it is: it is a sign of God's will, a sign that God’s dominion is breaking in. Whenever a surgical procedure makes us well, we are reminded of the final destiny when all shall be well. Whenever we are saved from the jaws of death, it is a blessed disruption of the world as we know it. It is a glimpse of God's new creation, already present yet still coming through Jesus Christ our Lord.

We cannot be naive. We know what kind of world this can be. There are occasions when life cannot be saved or sustained. There are moments when it looks like Jesus our savior has run out of time.

But we also know Jesus Christ will never really run out of time. For our Lord is risen. He is stronger than every power than damage, hurt, or destroy. And he will not cease his labor, until one by one, he takes each of us by the hand and raises us from the dead.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] Flannery O'Connor, "A Good Man Is Hard to Find," A Good Man Is Hard to Find and Other Stories (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Publishers, 1983) 28.

Who's Running This Joint?

Mark 4:26-34

June 14, 2015

William G. Carter

Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how. The earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head. But when the grain is ripe, at once he goes in with his sickle, because the harvest has come.”

He also said, “With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it? It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.”

With many such parables he spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it; he did not speak to them except in parables, but he explained everything in private to his disciples.

One of my most affectionate memories of First Presbyterian Church was a day when the church was in complete chaos. People were coming and going, volunteers were folding the newsletter, a couple of people were doing an annual scrub of the nursery, and one of the self-help groups from the community was convening down the hall. Three people were lined up to talk with me about crises going on in their lives, somebody had a complaint about the flower calendar, and a jack hammer could be heard on the street corner.

In the thick of it all, some good-hearted soul stopped by to inquire about the cars in our parking lot. He wanted to know who was parking in our parking lot. He knocked on my door, opened it, nodded hello to the person that I was counseling, and said, “Who is parking in our lot?” I said, “I don’t have a clue.” He said, “Well, who is running this joint?” And I said, “God.”

With a look of absolute shock on his face, he pivoted around and went back to his car. In all the years since, I have never needed to apologize for that off-handed comment. I really do think that God is running the world. It may not be obvious, because that is the way that God exerts power over the world. God rules over all things, even if it isn’t always obvious. We have to be trained to take notice.

Jesus provides his training by telling brief stories. They are called parables. He describes a slice of life, often from nature, and waits for us to catch on. One of the parables today is a personal favorite. Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is like a farmer who throws some seed on the ground and leaves it alone.” That’s all he says. That little story needs to germinate in our hearts for a while.

Now Jesus grew up near the country fields. He often talked about sowing the seeds, and comparing it to God’s kingdom. Earlier in chapter four, he speaks of a sower who throws his seed all over the place. Some seed falls on a hardened path. Some falls on rocky soil. Some seed has no root and gets choked out by weeds. Some of the seed falls in fertile soil.

I’ve been a pastor long enough to know that one is true. Some people cross their arms and close their ears whenever God is speaking, so no Gospel grows in them. Others seem receptive, but they don’t work at it, so the Word withers within them. Still others are enthusiastic at first, but then they get distracted by working, and vacationing, and making money, and staying entertained all the time, and over-programming their kids to make them just as successful and exhausted as themselves; forget about the seed of God’s Word. But then there are some who hear, who receive, who grow, who bear fruit – and praise God for them.

Or there’s that other parable about a seed, which Jesus tells immediately after this one. He said the kingdom of God is like the smallest little seed. It begins as this little tiny thing, but it grows and grows until it becomes the largest of shrubs.

At least one scholar thinks Jesus is poking fun at the cedars of Lebanon, those enormous trees up north that adorned the great palaces of his time. If so, it’s quite a joke, because the mustard shrub was a weed. And when it grew, it could take over a whole field. Jesus said, “God’s kingdom starts small, and then it grows like a weed.” It is as invasive as the kudzu in a South Carolina tree.

Now, we can understand that one, too. When Jesus told that one, the Roman Empire laughed and said, “You are delusional.” But when a friend did some mission work in Zaire, he said the Christian church is growing out of sight. In one small town, he joined up with a preacher who did 450 baptisms in a single day. It was exhausting. They were begging to be baptized. Finally the preacher said, “Listen, I’ll be back in a couple of weeks, and I’ll baptize some more of you then.”

A small seed grows beyond human control. God’s presence among us can be like that.

But the parable for today is different. It is quite bashful and understated. The farmer scatters the seed and then goes about other business. He goes to sleep, gets up in the morning, goes back to bed, gets up in the morning, goes back to sleep. One day he wakes up and suddenly there’s a crop. It happened when nobody was looking.

What’s remarkable is how restrained the parable is. It doesn’t declare how God works, nor does it invite us to do anything more to help the seed grow. No, the growth is a mystery. Listen to that: it’s a mystery.

It’s like the year when I discovered that my front lawn had grubs. I was raking my front yard one spring. I scratched the dry patch with the rake, and the turf came right up. Then I saw a big fat segmented bug wiggling away. That’s bad news in a neighborhood where people pay a lot of attention to their lawns.

So I went off to Lowe’s and got the necessary items. In the shopping cart went a bag of Grub Poison, a bag of starter fertilizer, a bag of top soil to patch the affected area, and a bag of Scott’s finest grass seed. My first task was to hold a funeral for the grubs. The grubicide was spread, and then I murmured the minister’s words, “ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” I could hear the grubs yelling in defiance, and I even took a little pleasure in it.

After a suitable grieving period, I opened a bag of top soil, raked it around, sprinkled a little starter fertilizer, and threw down some grass seed. The garden hose kept the area nice and wet. But time past and nothing happened. It was frustrating. It got so bad I started muttering to the grass seed: “Come on now, get growing!” Nothing happened. I was disgusted.

I got tired of waiting and moved on to other projects.  One night I walked by those dirt patches and said, “If you don’t start growing, I’m going to find some more grubs.” That didn’t work. In a couple more days, I looked outside and there were little shoots of green all over. I’d like to take credit for my green thumb, but I know better.

If you have ears to hear, listen. Jesus says, “The kingdom is like a farmer who throws some seed and leaves it alone.”

That’s hard for us to do. We don’t want to leave anything alone. We hover over our crops, we circle around our projects, we buy cell phones for our children so we can call them at any moment and say, “Where are you? What are you doing?” As somebody quipped, the cell phone is now the world’s longest umbilical cord.

Hovering has become a habit for a lot of people. My nephew worked in a college admissions office for a while. He said, “You wouldn’t believe how many parents actually write their children’s college admission essays.” They stop at nothing to get their kids into the college of their choice.

So it is no wonder this little parable of Jesus is almost universally ignored. Most of us like to keep in touch, to stay involved, to remain concerned. It is difficult to be reminded of how many human situations are out of our control. It’s even more difficult to leave important matters in the hands of God.

I know all about that. I’m a pastor. Every day, I am surrounded by situations that I cannot fix. I really do wish I could fix everything. Sometimes I’m even tempted to think that I can, that maybe if I put in a twelve hour day, everything will go better. But good people still get deadly diseases. Well-educated folks make big mistakes. Pleasant people can be overcome by depression and despair. And one of my daughters told me that a high school classmate recently died of a drug overdose; the deep irony is that he was a pre-med student.

If there’s anything we can all agree on, it’s that the whole world needs a lot of help. The challenge of a parable like the one for today is the challenge of trusting that God is going to fix it. The wise farmer sows the seed; ultimately he or she has to trust that God is finish what we cannot. No amount of shouting over the seed is going to make it grow. We have to trust that another force is at work in the world. We have to trust in God.

The kingdom is like this: we sow the seeds, and go to sleep. And while we’re sleeping, while we are faithfully out of control, God gets busy.

It’s like the story of Martin Luther, the great reformer. Germany was in turmoil, and Luther was leading the charge to dig deeper into the Gospel. The story goes that somebody complimented him one day for his leadership of the Christian revival in Germany. Luther said, “Oh, I have little to do with it.”

“But Dr. Luther, you are a wonderful preacher.” And Luther replied, “Well, I preach my sermons, but then I go home to drink my Wittenburg beer and wait for the Holy Spirit to get to work.” Not a bad story for us to recall on a Sabbath day.

Or there’s that story in one of Frederick Buechner’s books. A Princeton history professor rebukes a preacher with all the terrible things that Christians have done in the name of Christ. And he is thorough; he has a really long list. The preacher’s name is Leo Bebb. And Bebb says, “Professor, I agree the world is full of manure.” (I’m cleaning up the story).

“But look closely at the manure,” he says, “and when you see something green growing, that is the hand of God. God is where something is growing out of the decay and the rot. God is where there’s something no bigger than the head of a pin starting to inch up out of the stink and dark towards the light of day. God so loved the world he sent his only begotten son down here into the manure with the rest of us so something green could happen, something small and green and hopeful.”[1]

Don’t misunderstand: we do what we can. We always do what we can. But ultimately, the Gospel, the Kingdom, and the salvation of the world is not about us. We do our part; we trust God with everything else.

That’s what Jesus says. And do you know what he does immediately after saying this?  He goes to sleep. He says to the disciples, “Let’s row across the lake.” And as they do all the rowing, Jesus falls asleep. A great storm blows in, the waves splash over the sides, and the boat is getting swamped – and the whole time, Jesus is snoring. What is this? A sleeping Savior? Is he so in charge that he can take a nap? Of course he is.

In fact, I remember one of the first stories in the book of Genesis. God works hard for six days. God makes a world and fills it with life. And what does God do on the seventh day? God takes a break. God is so completely in charge that everybody -- God included -- can rest.

This is the Mystery at the heart of today’s text. What is the kingdom of God like? Jesus said, “A farmer scattered some seed and went to sleep. He did not hover. He did not stand over top of the seed and scream at it to start growing. He did his part and let God do the rest.” 

Do I believe that’s the way God is?

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] Paraphrased from Frederick Buechner, Lion Country, in The Book of Bebb (New York: HarperCollins, 1979) pp. 350-351.

God Has No Grandchildren

Romans 8:12-17

Trinity Sunday

May 31, 2015

William G. Carter

So then, brothers and sisters, we are debtors, not to the flesh, to live according to the flesh— for if you live according to the flesh, you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live. For all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God. For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received a spirit of adoption. When we cry, “Abba! Father!” it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ - if, in fact, we suffer with him so that we may also be glorified with him.

Today is Trinity Sunday. It is a day when we talk about God. What is God like? How do we describe the Lord whom we have not seen?

Isaiah describes his vision. In the temple, he is stunned to see God on a throne, surrounded by heavenly creatures. They are singing the hymn, “Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty,” and it scares him to death. Who is he to see the holy God? He feels unworthy because God is so great and so pure. But then one of the heavenly angels puts a hot burning coal on his unclean lips, and burns the sin away. God is holy, we are not, but God bridges the distance with mercy and forgiveness.

The psalm is one loud blast of thunder after another. God thunders over the roar of the sea. God thunders in the storm that snaps thick trees as if they are toothpicks. God governs the world with awesome power, so when we see nature shaking, when we hear the thunder, it is a sign of God’s power. Except that God is much greater than any thunder, lightning, or storm. And this is the God who gives strength to his people, who blesses his people with peace.

If you know anything about the letter to the Romans, you might expect a bit of holiness and thunder. In the beginning of this very thick letter, Paul says God is holy and righteous. We are not. “None of us have any excuse,” he says (2:1), not when we stand before a holy, holy, holy God. You can almost hear the thunder in the beginning of the book.

Yet while we might quiver in fear and inadequacy, here is what God does: God steps over all our impurities, and, in the death of Jesus, takes all the sins away. “God shows his love for us, that while  we were yet sinners, Christ died for us” (5:8). It’s the same script as Isaiah’s vision, only larger, wider, greater, even more fantastic.

If we welcome this grace, we don’t have to be slaves to our own passions any more. We don’t have to be enslaved by anything or anybody, he says. Oh no, because we’ve been adopted. That’s the word he uses. That’s the way he describes the love of God that claims us. We have been adopted.

Now that’s a remarkable word, an unexpected word. Paul is writing to a mixed house of Jews and Gentiles. I’m sure his words cut both ways. To the Gentiles, it was good news – they are included in the promises of God. Thanks to the faithfulness of Jesus, thanks to their faith in him, the Gentiles are adopted. They are included. They will inherit all the riches of God, just like their Jewish brothers and sisters. It’s good news.

Well, how about the Jews? Keeping covenant, living by the Torah, hoping for the Messiah – do they have to share the blessings of heaven with those newcomers? Didn’t all the centuries of faithfulness count for something? And now, at the eleventh hour, the non-Jewish people are included too?  

When I was eight years old, my parents announced I was getting a little brother. I didn’t think I needed a little brother. I already had a sister and that was enough. But we were getting a little brother. He was going to be adopted. I didn’t know what that mean, but it didn’t seem fair. Why should I have to share my toys with him? I was eight years older; by the time he would be old enough to be interesting, I would be halfway out the door.

And then we went to get him, just a tiny little peanut. My parents held him, they let me hold him, and maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. I looked at him and he smiled at me; later they told me it was only a gas bubble, but no matter. Ever since I discovered there was enough love for all of us. There was even enough love for another sister to be adopted three years later. The family was bigger than I wanted it to be, and that was fine.

Now, Paul is a Jew. In the next chapter, chapter nine, he will go on for a while about God’s love for his people Israel. Yes, they were loved first, and that love cannot be canceled, he said. Those of us who were not born Jews – and presumably that’s most of us – we were included later. And the truth of the matter is, this whole business of being “the children of God” is a metaphor anyway. It’s a way of talking about how we belong to our Creator. Push the metaphor to its extreme, and we are a blended family of a Single Parent in heaven. God wants us all, and the word for that claim on our lives is adoption. All of God’s children are adopted children.

It has always been that way.  Six months ago, we heard John the Baptist, out in the desert sands, announcing how the Messiah will come. Everybody went to hear him. Even the religious people went to hear him, and he gave them a hard time about it. John yelled at them, “Don’t you holy rollers presume for a minute that you get in the kingdom automatically. Don’t you dare say, ‘We have Abraham for our father,’ as if that gives you an advantage. God can raise up children from the stones in this desert.” (Matt. 3:7-10).

Do you know what I think that means? I think it means that in the kingdom of God, it doesn’t matter who your earthly parents are. God welcomes us one person at a time, one generation at a time. It has nothing to do with position  or privilege. Nobody gets into the kingdom because Momma used to sing in the choir or Daddy was the head usher. Nobody gets into the kingdom because Grandpa was a generous giver or Grandma commanded the Women’s Association. No, it’s one generation at a time, with these people right here, who discover that God loves them, that God wants them, that God invites them to live generous and holy lives.

So I call this sermon, “God Has No Grandchildren.” I believe that to be true. God has no grandchildren, only children, and every single one of them is adopted. It happens at the baptismal font, when we announce that the household of God has just gotten larger. There is enough love for one more, and then some. Every one is wanted. Every one is loved. Every one is called and commissioned to live the life of Christ in a broken world.

Elders of the church, this is the message of your ministry. These are the people of your flock, the sheep of God’s hand. They are here because something in them wishes to know that they matter. They are here because they are hungry for the grace of the Gospel. Some may be here out of habit, others out of curiosity, others because we serve a good cup of coffee. So elders, welcome them to the household of God, provide a good worship service for them, give them Christian Education that they would grow in their knowledge and love of God, and challenge them to hear God’s invitation to serve this corner of the world and beyond.

Deacons of the church, this is the message of your ministry. These are the people of your flock, the sheep of God’s hand. Look into their faces: they are strong and they are fragile. Every one of them has known pain and difficulty at one point or another, but most of them dress up for church and don’t let it show. What they really want is to know that they are loved. So learn their names. Get to know them. Take each one seriously. Serve them when they are strong, hold them when they are vulnerable. In all things, help them to stand in their full dignity as children of God, and never let anybody put them down. They are God’s adopted children.

This is a day for talking about God.  God is holy, but never aloof. God comes to the likes of us to say, “You are precious and you are mine.” In that relationship, we begin the journey that will change our lives, enlarge our hearts, and change the world. And we take our place among the great company of witnesses that love and serve the Lord.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

Pregnant Prayer

Romans 8:15-27

Pentecost

May 24, 2015

William G. Carter

I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen. But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

Pentecost is a noisy day. The last of the fifty days of Easter, we call this the birthday of the church. And we remember: the early band of Christians gathered in the upper room in Jerusalem. As they hid from the outside world, God blew in through the windows. The Spirit of God came upon them like the sound of a mighty wind. Everybody in the room started preaching the resurrection of Jesus, in all the known languages of the world. It was a noisy day.

From the Psalm, Psalm 104, we have a poem about how the world was made. It has seven stanzas, one for each day of creation, and the psalm is full of noise. Listen to the thunder in the clouds, the roar of the waterfalls, the symphony of the birdsong, the mooing of the cattle, the roaring of the lions, the splashing of the sea monsters. Psalm 104 says the world is full of noise because the Spirit of God gives life.

In Romans we hear another noise. It’s the sound of a groan … hhhhhh.  It is a belly groan, like a woman who is ten months pregnant and the baby isn’t here yet… hhhhhh. Paul says all of creation is groaning… hhhhhh.

He does say all creation. Paul doesn’t think small. All creation, he says.

That makes sense if you read the Bible. Whenever anything big happens in the Bible, all creation is affected. Adam and Eve disobey God, and the garden becomes a field with thistles and thorns and snakes that bite. When Israel was in Egyptian slavery, God spoke to Moses; and there was a bush blazing with fire yet not consumed. When God gave the law to Israel, there was thunder and lightning, fire and smoke, and a thick cloud covered the mountain.

And it continues into the Christian scriptures. When Jesus was born, Matthew said there was a strange star in the sky.  When Jesus died, Matthew there was darkness and a great earthquake, and the tombs opened and dead people got up and walked into Jerusalem. At dawn on Easter, there was another earthquake and the stone was rolled away. And when the Spirit came on Pentecost, there was wind and fire.

Life affects life. Everything we do - and everything that happens to us - has some impact on nature, because all of life is connected. That’s why Paul speaks of “all creation.” And if there is a single sound at the heart of it all, it’s a groan. Hhhhhh.

Some of the scholars say he is using mythological language here. Maybe so, but you know where those scholars say that? From their desks indoors.  If they only closed their books, shut down their computers, and went outside to listen, they might hear the groan.

My wife and I went to the Canadian Rockies two summers ago. It’s one of my favorite places on the planet. I would go there every summer if I could. We flew to Calgary, drove over to an inn in Canmore, threw our suitcases inside, and then drove an hour up the road to Lake Louise. Ever been there? It’s one of the most beautiful lakes in the world, surrounded by ten thousand foot peaks. We had canoed on the lake on our honey moon, and we couldn’t wait to get back. There was no way to even get within two miles of the parking lot. The road was jammed with tourists, people parking sideways, Canadian Mounties turning away the excess throngs. I didn’t realize that Canada had a Labour Day, too. For them, like us, it’s the last hurrah of summer.

We waited in line, couldn’t get in, turned around and came back two days later. When we got there, we noticed the Victoria Glacier was a third the size that it was ten years before. It’s melting from the warmer climate. The trash cans were full, and a lot of the tourists didn’t bother to throw anything in the trash. They threw it on the ground. And off in the distance, I heard creation groan.

This isn’t mythological language. It’s real. Paul says it is a form of prayer. When you don’t have the words, when you don’t know how to pray or what to pray, the Spirit groans. Hhhhhh. That is one of the noises of Pentecost, in sighs too deep for words. Have you ever prayed like that?

I stood beside a hospital bed this week. In the bed was a man I love as much as I have ever loved anybody. He’s been having problems swallowing. Apparently the disease that is affecting his reasoning has affected his memory of how to swallow. I stood there, and I didn’t know how to pray. The words didn’t come. Here is the sound that my heart made: hhhhhh. Is that a prayer? You bet it’s a prayer – a request for him and for all things to be made well.

Frankly, some of the prayers that I hear are a lot smaller than that. If we lived in Atlanta, we could tune in to  see that sparkly TV preacher. His name will tell you everything: Creflo Dollar. Apparently his given name was Michael Smith, but he changed it to Creflo Dollar. And he’s all about the dollar. His private jet is getting old, so he says the Lord has told him to pray that 200,000 of his followers will each give $300 or more, so he can buy a new $6.5 million dollar jet.[1] If you ask me, that’s a really small prayer.

Or there’s that football coach that we had in high school. Before we played a game, he led us in a prayer. He didn’t care if he got caught, and he didn’t care if any of the kids actually went to church. One time we were playing a Catholic high school in Binghamton. It was a small team in height and weight and numbers, and our coach prayed, “Lord, let our lions devour those Christians.” I am not making this up. In the grand scheme of things, it was a very small prayer.

Small prayers are not worthy of the eighth chapter of Romans. We are talking about bigger needs than football games and private jets. Paul speaks of the redemption of the universe. Not merely the individual soul or our little corner of it, but the entire created order. It has been broken. Back in chapter five, Paul affirms that “sin came into the world through one man” (Adam), and “the power of death spread to all because all have sinned” (5: 12). All things have been damaged by self-centered thoughts and actions. The power of death has threatened to consume us.

But thanks to the loving heart of God, one man has broken the power of death, and it’s Jesus Christ. In his death and resurrection, death has been broken. And in Paul’s words, “Just as (Adam’s) trespass led to condemnation for all, so (Jesus’) act of righteousness leads to justification and life for all” (5:18).

That’s why he says the whole creation is groaning, and that we who have the Spirit groan along. It’s because we are waiting for God to fix everything, to forgive everything, to renew everything. The groans are labor pains for a whole new world. That is what God is promising. And while we wait, we groan.

This is the evidence of Pentecost: that the Spirit of God within us is praying with sighs too deep for words. And the universal message of Pentecost, that Christ is crucified and risen, is slowly working itself out in those who wish for what God wants to do with the world and all those within it. It is God’s wish to make all things new, not some things but all things. And it begins with those of us who profess that Jesus is alive and that he is the Father’s agent to redeem the whole creation. This is God's mission.

Without a mission, Easter is merely an oddity of nature, a tomb declared to be empty, and that’s it. The greater mission of God is to make all things well, and all manner of things well. It began on Easter and it’s still going on.

Sadly, to hear some Christians talk, their mission is so much smaller than that. I’ve heard some fundamentalists say they are only interested in making more fundamentalists, and let the world go to hell. Hhhhhh…  It's so much more than that. Let's read the Bible, all of it, beginning with the eighth chapter of Romans. God is interested in so much more than our little corners of turf. God loves the whole world – the entire world - and wills it to become whole.

God shows this by sending Jesus to preach and heal and feed, to take the world’s destructive tendencies upon himself on the cross, and then God raises him from the dead, announcing the power of death is broken. This is the heart of all hope, that God is redeeming the world.

In the meantime, what about us? We have to put our hope into action, and take part in God’s great work of healing and restoring. We must live our prayers, for what does it matter to pray for things that we don’t also do? Pentecost means the church must be the church, witnessing to the abundant life of God in Christ through deeds and words. We live at peace. We offer our lives in love. We pray special attention to those the world rejects. In the words of one of the great critics of Christian faith, “I might believe in the Redeemer if his followers looked more redeemed” (Friedrich Nietzsche).

We live the Gospel. We speak the Gospel. We serve the Gospel. And if the cause is great and the matter is enormous, we trust God will do through us what must be done, and God will finish what we cannot.

And in the face of the world’s enormous hurts, if we don’t know how to pray, we groan ... hhhhhh … for in our wordless sighs, that’s the Spirit of God praying in us and for us, inviting us to do what we can, promising to finish God’s own New Heaven and Earth.

Today is Pentecost. The Spirit of God has come among us to continue what God has begun in Jesus. And among the noises of Pentecost is the prayerful sound of a new creation being born. Can you say it with me?  Hhhhhh.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2015/03/14/jesus-wants-me-to-have-this-jet.html

Filling the Chair

Acts 1:15-26

Easter 7

May 17, 2015

William G. Carter

Here is a page out the scrapbook of the early church. The author of the Gospel of Luke has begun a second book. We call it the Acts of the Apostles. Volume One tells the story of Jesus, from the shepherds at the manger to the angels at the empty tomb, with a little bit before and little bit after. Volume Two picks up where Volume One leaves off, with Jesus going up to heaven and the disciples wondering, “Now what?”

All the razzle-dazzle is over. Crucifixion is over, Easter is past, Jesus is now out of sight. It’s back to business. They return to the familiar upper room, and Mary his mother is with them. They spend a good bit of time in prayer. They share meals together, and then Simon Peter banged .the table with his goblet and began to speak.

“I know we are all missing Jesus,” he said, “but we are missing more than that. Judas Iscariot leaves behind an empty chair. What he did was terrible, and that sad episode has shaken us all. But it’s time to move on. There’s a verse in Psalm 109 – ‘Let someone take his place of leadership’ (109:8).” The room buzzed, people nodded their heads.

It was the first significant decision before a church that had no visible Lord. So how did they handle it? I’ll tell you how they handled it: they formed a committee.

Oh, I know. Luke says nothing about a committee. The text does not mention a nominating committee. But let me assure you: that was an inadvertent omission. I mean, you know they must have formed a committee. They had 120 voices, each chiming in their two cents. That's too much advice and too much confusion. I don’t know how you get a large group of people to agree on anything, especially if they are nominating candidates for office.

And so, they hand the work over to a committee, somewhere between verse 22 and verse 23. They appointed eight committee members, gave them a room and two ground rules. The first: the nominee must have followed Jesus for at least three years; no fly-by-nighters in our leadership. The second: we need a decision by tomorrow morning. So they put on the coffee pot, elected a moderator, and began their work. From the beginning, there was no small debate. No sooner had they started, and hands shot into the air.

The moderator recognizes member number three. "Yes sir. I've been thinking about this, and we need a young person. When I look around and see how old the apostles are, it bothers me. Look at Matthew, James, and Bartholomew! Each of them has one sandal in the tar pit. They're not going to last long, and it’s time to get the next generation involved. God knows, I'm no spring chicken. That's what I wanted to say.  Thank you."

The moderator recognizes member number four. "I'm from Caesarea. My name is Eliezer. I agree it might be good to have someone young, but let's remember we really need is someone who can handle money. Judas was good about that. He knew how to hang on to the purse-strings.  I haven't been a Christian long, but I see us giving away our money to all the wrong people. It makes me nervous. That's all."

Member number two. "I'm Bob, from Bethany. I have a bakery. I saw a lot of Jesus that last week. I think we should pick someone with a thick skin. I saw that no matter what they do, church leaders always get hammered with criticism. We can't choose someone with a tender heart, who takes everything personally."

Member number six. "I beg to differ with Bethany Bob the Baker. Sure, there's criticism, but must we nominate some insensitive fool? Jesus cared for the weak and vulnerable, and so must we. There is no room in the church for some fool who bulldozes over other people's feelings. I don’t want a leader like that. Thank you."

 Member number seven. "As always, I'm the only woman on this committee. I want to point out that none of the eleven are women. Jesus always cared about women. He treated us like real human beings. He taught us.  He included us in his work. And Mary, Joanna and the others raised money for his journeys. I think we have an excellent opportunity to take a prophetic stand. The Church can be different! We must not pass it up. Let's elect a woman to be the next apostle!  Thank you."

Member number one. "Well, it's no secret to anybody that I wasn't happy with all of Jesus' choices. I don't think he should have picked Thomas. It's wrong having someone with so many doubts. Christians have to be strong. They need to have a strong faith, not a lot of questions. We need a strong believer, not some namby-pamby curiosity seeker. That's all I want to say."

Member numbereight. "I'm from here in Jerusalem. I wasn't happy with Jesus' choices either. I want to choose someone to be proud of, someone who can stand before the crowds and preach with a silver tongue.  Personally, I'm tired of those foul-mouthed fishermen from Galilee. They are sloppy, smell of tilapia, and have no class."

Member number five. "I've been sitting here listening to all of you rattle on. None of you are facing facts. We should sign up the first sucker we can find. This is a big job we want them to do. The less we tell them, the better. Jesus never told the twelve what they were getting into. Why should we? Let’s be practical. No one is going to take the job if they discover how much it involves. Wake up, people! We are trying to fill a slot."

On and on, the committee continued their work through the night. They worked. They argued. They drank coffee. When Peter arrived in the morning, the committee said, “We’ve done what we can.” Peter said, “Great! Who do you have?” They had two candidates, equally qualified: Joseph Barsabbas with four votes, and Matthias with four votes. “We can't decide," said the moderator. "How about if we have thirteen apostles instead of twelve? There is plenty of work to do. What is one more?"

"No,” said Peter, “that can't be. Jesus picked twelve. There are twelve tribes of Israel. Twelve is the number, no more, no less."

The moderator said, “We did what we could. We have two candidates for one position. We are unable to decide. Something else must be done."

 “Yes," said Peter, nodding slowly. "Something will be done."

With that, what follows may be the oddest scene in the entire New Testament. The whole church prays, hands over the whole matter to God. Then Luke says they cast lots and Matthias is chosen.

Now wait a second. The nominating committee had worked carefully. They had reviewed every possible option. The lives of two men were at stake. The future of the Jesus Movement was at stake. But when the committee reaches a stalemate, the situation is simply tossed into God’s lap. Whatever will be, will be. Is that how the story goes?

Perhaps, but perhaps not. For one thing, the committee did its work. They weren’t looking for merely anybody. They were looking for a witness to the resurrection of Jesus, searching for someone who knows Christ is alive and rules over all. It couldn’t be just anybody to fill the empty chair. It had to be the right person.

That’s what our own nominating team has been doing. These days, when we look for an elder or deacon, our nominating team asks first, “What does the church need to get done?” The next question follows logically: “Who would be the best person to do that kind of work?” When they spend some time upfront, asking those kind of questions, we have more of a sense that God is leading us to the right people. And it is far more satisfying and affirming for the people we ask.

So the early church gave some prayerful thought about who their leaders could be. It wasn’t sloppy or quick. They didn’t hand off the task to a headhunting firm and say, “Get us an apostle.” No, they looked around the room – who has the ability? Who could do the work with the right encouragement? Who is God working in at the present time? And they came up with two – Joseph, who some called Barsabbas, and others called Justus; he must have been widely known by a lot of people; - and Matthias, about whom we don’t know very much at all.

They came up with two, two possibilities for one position. Because it’s generally true that two or more people can do the job that somebody has to do. And to decide which one, they “cast lots.”

What does that mean? At various times in history, to cast lots was to put a number of stones in a small cup. They stones would be marked or colored. The cup would be shaken until one of the stones would jump out. It was widely believed that this was a fair way to decide, like flipping a quarter and calling heads or tails. As the book of Proverbs said, “Casting the lot puts an end to disputes and decides between powerful contenders” (18:18).

More than that, it leaves the matter in God’s hands. The church has done its part in discerning the right people. Ultimately the final decision is God’s decision – so it is possible to say, the first little stone to pop out of the cup is the stone God selects. So the church could look back on the decision and declare, “The Lord chose Matthias, from the two that we carefully selected.”

It’s a different way of thinking about decisions, you know. We will cast our votes in local elections this week. Some believe the candidate with the most signs will win. Or it will be the candidate with the biggest financial war chest. Or the candidate with the biggest promises to repay. Or the candidate that some anonymous business man has in his pocket. Imagine if we were to spend more time reflecting on who is the best person for the good of the whole group, the leader that God would choose?

How is it that God makes these kind of choices, untainted by manipulative hands? The story from the early church suggests that the church folks did the upfront work, but they all agreed to hand it over to God.

Years ago, I heard about a church that was looking for elders to govern the congregation. They had six available seats, and they went to the congregation with eight names. The pastor was new. She said, “Why did you come up with eight when you were looking for six?” The committee leader said, “We may get a couple more nominations from the floor.” This was curious, and indeed, two people were nominated at the meeting when the vote was taken. Ten people for six positions. What are we going to do?

And they passed out ballots and instructed them all to vote for only six people out of the ten. If you voted for seven, only the first six would count. Then they had a hymn sing while the counters tallied up the votes, and declared the six next leaders of the church.

The pastor said, “Don’t you worry about hurting someone’s feelings?” “Oh no,” replied one of the losers, “we believe God speaks through the majority of the people who love God. It’s never about any of us. It’s about doing the work of God.” Then she added, “Frankly, I’m glad God didn’t pick me this time.”

What an amazing thing: a blend of human discernment and Divine selection.

I have a friend who grew up as a Mennonite in Lancaster County. She told me her father was chosen as a minister by casting lots. The last minister moved on. The people looked around the church, took notice who was there, who was paying attention to the sermons, who was living the Christian life, and who was available. They saw a number of possibilities, took stock of the consensus of the group, wrote the candidates’ names on slips of paper, and placed the slips in a Bible. Sylvia’s father was one of the names written down.

The whole congregation knelt in silent prayer. After a few minutes, the Bible was shaken. The first name to fall out was God's choice as their next minister. It was Sylvia’s father. “I accept this as the will of God,” he said with a shaky voice, and everybody applauded. Then the congregation passed the plate and collected enough money to send him to Bible school, so he would have some idea what he was doing.

Human discernment and Divine decision – that’s what we seek in the Christian church. Today, in a church not far from here, the congregation is voting on a new pastor. The pulpit has been vacant for two years. The search committee has looked through two-hundred-thirty dossiers. They have met every week or two to pray for God’s guidance, to talk about what their church needs, to look diligently, and to wait for the Holy Spirit to make it happen. Today may be the day. If so, there will be a presbytery meeting right here at 11:00 tomorrow to confirm what God has done.

I was talking with the chair of the search committee. “You’ve been at it a long time,” I said. “Yes,” he said, “but some things happen only when God wants them to happen.”

I said, “How are you feeling after 230 applications and a hundred weekly meetings?” He replied, “This has been one of the most spiritual seasons of my life. God has not been in a hurry, but God has prepared us for the right person at the right time. Our meeting room has become holy ground.”

Maybe the selection of Matthias isn’t so unusual after all. He was not picked as one of the original twelve, but he was the next one that God wanted. He didn’t have to campaign to get the position, because he knew the decision wasn’t ultimately up to him. And when he was selected, he did not gloat or boast or strut around like a champion – no, he got to work for the people of God.

You know, there are these moments in our lives, yours and mine, when the stars align, when the angels sing, when the heart is confirmed, and it is as clear as anything is clear that God is ruling over us. There are moments, even seasons, when the work we do feels like the work that God wants to get done. Praise God for when those moments come, because they declare that every one of us has a purpose, that every one of us has something we can do for God and his rule over earth.

As for the other moments, the moments when the vision is foggy and the way is not clear, I leave you with one of the best things one of our own church members ever said to me. I saw the lights go on in her eyes as she declared, “So what you’re saying is this: we are the only people that God has to use.”  Uh huh -- all of us.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.