The Holy Fear of Christmas

In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

Before I share this story, I need you to keep in my mind I wasn’t always a pastor. When I was 18, I did something really stupid. My friends and I had plans to go toilet paper a few our friends’ houses and our coach’s house. We were to meet at the high school at 9:30 pm which gave me plenty of time to go out on a date I had previously scheduled. As dates go, it ran a little longer than expected and I sped to meet up with my friends our scheduled time. I took a shortcut and as I went down one of the bigger hills in our town, a police officer passed me. I looked at speedometer, noticed I was going 70 in a 40, and watched as he turned his lights on, and begin to make his U-turn. That is when I made the stupidest decision I have ever made.

Because of the length and height of the hill, the officer had to wait until he was at the top of the hill to safely turn around. Knowing I had a second or two before getting pulled over, I accelerated into the nearby neighborhood, pulled into a driveway, climbed in the back and hid. As I was hiding, I felt this great fear coming over me. Speeding ticket, not a problem, it would be my second in a year. I knew I could pay it and go about my way, as well as my parents just being disappointed. Fleeing the police? That was a whole other level of fear and I did not want the police calling my house again to let them know I was in custody, again. Plus, I was in a stranger’s driveway in Texas, where protective fathers shoot first and eventually ask questions when it comes to young men on their lawns. After I felt enough time had passed, I pulled out of the driveway and exited the neighborhood out of another area, and went on my way. I can still feel the fear I felt inside as I huddled in the backseat, just waiting for the light to shine in and the knock at the window.

In a similar way, perhaps a bit of a stretch, I believe what Christmas brings with it, along with hope, peace, joy, and love, is a bit of holy fear. The type of holy fear Dorothy, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion felt as the approached the holographic head of the wizard. It is the holy fear of the season in which we mark the moment in which God became man and dwelt with us. It is the holy fear we feel each season as we reflect on what it means when the prophet says, “his name shall be called Immanuel. God is with us.” It is a holy fear knowing everything is about to change, and realizing how painful the change will be. And I truly wonder if we have lost touch with that holy fear during this holy season. I wonder if we have lost touch with that holy fear because we simply cannot relate anymore to what is really taking place in the manger.

We live in a fortunate land in which all 42 of our Presidents, to my knowledge, have been professed Christians or at the very least professed believers in God. A majority of our nation’s leaders are professed followers of Jesus and we have strict laws that protect us from religious persecution. We have never experienced the reality of the Christian faith, the cross bearing faith that our ancestors of the early church faced. The worse we seem to face is the possibility of losing our jobs and going home to our nice warm beds. We will never know what it’s like to be dragged from our homes in the middle of the night and placed in camps with deplorable conditions, starved, hung, or crucified. We have, in the truest sense, become spoiled. And in our spoilness we have lost our ability to relate to the holy fear Mary, Joseph, the Shepherds, the wise men three, and the baby must have felt that dark night.

Have you ever stopped and really look, I mean really look, at our nativity scenes? Probably not. We get too caught up in the jingle of the season, and nativities are anywhere and everywhere, often we overlook what is taking place. If we were to stop, and I mean really stop, and stand there staring at the scene, what would we see? We would see Mary, perfect and pristine, clothed in blue with her fragile hands folded in prayer, gazing down adoringly at her child. She sits there with a pleasant and peaceful expression. On the other side is Joseph, clothed in brown, his eyes appear vacant, beard neatly trimmed, and lacks anything distinctive. Everyone there has something distinctive: wings, crowns, gifts, halos, and a shepherd’s crook. Joseph has nothing. He’s just dressed in plain brown. There in the center, the star attraction, is baby Jesus. His tiny arms extended with a halo around his little head. A clean white fabric swaddles him. He smiles an unearthly smile, always happy. He looks like he never sleeps or never cries. It appears he doesn’t want to be held, nursed, or cuddled either. (Andrews, Al. A Walk One Winter Night).

Our mangers paint a Norman Rockwell portrait of this holy family. A portrait we have come to believe is real, no crying he made the carol tells us, but we know differently. We know the reality of Christmas, we know the reality of birthing a child, yet we have chosen every year to display a picture perfect scene of a perfect new family. Why? Is it because we have never really worshiped the reality of Christmas.

Last week I said that we were okay with the ambiguous uncertain joy of Christmas as long as God stays God up in a faraway kingdom with streets of gold. Paraphrasing Clarence Jordan, I said we can handle God if he stays God; and I wish to share the story behind it, one I believe I might have shared before. Clarence writes, “A church in Georgia set up a big twenty-five thousand dollar granite fountain on its lawn, circulating water to the tune of one thousand gallons a minute. Now that ought to satisfy any good Baptist. But what on earth is a church doing taking God Almighty’s money in a time of great need like this and setting up a little old fountain on its lawn to bubble water around? I was thirsty…and ye built me a fountain. We can handle God as long as he stays God. We can build him a fountain. But when he becomes a man we have to give him a cup of water.” (Jordan, Clarence. “The Sons of God” The Substance of Faith and Other Cotton Patch Sermons pg. 13).

Perhaps our reasoning for placing our picture perfect holy family on our front lawns is because we are not prepared to truly see this family as they are. For tonight, before we come to this table and eat the bread and drink from the cup, let us allow the star to shine and show us what Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus really look like. It will be hard, but we must look and see what is really there.

There is Mary, the mother of Jesus, her garment is not a clean brilliant shade of blue. It is faded by the dust of her long journey to Bethlehem. It smells of her sweat and of the mule she rode upon. Her blue is stained red from the blood of birth. It is soiled by the dung of a manger floor. This is her first child and she is worried, she doesn’t have her mother with her, and she feels alone. Her face covered in sweat, tears of pain, anxiety furrows her brow, and she is on the verge of postpartum depression.  (Andrews, pg.38-39).

There is Joseph, he is not a quiet, simple character we have made him out to be. His eyes are not vacant. Hours ago they were full of fire when he grabbed the innkeeper’s tunic with a tight grip and said, “Don’t you tell me that there is not some room some where!” He is a man with a purpose, to go where he was told to go, to lead his family safely there, and they made it. He stands there on guard for they are in danger. His fiery eyes scan his surroundings, opened to see anyone who is out do them harm. He is protective. He is present. He is fearful. He is the keeper of this light (Andrews, 46-50).

There is Jesus in the wood manger. He is thrashing about in the hay, uncomfortable because he has soiled himself. His cloth is twisted. His face, grimacing from the prickly straw, grows red and his cry grows louder, that cry of a hungry infant. His toothless mouth opens and he arches his back. He cries so hard that he runs out of breath, and for a moment there is silence. But then he draws another breath, and wails so loudly, we expect the lights in the nearby houses to turn on and the neighbors to start yelling (Andrews, 55-58).

And in his cry, Emmanuel, God is with us indeed, dwelling here amongst us, speaks. He tells us he is not some distant savior, he is real, and he has crept in beside us, his cry waking us in the dark morning hours. His diaper is dirty, and he needs to be changed. He is hungry and needs to be fed. He is cold and needs to be covered. He is terrified and needs to be held. He is telling us that he is a real as you and me, as real as the air we breathe. God is with us, dwelling in our affairs. He feels everything we have felt. He hurts like we have hurt, cries like we have cried, laugh like we have laughed, he will skin his knee like we have skinned our knees, and have his heart broken like our hearts have been broken. So on such a winter night as this, when we have come face to face with our defeat, our moment of absolute need, we can go to him and say, “You know this too. Be with me and lead me through it.” And he will say, “I will lead you home.” (Andrews, 62).

When I look at the rawness of the manger, Mary's face full of exhaustion from giving birth, the fear in Joseph's eyes, the loud crying of a hungry baby Jesus, the dirty shepherds, and the star that lead them there; I wonder if where the star is leading us today is not to stand with a reality star who sleeps soundly in warm bed with a full belly from a lavish meal with a caring family, but to stand with the child who tosses and turns on a bed of hay, hungry, thirsty, and cold. When I think on that I shamefully confess I have never worshiped the reality of Christmas.

We have forgotten the holy fear of Christmas. We have traded it in for a distant God, up in the by and by, and now in the midst of our wintery season, God reveals himself once again and dwells with us. And a feeling of holy fear is reignited in our hearts, and the rawness of the nativity is finally allowed to shine brightly as God desired. The place where the raw transcendent truth, God became a baby and dwells with us. If we listen carefully, we might hear the shepherd say, “Once you hear the angels sing, you will never be the same. If you listen carefully, they’re always singing” (Andrews, 83).

The Uncertain Joy of God is With Us

(Audio here)

One day a minister was asked to go visit a friend of a friend who had fallen on hard times. He had lost his job, his home, and was living at the local halfway house. While visiting with the man, another homeless man approached him and struck up a conversation. He talked about how he felt safe under the familiar stars. Without the minister’s asking he told him how stayed warm, how he got money. And then he said something that caught his attention.

He said, “Ya want to know how I keep my stuff safe at night?”

“Sure,” the minister replied.

“I put it up in the trees.”

“Why is it safe in the trees?” The minister asked.

“Homeless guys are always looking for treasure on the ground. We never look up. The homeless are always looking for treasure on the ground—coins, something someone’s dropped, half smoked cigarettes. I if I put my stuff in the trees, they’ll never find it because they never look up. Never.” (Andrews, Al. “How a Homeless Man Taught Me about Heaven”. http://storylineblog.com/2013/12/11/how-a-homeless-man-taught-me-about-heaven)

How often do we look towards the ground for our hope? Isaiah urges Ahaz not to look to the power of Assyria for reassurance but to the Lord for a sign. Feigning piety, Ahaz refuses to ask for a sign, an exasperated Isaiah gives him a sign, “A young woman shall conceive and give birth to a son. He shall be called Immanuel.” Isaiah urges Ahaz not to look east for the aide of Assyria but to look to the young woman, to look to the child born in the midst of chaos and pain; to look to birth, for that is the sign God is with us.

How often are we like Ahaz? How often do we place our trust and salvation in the hands of elected leaders or news analysts, and multi-millionaires? How often do we look down instead of up for our salvation? How often do we miss the reminders of Immanuel, of God is with us, because our eyes have fixated on the trivial matters of this season? After all, it is Immanuel, God is with us, that is Christmas, that is Advent, that is the beauty of this season. Not a “We wish you a Merry Christmas” or the things wrapped neatly in boxes, packages, and bags. It is not found in the early morning sales of Black Friday, no the season is found in the bright star which shined above, the star the poor shepherds saw while caring for their flocks by night, the star in which the Angel said, “Fear not! Listen, I’m bringing you good news of a great joy in which all people will share. Today your deliverer is born in the city of David. He is the messiah. And here’s a clue for you: You will find the baby wrapped in a blanket and laying in a manger.”

How the shepherds might have missed it had they been looking down towards the palace gates far off in the distance. How often have we missed the manger because we were told to look down towards the governor mansions? How often have we missed the reminders of God is with us in the faces of our children because we were too busy looking down at our self-important chores? Yes, how often have we been looking down, instead of up, to be guided to the manger?

How often have we sang: O come, o come Emmanuel, looking down instead of up? How often have asked for Emmanuel to ransom captive Israel looking down instead of up? How often have we mourned in lonely exile here among the tombs of our ancestors looking down instead of up? How often have we waited until the Son of God appears, looking down instead of up? How often have we missed the reminders, God is with us?

Immanuel, God is with us: that is Christmas; that is Advent; that is the beauty of this season. As winter begins to take dominion and morning ice covers the cars and grass, we are reminded God is with us. As the nights get longer, the days shorter, we are reminded God is with us. As a family gathers for the first time in ten years to celebrate an 80^th birthday, we are reminded God is with us. As families gather around tables this season, we are reminded God is with us. As people are longing to be fed, given something to drink, clothes to wear, and places to keep warm during these harsh cold nights, we are reminded God is with us. And such reminders ignite the spirit of generosity in our hearts to live out what we tell our children, “It is better to give than to receive.”

Immanuel, God with us: that is Christmas; that is Advent; that is the beauty of this season. It is the ambiguity of Christmas religious truth of Isaiah saying, “Immanuel, God is with us”, and the daring reinterpretation of Matthew, that creates an uncertain joy during this season. It is the religious truth of God taking the initiative, coming to earth, and dwelling among us takes its place front and center, and we are reminded God is with us. The religious truth that man did not become divine, but that God took the initiative and established permanent residence on this earth.  The religious truth that the Word became flesh and dwells with us, an action that is not earth to heaven but heaven to earth. By such action we are reminded God is with us.

How often have we reversed this action? How often by looking to the ground, by placing our faith in wealth and power, have we reversed the coming of God from heaven to earth, to earth to heaven? How often have we reversed this action just so we can better handle, better understand God? Instead of looking up for the star to take us to the manger, we move God from earth to heaven, and we continue to look down. Yes, we want God to be with us, but only in the metaphorical so we can build our churches and raise our special offerings so we do not have to get up and go out. We do not want God dwelling in our workplace, in the lives of our neighbors, our enemies, the strangers, the oppressed, the poor, the lost, the hungry, the naked, the sick, the dying, the lame, the blind, the deaf, the mute, or the different, so we remove him from the manger by feigning piety in the form of Christmas laws. But if we were honest we would see that we simply cannot handle this great religious truth that God became man and dwells among us.

We are okay with the ambiguous uncertain joy of Christmas as long as God stays God up in a far off land with streets of gold. We can handle God if he stays God. We can take our money and build him monuments, fountains, refurbish barley worn choir robes, hold our banquets, and maintain our piety in decorations of mangers on the courthouse lawn. But when God becomes man we have to feed him, clothe him, visit him, and give him something to drink. When God becomes man, we have to live with him. There is a responsibility that comes with being a follower of a God who dwells with us. When God becomes man we are forced to acknowledge the great light that shines in the darkness, and acknowledge the sin of this world it exposes. Because that is the great transcendent truth: God Almighty has come into the affairs of humanity and dwells with us. Immanuel, God is with us; that is Christmas; that is Advent; that is the beauty of this season. It is a reminder that God is with us.

Christmas and Advent promises hope, peace, joy, and love, with a mix of wonder and nostalgia; but the ambiguous uncertain joyful reality of Christmas brings God to earth to dwell with us. That heaven to earth action will change everything we thought about God and challenge everything we thought about ourselves. Do we want the light of God to shine in our dark world, revealing our true selves? Only if we wish to be healed and cleansed, but that too hurts. Do we want a God in diapers and suffers? Only if we want to change him and accompany him to the cross. For that, too, is Immanuel, God is with us. (Gaiser, Fred. “Commentary on Isaiah 7:10-16” http://www.workingpreacher.org)

So let us steady ourselves, loosen our grips on traditions of the past and our fears of the unknown future, and together, throw back our shoulders, raise our eyes and look to the star that will lead us to the manger, where we will ask, “What child is this?” and the Angels will say, “Fear not, for he is your deliverer, he is Christ the king.”

Let us, then, raise the song on high, while the virgin sings her lullaby. Joy, indeed, for Christ is born, the babe, the son of Mary! For Immanuel has come, and this is Christmas, this is advent, and this is the beauty of the season: Christ the king is born, God is with us! Let us bring him a joyful and beautiful noise.

1st Sunday in Advent: Are You the One We've Waited For?

(Audio here)

This time of year is a difficult time to preach. I mean, Jesus was born and I guess that’s a pretty big deal, but most of us here are pretty familiar with the Christmas or Advent stories in the scriptures. We’re all probably familiar, in some form, with the prophets foretelling, Mary’s singing, Joseph’s dream, Elizabeth’s surprise pregnancy, Zechariah’s tongue being silent. We may be less familiar with the encounters of Anna and Simeon than we are with the encounters of the shepherds and wise men. And I am very sure most us can recall, in that little town of Bethlehem, the most famous birth of all. While we may be familiar or acquainted with these stories, this time of year allows us to be deliberate and ask out loud, “Are you, Jesus, the one we’ve been expecting? Or should we wait for someone else?”

I am sure we all know what it is like to wait for something important to happen: a birth, a special day like a birthday, Christmas, Easter, graduation, or a wedding day. We all know what it’s like to what for something special to happen, and we carry with us great expectations of those days. We expect good tidings on those days, but what happens when we receive bad tidings on those days?

Early this week, a childhood friend buried his 3 week old daughter. She was born 14 weeks premature and couldn’t overcome the medical problems that followed. So, how do you respond to such tragedy on what was to be a day of celebration? How do you look at the coming of a joyous day in the midst of your darkest hour? How would you react to such a thing after you waited so long?

John the Baptist is locked away in a prison cell because he continually preached a message challenging the King Herod and others; telling Herod, “It isn’t right for you to take Herodias, your brother’s wife.” As with prophets, seeing the inside of a jail comes with the territory, and John is chained to the wall of a jail cell waiting. John has been a faithful servant of the Lord. He faithfully preached out in the wilderness of the one who was to come. He is the first one to recognize Jesus, saying, “This was he of whom I said,” and sending two of his disciples to follow Jesus; yet he sits in a cell waiting.

John sends messengers to Jesus, asking, “Are you the one we’ve been expecting? Or should we wait for another?” He has heard about the doings of Jesus, but facing his darkest hour, John wonders if the one he pointed out in the wilderness was truly the one they were waiting for. Jesus doesn’t give a yes or no answer. Jesus tells the messengers, “Look around you and report what you see. Tell John about the blind seeing, the lame are walking, the mute are talking, the deaf are hearing, the dead are alive, and the poor folks are having good news brought to them. Go now, and tell John all that you see and hear.”

Jesus doesn’t send John a blunt affirmation but a report of what is being seen. He suggests John remember the words of Isaiah, “He (God) has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” Perhaps John remembered those words of the proclamation to release the prisoners. But Jesus goes further, he tells them to report the miracles happening, and report of the blind receiving sight, a miracle nowhere recorded in the Old Testament or predicated of any previous Biblical prophet.

I am not sure, though, if that’s what John really wanted to hear. I feel John wanted his messengers to return with a message reading, “At midnight, we shall storm the castle and ride to freedom.” John preached about a messiah who would clean house, who would run off the Pharisees, the Sadducees, the kings, and emperors of Rome. He expected a messiah who would raid the castle and set the prisoners free, surely John had earned the right to be rescued; yet Jesus tells his messengers, “Go and report what you see and what you hear.”

It is hard not to fault John for his doubt or for his need for affirmation. He had been waiting, like the others, for this coming messiah, and he went out into the wilderness to be the voice that prepared the way the coming Son of Man, and now he faces life in prison or worse death (something coming very soon). It is hard not to fault him because we too are waiting. We too are waiting on the return of the Son of Man. We too are waiting and we are growing weary of waiting.

Back in the 80s McDonald’s playground used to have a character called Officer Big Mac. He was an enormous (to a child) Big Mac that you could climb up and in and crawl around, he had bars on the crawl space, like you were in jail. When I was four, I climbed up inside and played for a while and as I started to climb back down I got stuck. Not sure what had happened, I just remember being stuck and crying out for someone to help me. A woman told me she couldn’t get in and I heard, “Let go.” So I let go and busted the back of my head open. It was a painful moment in which I waited and waited but the one who came to help couldn’t help me.

We all have been there, haven’t we? We’ve had those experiences in which we cry aloud to the Lord, “Are you the one we’ve been waiting for? Or are we to expect another?” We all have those moments in which we wonder if the light of God will not be overcome by the darkness of the world. Even if we are unwilling to admit it, we at the very least know of someone who has been there. They have been there, facing their darkest hour asking, “Are you the one we have waited for?”

Before she passed away last February, Darcy Donahue and I used to get together, spending our time talking. Most of our time was spent talking about the anxiety of waiting. She had spent most of her life waiting to for a cure or for death. There were days hope would fill her room and her heart and there were days she bluntly asked, “Is he the one I’ve waited for?” There were days when she believed she would be the disease and days when she would climb back in bed and ask me to pray for God to take her into the sweet by and by. Those days were the hardest because they were the realistic struggles of one who is weary of waiting.

It is hard to read Jesus’ response to the messengers as hopeful if you are in the midst of the painful waiting place, where no one is going anywhere, where people are disappearing, where people are stuck, where people are sick, where people are hurting, where people are fighting, and where people are dying. It is hard to hear Jesus say, “Go and report what you see and hear” and not respond, “What I see? What I see is a world in chaos. What I hear are people getting shot over televisions in Walmart. What I see are babies dying from incurable diseases. What I see are people starving. What I see are governments funding new ways to kill one another. What I hear are teenagers dying freak accidents. What I see and hear is a world in disarray. That is what I see and hear.” I wonder if that was John’s response when they said, “Jesus told us to tell you what we see and what we hear.”

It is hard to hear Jesus’ words of the blind receiving sight, of the lame walking, of the mute talking, of the deaf are hearing, the dead are alive, and the poor are having good news brought to them. It is hard to hear them in the midst of our chaotic world and our own chaotic lives. Yet we must hear them because he is affirming the signs that say, “Yes, I am the one you have been waiting for.” We must hear them because it gives us strength to stand, to throw back our shoulders, to raise up our heads, even with tears in our eyes, for we know our freedom is arriving.

Yes it is hard to hear Jesus’ words but we need to hear them. We need to know of these things taking place because it gives us hope in the waiting place. It gives us reassurance of the one who was, is and is to come. It gives us strength to sit with one another in our darkest hours, reassured that the light of God has indeed come into this world and the darkness cannot, nor ever will, overcome it. We need to hear, even in the midst of our pain, Jesus say, “the blind are receiving sight, the lame are walking, the deaf are hearing, the dead are alive, and the poor are having good news brought to them.” We need those words for when we ask, “Are you the one we’ve waited for? Or should we expect another?”

Let us join hands as we wait together in the waiting place of Advent, sing our songs of hope, peace, joy, and love, and hear Jesus tell us, “the blind are receiving sight, the lame are walking, the deaf are hearing, the dead are alive, and the poor are having good news brought to them.” And let us all together say, amen.

The Voice of Our King

(Audio available here)

A theologian once said, “God cannot be understood; he cannot be grasped by the human mind. The truth escapes our human capacities. The only way to come close to it is by a constant emphasis on the limitations of our human capacities to “have” or “hold’ the truth. We can neither explain God nor his presence in history. We can be faithful only in our affirmation that God has not deserted us but calls us in the middle of all the unexplainable absurdities of life. It is very important to be deeply aware of this. There is a great and subtle temptation to suggest to myself or others where God is working and where not, when he is present and when not, but nobody, no Christian, no priest, no monk, has any “special” knowledge about God. God cannot be limited by any human concept or prediction. He is greater than our mind and heart and perfectly free to reveal himself where and when he wants.” (Nouwen, Henri. “Where He Wills” Show Me the Way pg. 148-49).

It is interesting how God chooses to reveal himself in the scriptures. He reveals himself to Moses as a voice from a burning bush. He reveals himself to Samuel in the middle of the night, awakening him with his voice, “Samuel, Samuel.” He reveals himself to Job as a voice in the midst of a whirlwind, “Gird up your loins,” and to Elijah, a small still whisper, “Why are you here, Elijah?” It would appear, in our scriptures, at least, that God is not limited to how, where, or when he reveals himself to his creation. The point, our scriptures make, is God hears the cries of his people and reveals himself to them. He sets them free, he walks with them, he talks with them, and God is fully present in his relationship with Israel. In God’s faithful revelation, we are able to faithfully say, “God has not deserted us but calls us in the middle of all the unexplainable absurdities of life.”

It is important to understand God maintains his relationship with us, even when we turn away. God is faithful even when we are faithless. God remains in constant relationship because God birthed us. It is God who gave us life and as the scriptures teach us, while there are passages filled with the wrath and anger of God, they are almost immediately followed by his tenderness, his own remembering of the covenant he made with Abraham, his own remembering of how he swore, “I will never again curse the ground because of humankind, for the inclination of the human heart is evil from youth; nor will I ever again destroy every living creature as I have done. As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, shall not cease” (Genesis 8:21-22).

God reminds us that he is the God who freed our ancestors from the oppressive Egypt. He reminds us that he is the one who separated the land from the water, the day from the night. And he reminds us that he alone is our salvation, therefore, we hold to this truth, God will never abandon us.

Even in our faithless moments, our scriptures teach, God remains faithful and we see God’s faithfulness come to fulfillment in Jesus. The life of Jesus is evidence of God’s eternal covenantal relationship with all of creation. Every miracle, every feeding, every word, does not come from Jesus but from God, at least that is what the gospel writers tell us. It is in the cross, this morning’s passage, we see how far God is willing to go to stay in relationship with all that he created.

There on the cross, the son of man hangs, beaten and naked. He is mocked by the crowd, the religious leaders, and the soldiers. To his right and left, there hangs two criminals, one who keeps deriding him, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” but the other rebukes him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are sentenced the same? And we have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we have sown, but this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

It is a request of remembrance, not a request of salvation, or a request of rescue, simply a request to be remembered. We know nothing about this criminal, other than he’s crime warranted death. We do not even know his name, which leads us to a lot of speculation. Perhaps the criminal had heard the stories of the man that some called Moses or Elijah or John the Baptist come back from the dead. Perhaps he heard of the miracles Jesus did, or how he resurrected the dead, or the stories he told. Perhaps he heard how he told a wee little man in Jericho that he too was a son of Abraham. Perhaps the criminal simply believed in a God whose compassion is greater than his wrath. We are not told the reasons why but he simply asks Jesus to remember him. He doesn’t ask for forgiveness for the things his done, it’s evident in his rebuke of the other he knows he is reaping what he has sown but there is no confession of Jesus being the Christ, no sinner’s prayer, simply a request to be remembered. And then something miraculous happens: God reveals himself.

I have heard it said that God abandoned Jesus on the cross because he took on the sins of the world and God’s perfection does not allow him to witness the death of his son. Luke seems to rebuke such an idea because Jesus says to the criminal, ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” The voice of God appears to the criminal. The voice of God assures this criminal he will not be forgotten, he will be remembered, and Jesus goes further, promising him today he would be with him. The voice of the King of kings reveals the true nature of God. A nature in which God is willing to be crucified in order to stay in relationship with his creation.

The cross is Rome’s torturous political lesson to the people: We can crush the humanity out of you. It is a political move carried out on Jesus by the powerful religious vocal minority in hopes this God Movement would be crushed. For they do not want a king who serves, who sets the oppressed free, who blesses the poor, and criticizes the wealthy. They do not want a king who makes the blind see, the lame walk, or the sick well; but from the cross, the voice of God, the voice of our King, speaks, “Truly, I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” The voice of God, Luke says, cannot be silenced, it cannot be crushed. Even in the most powerful torturous moments of our human history, God still reveals himself to us, he maintains the relationship. We see in the cross, not God’s abandonment, but God’s self-revelation. We see the true revelation of God whose love for the earth and all that are in it, he is willing to endure the horrors of the cross. In that torturous moment Jesus cries, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit,” because he knows God is not absent from the cross. God is there, as he is there.

As Luke brings this dreadful scene to a close, he pulls the camera back to reveal the criminal is not the only one to experience this voice of revelation. The centurion, we are told, upon seeing what took place, praised God and said, “Certainly this man was innocent.” And the crowd who had gathered for this spectacle, saw what had happened, they returned home, beating their breasts. But all who knew of him, including the women who had followed him from Galilee, stood at a distance, watching these things.

From a distance they see the revelation of God. They hear the voice of God reveal himself. They witness the ushering in of the kingdom, and they experience three days later that this kingdom cannot be crushed. The powers that be can try to crucify them all, Luke says, but the kingdom of heaven will never be destroyed. The powerful can try to silence their voices but they can never silence the voice of our King, Luke says.

We stand with them too, from a far distance, and we can hear the voice of our king speak, “Truly I tell you. Today you will be with me in paradise.” Our hearts melt because we know nothing can stop this coming kingdom, no cross, no government, not even death, cannot stop God from fulfilling his relationship covenant with his people. From the Roman cross we hear the voice of our King speak, “Nothing of this world can stop this coming kingdom. Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”

The voice of our King cannot be silenced; so let us raise our voices and be heard. Let the weak say they are strong. Let the poor say they are rich. Let the lame dance with glad feet. Let us sing and give thanks to the Holy One because he has revealed himself. Let us give thanks with a grateful heart for the voice of our King.

 

Because Our Family History Tells Us So

(sermon audio available here)

Originally I had scheduled to preach on Luke 21:5-19, but during my studies this week, I discovered it would better serve us to read the entire chapter, don’t worry you can remain sitting while I read it.

“He looked around and saw the rich folks putting their money into the collection plates. He noticed a penniless widow put in two cents, and he said, “Surely it is true that this poverty stricken widow put in more than the others, because all of them gave from their overflow, while she, from her scarcity, has put in all she has.”

Some people were commenting about the Temple, its architecture and the beautiful marble and the stained glass memorial windows. He said, “All that you’re admiring, the time will come when not one piece of marble will be left upon another without being torn down.” “Teacher,” they asked, “when will this happen? And how are we to know when all this ready to take place?”

“Don’t let anybody fool you,” he replied, “for there will be many people buzzing around in my name, claiming, ‘I am he,’ and ‘The time is near.’ Don’t go chasing after them. Even when you hear reports of fights and factions, don’t get alarmed. For these things will of necessity come first, but the end does not immediately follow.”

Then he continued, “Race will rise up against race, and nation against nation. There will be great shake-ups in various places, and there’ll be starvation and epidemics. Great, frightful omens will appear in the sky. But before all this happens they’ll lay hands on you and arrest you, turning you over to church councils and putting you in jail, and dragging you before courts and committees because you bear my name. It’ll turn out to be your opportunity to make a witness. So don’t get it in your heads that you’ve got to prepare your defense in advance. For I’ll give to you a mouth and a mind which all your opponents won’t be able to match or reply to.

“You’ll be turned in even by your parents and brothers and relatives and friends, and they’ll kill some of you. You’ll be hated by everybody because you bear my name. But you won’t be really harmed in the slightest. By your uncompromising stand you’ll find a new dimension to life.

“Now when you see Jerusalem taken over by the military, you’ll know that her time is running out. Then let the people in the country run to the hills, and let those in the city itself get out, and those on the farms not enter it. For these are the days of reckoning that so much has been written about. It’ll be terrible for the pregnant and the nursing mothers at that time. Throughout the land there’ll be nothing but hard times and fury for the people. For they’ll be butchered and enslaved by other races, and the nation will be buried under racial problems until all races have full opportunities. And there’ll be signals on the sun and moon and stars, and throughout the land there’ll be a tension of races in confusion like the roaring of the boiling sea, with the men passing out from fear and anticipation of what’s happening to civilization. For the powers of the higher ups will be shaken. And then they’ll see the son of man leading a Movement with great strength and authority. When these preliminary things happen, hold up your heads and throw back your shoulders, because your freedom is arriving.”

And he told them a comparison: “Take a look at the pear tree and all the other trees. When they are far advanced, you can look and see for yourself that warm weather is here. Likewise, when you all see these things happen, you can know that the God Movement is here. I truly tell you that the present generation will not be gone before all these things happen. Land and sky will pass away, but what I’m telling you won’t. Check up on yourselves to see that your sensitivity isn’t dulled by fast living and drunkenness and worry over making a living. Otherwise, the times might catch you suddenly like a trap, for they’ll confront everybody in the world. So stay on your toes all the time, praying that you’ll have the strength to break loose from that situation and to stand up and be counted for the son of man.”

During the day he was teaching at the temple, but he would go out and spend the nights at the Mount of Olives. And all the people got up early to hear him speak at the church. (Luke 21 Cotton Patch Gospel NRSV).

In seminary, I was taught to do four important things when joining a new church community: learn their family history, learn their church history, and learn their community’s history, as well as knowing your own family history. The theory is, if you know those four histories, you will have a much better insight to how the congregation functions.

I imagine when Luke shared this sermon with his congregation, they resonated very well with it. They had experienced firsthand the destruction of the temple by Rome in 70 AD and many had been betrayed by their families and handed over to the government and martyred. As it resonated with them I wondered if any Jewish Christians related to the text on November 9, 1938 when they heard news of the Final Solution and death of 91 Jews in Nazi Germany. I wonder if the Tutsi women and children related to the text while they hoped for refuge in their churches, instead the armed Hutu men slashed the women and bashed in the children. I wonder if the Filipinos related to this text as they buried hundreds of their people in a mass burial site, and begin to rebuild their nation, after this past week’s devastating typhoon. I wonder if the millions dying from starvation relate to this text as they long for morsel of bread. I wonder how hard it is for them to look up, hold on, and have hope expectation of a resurrection, a redemption, and a rescue. I wonder how hard it is for many of us, as violence continues to erupt in our world and in our own communities, as families fall apart, and face a bleak future, to look up in hope, expecting a resurrection, a redemption, and a rescue.

There is a lot in our churches that we do not talk about; one which is how to reconcile the violence in our scriptures with the hope and love of Jesus. Often you hear preachers talk about the violent God of the Old Testament and the loving God of the New Testament. They suggest the bible is divided into two different Gods, one bent on destruction and violence, and the other bent on redeeming the lost by his infinite love and mercy. We don’t talk about this false disparity often in our churches, because the truth is difficult to comprehend. But Israel isn’t afraid to talk about it. Much like this passage which is filled with violent turmoil, strife, and hopelessness, Israel is accustomed to such prophetic texts. They are familiar with their family history, knowing God has spoken of such things to Israel before; yet they remember the anger of God was not ever without his steadfast love and steadfast patience. I am sure upon hearing the words of Jesus, they recall Hosea’s proclamation of judgment and war:

“They shall return to the land of Egypt, and Assyria shall be their king, because they have refused to return to me. The sword rages in their cities, it consumes their oracle-priests, and devours because of their schemes. My people are bent on turning away from me. To the Most High they call, but he does not raise them up at all.” (Hosea 11:5-7).

Just I am sure they recall God’s judgment, I am equally sure they remember what God says next:

“How can I give you up, Ephraim? How can I hand you over, O Israel? How can I make you like Admah? How can I treat you like Zeboiim? My heart recoils within me; my compassion grows warm and tender. I will not execute my fierce anger; I will not again destroy Ephraim; for I am God and no mortal, the Holy One in your midst, and I will not come in wrath. They shall go after the Lord, who roars like a lion;
when he roars his children shall come trembling from the west. They shall come trembling like birds from Egypt, and like doves from the land of Assyria; and I will return them to their homes, says the Lord.” (Hosea 11:8-11).

This Jewish Christian community, which Luke preaches to, knows its family historical relationship with God. They know the covenant God made with Abraham and how God has been faithful to that covenant, despite Israel’s constant struggles to live as God’s people. They are not shy about reconciling the violence in the world with God’s love because they know, they believe, God will never give them up nor hand them over. Jesus reminds them of their family history. He reminds them not to be alarmed because the breaking in of God’s Movement, of God’s kingdom, brings with it chaos.

Chaos comes, not because God is violent nor is that the kingdom ushered in by violent wars, instead it is because those in power will do what they can to hold on to their power. Remember the first King Herod in Matthew 2? Remember how he slaughtered the boys 2 and under? The kings will beat their ploughshares into swords, and pruning hooks into spears, and go to war with this coming kingdom, Jesus says, because this kingdom brings to light our own family histories. The kingdom of God brings to light that which we have hoped to remain hidden, it brings with it a power that cleanses the soul, and that cleansing is so painful, like the cleaning of one’s teeth after a 10 year absence from the dentist.

We have a lot in our family histories we do not talk about: a great-grandpa’s alcoholism, a mother’s postpartum depression, a father’s drug addiction, a child’s abuse or suicide, and much more. For my family, the part of our history we do not talk about is divorce. Over half of my immediate family either comes from a divorced family or is divorced themselves. We don’t talk about how badly divorce has affected our family’s history and our relationship with one another. Each time an opportunity comes up to talk about it, bring to light how painful that moment in our family history is, my family retreats to the dark, feelings get hurt and insecurity rears its dangerous doubtful head. Yet, in order for my family to be healed and function healthily, such issues must be discussed and our pain needs to be heard.

Likewise, the breaking in of God’s Movement brings with it chaos because we rebel against it. We see as we truly are, we see how we have leaned on our own power, our own military strength, and power of politicians, and not on the steadfast love of God. We see how we’ve stricken the poor, raised up the wealthy, oppressed the minority, praised the powerful; we see how we’ve starved the hungry, parched the thirsty, unclothed the naked, unhoused the homeless, and how we worshiped ourselves saying, “Look at our nice new church, with our nice comfortable pews, and our marvelous stained glass windows.”

When such things are brought to light, our broken human instinct is to turn away from the light; to run headlong into the darkness. We have become accustomed to the darkness, singing too long for heaven, and rejecting the ushering in of the new heaven because the grandness is too much, too new, too unfamiliar, and the darkness is a safe familiarity.

Jesus knows this because he knows his nation’s family history. He is familiar with their injustices and iniquities. He stands there with the crowd as they admire the beautiful stain glass, and speaks his words of prophetic destruction and restoration, because he knows who donated the money for those windows. He knows King Herod, who styled himself as a King of the Jews, paid handsomely to adorn the temple with beautiful marble floors and bright stain glass so that the First Temple of Jerusalem would rival any pagan temple of rival rulers. Jesus knew the temple was not an alter unto God; but a monument unto a king who took pride in killing his own family to secure his position. Jesus knows his family history, he knows the people are going to rep what they have sown because they have rejected the justice of God’s kingdom and embraced the injustice of men. He tells them when that day comes to lift up their heads, throw back their shoulders because their freedom is arriving. They will be free at last from their brokenness and broken world.

Jesus tells them to hold up their heads, to remain faithful, while the land and sky all fade away, he promises his word never will. He promises to be faithful and true, and he will strengthen them during this time of chaos as he brings with him God’s Movement. As the world sinks into chaos and fear, let us be a people of God who stand faithfully out in the dark with the light of Christ in hand, so the lost, the hurting, the oppressed, the hungry, the poor, the addicted, the sick, the thirsty, the imprisoned, all in need of it may find Christ’s words true; for he is indeed faithful and true as it is written in our family history.

Jesus Was Not a Pacifist

This post is not what you think it is and the title is sensationalism.

In preparation a sermon I recently preached during our Veteran's Day service, I wrestled with the options on a Christian's response to war. (If you have a moment, you can read/listen to my sermon here.) I deeply struggled how to preach a sermon faithful to the Isaiah text and honoring to those who served. In my studies, I rediscovered, Facing Terrorism: Responding as Christians by Edward Leroy Long Jr., it is a briefly poignant book outlining potential responses of the Christian when dealing with terrorism in our world. In the book he identifies terrorism as a "behavior that uses violence or the threat to use violence to create fear in order to further some purpose, if only the purpose of venting anger against that which its perpetrators dislike." (Long, pg. 2). Additionally, Long offers three models for countering terrorism, one of which is Stassen's Just-Peacemaking theory.

Long writes just-peacemaking "makes the bold assumption that it is possible to make peace even with those with whom there is disagreement, even with those who are antagonistic and presently driven by hate, and even with those whose behavior has taken violent forms." (Long, pg. 55). Long differentiates between the theories of just war and pacifism because the two are moral responses to war. Just-peacemaking, instead of responding to war a moral problem, seeks to take an active initiative in order to achieve peace.

The just-peacemaking model is not limited to a Christian's response to terrorism or to war but to conflict in general. The clue to just-peacemaking resides in serious reading of the Sermon on the Mount, extensively developed by Glen Stassen. Stassen writes, "The Sermon on the Mount is not about human striving toward high ideals but about God's transforming initiatives to deliver us from the vicious cycles in which we get stuck. It has a realistic view of our world, characterized by murder, anger, divorce, adultery, lust, deceit, enmity, hypocrisy, false prophets, and houses destined for destruction. It announces that in the midst of such bondage, there is also another force operating. God is also beginning to rule with justice and peace...the Sermon on the Mount describes specific way we can participate in the new initiatives God is taking." (Long, pg. 56).

Stassen developed seven steps for just-peacemaking, each one of these steps is a way of creating dialogue aimed at healing conflict: (1) affirm common security interests with adversaries; (2) take independent initiatives; (3) talk with your enemy; (4) seek human rights and justice; (5) acknowledge vicious cycles; (6) end judgmental propaganda and make amends; and (7) work with citizens' groups for the truth. (Long pg. 56).

The seven steps for just-peacemaking are not limited to one's response to war or terrorism but to any conflict as well. Just-peacemaking urges the individuals to hear the other and to learn what they are really trying to say. Thus, we can begin, as churches, to explore ways in which our church leaders can engage in just-peacemaking as it relates to restoration of members who have harmed the community, and members harmed by the community.

One way I believe church leaders can fully explore this is its relation to Bowen's Family Systems Theory. I believe there is a connection between the two, allowing church leaders to function as just-peacemakers in their communities. Unfortunately, I am out of time and must put this on hold until later in the week. In the meantime, if you are curious about just-peacemaking or family systems, you may pick up Stassen's book Just Peacemaking: Transforming Initiatives of Justice and Peace or Israel Galindo's The Hidden Lives of the Congregation. I'll close with this statement: I'm coming to the realization that Jesus was neither a crusader or pacifist, but a just-peacemaker who sought to reconcile creation with itself and with God.

The Day There Are No Veterans (Audio)

(Click here for audio of sermon)

Growing up in Texas, you learn one constant: You learn what heroism means. From the age I can remember, I knew the story of the Battle of the Alamo better than I knew any US historical moment. I learned that heroism involved 182 men and a one woman, giving their lives for what they believed in. I learned, at very young age, you must stand up for what you believe in, even if it costs you your life. My understanding of heroism is engrained with a deep understanding of self-sacrifice. Therefore, I must admit to you, I am having a pastoral theological crisis this morning. I am a citizen of two very different worlds, and this morning I am caught between them. It is with irony that I stand in this pulpit with a Christian flag on my left and American flag on my right, as I am a citizen of both. I wish to honor those in our midst, who serve, and be true to our text this morning.

You see, I am deeply grateful for everyone who has served in our military and those who serve in our protective services. I am deeply grateful for their selfless actions of service and this is very personal for me. I grew up in a family with a strong military background as well as marrying into a family with a stronger military background. My great-great uncle serve in World War I, my Granddad was a Lt. Colonel in the United States Air Force during Vietnam, my uncle served in the United States Navy E6 1^st Class Petty Officer Airborne Rescue, my grandfather-in-law served in the United States Marine Corps, two of my uncle-in-laws served, one in the Army Reserves for six years as an E4 Specialist and another for twenty years as a Chief Warrant Officer in the United States Marine Corps,  and my first father-in-law served as a Sergeant in the Army Reserves and the National Guard. He also served as Deputy Sherriff until his death in the line of duty on December 4, 2000.

My family’s history as it relates to the military is a major influence on my life. I admire my uncle because he was a real life GI Joe and I think a part of me wanted to be just like him. In our government class, on my 18^th birthday, I gladly signed my selective service paper and when the Navy recruiters called, I gladly answered, agreeing to meet with them. My plan A, after graduation from high school, was to go to college, earn my degree and then join the US Marshal Service (if the Marshal Service didn’t work out, I would become a Texas Ranger). I had researched the Marshal Service and knew part of the requirement included previous law enforcement service or military service. I agreed to meet with the Navy recruiter because I figured I could go to college, let the Navy pay for it, serve my five years, and then I would be able to become the next Wyatt Earp or future Raylan Givens, chasing down wanted fugitives. My dad and I were even working on getting a Presidential recommendation, from President Bill Clinton, to the Annapolis Naval Academy. My plan A was in motion until the recruiter said something stupid to me and I flipped him off, storming out, saying, “I’ll prove you wrong.”

 “In the days to come,” the prophet speaks, “the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established as the highest mountains, and shall be raised above the hills; all the nations stream to it. Many peoples shall come and say, ‘Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.” For out of Zion shall go forth instruction, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. He shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore. Oh house of Jacob, come let us walk in the light of the Lord!” (Isaiah 4:1-5 NRSV).

The prophet tells us there will be a day when the people will say to one another, “Let us go up to the mountain of the Lord.” Why? Why are the making the pilgrimage to the top of the mountain of the Lord? Why? The people urge us to come so that God may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.” This is not the only time this appears in our holy scriptures, the prophet Joel inverts the words, “swords into plowshares” to “plowshares into swords” as piece of satire, meaning those who dare to take arms against the Lord are foolish to do so. The prophet Micah copies Isaiah word for word in Micah 4:1-3.

What is the path of God? What are his ways? “Simple,” Micah says, “He has told you, people, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” The pathways of the Lord is a path in which we are lead to the day there are no more veterans; because God’s children have learned the pathways of the Lord.

One of our family stories is about my great-great uncle, Hardy Daugherty. Hardy was born in 1884 and served in World War I as the Color Sergeant for the 18^th Infantry division, serving under General Black Jack Pershing. The family story goes: Hardy carried the flag into one of the famous battles, most likely the Battle of Blanc Mont Ridge, earning every major military award short of the Medal of Honor. I have been told his picture hangs in the halls of West Point.

Hardy returned home from the Great War, the War to End All Wars, and went on with life. From 1919 until 1942, Hardy saw the struggles of America after the Great War. He saw the height of the roaring 1920s and depression of the 1930s. He was listening to the radio when he heard Franklin Roosevelt tell the American people the only thing they had to fear was fear itself. He heard him speak of the attack on Pearl Harbor, drawing America in its second world war. After the attack on Pearl Harbor, he decided to reenlist and serve his country once again.

In 1942, at the young age of 58, Hardy received a letter from the United States Army informing him, he was disqualified to serve because of his age. He was too old to serve in this Second Great War, so he does what most old war dogs do. The WWI decorated, flag bearing, Sergeant of the 18^th Infantry took the letter, his shotgun, and at the edge of the family farm by a pond, he placed the shotgun in his mouth and took his life. He was told, by the country he faithfully served, he was simply too old to go into war once more and since that is all he knew, one of my family’s most famous members now rests in a grave in the small Arkansas town he was named for.

We go to the house of the Lord because it is there we hear the Lord speak. It is there we learn of the day there will be no more veterans. The Lord will teach us his ways, he will instruct us in his paths. In that holy place we will recover our true self, our sense of belonging, our sense of understanding, our rightness, and will learn this together. In those instructions we will learn to turn our tools for war into tools for life, our swords will be beaten into plowshares and our spears into pruning hooks. We will know “Peace on earth and peace to the people” is not just a Christmas slogan or the wish of a pageant contestant. On that day we will hear God say, “You have heard it said, ‘an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth’, but I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also. You have heard it said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven.”

It is at the house of the Lord, we will learn true security does not come in the form of 526.6 billion dollar defense budgets, but the sole life giving security of the God of Jacob. It is there, we will learn how to walk in the light of God, to be as Christ said, Light in a dark world, and we will beat our swords into plowshares, our spears into pruning hooks. And we will learn war no more. On that day, Isaiah says, is the day there will be no more veterans.

We are a people trapped between two realities: the reality of the breaking in of the Kingdom of God, ushered in by Jesus, and the reality of a broken world trapped in a corrupt system of power struggles in which war is the ace in the hole. War is a reality we must learn to deal with, a reality in which those who serve in our military are not the ones who decide when, where, or with whom we go to war. Those decisions are left to kings, presidents, congress, senate, and prime ministers, whom hold their meetings with diplomats, laying their cards out on the table, “Give us what we want, do as we say, or go to war.”

War is, at times, necessary and inevitable in our broken world. In our harsh reality we know we are a people who have depended on military strength for security. Another reality of war is that it is the result of the failure of the leaders of nations to maintain peace with one another. Another reality of war is that it is not nations’ leaders who actually go to war but the sons and daughters of the citizens of those nations. Isaiah, on the other hand, holds to vision in which the day of the Lord is the day when there are no more veterans, for we have become God’s people, and we got into his temple, his mountain, are instructed in his ways, and his ways do not lead us to the desert of Afghanistan but to our fields where we beat our guns into plowshares, and our bombs into pruning hooks.

For Isaiah, he believed his reality could come true in his lifetime. He believed a day would come when there would be no more veterans, and it is a day that has come true in Christ, and a day that will be fully realized when he returns to fully usher in the kingdom of heaven. We have been shown how to walk in the light of the Lord. Isaiah did not believe in crusades nor does his vision instruct pacifism. His vision, one brought to reality by Christ, is a vision of just peacemaking. It is a vision that calls for people to acknowledge their part in the creation of conflict and their part in patterns of injustice. Peacemaking involves concern for democracy, for human rights, and for religious liberty, just and sustainable worldwide economic development; and it is not confined to what governments can do, but what our God can do.

Our God is not confined to our worldview of politics and war. He is not confined to our human limits. It is within his power to transform his people, his children, into instruments of his peace. The God who raised Christ from the dead, holds within him the power for his people to beat their guns into plowshares and their bombs into pruning hooks, and we will learn war no more. On that day, we the people of God will say, “Come, let us go up the trail to the house of the God of Bruington, so that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.” For out of King and Queen shall go forth instruction, and the word of the Lord from that Baptist church. The Lord shall judge between the nations, and shall mediate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore. Oh house of Bruington, come let us walk in the light of the Lord!”

On that day there where be no more veterans. Until that day we honor those who were lost, those physically and mentally scarred by our wars, parents whose children are buried on foreign soil or in watery tombs, children who will grow up with a memorial for a father or mother, spouses who will raise them on their own, and for all innocent casualties of war. And until that day we will stand in our fields and beat our bombs into plowshares, our guns into pruning hooks, and we will learn war no more. Until that day let us work to become a people of the kingdom of heaven, until the day there are no more veterans.

Allow Time To Find Your Voice

The other day a friend sent a questionnaire out to ministers (mainly current or former youth ministers) concerning advice they would offer to ministers in their first year. I ran out of time before I was able to respond, even though I said I would, so this is me offering advice.

I have been in ministry for ten years, eight of which was spent as a youth minister and these past two as senior pastor. Overall ministry is quite simple. You plan events, worship services, make visits, counsel others, study, sometimes you get to play (if you are a children’s or youth minister, and that is a true stereotype), you write sermons, preach, teach, bury, and marry people. On the outside it is a simple job in theory.

I absolutely love what I do. There are days that it is a struggle but struggles are a truth in life, there is no such thing as a perfect job, overall though I wake up in the mornings and I am excited that I get to minister to people. I enjoy the aspects of my job and I do not find them difficult. My personality type lends me to enjoy the day to day operations of the church that include sitting behind a computer typing and spending an hour with a church member talking about life. The one struggle I have though, and I think this is true of many, is I am still trying to find my voice as a preacher. I learned my style of ministry a long time ago and discovered how it works for me, yet as a preacher I am still trying to find my voice. Thus my advice to first time pastors, youth pastors, children pastors, associate pastors, etc. is this: Allow time to discover your voice and allow time for your voice to change.

Joseph Gordon Levitt made his directorial debut “Don John” last month. He has received wondrous praise for his writing and performance, the only constant critique is he is still trying to find his voice as a director. If you watch the movie, you can tell Levitt is a student of film and paid attention to the acclaimed directors he has worked with over the years, for he blends in some many different styles and similar voices it is hard to distinguish which voice is his or which is Christopher Nolan’s. It’s a common theme among first time directors. They struggle at first to find their unique voice but eventually by the film’s end, one voice has emerged.

I believe the same is true for ministers. My bookshelf is full of different voices and several have impacted me deeply, becoming a part of my own unique voice. The struggle in ministry is allowing time for ministers to find their unique voice. Many churches are not patient with young ministers. They expect them upon graduating seminary to have found their voice and they become concern when their minister’s voice changes. The irony is, like adolescences, we are never through growing as ministers and our voice is going to change. Some days it will be high and squeaky, other days it will low and authoritative, the point is we need time to allow ourselves to find our unique voice.

For three years I have been preaching and as I look back on my earlier sermons I can see a change in my voice. I can see influences coming and going and some sticking. I can see my voice raise or lower in tone. I can see growth in my voice and I believe I am almost there in terms of finding my voice. I am, at the very least, in the vicinity of my unique pastoral voice. But here’s the funny thing, I know as soon as I find my voice, it is going to change again. Something will come along and inspire my voice to grow and my church will need to find patience as it continues to grow.

My advice for ministers is to listen, pray, study, and observe the voices in ministry all around you. Allow yourself to be captivated by their voice and discover for yourself how unique your own voice is. Do not be afraid to emulate other voices. Allow them to inspire you but allow yourself time to discover your own voice. Do not be in a rush to be the next so and so. Be you. 
That is my advice. Be you and your voice will come.

Zacchaeus, He Too is a Son of God Up In A Tree

You are probably familiar with the story of Zacchaeus. You know him to be a wee little man and a wee little man was he. You heard about how he climbed up in a sycamore tree and Jesus passed that way, he looked up in that tree and said, “Zacchaeus, you come down! I’m going to your house today. I’m going to your house to stay.” But did you know he was the district director of the Revenue Service (tax collector) and he was quite well off. He was a rich man, perhaps the richest man in town, and he made his fortune by exploiting others.

Everyone in the town of Jericho knew how Zacchaeus made his fortune. He was a cheating tax collector, and we know how well folks at the IRS are liked. They wouldn’t touch this man with a ten foot pole, and because of the crowd and his short stature, Zach had to shimmy up the sycamore tree so that he could see Jesus. Zacchaeus wanted to see Jesus, and as Jesus is passing that way, shaking hands, kissing babies, and blessing the little children, Zacchaeus shimmies up the tree. We know Zacchaeus wanted to see Jesus, we’re not sure if he wanted Jesus to see him but if you’re up in a tree while everyone else is on the ground, Jesus is going to spot you.

And he does.

Amidst the hugs, kisses, blessings, and healings, Jesus looks up at the little man in the tree and hollers, “Zacchaeus! Come down from that tree! I’m going to have dinner at your house.” They grumble among themselves like good church folk, “He’s going home to dinner with a man who doesn’t even belong to the local Baptist church. That boy is a sinner.” Zacchaeus is so honored and taken back by Jesus, he ignores their mumbling and immediately says, “Look, Jesus, half of what I own, sir, I’m giving to the poor, and if I have…er…cheated anyone…er…anyone that is.  I’ll pay back four times the amount.”

The crowd hears this and I doubt they believe it. They hear Zacchaeus’ repentance and change of heart and think, though they don’t say it out loud, but we know they are thinking it because we are thinking, “He’s just saying what he thinks Jesus wants to hear. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Jesus, on the other hand is excited to hear Zacchaeus’ declaration and says to the crowd, “Today new life has arrived at this house! Because after all, he, too, is a son of Abraham, and the son of man came to search out and rescue anyone who is lost.”

“He too is a son of Abraham.” Jesus says. He too, just like you and me, is one of the multiple children of Abraham. The cheating, exploitive, filthy rich runt of a man, Zacchaeus is a son of Abraham. And since rescuing the lost was Jesus’ specialty, we have to believe he is right when he tells the crowd, “This man, too, is a child of God.”

Hosea writes, “For I (the Lord) desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.” God desires nothing more from us than to return to him, not through our tithes or our perfect church attendance, but simply through our steadfast love and knowledge of him. God desires for us to know him intimately and we must admit that what we know of God barely scraps the tip of the iceberg of who God really is. One is never done getting to know God, even when we are face to face with him, we will still go further up and further in, getting to know him better; for God is too grand to be conveyed in simple literary terms or in sixty-six books. Thus, when Jesus tells us, the crowd, that Zacchaeus, he too, is a child of God, we are taken back.

Surely he must be wrong. Only the good church loving folks are the ones who are children of God. Only those who have entered the waters of baptism and prayed their sinner prayer is a child of God. “No,” God says through Jesus, “no. All the earth is mine and all that dwells therein.” Through Jesus, God reminds us that justice is not something that only belongs to the oppressed outsider but to the depressed insider. He reminds us that he has come not just to set the slave free but the slaveholder as well. He reminds us, he is here to save not just the victim but the perpetrator also. He reminds us that God’s justice is a refiner’s fire that transforms us before we are able to climb down our sycamore tree. It burns away our old self and we awake with new eyes and come to biblical, gospel, realization that the same spirit God breathed into you and I, is the same spirit he breathed into the cheating, exploiting, hateful, spiteful, sorry runt down the road. And the son of man has come to search out and rescue anybody who gets off track.

The story of Zacchaeus rings in our ears because he reminds of all the others throughout the scriptures: “There's Aaron whooping it up with the Golden Calf the moment his brother's back is turned, and there's Jacob conning everybody including his own father. There's Jael driving a tent-peg through the head of an overnight guest, and Rahab, the first of the red-hot mamas. There's Nebuchadnezzar with his taste for roasting the opposition and Paul holding the lynch mob's coats as they go to work on Stephen. There's Saul the paranoid, and David the stud, and those mealy-mouthed friends of Job's who would probably have succeeded in boring him to death if Yahweh hadn't stepped in just in the nick of time. And then there are the ones who betrayed the people who loved them best such as Absalom and poor old Peter, such as Judas even.

Like Zaccheus, they're all of them peculiar as a platypus, to put it quite literally, and yet you can't help feeling that, like Zaccheus, they're all of them somehow treasured too. Why are they treasured? Who knows? But maybe you can say at least this about it-that they're treasured less for who they are and for what the world has made them than for what they have it in them at their best to be because ultimately, of course; it's not the world that made them at all” (Buechner, Frederick. Peculiar Treasures: A Biblical Who’s Who. Pg. 204-205).

While the world may have made Zacchaeus a cheating tax collector, who took advantage of others in order to gain wealth, it is not the world that has made Zacchaeus. It is not the world that breathed life into him, but God, and God’s spirit lives within him. What makes Zacchaeus treasured is not who he is or what he has done or will do; but the fact that he is a child of God. He is equally treasured as you and I are. He is equally treasured as the faithful beloved disciple. He is equally treasured as the great reformer Martin Luther, the great prophet Martin Luther King, Jr., as the great evangelist Billy Graham, and yes, he is even treasured as equally as the great apostle Paul. And this is the moral theological problem for all Christians: If someone like Zacchaeus is a treasured child of God, then are not our enemies equally treasured children of God?

What makes someone a treasured child of God? Is it their baptism, the profession of faith, their faithful tithing, their perfect Sunday school award, their political party, their race, their gender, their culture, their religion, their sexuality, their wealth or the poverty? Is that what makes someone a treasured child of God? Or is what makes someone a treasured child of God the fact they simply are? Is what makes someone treasured is the fact they are a child of God?

I know us, good church folks, want to believe we are something special. After all, Peter says we are a chosen people, a special people, but there is nothing special of the preacher, the deacon, the choir member, the Sunday school teacher, the faithful giver, that is not equally special of the lost sheep in the eyes of God. Our only difference is that we have been found and Jesus is out searching for any who lose their way.

I must admit that this is hard for me to preach. It is hard for me to believe that, just as I am a child of God, so is the vilest person in our world. It is hard to hear Jesus say that Zacchaeus is a son of God, just as I am, because it means the murderer, the terrorist, the addict, the drunk, the abuser, the manipulator, the exploiter, the corrupt, the bomber, the rapist, the offender, they too are a treasured child of God, who have been lost in the world.

Over the past few weeks, we have heard Jesus tell stories of lost sheep, returning sons, persistent widows, dishonest managers, rich men in big homes, poor men at the city gates; we have heard the stories of the ten lepers and how one came back, and we relate to them because we can identify with them. This is hard though, to hear that someone like Zacchaeus is a child of God just like you and I are. It’s hard because we say our prayers and take our vitamins so we should be treasured children of God; yet the one who has swindled us, the one who has harmed us, they too are treasured children of God, and that is hard to hear.

In the fifth grade, we moved out our duplex and into a house at 111 Suzanne St. It was a small three bedroom house in blue collar neighborhood. Across the street lived a kid named Randy. Randy was a couple of years older than me but he been held back a year in school for behavioral issues; and he was the neighborhood bully. He tormented everyone, especially my brother and I. He and his friends used to chase me home from school with sticks and the occasional stones. He once stole my brother’s bike so that he could pee on it. He was also from a rough family who constantly put him down, ignored him, and continually called him a “good for nothing.” Randy was the meanest kid I had ever met.

We lived at the house for a couple of years until we moved into a nicer house in a nicer neighborhood about 10 miles from Suzanne St. A few years passed and when I was in the tenth grade, one day, our church hosted a traveling evangelist and our youth minister decided we would have a contest. All the youth were divided up into groups and sent out to kidnap their friends and bring them to church. The object was to return with a van so full of kids, it was illegal for you to be driving. Somehow my group ended up near my old house and I said to our driver, “Turn here. I know a kid.” We made the left hand turn onto Suzanne St, he parked the car, and I got out and knocked on the door. Randy answered it with a surprised look and I invited him to church. He left his dinner on the TV tray, climbed in and we went to church together.

It was a hard ride to church because Randy lacked any social decorum and he was still as mean as he was when we were younger. I could tell though he was trying to change but, as they say about leopards and such. We sat together as the service began and the evangelist started testifying and the time came for the invitation. “Just as I am” started playing, the evangelist started praying and asking, “If you’d like to come to Jesus tonight, just raise your hand. Yes, I see that hand. Welcome, brother. Yes, I see that hand, welcome, sister.” I opened my eyes to see who was raising their hands and to my surprise, Randy had his hand raised. The evangelist invited people to come down and talk with a deacon, and Randy about ran me over getting to the door.

One of the deacons took us to a side room and Randy started sharing his story. As he shared I had the sudden realization, “Crap. My bully, the person I have hated since fifth grade is a treasured child of God. And now, he’s my brother in Christ. Crap.” In that moment I realized the kid who peed on my brother’s bike, beat me with a stick, and stole my knife, he too had always been a treasured child of God and one day, when we part this earth, I will see him again before Jesus and I will hear Jesus say to my bully, “You are a treasured child of God.”

Sometimes I think the Christian life would be easier if Jesus had just ignored Zacchaeus up in that tree. Then I realize that while I’m staring at my bully before Jesus, another kid is going to be staring at me thinking, “Crap. My bully is a beloved child of God, too.”

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, indeed, for a shepherd who said, “Zacchaeus, come down from that tree!”