Letting the Light Shine

Matthew 5:13-16

February 9, 2014

William G. Carter

“You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot. You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”

A few years ago, a marketing man paid a visit on us. Remember the packets of advertising postcards that once appeared in our mailboxes? He was the man behind some of those postcards. He dropped in to say, “Your church ought to be advertising on my postcards.”

When I pushed him a little bit, he made his case. He had just spent an hour walking up and down State Street, asking everybody he met, “Do you know where First Presbyterian Church is?” Other than the funeral home, nobody knew. None of the shoppers, none of the store owners. At one point, he stood down the hill next to the sign that points up to say, “First Presbyterian Church,” and like one of Jay Leno’s old comedy bits, nobody had a clue where we are.

In one memorable conversation, he stood down on the corner and pointed up the hill. “Is that First Presbyterian Church?” he asked two passersby. A woman said, “You mean the church on the hill?” Her husband said, “Is that a church?”

Needless to say, we bought a two year subscription to the postcards. They didn’t make much of a difference, but they did create a fertile conversation. Who are we? Where are we? Is this a church? One of our church comedians suggested we install a huge pink neon cross on the side of the building. Another one said, “Why don’t we make it a blinking light?” We talked about better signs, more press releases, and a deeper engagement with the community. As sometimes happens, there were more ideas than people to actually do something about them. We do a lot of things to get out the word. We could always do more.

From that conversation, one tangible thing surfaced that has stuck – a logo: the church on the hill, with light streaming out of it. The image was a direct reflection on the words of Jesus: 

“You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see you good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”

We live in a time when people want less and less to do with churches. An increasing number of weddings are planned with secular officiants. In good consumer style, brides and their planners can do whatever they want without some uptight priest telling them they can’t staple their ribbons to the pews. Or scan the obituaries while you still can, and notice what my friends in the funeral business tell me: there are more and more secular funerals every month. Some have grown indifferent to God or the afterlife, so they have celebrations of life and the dearly departed is never actually handed back to God. The cultural message is “We can do this without the church.”

Among many of our neighbors, there is indifference about all things religious. Our society has developed ways to celebrate Christmas without mentioning the birth of Jesus. Easter is a great time to go to Disneyworld, because some schools still schedule vacations around that time. I told my kids about my faint memory of businesses being shut down on Sundays and they looked horrified. They have grown up in a world where people spend the Lord’s Day any way that they want.

So here is the question, O church of God: where is the light? If it doesn’t shine through us, this dark world is not going to see it. If there isn’t something distinctive about us, something distinctively about Jesus, something as distinctive as the taste of salt, then we have lost our flavor, of no use to God or anybody else.

That’s the challenge within these words of Jesus. He looks to those who follow him. You are the salt of the soil. You are the light of the created order. He affirms us in the simplest of analogies.

You are salt. Not the main course, but the spice. You pull out the richer flavor of the meat. You come in tiny granules to call attention to the larger meal. You cause the deer of the woodlands to discover their greater thirst. If you are dissolved in water, you are still present. If there were a way to actually lose your flavor, you would lose who you are. All of you are salt.

You are the light, emanating from Jesus who says, “I am the light.” We can be what he is. We reflect who he is. We bear him to the world. I often wake near dawn, as light breaks into a dark room. Light announces it’s a new day, a fresh beginning. Light reveals the truth. There are no sideways shadows, light shows what we really are. Light brings clarity. It enables vision. It saturates darkness, just as a bit of salt flavors the food. All of you are light.

You and I make our way through a world that has resisted its Creator for thousands of years. There is nothing new about that. But here comes Jesus. He announces a heavenly dominion on earth where the meek are blessed, where the hungry of heart are fed, where those grief-stricken by losing someone or something so familiar are given the astonishing comfort that all things in Christ are made new. This is a distinctive dominion in a world that is addicted to its own destruction and increasingly bored with its illusions of progress. To say that God comes to a world like this is going to be a disputed word unless there are people who believe it and live it out together.

You are the salt. All of you, it’s plural. All of you are the light. The extent to which this is true depends on our commitment to make it real, to show in our skin and bones and breath that the Risen Christ is among us, continuing to teach and heal and govern us by God’s grace.

What’s this look like? I have a story that might make you squirm. In recent weeks, the people of First Presbyterian Church of Easton, Pennsylvania, have discovered that their long-time church treasurer has been stealing the church’s money. Over seven years, she took over $317,000 and used it to pay some of her personal bills. The church leaders discovered it. She confessed to the crime. She promises to pay it back. It was a breach of trust and deeply disturbing.

Here’s the thing: when the judge called her in, the new church treasurer went to the bail hearing, and requested she be released on minimal bail. He said, “What she has done is wrong, but she has owned up to it, openly shared information about her crime, and offered to restore what she stole. Furthermore, she is one of our own. She is a member of our church.” The judge wasn’t sure what to do with that and said, “She shouldn’t be involved in church finances anymore.”

Well, there was no question about that. The new church treasurer explained, the church members struggled to balance their anxiety about the financial betrayal with the Lord’s teachings about forgiveness. He said, “The church has to rally around the values it preaches… It’s around family life. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”[1]

How interesting. You should read the anonymous comments that people put online after reading this story in their local newspaper in Easton. On second thought, don’t read them. They are scathing and mean, along the lines of “If you steal from church, you’re going to hell.”

But what is the distinctively Christ-like thing to do? A Christian woman steals from Christian brothers and sisters, and then repents and says, “I want to make it right.” What would Jesus say to that? What would he say? He would say, “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.” (Matthew 5:7)  Or as he says in the very next chapter, “If you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive you.” (Matthew 6:15)

It is difficult being a Christian. It is hard to follow Jesus closely enough that we will act like him. It can run counter to how we think the world ought to run. It is to carry a cross that demands everything, beginning with our own sense of righteousness. It will require a life-long conversion. It means we must set aside our own stuff – our assumptions, our opinions, our fears, and our naturally brewed poison – set those things aside and live like Jesus. That is our distinctive salt. That is the light we carry to a world that prefers its own darkness. It is our testimony to the kind of God we have, and what God is doing by coming to the world in Jesus Christ.

The German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer saw this clearly, particularly in a time when he was teaching preachers to stand up to Adolf Hitler and his empire. Reflecting on this Bible passage, Bonhoeffer wrote,

If the good works were a galaxy of human virtues, we should then have to glorify the disciples, not God. But there is nothing for us to glorify in the disciple who bears the cross, or in the community whose light so shines because it stands visibly on the hill – only the Father which is in heaven can be praised for the “good works.” It is by seeing the cross and community beneath it that [people] come to believe in God. That is the light of the resurrection.[2]

And that, friends, is really why we are here: that people come to believe in God. That they would look at us and determine God has to be forgiving and good-humored. That they would see people who love one another in ever-expanding circles. That they would taste the salt for themselves, see the light, and then believe. If we are doing our work well, we can never hide God on this hill. God’s light must shine, and with all our deepest hope, the light can shine through us. Let the Christians be Christians.

Next weekend, I imagine somebody on State Street, walking along the street for the Clarks Summit Festival of Ice. They stand on the corner, point in this direction, and say, “Is that a church up there on the hill?” They want to know. Some have never been in a building like this. Others were in a church many years ago and never thought they would go back. If they come in these doors, where are they going to see any light? Maybe you’re at the door handing out a program, or downstairs spooning up a bowl of chili. Will they see the light in you?

Or say you are talking to somebody you’ve met. There’s an opening in the conversation. She mentions she’s afraid, or there’s something troubling her. She feels an empty space in her life. Do you think you could invite her to come here with you? Could you invite her to come back a second or third time? Seventy percent of the people who come to a church the first time come because a friend invited them. You could offer them light.

Or you sit at a conference table, sealing a business deal. You know all the characters in the room. The pressure is off, and they start joking around. One of them cracks a joke. Another pipes in, tells a joke that puts down another person. A third joker jumps in, but notices you’re not laughing. What’s up? Maybe you say, “Sorry, but I think everybody is important to God. I learn that every week in my church.” Church? You go to church? And you can say with all humility, “Everybody is welcome in my church. Why don’t you come?” Ah, you’ve got a salty tang. You haven’t lost your flavor.

Is that a church up there on the hill? What would you say?  

Ever hear what the Native Americans said to the first Christians who crossed the prairie? “Is your church built upon sacred ground? Then we will come.”[3]

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

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[1] http://www.lehighvalleylive.com/easton/index.ssf/2014/01/palmer_township_woman_waives_h.html

[2] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship (New York: Touchstone, 1995) 115

[3] Thanks for Fred Craddock for this story.

Blessings in Brokenness

Matthew 5:1-12

February 2, 2014

William G. Carter

When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. 

“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. 

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. 

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. 

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. 

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. 

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 

“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”

Meet the Skutniks. That is the nickname given to the guests at the annual State of the Union address. The Skutniks are the people who sit up in the balcony with the president’s wife, invited guests who are often named during the hour-long speech.

Lenny Skutnik was the first, introduced to us by President Reagan in 1982. He was the ordinary citizen who dove into the Potomac River to try to save some lives after a deadly plane crash. The president honored him as a national good example, and every other president since has selected some others who do the same. The press calls them the Skutniks.

If you watched last Tuesday night’s address, you probably saw some of these people: two survivors of the Boston Marathon bombing, the fire chief of a town ravaged by a tornado in Oklahoma, a single mother who got health insurance just before she became catastrophically ill. The most poignant guest was the last one: Sergeant First Class Cory Remsburg, an Army veteran who was critically wounded in his tenth deployment in Afghanistan. I don’t think there was a dry eye anywhere when that young man was introduced to the world.

Did you see it? It struck me as a Beatitude Moment, a moment when someone was blessed in the middle of their brokenness. None of the people who were recognized publically could claim to have their lives together. But each one was nationally blessed, held up and affirmed. The world had not dragged them down.

Blessed are the peacemakers. Blessed are the pure in heart. Blessed are the merciful. Jesus speaks his blessings into the air, launching them to land on whomever they find. Much has been made of those who don’t receive a direct blessing. He does not bless the aggressive, but the meek. He does not affirm the intact, but those hungering for God’s righteousness and peace.

Jesus notices these people, affirms them as they are. And we cannot separate his words from the context. Jesus has just had a long stream of needy people coming to him. Matthew gives us a general list: those afflicted with various diseases and pains, demoniacs, epileptics, and paralytics (4:24). It was an enormous long line of people in great need. He healed every one, says the Gospel writer, no small feat when there were so many needs. Imagine how much time that took! We get frustrated when the patient load is backed up at the doctor’s office and we must wait our turn . . . and Jesus gave each person whatever time they needed.

Then he steps back, climbs to the top of the long sloping hill near Capernaum, calls his followers around him, and begins to bless the best of what he sees. In my mind, the first beatitude unlocks all others: Blessed are the poor in spirit. They are those who cannot complete life under their own power, blessed precisely because it is only God who can save them. The blessing comes as a surprise.

One of the speechwriters for the president spoke the other day about contacting the Skutniks, and inviting them to sit with the First Lady for the speech. Every single one is surprised, she said. “We have to say, ‘that’s right, we’re not kidding, this is the White House calling.’” Every single one says, “Why me? Are you sure you have the right person?”[1] That’s a parable for the greater blessings of Christ. Those who mourn? Those persecuted for doing the right thing? Are you sure you have the right people?

I visited with a lady from our church family recently. After a series of health concerns, she doesn’t get here very often. It was a pleasant visit. I was there for forty minutes or so, and I admired the enormous physical and medical challenges that this lady has lived with. And still she is alive from the center, full of the joy of Christ, still undefeated. We concluded with a brief prayer, and then she reached for a box of frost pink cookies that her daughter sent. “Take one,” she said with a smile, “take the cookie.” Then she whispered, “I love you.”

How does this happen? She has every reason to be cranky, but she is not. She has every reason to withdraw, but she refuses. The joy of the Holy Spirit spills out of her. In the middle of her place of need, there is deep peace. Blessed is she. She is blessed.

In one of his historical studies of Jesus, John Dominic Crossan tells of the oppressive weight of the first century. And he declares how Jesus stood out:

He is watched by the cold, hard eyes of peasants living long enough at subsistence level to know exactly where the line is drawn between poverty and destitution. He looks like a beggar, yet his eyes lack the proper cringe, his voice the proper whine, his walk the proper shuffle. He speaks about the rule of God and they listen as much from curiosity as anything else.[2]

This is a great open secret of the Gospel. There is something about Jesus, something that is alive from the center. He is internally strong, yet still approachable. Even though life around him is difficult, he has not been beaten down. It is a signal of what God’s kingdom is like. You don’t have to have it all together to receive God’s blessing. God can find you right in the middle of your incomplete life, and God says, “Blessed!” If God rules over your heart, the blessing is yours.

Some people would want to turn the Beatitudes into behaviors, perhaps believing if they do the right thing, God will give them the blessing. That’s especially true when people are called to be peacemakers. “Get out there and make some peace!” Is that the pathway to blessedness?

I don’t know. I sat once with a conflict resolution specialist. Know what that is? That’s a peacemaker. He said he had an ulcer, confessed to popping some antidepressants. Resolving conflicts can be difficult work. He steps into divorce proceedings, sits in on labor disputes, mediates financial settlements, and works with estranged teenagers. It’s burning a hole in his stomach and he says, “There is no more important work.” It sounds like that is his blessing: he knows how important his work is. He is a child of God.

Most of the other beatitudes don’t simplify into ethics. Imagine the cheerleader: “Give me an M – E – E – K! What’s it spell?” That’s ridiculous. That’s like saying, “Let’s go, gang! Let’s get out there and mourn!” This is not what Jesus is saying.

No. We heard the text. After a long slog of healing and mending and tending to worn-out people, Jesus climbs the mountain, turns around to smile at those following him, and declares, “Blessed are you.” Even if you are meek, especially if you mourn, particularly if you are merciful - - - blessed are you. For there is a power at work in the world through Jesus Christ that is greater than anything that threatens to break us. It is the power and blessing of the God who rules over our hearts. Even if life smacks us, God holds us securely and never lets us go.

I tell you this as truth. As God rules over our hearts, there is nothing else that can have dominion over us. Nothing! And if you say, “Where’s the evidence?” we point to Jesus himself. We can’t ever separate the Teacher from the Lesson. What do we know of Jesus?

·         He was poor in spirit, limited by his incarnation.

·         He mourned for Lazarus and every broken heart.

·         Meek, the very opposite of forceful.

·         Hungry and thirsty to do God’s righteous work.

·         Merciful, to the point of criticism.

·         Pure in heart, as he looked toward God the Father.

·         Making peace, both with his words and his broken body.

·         Persecuted for righteousness’ sake – you know the story.

·         Reviled with all kinds of evil uttered against him.

Jesus was all these things. Yet one thing more: he was blessed. He is blessed.

Today he looks at you and he says, “Blessed!”

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

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[1] http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2014/01/28/how-obama-prepares-for-the-grueling-state-of-the-union.html

[2] John Dominic Crossan, Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography (New York: HarperCollins, 1994) 194.

The Maybe Moment

Matthew 4:1-11

January 19, 2014

William G. Carter

Here is a scripture passage that we often hear in the season of Lent. But it occurs right after the baptism of Jesus, and that’s why we hear it today:

Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. He fasted forty days and forty nights, and afterwards he was famished. 

The tempter came and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” But he answered, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’” 

Then the devil took him to the holy city and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down; for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’”Jesus said to him, “Again it is written, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’” 

Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor; and he said to him, “All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me.” Jesus said to him, “Away with you, Satan! for it is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’” Then the devil left him, and suddenly angels came and waited on him.

The bumper sticker comes from a more Christian age than the one that we live in today. It began with a line from the Lord’s Prayer: “Lead us not into temptation…” Then the next line: “I can find it all by myself.” I can’t imagine those words on a bumper sticker these days, but I certainly understand the sentiment.

There is temptation all around us. There are people who cannot drive past the hot red light at Krispy Kreme without pulling in for a donut. There are home shoppers who look through every catalog when their closets are already full, declaring, “I feel tempted.” Some car enthusiasts can’t wait to find out more about next year’s model. And sometime around February 11, the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition will arrive in the mailbox. “Lead us not into temptation, I can find it all by myself.”

But Matthew says Jesus was led right into the wilds in order to be tempted by the devil. And he (the second person of the Trinity) was led by the Holy Spirit (the third person of the Trinity). This was to be his test, probably the first of many. It sounds as if the Father (the first person of the Trinity) said, “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

Ever think of temptation as a test? That’s actually the Greek word in the Lord’s Prayer that Jesus taught: “Lead us not into the test.” It is what we pray to God, some of us praying these words every day. Lead us not into the place where our integrity is tested, where our virtue is challenged, where our fidelity is pushed, where our eyes see something that our leaky hearts want to fill.

Jesus teaches us to pray, “Lead us not into temptation,” precisely because the Spirit led him into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. He knew what that was like. He also knew that our souls are at risk if we give in.

Temptation is a test. In Matthew’s story, the angels stay off stage and all heaven watches. Jesus, in all his humanity, in all his divinity, is given three sinister examinations. Each one seems like the right thing to do. Each one appears very attractive. He is not tempted to do anything that seems wrong. No, he is tempted to do things that, on the surface, seem exactly right.

• If you are God’s Son, use your heavenly power to feed the hungry. The world has a lot of hungry people.
• If you are God’s Son, use your miraculous power to impress the crowds. The world needs a miracle to believe.
• If you are God’s Son, hand your authority to me and I will give you everything. Skip the cross and resurrection and get it all now.

Henri Nouwen, the spiritual writer, saw what was so tempting, both for Jesus and the people who follow him.[1] The first temptation, to turn stones into bread, is the temptation to be relevant. It is to put ourselves at the center, to say, “We are the ones who can do everything that is needed.” If there are hungry people, we will feed them. If there are problems in the world, we will fix them. If there is something the world needs, it’s up to us. In other words, nobody needs to wait for God to provide. Here we are to save the day!

Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been tempted to turn stones into bread. I don’t have the ability. About all I can do is turn peanut butter into a sandwich. But I have been tempted to fix things that I never can fix. Two friends refuse to talk to one another, let me try to mend that. Somebody has a life-threatening disease, let me tell it’s always going to get better. Someone is missing a loved one, let me offer to fill the gap.

The truth is, we can’t do everything. The real question is whether we can do anything. How convenient for Jesus, in all his hunger, to turn a boulder into a sandwich! And while he’s at it, fix the problems of world hunger with a little magic at the stone quarry! Wouldn’t that be nice? Use the magic of heaven to fix the problems of earth!

Except someone is always going to reach for more bread, and probably take it out of somebody else’s hands. Or if you fix it today, it’s going to need to be fixed again tomorrow. We can’t do it. We need God. And Jesus reaches back into his scriptures to declare what Moses taught: “We do not live by bread alone; we live by the words that God speaks.” And in the face of great need, if we don’t start there, with God, we are tempted to put ourselves in the middle. We are tempted to become over-functioning friends, hovering parents, or obsessive do-gooders who burn ourselves out. To push God out and make ourselves relevant rarely turns out well.

The second temptation is to be spectacular, to be impressive, to be so amazing that you can sway other people. “Take a swan dive from the top of the Temple,” says the Devil to Jesus. To make the invitation, the Devil quotes Psalm 91, where it says, “And God shall raise you up on eagle’s wings, lest you dash your foot against the stone.” God will catch you. Call in the favors. Remind God what he promises to do for you. And then show off, in the most public places, at the most available time, and everybody will be impressed.

A lot of people buy into this. What the world needs now is a lot of razzle dazzle. Lights, camera, action. A series of ongoing fireworks displays, each one bigger than the last. We swim in a sea of hype. The marketing people used to tell us that we needed to hear a message seven times before it sinks in. With all the advertising, the screens, the internet pop-ups, the commercials, our desires have been rewired. Now we need to see a message, as well as hear it, at least seventy times before it can sink in. Have to make it bigger, flashier, more impressive!

The Devil says to Jesus, “Let’s put this on TV, all 1850 channels at the same time. Hire a great graphics team. Zoom in on your face with a hi-definition camera to catch your smile when you jump from the top of the tower. That will get them. That will win them over.” Make it spectacular!

Well, wouldn’t that be nice. But if you subscribe to cable TV, you know one of the problems. You can have 1850 channels and have nothing to watch. Or you become weary of so much spectacle that you dismiss it all, like eating too much chocolate cake. The first piece is fantastic, the next three pieces are tasty, the tenth and eleventh pieces are wearing you down.

And God has no interest in winning people’s hearts through miracle and spectacle. Hundreds of years before Jesus, the Jewish faith almost died out, sustained only by a small remnant. Jesus is sent to be the child of peasants, raised in a town off the beaten path, keeps a hidden profile until he was thirty, has only a few years to do his work, then is crucified between two thieves. And when God raises him from the dead, nobody sees the actual event, and he appears to a handful of loved ones, none of them important. The rest of us have to lean forward to see if it’s true.

Nouwen writes, “To be spectacular is so much our concern that we, who have been spectators most of our lives, can hardly conceive that what is unknown, unspectacular, and hidden can have any value.” The God we know in Christ is all of those things: largely unknown, unimpressive, and hidden - - until we discover that he is our treasure. The Christ comes quietly, rarely with a lot of pizzazz.

The third temptation is the temptation to exert power. Power! “See all those kingdoms out there?” says the Devil. “Say the word and they can be yours. You can be the king of kings if you let me put you there. You can rule over it all and never have to put on a crown of thorns.”

Wow, what a wonderful offer! To win over the world. To use your authority to bring everybody around you. To accomplish in one executive order all that you want to have done! There are Christian people who think this is the way it ought to go: tell the rest of the world we are calling the shots. Get the right people elected to do what we tell them to do. Declare in all our authority that everybody else is wrong and it’s time for them to get in line behind us. You can read about this sort of thing in Time magazine, you can watch it on your favorite cable news network, and it can even get you elected as the governor of New Jersey. Tell everybody else what to do. Exert your power!

I remember I had a dog years ago. I loved to bark out orders at that dog: sit down, roll over, be quiet. That dog would do whatever I said. And then two cats came to live in my house. When I barked, they just looked me and yawned. And then they started influencing the dog. Pretty soon, none of them would listen to me. It was the best preparation in the world for becoming a parent. I should have known better; I’m a preacher.

The first problem is that, in the process of exerting your power, you run the risk of selling out your soul. You ascend by putting others under your feet; never a wise long-term move. I think of the line that Thomas Beckett speaks in the T.S. Eliot drama “Murder in the Cathedral” -- “The last temptation is the greatest treason: to do the right deed for the wrong reason.”

The second problem is that exerting power is not the calling for those who are baptized. God is the authority, and Satan is not his office administrator. God rules, not us. Like Jesus, we are always baptized to be servants, never authorities. That is the shape of our Christian conversion: to become servants. We stand beside people, not above them. We win the right to be heard by coming alongside those whom we first serve. We listen with a quiet heart before we speak. And Jesus keeps all things rightly aligned with the words, “Worship the Lord your God; it is God alone you shall serve.”

These are three temptations after the water of baptism, and they remain: to be relevant, to be spectacular, to exert power. Each one begins with the word “If… If… If…” Each is a moment that decides between the hard way to heaven and the highway to hell. Maybe it could go this way, maybe it could go like that. Temptation is the Maybe Moment. It will reveal what we are made of.

When that moment comes to you, the best way ahead is keep your eyes on Jesus, who went through this before we ever came along. See what he sees, do what he does. Declare what he declares: that we are here to serve God, not ourselves, and we serve God alone. The Devil will depart you for a while, and suddenly the angels will come to help.

God bless you.

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

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[1] I am grateful for Father Nouwen’s book, The Selfless Way of Christ: Downward Mobility and the Spiritual Life (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1985). His insights in pages 47-66 have influenced this sermon.

The Right Thing to Do

Matthew 3:13-17

Baptism of the Lord

January 12, 2014

William G. Carter

Christmas is now a memory. Here is how the grown-up Jesus begins his work:

Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying, ‘I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?’ But Jesus answered him, ‘Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.’ Then he consented. And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.’

When I was a brand-new pastor, I was taken to lunch with the venerable H. Wilson Scott of Lehighton. Scotty, as we called him, was a wise and seasoned pastor of a small town church. He was ordained as a minister at 42, after half of a career in business. And he had the demeanor of having seen it all and heard it all.

“How are the people of your congregation treating one another?” he asked. I was surprised at the bluntness of the question, but that was Scotty. I said, “Mostly they are fine, but I have a couple of people who are really cranky. They like to beat up some of the others.”

“In fact,” I said, “I’m surprised that people like that are in church.”

Scotty smiled instantly. He said, “Why are you surprised? The church is full of sinners. In fact, they are the only ones there.”

Scotty is gone on to his reward, but I have never forgotten what he said: sinners are the only ones here. No matter how well they clean up, no matter how well behaved they appear to be, no matter how well-spoken or mean-spirited they might be, sinners are the only ones here. And he said that with a smile. Do you think that’s true?

I heard about a man who didn’t think it was true. When the rest of the congregation spoke the prayer of confession, he put down the worship bulletin and crossed his arms. His daughter said, “Daddy, why do you do that?” He said, “The words in that prayer don’t apply to me. I’m a lot better than the rest of these people.”

She said, “That’s what you think”

Generally speaking, people don’t like to be reminded of how bad they are. I have known plenty of people who shrug off the weekly prayer of confession, or mumble through it, or look sideways down the aisle at somebody who is morally worse off than themselves. And generally speaking, it has become a marketing strategy for some preachers to take a different tactic for enlarging their churches.

I heard an interview with Joel Osteen, a short little preacher with a big smile and an expensive haircut. He packs in the crowds at a renovated basketball arena in Houston. “I don’t rub anybody’s noses in their sins. I speak to them of their possibilities.” He reminded me of something my mother once told me: you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

I always wanted to ask: can you ever catch anything more than flies? Flies are gross, dirty, and disgusting.

Now it seems like a shameless marketing ploy anyway. If you speak to people only of their possibilities, then why isn’t the world in better shape? Why are so many people stuck in such messes, many of their own making?

All of this bears, I think, on the story of John the Baptist. John appeared out in the desert of Israel. He did not work in Jerusalem, in the center of religious ritual and tradition. He didn’t stand on the Temple steps and denounce the people who weren’t pure enough to get in. No, he went outside of it all, out into the wilds. His central message was direct and simple. God is close at hand. God’s governance is coming near.

That’s all he had to say. It was the only message people wanted to hear. God is coming. God’s Messiah is on the way. That was a message sufficient for people to change their lives, to cut their ties with evil, to decide once and for all that they were sorry for their sins, weary of their brokenness, worn out by their own repeated mistakes. So they went to the Jordan River to get close to John, who told them that God was moving close to them all. It was simply that announcement that moved them to have their sins washed away. God is coming; you don’t have to live like that anymore.

There’s a favorite scene in one of my favorite movies, “O Brother, Where Art Thou.” Three escaped criminals are making their way across Mississippi, in search of a hidden treasure. They are interrupted by people in white robes who are going down to the river to pray.

One of them, Delmar, rushes toward the river, where a preacher is dunking people under that water in baptism. He speaks quietly to Delmar, who starts talking to his accomplices as he moves back toward shore.

“Well, that’s it, boys, I’ve been redeemed. The preacher done washed away all my sins and transgressions. It’s the straight and narrow from here on out, and heaven everlasting is my reward.”

Everett says, “Delmar, what are you talking about? We got bigger fish to fry.”

He replies, “The preacher said all my sins is washed away, including that Piggily-Wiggily that I knocked over in Yazoo.”

Everett says, “I thought you said you was innocent of those charges.”

Delmar says, “Well, I was lying. And the preacher said that sin’s been washed away too. Neither God nor man’s got nothing on me now.  Come in, boys, the water is fine.”

It is the unseen presence of God’s grace, announced at the river, that makes his repentance possible. Pete, one of the other crooks, is moved by this and dashes toward the preacher too. Like Delmar, he wants to get his sins washed away too. He’s been carrying them long enough. He doesn’t need to carry them any longer. It’s a beautiful moment, surrounded by people in white who have gone down to the river to pray.

Next thing you know, the two of them are back in a stolen car with Everett. Pretty soon, they are off to knock over a bank. When I saw that scene, I smiled. I smiled Scotty’s smile. And I remembered what he said: “Sinners are the only ones here.” It doesn’t get any better than that.

Well, maybe it does. Jesus showed up at the river, too. Why not? Everybody else in Israel was going out there, even the religious leaders. Jesus went too. John the Baptist looked at him, discerned the One whom he had predicted, knew Him as the Holy One from God, and said, “What are you doing here?” What are You doing here among these people? They are sinners!

According to Matthew, Jesus makes a cryptic comment. He says something obscure. “Let it happen. This will fulfill all righteousness.” Or to translate it in street language, “This is the right thing to do.”

John argues with him about this. We can be sure that Matthew tidies up their conversation and condenses it. John didn’t think Jesus had a place among the sinners. They were coming to repent, coming because they had messed up their lives. They were coming to prepare to stand before the Messiah. And here comes the Messiah to stand among them. That just seems all wrong. Let them get scrubbed up – and then they will be ready to stand in God’s presence.

Jesus says, “No, this is the right thing to do.” Here is the shape of God’s righteousness: not to wait until people who are perpetually sinful can tidy up themselves sufficiently to receive the Lord someday, but to interrupt all of that, to stand among them, the sinless Christ in the middle of sinful people.

This is the direction of his entire ministry. The first thing he does is what he will continue to do. As Dale Bruner notes about this story, “It is well-known that Jesus ended his career on a cross between penitent sinners; it deserves to be as well known that he began his ministry in a river among penitent sinners. From his baptism to his execution Jesus stays low, at our level, identifying with us at every point, becoming as completely one with us in our humanity in history as, in the church’s teaching, he was completely one with God in eternity.”[1]

He is God-with-us. Not God apart from us, nor God separate from us, but God completely with us. With us, with the likes of us. His presence among us is what pleases the Father. He is called Beloved, and he comes to declare that we, even stuck in our sin, are also the Beloved of God. And that holy love is what can free us from the otherwise endless cycle of human cruelty, pain, abuse, and other destructive tendencies. Jesus the Messiah steps in and among all of this. It is the right thing for him to do.

I have been looking through the new hymnal that will go into our pews in a month. The green songbook departs today, the blue one will be retired at the end of the month. I think a lot of you will be pleased with the new collection; not all of you, because, well, my old friend Scotty was right. But it is a good collection of songs old and new, with some capable editorial work done quietly.

I noticed, for instance, that an Advent hymn we sing most every year has had an absent verse restored. The hymn begins, “On Jordan’s bank the Baptist’s cry announces that the Lord is nigh; awake and hearken for he brings glad tidings of the King of Kings.” The last verse has been fully restored and it is a prayer: “Stretch forth your hand, our health restore, and make us rise to fall no more; O let your face upon us shine and fill the world with love divine.”[2]

That seems such an appropriate prayer following John the Baptist’s work and the baptism of Jesus: continue to heal us, O God, until your love overwhelms all its enemies. That is the ongoing work of Jesus, who is God-with-us. He takes his stand among us and will not push us away. If we resist him, he waits us out. If we are soul-sick from the disturbances and difficulties of this life, many of which we have created for ourselves, he steps into the middle of our mess and says, “Follow me.” And life, once damaged, can begin anew.

I’m still reeling from Friday night’s episode of Hawaii Five-O. Years ago, a man fled to Hawaii because he had accidentally killed a woman who had just been married. His mistake scarred him, haunted him, and he needed to start over. He married, they lived quietly with two young children, and they went to church.

Meanwhile, on the mainland, the husband of the woman who died was devastated. He was bitter, and couldn’t get over his loss. Anger possessed him, revenge consumed him. When one of his friends returned from a Hawaiian vacation with a church newsletter, he points to a picture said, “Doesn’t this look like the guy who killed your wife?” It was, so in retaliation, the widower hired hit men to kill the accidental murderer. The first man ran away from his sins, the second was so bitter that sin consumed him too. Damage creates more damage.

In the end, both of them are caught by the authorities. And while the accidental murderer is being taken away by the cops, he says, “There is a stop we need to make on the way.” The officers take him to the interrogation room of the man whose young wife he had killed. He apologizes and says, “This can’t go on any more.” The pain needs to end. We have to cancel it and start anew. I would like to think he picked up that message in church.

That’s what Christian people continue to say, with all the clarity and conviction they can muster. In Jesus of Nazareth, God in all holiness has come to stand among us, just as we are. He remains with us, even to the close of the age. He speaks, he heals, and he invites us ever more deeply into his loving, cleansing presence where we can become his new creation.

From the perspective of God, this is the right thing to do.

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

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[1] F. Dale Bruner, The Christbook: Matthew 1-12 (Waco: Word Books, 1987) 83.

[2] Glory to God (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2013) 96.

After, Ahead, and Before

John 1:1-18

Christmas 2

January 5, 2014

William G. Carter

He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.

One of our church members went to Times Square a few weeks ago. She was looking forward to all the sights and sounds of the season: sparkling lights, colorful decorations, joyful music, and great shopping. Indeed it was all of those things. But there was a disturbing moment as well.

As she passed through the square with her family, a forty-foot wide billboard flashed a message: “Who needs Christ during Christmas? Nobody.” At the bottom was a website address: atheists.org.

It came as a bit of a shock, especially with her kids in tow. It was a few days before Christmas. The holiday pitch was high. And here was an animated message crossing out “Christ” with a big black X. No doubt about what it was saying: you can have a Christmas with Christ.

If we can put that in perspective, it’s not the first time somebody has said such a thing. About fifty years ago, C.S. Lewis observed what was happening in Great Britain. He wrote, “Christmas means three things. The first is a religious festival, important to Christians and of no interest to anybody else. The second is the popular holiday, an occasion for merry-making and hospitality; nothing wrong with that. The third is the commercial racket which is a nuisance for everybody.”[1]

Fifty years ago, Lewis knew it’s possible to have a Christmas without Christ. In many corners, the holy day has been demoted to a holiday. It has become an annual event where the other dimensions can have more significance than the original purpose.

Of course, it doesn’t help that, as holidays go, Christmas has a checkered past. Nobody knows the actual day Jesus was born; peasant families didn’t usually mark such dates. Pope Julius the First set the date on December 25, but that was three hundred fifty years after the actual event. Up until that point, there were all kinds of parties in late December, much like the annual bash that still happens on Times Square every December 31.

When the Puritans came along, they were so disgusted that they outlawed the celebration of Christmas. For them, it was a secular bash with only traces of Christian piety. The Puritans saw no way to redeem the holiday, so they ignored the birth of Jesus in December to focus on his death and resurrection, and left Christmas to the pagans. It wasn’t until the 1800’s when the Protestant church began to celebrate Christmas in any widespread way. That’s when a lot of our favorite songs were written, under the influence of Queen Victoria and Charles Dickens.

Lest we think Christmas has always been a big deal in America, that isn’t true. Christmas was not made a federal holiday until 1870. In fact, on December 25, 1789, the first year under our new constitution, Congress was in session.

What has changed for us, I think, is that the atheists are better organized, better funded, and louder than they have ever been. That’s a new situation for those of us who are regular church goers. Sure, our holy days have slowly lost their grip on our society. According to the latest statistics I have seen, seventy-eight percent of the people in this zip code are not going to a church on a Sunday morning. It’s probably not because they are out doing the Lord’s work.

And truth be told, if the atheists’ number are growing, as they say they are, some of those people used to go to a church – and for whatever reason, dropped out. I’ll bet one of the reasons why is that Christ was not obvious to them when they went to church and encountered other Christians.

I had a glimpse of that as I watched an interview about the Times Square sign on a particular news network that was scandalized that such a sign was up. They brought on the executive director of the Atheists group who put up the billboard, along with a man who was supposed to be an expert on proving the Christian faith. It was a jousting match. It began sarcastic and snarky. Pretty soon the two of them were yelling at one another. By the end, neither one was convinced of the other’s point of view.

So I wondered: what was the point of that? Television ratings, I imagine. There was a lot of huffing and puffing, and no obvious presence of Christ especially by the fierce defendant of Christianity. If the Gospel is ever going to get a hearing, it will happen when the Christians act like Christ. Just because you talk about Jesus doesn’t mean that he is ruling over your heart, directing your speech, or enlarging your heart.

And none of us should be the least bit surprised if we listen carefully to the Gospel text for today. What does the first chapter of John say? The world was created through him, but the world did not accept him. He came to his own people, and they did not receive him. Within the work of creation, God is both revealed and hidden. God comes to those who should recognize him, and his own people are the first to shrug him off. His own people.

For all the fussing about those anonymous people out there who don’t keep our holiday, the truth is the very Lord whose birth we honor is not always obvious – even to people who ought to know better.

I’ll never forget the first time it happened after I became a pastor. December 25 fell on a Sunday. People in my first congregation were all a-flutter. “What are we going to do?” Someone even called the church office and left a message. “Are you going to cancel worship on the Sunday, the 25th?” What amazed me is that his voice was completely sincere. He didn’t think Christmas should be celebrated in church. That struck me as so ironic. And it was the first time I really heard the text: “He came to his own people, and they didn’t receive him.

What is Christmas, really? Christmas is about welcoming Jesus, and sharing his light and life with everybody we know. The world doesn’t have to snatch away Christmas from us. But neither do we have to give it away.

A Christmas without Christ? If we listen to John’s Gospel, we hear about the deep human resistance to the very things that make us healthy. The hard truth is that a lot of people go about their lives pretending that they are making it under their own steam, never calling on God to come and make any constructive difference in what they do or how they treat others. Christ still comes to his own people, and some of his own people aren’t paying attention.

Maybe it’s because God does not come to us in smoke and fire and noise. God comes in the smallness of a child, in the vulnerability of an infant, in the humility of a dependent little baby. God comes as a child, dependent on others for his safety and nourishment. He comes as a child in poverty, a child of lowly status. It is no wonder that so many people simply miss him.

But he comes and he is still here. That is not something we have to enforce. This is not something to push on others. We bear witness to what we believe, live it to the best of our ability, and pray we ourselves will have eyes to see him.

Consider what we’re doing this morning. For many people, today might be the last hurrah of a winter vacation. A lot of people are sleeping in, but here we are, coming to the Lord’s Table to take the bread and the cup, to answer the question, “Is Christ present?” with the simple affirmation, “Yes, he is.” He is present as we sing and pray, as we take in his body and blood by faith. He is among us as we consider how we will guide us into a new year with love and generosity.

Nobody can take him away. He is with us whether we see him or not. And if we see him, we realize how God has become like us, in order that we might live under the influence of his deep grace and expansive truth.

In the birth of Jesus, God’s love has come. Hatred cannot snuff it out. In his work on the parables of Jesus, Robert Farrar Capon talks about the catholicity of the Gospel. “Catholicity” comes from the word “catholic.” It has less to do with Christians from Rome as it has to do with the universal presence of the good news. Capon says Christ is so central, so important and great, yet so mysteriously present, that he remains at the center of it all. He’s much bigger than the church. He is the yeast in the whole loaf of bread, the mysterious substance that causes the dough to rise. Like it or not, Capon wrote, Jesus is going to make all of us rise.[2]

And I, for one, believe there’s a lot more joy and pleasure and peace in life if we go searching for the presence of Jesus among us, rather than moan about those people for whom Christ is not a part of their Christmas. We are not the center of all things; God is. God sends Jesus into an antagonistic world with unrestrained generosity. God has no fear over whether or not people will receive him. No, God sends Jesus among us lovingly, never forcefully, never to compel, always to awaken.

Christmas is not the only day that belongs to Jesus. Every day is his. He rules over all. He is the ultimate judge over all. And he calls on us, not to live defensively or angrily or as if we are superior to everybody else, but to give away his mercy to everybody who needs it. If we give enough of that mercy away, some people will actually believe it.

Taste and see.

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

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[1] “What Christmas Means to Me,” in God in the Dock: Essays on Theology and Ethics, pp. 304-5.

[2] Robert Farrar Capon, The Parables of the Kingdom (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1985) 135ff.